Hey, sorry for getting all serious at the end of that chapter, I was very tired by the end. Well, here's the next chapter.

7. The Response.

The silence was deafening, as it reverberated around the room. Everyone was in shock. After a moment, Blossom, Boomer and Eddy had controlled their own horror enough to focus on Butch. He was staring straight ahead again, looking absolutely destroyed. His hands twitched slightly. Eventually Boomer plucked up the courage to speak.

"We're here for you brother," he said.

"We do have a full range of services for helping people through these situations," the doctor suggested. Butch managed a small nod. Then he cursed under his breath, swung on his heal and strode out, shaking as he walked.

They watched him for a while, before Blossom gestured to Boomer to go after him. The Blue Ruff hesitated, before chasing his brother. He disappeared round the corner, and returned shortly afterwards, rubbing his head.

"I think he needs some space," he stuttered. He three of them stood in silence for an interminable amount of time, no willing to say anything first.

Eventually Eddy spoke. "I hope Buttercup is coping okay."

"Can we see her?" asked Blossom. The doctor shook his head.

"She still in shock, and isn't well enough yet. But you should be able to see her in the next hour or so."

"Right!" said Blossom, "we'll stay here for as long as it takes. For both Buttercup and Bubbles."

As if she'd just cursed it, her mobile went off. Blossom grabbed it.

"Umm, yes?" she said.

"Blossom, hi" said Sonic. He sounded tense. "How are things at the hospital?"

"Not great," she said, "Buttercup has… has lost her baby." Sonic paused. Then he sighed.

"Blossom, this is very hard for me to say, but I need you here in Russia very quickly."

"WHAT!"

"Some crazy super villains have stolen a nuclear weapon, and are threatening to detonate it in an urban area."

"But… can't you go there?"

The sound of gunfire came rattling down the phone. "I'm already there." He said.

"I… I need to be here," Blossom tried to be firm. "Some once must be able to do it?"

"No one else can. I'm sorry."

Sonic was an awful liar, but that wasn't always a bad thing. Since when he lied it was so obvious, it was also obvious when he was telling the truth. This was one of those cases.

"But…"

"Listen, we only need two of you," Sonic tired to sound nice, "so I thought that Butch could stay."

"He's gone." There was absolute silence, broken only by gunfire on Sonic's end of the phone.

"I'm sorry…" Sonic started.

"I'm not going," Blossom was determined. "I'm need here."

"Listen Blossom," Sonic said, calmly, "You are experiencing a family tragedy right now, and I understand that. But if you don't get here soon, hundreds of thousands of other people will also be suffering family tragedies. You're a superhero, and this is the rough side of the job."

"There only seems to be rough sides to this job," Blossom said bitterly, but she'd lost. "I'll be there," she finished miserably.

Boomer looked up as Blossom finished. He caught her expression.

"You can't be serious?" he gasped. Blossom nodded quietly, and turned to Eddy.

"Can you stay here and look out for Buttercup?"

"What!" Eddy nearly choked. "She hates me!"

"Don't worry, the professor will be here in about an hour, and we won't be long, so you'll just have to keep her company till we get back. She might not even have recovered enough to see anyone before the Professor arrives, and if she does, you'll be fine. I promise. Come on Boomer, the quicker we start…"

And the two of them reluctantly shot off, leaving Eddy alone and aghast.

Brick was not in a good mood when he stormed back into the hourglass storage room. This room was in a different dimension, and filled with shelves and shelves of hour glasses, each one counting down people's lives. He strode down pick up his next batch, he stopped by a college.

"I tell you Roland, I'm quitting when I get the next chance, I can't cope with this anymore!"

Roland looked up. "Why?" he asked, "you've only worked here for fifteen years. You've got another 995 years to go before you can quit."

"Don't talk to me like that, you've only worked hear for eighteen years more than me." Brick seized the hour glasses marked 'North America' aggressively. "I just had to pick up the spirit of my Brothers unborn child. I can't cope with it!"

Roland scratched his head under his black robes hood. "It's horrible, but it's part of the job…" he paused on one of his European hourglasses, "sorry though it was someone I knew. I warn you though, Death doesn't take it very well when people try to quit."

"Why, dose he attacks them, or have a word with the man upstairs?"

"No, worse. He tells you he's very disappointed in you."

"Humph." Brick grabbed a few more glasses, when the intercom buzzed into life.

Would Brick please report to my office. Death's voice floated across the room in its voiceless way.

"Well," Roland nudged him, "here's your chance."

Death's office was black. The desk was black. The bookcase was black, with black books. The carpet was black, the ceiling was black and the chair was black. The only colour in the office came from three sources: the bight white skeleton, Death himself, (although he was mostly covered by his robe), his shimmering silver scythe, and the bright pink desk tidy on the black desk – Death felt it added colour to the room.

He was writing reports on black paper in black ink, why Brick entered.

"You err, wanted to see me?" Brick's earlier confidence had evaporated.

Yes, he said. I have a job from you, from the boss.

"I don't want it. I quit." Brick was surprised how easy it was so say. Death looked up. He was surprised.

Are you quiet sure? This job would allow you to make a difference. And you're due a reward.

"No way, I… make a difference?"

Yes, but before I tell you how, I've been told to give you this.

It was a black bag. Brick looked inside it.

"Oh," he said.

Butch was coping with this very well, he thought. After his fifth bottle of vodka, things didn't seem too bad. Oh who was he kidding?

"Get me another one," he slurred to the bar tender.

"Sir, it's only three o clock, are you sure you haven't had enough?"

"Quite sure, know give us another one…" he fell off his chair. The bartender sighed, and through the unconscious ruff out the side door, into an alley. He slumped there for a while, sobbing and burbling.

After a while his head cleared slightly. In fact it cleared a lot quicker then it normally did. The pain returned. He stood up, sobbing slightly. He needed more booze. That would solve all his problems, for now.

It was colder then normal. And darker. And stiller. As he wondered around, it hardly felt as if he was in a bustling city, more like he was in a dream. It was so quiet.

"Oi bro, turn round." Butch froze. He hadn't heard that voice for years. He turned round slowly. Then he was sure he was in a dream.

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