The Professor had been oddly quiet the entire time during her check up. She stared at the back of his head, hunched over his desk in a distressed manner. Buttercup sat on the cold examination table, swinging her feet. Wires lay around erratically, silicone circles that resembled bathtub stoppers stuck all over her randomly, monitoring her stats. The small beep of her heartbeat filled the room. She twiddled her thumbs, not knowing what to say. She'd think of one thing, then would suffice it with another. Then she would take a breath and bite her cheek, thinking it was the wrong thing to say.
Suddenly, the Professor let out a deep sigh, and she couldn't help but say something.
"Professor," she began, "I'm sorry I missed my check up. I was with Butch and I forgot, and-"
"Oh, no, no, no." he said quickly, turning to face her. "It's not that…" he trailed off. Suddenly he turned his body towards her, clutching the papers that contained the summary of her results in his hands. He stared at her like she was some sort of spectacle, his eyes bobbing up and down from the paper and back to her.
"It's just…" he stopped again, staring hard at the paper as if he was trying to make sure what he said was actually happening. "Your Chemical X levels are substantially lower than everyone else. And… I'm racking my brains trying to figure out why."
Buttercup didn't know exactly what that entailed, but for some unexplainable reason, it still felt like a punch in the gut. She felt her breathing start to grow erratic as her palms squeezed shut. She dug her nails into her palms.
Why me
"Wait, what?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. The heart monitor began beeping rapidly as she got increasingly upset.
"Honey, I don't want you to-"
"Why the fuck is that?" She snapped.
"Language!" the Professor immediately said.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, her heart rate still elevated. The ringing of her heart pierced the air in an unpleasant way. "I'm not mad at you," she quickly explained, "I'm mad at myself and how much I fu-"
The Professor shot her a warning glare.
Buttercup caught herself and coughed in an attempt to hide her near slip-up. "How much I-"
His eyes narrowed.
"-fricking suck." She finished with a sigh. Her heart rate had finally returned to normal, but she looked over to the side in a distressed manner.
"Honey," he said slowly. The Professor put the papers face-down on the table before slowly approaching her. She turned to face him, confused about his careful demeanor. He opened his mouth, but then seemingly changed his mind. His hand moved to clasp over his mouth as he seemed dumbfounded at what to possibly say. The Professor's eyes moved around the room erratically. With every passing second, Buttercup's mood grew worse.
"Hey," she said, interrupting his thoughts.
He looked at her, and sighed at her offensive expression.
"Whatever you have to say, just say it." She frowned, "You don't have to go walking on eggshells around me like you did when I was a kid."
"I know, Buttercup. But this,"
"Oh my God," she groaned, throwing her head back, "just say it!" she exclaimed. The heart monitor began to wildly pick up again.
"I'll just rip the band aid off, I suppose." The Professor said, fully aware there was no way around what he was about to say. He looked up at her, into her eyes with complete seriousness.
Buttercup shifted, uncomfortable.
"You are completely prohibited in engaging in combat and any future missions until further notice."
For a second, the room was completely still. Buttercup sat before him, eyes wide open with her jaw fully agape. The lights above her head were suddenly overbearing and hot, and the room felt as if it was spinning slowly. The heart monitor now sounded like a continuous shriek rather than rhythmic beeps. You could have heard a pin drop, it was so quiet. Until it wasn't.
Buttercup let out a few slow whimpers, until she was heaving heavily, and then incoherent words began spewing out of her mouth. She was angry, she was sad, and she fucking hated herself.
"No, no, no, no!" she yelled, pulling the wires off of her skin.
The Professor quickly moved towards her, placing his hands on her arms and awkwardly holding her in an attempt to calm her down. Ever since he had them, he was always unsure on how to console the girls and their emotional outbursts. As a single father, and being generally unemotional, it was a struggle to be emotionally available and emotionally intelligent enough to cater to all the girls' needs. Especially through their adolescence, and now their teenage years. But God knows how damn hard he tried, and currently tries. He'd never say it, but Buttercup was by far, the most intense, and therefore, the hardest.
"No, no, no." she repeated into his shoulder, "Of course it's me, of course it's fucking me. FUCK! I'm such a fuck up."
"Honey,"
"I can't do that Professor," she pleaded, pulling away from him, "I can't just not be with them. I can't. I don't care what this Chemical X shit is, I don't care. I'm strong."
Under normal circumstances, the Professor would have scolded her on the use of explicit language, but this was obviously not the time. It hurt his heart to hear her so distressed.
"I'm sorry Buttercup, but you could get hurt," he said sternly. Buttercup roughly wiped at her face, fearing that she was going to cry in front of him.
"I can't." she said once more, before pulling herself off the table, "I'm sorry Professor."
And with that, she frantically made her way up the stairs from the lab.
…
Buttercup ascended the stairs, her feet clambering against the stairs louder than usual. She heard the other five laughing, teasing one another. They had no idea of what had just happened. She knew they were going to ask her, she just knew it, and she dreaded it.
Buttercup quickly turned the corner without looking at them, heading straight for the stairs that led to her bedroom. Her demeanor caught everyone's attention, causing their conversation to stop at a halt. It was obvious to them that something was wrong.
She had made her way so quickly that all Butch had seen of her a small snippet of her socks and the green trim of her cargo pants.
"Hey," Butch called out. He immediately stood up, knocking his chair back.
Instinctually, Blossom knew that Buttercup was experiencing some sort of anxiety attack, and motioned for Butch to stop calling after her. He didn't listen, and immediately followed after her.
"Not right now, Butch." Buttercup replied, without turning to look at him. Butch watched as her ragged form moved. She hustled up the rest of the stairs and turned to charge down the hallway that led to her bedroom. The door seemed smaller and farther away than usual.
"Buttercup," he called again, pleadingly.
By the time he was in arms reach of her, she had slammed the door behind her. The sight of the small walls of her room felt like solace away from everything and everyone. Before Buttercup could slump down with her back against the door, she heard Butch toggle on the door knob.
"Buttercup," he called again.
For some reason his insistence was starting to aggravate her ever more. She felt her face flare with a bad warmth. In response, she closed her eyes, and blew out a long breath. She imagined his face pressed against the door. Emerald eyes dazzling, his sharp, angular nose pressed against the wood. Freckles like constellations across his face with his bushy black eyebrows knit together in confusion.
Butch heard her sigh through the door with his super hearing. Additionally, he hadn't meant to search for it, but he was glad he'd heard it. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest, telling him her temper was flaring.
Butch pulled himself off the door, "Okay I guess I better fuck off," he said half-jokingly. His hand fell limply from the door knob. For a second, he stood there idly, unsure of what to do. He wondered what the fuck her problem was, and he wanted to help. But he decided it was better he did not push it. Lamely, Butch turned to leave but something in his chest prevented him from stepping away.
After another pause, he moved to press his face back onto the door.
On the other side, Buttercup heard the soft thump of his cheek against the wood.
"Will you call me tonight?" He asked.
"Yeah." Her voice was small.
…
When Butch descended down the stairs, the Professor was already talking to the rest of them. The aura of the room had changed from one that was relaxed, and warm, to serious and uneasy. Everyone's faces reflected feelings of concern and confusion. The words he heard from the Professor were alarming.
"Please, please, please," The Professor said, "Do not let her engage in combat."
Startled, Buch approached them cautiously.
"Wait, what?" Butch asked, picking back up the chair that had fallen in response to his haste.
The Professor began to respond as Butch took a seat, "Buttercup's Chemical X levels are extremely low... I… am not sure what this means," he admitted. He paused, tapping his fingers against the wooden table. "But due to the fact that all of your super powers are reliant on high levels of Chemical X constantly flowing through your body, I think it is a safe assumption to make that her body is closer to human than to super right now."
Butch scratched at his head in confusion, "But we've been flying and fighting all the same. Nothing has been different." He shot glances at the rest of the supers for some sort of encouragement, but he was met with nothing.
"Like I said, I don't know anything. I don't know if her powers will begin to decline, and if so, I don't know when. I don't know how or why this is happening, either. All I can say is that based on the nature of Chemical X, I'd assume all the effects of low levels are relatively negative."
The Professor took a moment to look at all four of them, with a serious, parently gaze. "So," he continued, "I really need you all to do everything you can to prevent her from engaging in combat. No fights, no missions, no nothing."
Immediately upon hearing the Professor's words, Brick blew out a harsh breath and crossed his arms over his chest, "Do you honestly think she'd listen to that?"
"She's going to have to." Blossom said matter-of-factly, but her tone still obviously shared the same sentiment of underlying skepticism. There was no way Buttercup would listen, and an even more hellish altercation would ensue between them if she were to stop Buttercup from participating in battles rather than if she were to just Townsville be ravished by whatever it was they were against.
Boomer scoffed at the idea, and in response, Bubbles kicked him in the ankle under the table.
"I am asking you four to promise me." The Professor restated sternly, lowering his gaze at them.
"She's not going to listen." Brick retorted, unmoved.
Butch felt his body start to shake. To him, the other three seemed completely uninterested in Buttercup's well-being. In fact, they seemed annoyed. Yeah, her temper was shitty. Yeah, she could be hard to deal with. And if it had to be him she directed her anger at, then so be it.
Blossom sighed, looking to the side. Flashes of inevitable conflict between her and Buttercup played in her mind. Bubbles and Boomer sat side by side, also feeling uneasy.
"I'll do it," Butch suddenly said.
The Professor looked at him.
"I'll do it," he repeated shakenly, "If none of you give a shit enough to." he said, shooting a death glare at the other three. His eyes had fallen, and his jaw was held tight.
Blossom felt a sting in her chest, as if Butch had just out-right called her a bad sister, "It's not that-"
As Blossom began speaking, Bubbles also took a defensive stance. She sat up rapidly in her chair, and was about to say something as well before Butch's voice pierced through the air.
"Yes, she can fucking lose her mind sometimes," Butch snapped, interrupting her, "but if anything were to happen to her, I would literally fucking lose my shit."
"We don't even know if it's a bad thing yet!" Brick interrupted him, shooting up from his seat. "Obviously we care-"
"It doesn't matter whether we know or not! I'm not risking it. So, just shut the fuck up." Butch growled.
At this point, the two brothers were inches away from each other's faces. Brick's fiery red eyes locked into his brother's. The only thing stopping him from decking Butch in the face was the realization that his intentions were good. After a pause, Brick took a step back in an attempt to prevent Butch's temper from getting worse and escalating the situation.
"I gotta go," Butch said hastily. He turned on his heels before grabbing his skateboard that lay by the door, before leaving out the front. The other four sat together in silence. Blossom turned to the Professor, and was going to ask more questions, but the look in his eyes stopped her from saying anymore.
…
Buttercup lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It felt almost silly how often she found herself in the same exact position, wallowing in the same exact solemn feeling. Except this time, there was actually a reason. The band posters, polaroids, notes, and miscellaneous items plastered all over her wall suddenly felt suffocating. The collection of water cups and dirty dishes had begun overflowing her night stand. A corner of her bedsheets had slipped off the mattress, leaving that part bare.
A sudden clinking sound of ceramic and porcelain caused her to shoot up. Her disheveled hair stuck up in awkward places as she turned to face the sound. Buttercup hadn't realized she had fallen asleep.
Bubbles and Blossom were standing over her nightstand, collecting the dishes.
"Wellness check," Blossom joked dryly.
"Shit," Buttercup grumbled, "I swear I was going to do them," she muttered, rubbing her eyes violently.
"We thought we'd better check on you because you've been listening to the same song nonstop for the past day." Bubbles added, sitting next to her. She wrapped her arm around her sister, pulling her in. Bubbles felt sympathy for Buttercup's situation. Growing up, she was always referred to as the weakest sister. But this sentiment was more of a general overreach based on the observation that she was emotionally sensitive. Bubbles knew she could pull her own, unlike in Buttercup's situation where physical evidence proved an actual hindrance in Buttercup's abilities. Bubbles sat with her sister's warm body near her. She wanted so badly to tell her, no matter what, you are not weak. But she knew it was best to not bring it up unless Buttercup did herself.
Blossom watched her two sisters, holding the dishes in her hands. Butch questioning the validity of their sisterhood based off of her initial reaction really pissed her off. Her eyes glanced back and forth between Bubbles. Her wide blue eyes and elf-like pointy nose. Her cheeks, pink and rosy, and small pursed lips. Buttercup's angular sage green eyes, apple cheekbones, and small button nose. Her full, heart shaped lips were always drawn slightly downwards in the slightest frown. Dark raven hair like the night, and tanned, golden skin. Her sisters were beautiful, and she felt so much love for them in her heart. Bubbles's kindness, and Buttercup's intensity. The way Bubbles twirled and danced in the kitchen, and the sound of Buttercup's skateboard against the pavement whenever she came home. Blossom couldn't live without them. She'd do anything for them, and it fucking killed her that Butch questioned that.
Blossom turned to quietly leave as Bubbles and Buttercup talked about who knows what. She brought the dishes down to the kitchen and started to wash them. Soon, the sound of bare feet against the kitchen tile caused her to look over her shoulder.
"Blossy don't worry, I was gonna do them." Buttercup said, coming to her side. In a small movement, Buttercup tried to bump her away with her hip.
Blossom looked down at her, the smallest sister. She always thought it was so funny that Buttercup was so strongly associated with strength, and aggression, but ended up being the smallest of all six of the supers.
"Don't worry," Blossom began, "I know the news was hard. So, like, I just want to be nice."
The sound of the opening of the fridge indicated that Bubbles was there as well, so Blossom turned to give her other sister a small, acknowledging smile. Bubbles reciprocated, until Buttercup spoke.
"What news?" Buttercup grumbled, "I'm not going to do that shit, are you kidding?" she said defensively, looking at both of her sisters.
Blossom stared hard at the soapy bubbles dancing around on the plates in her hands. "I don't think you understand," she began slowly, "that we're doing this because we care." Her pink eyes stayed aimed downwards, because she knew that Buttercup's expression would irritate her and she didn't feel like arguing.
Bubbles leaned against the cold fridge, fiddling with the straw of a juice box between her teeth. Before Buttercup could take a breath to reply, Bubbles jumped in, placing her nimble hands on Buttercup's arms and steering her out of the kitchen. Blossom glanced over her shoulder at the sight before sighing and turning back to the dishes. She heard the commotion of their voices and Buttercup's resistance move back up the stairs. Once she knew they were gone, Blossom rolled her eyes into the back of her head in annoyance.
Bubbles closed the bedroom door behind her, before offering Buttercup a sip of her juice. Disgruntled, Buttercup took it from her hand before throwing herself back into the comforter, making sure not to spill the juice by keeping her arm up. Bubbles sauntered over, taking a sip out of it from Buttercup's hand.
"This sucks." Buttercup moaned, turning her head towards her sister. Bubbles pursed her lips, and looked out the window. She always made that facial expression when she was thinking. Her light baby blue eyes gleamed in the sunlight, and her pale blonde hair looked soft and light like a family of fluffy clouds. Sometimes Bubbles looked exactly like the sky.
"Why don't you see Butch," Bubbles suggested softly. She smiled at the thought, turning back to her sister.
The two were stark contrasts of each other. Dark and light. Buttercup's deep tan skin, and dark raven hair. Bubbles, with her pale, milky skin, and near-white hair. Not only that, but their presences as well. Sometimes Buttercup felt outshined by her sisters. Blossom was charismatic, witty, and quick on her feet. She knew how to make people like her, and she knew how to navigate every situation. Blossom was like a social safety blanket. But so was Bubbles. Sweet, and enthusiastic, she was a delight to talk to anyone who was privileged enough to get to talk to her. She could get anyone to fess up their secrets with the welcoming and warm feeling she carried so naturally. Then there was Buttercup. Quiet, off-standish. Not a lot to say, and purely observant. It was fine, because she said enough through her actions. The way she fought, the way she threw her punches, and flew at lightning fast speeds. People didn't talk about her personality, because she was so much more than that. They talked about her resilience, her strength, and her ferocity. And now, all of that was ripped out from under her.
Buttercup blinked, her expression empty as she was deep in thought. "Yeah…" she cooed. Her eyes flickered to Bubbles, who reached out and squeezed her arm affectionately. Bubbles retrieved the juice box back from Buttercup's raised hand, and her arm immediately dropped back down to her side. The light coming in from the window began painting orange lines on the wall. Sunset was soon.
"He's been asking about you." Bubbles laughed.
"I just talked to him on the phone yesterday. And I've been texting him."
"He's worried!"
"Why? If there was anything wrong I'd tell him."
Bubbles disagreed, but she just smiled and nodded. Buttercup was so secretive, and it worked to her disadvantage. You'd never know she was heading towards rock bottom until her world was in flames.
"You should see him." Bubbles restated. She sat criss-cross applesauce next to her deflated sister, "You look so comfy," Bubbles commented mindlessly as she gazed at her. The juice was all gone, and now all that happened when she sucked from the straw was a harsh vacuuming noise.
"Yeah, but I better get up now," Buttercup pulled her torso up off the bed, and scratched her bangs into place. "I'll text him," she said finally.
As Buttercup got up to stifle through her clothes, Bubbles laughed, "No need," she grinned, "I already did."
Buttercup whipped around to look at her, "Bubbles!" she exclaimed, "When?"
"While we were in the kitchen," Bubbles let out another series of big belly laughs, obviously proud of her slyness. Suddenly, a squishmallow hit her in the head. "Ah!" she exclaimed.
Still laughing, she collected herself, and looked at Buttercup who was laughing a bit as well, "You are so sneaky. Annoying, but sneaky."
The girls continued laughing and poking at each other. A few items were tossed back and forth, escalating with Bubbles chucking her empty juice box at her sister's head. The warm air circled in Buttercup's room from the open window, dust particles dancing in the streams of sunlight that came in.
Sometimes life is okay, Buttercup thought.
As Buttercup pulled a pair of black, baggy jeans from her drawer, the distant sound of skateboard wheels against the pavement outside their house filled the air.
…
"RAAHH!"
Buttercup's bedroom door swung open in one big, dramatic movement. Her doorknob slammed back into the wall hard enough to create a hole, except there already was one from the same thing happening many times before. Butch sped in, hands above his head in a monstrous manner.
Bubbles let out a genuine scream of horror, and Buttercup watched in complete amusement. When they were younger, Butch would run after her around the school doing the same motion, and Bubbles absolutely hated it. She could never watch horror movies, or go to the kitchen at night because she was so easily scared. And something about Butch making that twisted face and roaring at her absolutely terrified her. Still, years later, he still got the same reaction out of her every time. Bubbles had scurried across the bed and jumped behind it, in an adrenaline-fueled attempt to get away.
"Butch!" Bubbles scolded him, clutching at her chest. As he laughed hysterically, she threw a pillow in his direction. She'd tapped into her powers, so the pillow flew at ungodly speeds, but he was just as fast. Butch smacked it mid-air, making it fly back at Bubbles. She caught the projectile and stared hard at him, pouting. Feathers from the pillow floated down from the air, littering Buttercup's room. But, Buttercup was just happy that they were there.
"It's honestly your fault for being so easy to scare, Bubs." he said coolly with a shrug. Suddenly he turned to Buttercup, who sat on the floor as she rummaged through the items under her bed, trying to find her wallet.
He smiled at her with a huge, toothy smile. "There's my girl," he exclaimed with a gleam in his mossy green eyes as he reached down and placed his hand on her head. His fingers lingered in her hair for a moment, brushing it out of her face.
"Hi." Buttercup blushed, and looked up at him with a smile. But her mind was jumbled.
Ah, what the fuck! She exclaimed in her head. Every little thing he did had such an effect on her and it made her want to throw herself into the ocean. Her eyes accidentally locked with Bubbles, who was smiling and giddy with delight, so much so that she was almost bouncing. Embarrassed, Buttercup went back to looking for her wallet.
Blossom sauntered in and threw herself into the bed. Her ginger hair sprawled crazily over the sheets. It had gotten so long over the summer, like waves of fire. Her pink eyes locked with Butch's green ones.
They hadn't talked since his outburst at the house the day before. Butch and Bubbles were different, they were a nonchalant pair that easily excused messy, sloppy behavior. But Blossom was more vindictive than Bubbles, so Butch shifted, but he still didn't break eye contact. It felt like a mental tug of war. In that second, there was nothing but the sound of Buttercup's rummaging.
His expression read, If you're mad, I couldn't really give two shits.
The tension in the room was thick until Blossom smiled softly. It was her nonverbal way of telling him that she wasn't mad. Well, at him at least. She was moreso upset that the way she responded at the Professor's request would make him think what he did. But similarly to Brick, she knew it was because he intensely cared about Buttercup. So, she concluded that she was not upset.
As soon as her expression softened, he followed. "Queen B." He greeted her.
Blossom held up a peace sign at him.
Buttercup gently moved Blossom's leg out of the way of her search for her wallet under the bed.
"Blossy," Buttercup began, "Have you seen my wallet?" Buttercup asked, gazing up at her sister.
"Oh yeah, it's in the kitchen!" Blossom sat up. Before she stood up, she leaned in and moved Buttercup's disheveled bangs out of her eyes. Blossom loved being an older sister. Technically, they were all the same age. But were they really? Blossom liked to joke that she was born a fraction of a nanosecond before Bubbles, and that Bubbles was born a fraction of a nanosecond before Buttercup. Therefore, Blossom was the oldest, Bubbles was the middle child, and Buttercup was the youngest. It made the most sense, if you asked her.
As Blossom made her way down the stairs, Buttercup turned to Butch and smiled again at him warmly. He smiled back. The sun shining on his face made him look so radiant. His almond eyes upturned as he smiled widely. Buttercup glanced quickly at the new freckle that had appeared on the tip of his nose. It made her feel silly how she noticed little things like that about him.
On the bed, Bubbles watched the two of them, absolutely enamored with the unspoken adoration they had towards each other.
…
The Townsville dump smelled like a mixture of rotten eggs and motor oil. At first, Buttercup couldn't stand it, but with how frequently she found herself there, it became less and less noticeable until she couldn't notice it at all. Thankfully, last year the town decided to vote on separating the nasty, stinky decomposing garbage from the mechanic, furniture type disposals. Now, her and Butch were able to avoid rolling around in old food scraps and doo doo wipes.
As they walked further into the dump, Buttercup stole glances at the boy. He towered over her, as he was the tallest of all six of the supers. So much so that she could look straight up into his nostrils. Sometimes, when he got on her nerves, she'd jam her fingers hard up his nose in an effort to shut him up.
His face was slender, with prominent cheekbones. Almond eyes, and supple lips. A few freckles sprinkled his nose, and he had a small beauty mark just under his left eye. His body temperature was always really high for some reason, so his cheeks were always slightly flushed. Very slightly. Sometimes the waves of his dark black hair poked into his eyes. It was just the right length for him, a tad grown out but in the prettiest way to where his waves hugged his face just right. He'd gotten his nose pierced that summer, and it fit him really well. Suddenly, she felt extremely shy at how much she'd been looking at him and decided to stop. Buttercup had the urge to bite him really hard and punch him in the nose. She'd read somewhere a strange brain fact. That, if you see something really cute, your brain literally cannot handle it. In response to the confusion caused by the overwhelming cuteness, your brain makes you want to kill it. Sometimes she felt that way with Butch. Did that make her crazy? She didn't really care.
Butch rolled his neck, a grotesque popping sound erupting from deep within his bones. "Woah, that felt good!" he exclaimed, looking down at her with a grin.
"You know what else would feel good?" Buttercup asked with a devilish smirk. She cracked her knuckles with a menacing twinkle in her eyes.
Butch's eyes narrowed at her suspiciously, "Wha-" Before he could finish, Buttercup had reached out and shoved him into a nearby pile of junk.
In that split second, Butch's tall form flew back, crashing into layers of trash behind him. For a second, Butch saw stars spinning around his head, but he quickly shook them away and clambered out of the pile of trash. He thought of the Professor's warnings, and brushed them off with a small laugh. The power of that shove she had so kindly given him spoke otherwise. Butch thought against it for a split second, and the Professor did say no fighting, but he never said, "no friendly sparring with Butch". And as he had just observed, Buttercup's abilities were just fine.
"Oh," he chuckled, staggering upwards, "That's what we're doing now?" he teased. The corner of his mouth turned upwards and his eyes lowered at her. As he pulled himself up, his left eye began twitching wildly. One by one, his tics began showing.
It was always Butch's thing, the jitteriness, the twitching. The supers all knew damn well there was no way they'd fail in a fight if Butch had reached that state. And honestly, it didn't take much for him to get there. His head kept unnaturally cocking left and right in a jerking motion, fingers clenching and wriggling wildly. His left eye was squeezing shut and opening at rapid speeds. His body was basically vibrating, and Buttercup was more excited than ever. They were starkly different. Butch would bounce of walls, jitter, spin, laugh hysterically as he entered the mindset to fight. On the other hand, Buttercup dug her heels into the ground, raising her arms up in a methodical manner. He was all about letting loose, and letting his primal instincts takeover, whereas she emphasized strength, and intention with every blow she delivered.
Sparring was something they both enjoyed, unlike their siblings. It was a good way for the both of them to blow off steam. Whenever they were overly stressed, sad, or just bored, sparring was always a good option. And ever since the Professor had broken the news to her about the results of her check-up, she had been dying to get a session in. Not only to relieve herself, but to prove to herself that she was still good enough.
Butch approached her slowly at first with a crazed look in his eye, before breaking out into a sprint. Buttercup stood her ground, a huge smile sprawled across her face as well. Butch immediately threw a hook to the side of her head, which she ducked under and attempted to jab his side. Butch responded at lightning fast speeds, jumping back to avoid her attempts to hit him. Buttercup followed after him, moving together as if they magnetized. She was not letting him get too far from her.
She spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of his skull, which he blocked with his forearm. Before she could stop him, he then placed his large hands around her ankle. As his grip tightened around the end of her cargos, her eyes widened, ever so slightly.
Shit, she thought. Butch saw her expression fall and a devilish grin flashed on his face for the split second before he tossed her overhead, slamming her body deep into the ground.
Shards of concrete and dirt flew up into the air, large amounts of dust erupting into the area around them. Butch wasn't expecting this, and coughed violently, making the mistake of letting go of Buttercup's leg to wipe the dirt out of his eyes.
Before he could retaliate, Buttercup had jumped up, kneeing him in his side, sending him flying. Butch skid across the concrete, loud thuds causing the earth to shake with each time his body came into contact with the ground before coming to a tumbling halt.
His hysterical laughs pierced the air, he couldn't stop smiling. For a moment, there was silence. But then suddenly, he heard a soft plopping sound coming towards him fast, and hard. Her boots. He measured the sound in order to calculate the direction she would be coming from.
When her form emerged from the dust clouds, she was only a few centimeters away from him. She had her hands over head, an attempt at a final blow. But Butch guessed correctly, kicked her ankle in, and sent her falling over.
If he could just squash her into the ground with an aerial forcefield, he would win. Butch flew upwards with all his might, the pressure of him ascending with such force caused the ground to blow up into little bits. But before he could get much air, he felt Buttercup's small hands around his ankle. He looked over his shoulder into her eyes, which were gleaming.
"Tit-for-tat," she grinned, before slamming him into the ground in a similar fashion as he'd done to her. Before he could collect himself, she had already climbed on top of him. She straddled him, sitting on his stomach, delivering deliberate, strong jabs into the sides of his face. One after the other, blood spewing from his mouth. The impact of her fists into his skin was enough to shake the ground.
Butch's vision was blurry as his head ricocheted from left to right. Buttercup's face was so close to his, and a repeated thudding noise filled the air.
He soon realized it was the sound of his head getting punched in, Oh, I'm getting my shit rocked, he thought to himself. His mouth was full of blood, and he was too lazy to do anything about it, and with every punch she delivered, whatever liquid had collected was sent flying out of his mouth anyway. Buttercup's hair flew with her movements, her bright, sage green eyes looked down at him. The sun had gone down as they had been sparring, and the moon shone behind her head like a halo. She looked like an angel. He hadn't realized how big he was smiling up at her. His beautiful angel. Disoriented, he suddenly reached up and cradled her face in his big, bloody hands. Buttercup's arms came to a screeching halt. The stars were spinning around him hard and fast, and all he saw was her. He neared her face. He always liked the natural cherry stained color of her lips.
But suddenly something in him snapped out of it, hard. He erupted into a fit of coughs, sputtering even more blood.
"Oh shit," he groaned, and his eyes were suddenly wide and alert. Whatever haze he was in was gone. Butch's eyes were wide as he slowly turned back at her. With horror, he saw the placement of his hands, gently cupping her face, the thumb of his right hand gently caressing her bottom lip. Her eyes were even wider than his. Her expression was unreadable. A gentle gust of wind blew past them, filling the awkward silence.
"Y-your lip is bust." he said quickly, retracting his hands. He looked away. Butch was so bewildered that he had done that. Damn, he thought, she must have hit me in the head hard as fuck. Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment washed over him as he realized that she may have thought that was the weirdest thing ever.
Buttercup also shook her head violently. I thought he was going to kiss me, she yelled at herself, why would you think that? Why would he? Then his words registered in her head and she brought her fingertips up to her lip, and looked down at them as she pulled away. There was indeed blood on her fingertips. She then saw how they had been sitting, with their bodies in such close proximity to one another, and a sharp breath escaped her lips as she scrambled off of him.
"Tit-for-tat." she repeated with a shrug, laughing. She racked her brain for something to say to further move past what had just happened, but he beat her to it.
"I'd say that was an equal fight," Butch said sarcastically, pulling himself up. He moaned audibly in relief as he cracked his back. Buttercup rolled her eyes in response, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Yeah, right," she teased, laughing at him.
He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't make the rules, babe," he said jokingly as he stepped towards her.
"Rules, schmules, I'm pretty sure I made a scrambled egg of your brains with those punches." Buttercup retorted, stepping towards him as well.
He replied with a small laugh, before letting out a tired sigh. "Let's go home," he smiled, wrapping his arm over her shoulders as they walked towards the exit.
…
On their way back, the two had stopped by a 7-11. They shared a pack of powdered donuts and passed a tall beer can that Butch had stolen back-and-forth between one another. They loitered around in the parking lot, looking for any snails or lizards in the soil, talking about anything and everything. Before they had reached the Rowdyruff home, Butch's injuries had already healed over. As they stepped in, Buttercup raised her fingers to her lips. They were still split.
Buttercup lay on the floor, playing her Spotify Discover Weekly on Butch's bluetooth speaker as she scrolled on her phone. The volume was turned to an extremely low volume, since Boomer and Brick were already asleep. It was 2 o'clock in the morning, and the crickets were singing outside Butch's window. The only sounds of the night were their songs, the occasional car that drove by, the small hum of the speaker, and Buttercup mindlessly shaking her leg. As much as she wanted to wait on the bed to be comfy, the fight had gotten the both of them absolutely filthy. Once she heard the water heater turn off, she knew Butch would be coming back in soon.
As she had predicted, he had walked in a mere few minutes later, wearing nothing but checkered green pajama bottoms. "Shower's ready for you," he said as he rummaged through his drawers for a bedtime joint. Buttercup's eyes rested on him momentarily, his toned muscles glistened in the low light due to some of the water having yet to dry. His smooth tan skin was without any imperfections despite their brawl today.
"Cool," she replied, pulling herself up. As she was about to slip past the door, he stopped her.
"You're probably gonna be a sec since you're, well," he gestured at her, to the mud and dust sticking to her skin and clothes, "nasty." he finished. She swatted at him in retaliation which he dodged, and chuckled in response. "So, just letting you know, I might be asleep when you come back."
"Sounds good," she said, and turned to walk down to the bathroom.
When she closed the door behind her, it suddenly hit her. Her body was absolutely aching, as if a semi-truck had just run into her at full speed. "Ah," she whined quietly to herself. The feeling was everywhere. She neared the steamy mirror and wiped it with her hand. Just that movement hurt her. When she looked at her reflection, her lip was still bust open. Her heart sank into her chest. The sound of her heart anxiously beating rang in her eyes, deafeningly. It was so loud that the sound of the bathroom fan was now inaudible. In sudden realization, she slowly reached over to pull her long sleeve off. Buttercup fought through the pain of it. For a moment, she paused as the shirt lifted over her face, afraid of what she was going to see.
When she pulled it off, she audibly gasped, the top falling to the ground. Her body was riddled in large areas of black and blue. She looked closer in the mirror, as if that was going to change anything. Shocked, she turned around, and saw that the colors were painted in splotches all over her back. They were bruises. Her eyes started to burn as she began to realize it more and more. Her split lip had opened up in her haste, and the blood slowly trickled down her chin.