VII

"It feels like a perfect night…" Ricky murmured under his breath, "to dress up like hipsters." He fiddled with the remote, idly switching channels on the TV. Since the hero and coke addict dropped by, nobody's really come into his room save for the older nurses who liked to ogle him while taking his vitals. He figured he'd amuse himself by doing his favorite pastime: sing obnoxiously as loud as he possibly could because, why not? Unfortunately, he's had a few complaints and a visit from one of the stricter nurses (who reminded him a little too much of the uppity Blossom), which leaves him with nothing but the shitty hospital cable to ease his boredom.

Even so, Ricky wasn't one to abide by rules. "And make fun of our exes," he continued in the same hushed tone. Fuck the system, he thought to himself as he added a soft, "uh oh, uh oh." If he's a grown ass man and he wants to sing a pop country song, he's going to damn well sing it.

Quietly.

Hearing the door open and figuring it to be one of the late night nurses coming by to do her rounds, Ricky kept on. "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22!" He shimmied in his bed and pursed his lips goofily, now wanting to get a laugh out of his new audience, "everything will be alright, if you keep me next to you!"

A cold hand clenched his neck under a stone fist.

Sputtering, the machine in his left began beeping erratically in response to his panic. The wind was effectively knocked out of him thanks to his assailant pressing down on his torso with his knee. Or was it his elbow?

Cracking an eye open and daring a glance, he saw dark jeans adding pressure on his abdomen. His chest ached for air. You're just gonna have to wait, heart. He scolded his body.

"This the guy?" Smoker. That's all Ricky could distinguish, aside from the aberrantly strong scent of tobacco.

Ricky started clawing at the man's wrist, his finely kept nails getting caught in his skin. He mentally sobbed once he realized he'd have to go back to Kelly and her cougars to get his nails done again. His assailant hissed and considerably loosened his hold. As soon as he could, Ricky gasped in air.

Was that… blood? Dripping on his face?!

He started squirming, trying to find a good angle to land a kick in the kids. The man's hand never left his neck, but the scratches from Ricky's nails were dripping blood—onto his face.

"Heh. Afraid of a little blood, punk?" Ricky forced his eyes open. He wished he hadn't.

He was met with a pair of glowing (literally glowing) jade eyes and they were sinister, dark. His mouth was uplifted in the most malevolent of grins, a fanged tooth poking out against his lips. His breath was warm and reeked of cigarettes, making Ricky crinkle his nose.

"Ease off. He might know where Tweedle-Idiot is." Even in the face of iniquity, Ricky's blood ran cold once he heard that voice. The man on top of him may have been frightening in the wicked of ways, but this voice was all the evil.

The weight lifted itself off of Ricky's body and with wide eyes he watched as the man leisurely floated in the air and landed beside his… partner? No, that didn't seem right. They seemed much too familiar with each other to be just partners. There was a stronger relation there.

And was he just going to ignore that this man flew? Why yes, he was. Less complications.

Still trying to regain steady breathing, Ricky watched as the second man came forward. His eyes were scarlet and glowing in the night, much like his… companion, but they were much colder. His entire exterior was aloof, languid, but the superiority roared off him in waves. His friend may have been sinisterly disturbed (if that), but he was intimidating as hell. Ricky's entire body began shaking just by being under his stare.

"Richard Masen," if he could, Ricky would've muttered an "ah, fuck". People who called him by anything other than Ricky were trouble and more often than not meant to get him in trouble. "Where is my brother?"

Ricky impressed himself by holding eye contact with the scary one for so long. "Uh oh… uh oh…"

"You know, this isn't how I thought it'd turn out."

"You must really not know who I am then."

I heard Boomer sigh in the distance. Once I had met him outside Kat's complex, I didn't give him a chance to speak and just walked. I didn't know where I was going but considering how familiar the large houses were becoming, I figured I must be nearing Darlene's neighborhood. My brisk pace didn't amuse Boomer and I guess he had some sense to not stop me. He let me pick my pace and tried to keep up as best he could.

The silence between us became unbearable, "Well? You wanted to talk."

"Yeah, I did. I just didn't think we'd act like we were five again."

I scoffed. "You're not being hauled into an ambulance yet. Be grateful."

"Your kindness is overwhelming." I stopped in mid-step and shot him a look over my shoulder. He stared back at me impassively.

"I just thought we'd be able to talk like normal people."

I rolled my eyes. "We're experiments, idiot. There's nothing normal about us."

"Not according to you."

Boomer didn't seem the slightest bit bothered when I whirled around to face him so suddenly. "What was that?"

He blinked slowly. "I'm just saying that I'm not the only one trying to be normal."

I narrowed my eyes tightly. He doesn't know a damn thing. "You have no idea—"

"What you're going through?" Boomer tapped a finger to his temple. "I don't need to, Buttercup. It's all in here. We're the same, you and me." My jaw clenched. We may be super, but there's nobody who can ever live up to my name. Especially not a little shit like Boomer.

Even as I thought that, my posture loosened. I wasn't guarding myself around him anymore. He only scraped the surface of Buttercup Utonium. He won't like what he finds if he digs deeper. But, right now, I figured I'd do what Blossom would do. Even someone as uptight as her would listen. "Innocent until proven guilty," she would say.

"What do you want?"

"I just want us to talk without me feeling like I'm at my trial."

"Have you been to one lately?"

Boomer sighed exasperatingly, rubbing his hands down his face. "Jesus Christ," he lifted his face and frowned at me. "I haven't done anything the past few years. Believe me, Buttercup. I'm clean. My record's clean."

"And your brothers?"

There was a pause—hesitation. "They're… not me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean they're not interested in the things I—" he stopped and stared me hard in the eye, "—we are." I narrowed my stare on the ground between us. Stop it. "Stop it. I'm not that stupid kid anymore, okay? We've both changed over the years. Can we at least act like it?"

"I haven't changed a damn bit."

"Personality wise, no. But you haven't thrown me into a building yet."

Staring him down for a good second or two, I actually laughed.

"You know fellas, this can't be good for my condition." Ricky commented idly as the tips of his hair grazed the floor. He was held easily in a single hand of one of his captors while the other, the eerie one, watched from the door. This damn gown, he thought begrudgingly as both of his hands held his hospital gown tightly together as to retain his decency. He could also feel the dull ache of his IV, reminding him of his current predicament.

Without warning, his head was slammed against the marble. "Christ!" He hissed as a new headache roused. You'd think that, with this rough-handling being the consequence of spewing something smart, Ricky would know when to keep his mouth shut. But not necessarily. Nobody else seemed to be ready to talk, so he figured he'd make the first move. Even he is surprised by his own stupidity.

He was raised up from the floor and, letting one hand hold his gown closed, he hesitantly felt around his scalp. He winced. There were some bumps already forming, some larger than others, and all of them were sensitive as hell.

It took him a while to realize he was a little higher from the ground than he previously was. Looking up, he saw the green one was considerably closer to the ceiling. The realization made his stomach churn.

He's always been afraid of heights. Even with small heights such as two feet from the ground. Ricky closed his eyes tightly, his sockets burning with oncoming tears. This was fear. This was what he had to be afraid of. Not the height, not the repetitive bumps to his head. He was dealing with something superhuman. Dammit, Ricky thought aggressively to himself. He was just a guy who liked to party. He wasn't made, no less prepared, to go tête-à-tête with evil.

Before he could speak, he felt a hand grasp his hair and pull. Ricky winced once again as the sores on his head were aggravated.

"Where is my brother, Richard?" A cold sweat began to break out on his forehead and Ricky dared a feeble glance at the source. He wasn't glowering, or sneering, or glaring. He stared so impassively down at him and, without fucking trying, still made Ricky feel inferior and small. Ricky was a bug in his eyes; just as easy as he can be caught, he can be crushed.

Don't make me ask again.

It wasn't spoken, but it was hinted in the heavy atmosphere of the room. Ricky may have been many things, but he wasn't a fucking idiot. Swallowing the heavy lump in his throat, Ricky tested the waters, "Look, man." His words slurred together somewhat due to the blood accumulating in his face and the repetitive bumps to his head. The male's eyes narrowed the slightest bit at being addressed so casually, but allowed Ricky to continue. "I don't know your brother."

"Don't try me as an idiot. He was at your party." He bit back and, offhandedly, added a curt "happy birthday" all the while throwing a small bundle onto his hospital bed. Ricky heard the green one chuckle sinisterly from above.

"See, we ain't so bad now, are we?" There was a crack and Ricky instinctively flinched, thinking the bones in his foot were crushed. No. Looking up, it was the insane one's knuckles. He flexed them around and added pressure with him thumb, and each time they popped, emitting a sickeningly loud crack. Ricky shivered.

"Butch." The warning hung heavy in the air, thickening the already tense ambiance. The fingers clenched around his ankle tightened briefly, threateningly, before relaxing, still keeping a hold on him. Ricky could hear Butch grind his teeth.

With another frightened shudder, Ricky shut his eyes to avoid meeting eyes with the still-unnamed man, if that. He didn't know who, or what, they were, but it wasn't human. "Dude, for all I know, he could be in Albuquerque. I'm nobody's babysitter. I mean, look at me man," he made them painfully aware that he was clad in only his boxers and hospital gown with wires connecting him to the IV and heart monitor. "Since the party, this is where I've been. Hit my head streaking to the bridge. If he was with me, he would've skipped town—most people do when someone's being wheeled into an ambulance." He swallowed again; his tongue was starting to get heavy. "Your brother is probably doing better than me. Or worst. I don't know."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the red one stared him down, trying to tie truth from his words. It was a painfully long minute before he spoke again, "His name is Boomer."

Son of a bitch.

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