If you're still here, Hi! Hello! I thought about this fic and realized that I didn't give Butch's poverty. So here is a short chapter covering that. I might do another chapter after this, if the inspiration strikes. Thank you all for checking out this story!
He didn't know what happened. He had no clue how he was standing in the too-small basement bathroom of his family home. A pre-renovated, tales of the crypt, little bathroom that was the main setting in the nightmares he and his brothers would have as kids.
Nightmares caused by their own foolishness as they'd bet each other to see who could stay cooped up in the tub the longest after dashing away from the mirror having whispered "Bloody Mary" three times.
That damned mirror frightened him even more now as he stared at a face that was his, but wasn't. It was too young, too soft at the edges. The stubble he'd had last night was gone with nearly smooth skin in its place.
His hair was longer and spiked in a style he'd gotten rid of before the end of college. See it now was a fascinating reminder of how douchy the style made his personality look.
He would have stared a bit longer in disbelief if his eyesight hadn't flickered and darkened with a mind-numbing, drilling pain that caused his legs to buckle. Gripping onto the sides of the sink he barely held himself upright.
It felt like He'd been boxed in the head, "Holy Mother of Fuck, Shit. What the Hell?" Hard. Extremely hard.
He had to be dreaming, but a dream never felt like this. Hell, He'd done fucking shrooms in a club parking lot in college and He'd never felt like this. The thumping of heavy feet on the middle of the staircase that led down to the basement made his head sting even more.
"Butch! Don't you have that movie to go too? Hurry your ass up, I don't wanna hear Blossom complaining about Buttercup's bitching if you miss it."
The sound of Brick's voice straining over the loud bass of the song blasting through the speakers lining the main room of the basement made him register the fact that music was playing at all.
The pain in his head drowned out the sound.
It was some old pop punk song that Buttercup told him to listen to, and being the lovesick bastard that he was, Butch remembered that he played it into oblivion, hoping to memorize the lyrics in some cheesy attempt to impress his best friend.
Finally feeling the pain dial down he looked into the mirror again. Fascinated, he watched as his mouth moved to answer his brother, "Yeah! Yeah…I'm leaving soon." He doubted Brick could hear his response over the music, Butch could barely hear himself.
He pulled his hair in a vain attempt to remember what hell was going on. He tried to calm himself down, freaking out now would do nothing for him. Whatever the fuck this is, happened. It was done.
Somehow, he'd leapt through time. Somehow, he was somewhere between eighteen and twenty again. He had another chance.
He slipped out of the bathroom and grabbed the stereo remote, clicking the system off, he tossed the control back onto the old couch he grabbed it off of. He took in the room, eyes glancing around at the photos taped to the walls and the sticky notes on the coffee table.
High school mementos and photos were scattered on the walls. Some of them he'd admittedly forgotten with the passage of time, but he'd never forget Buttercup's obsession with sticky notes.
Buttercup was notorious for her sticky note habit in college. She stuck them everywhere, color coded. Red meant important, and one glared at him. In her cute slated script (only he would be head over heels enough to find the way Buttercup wrote the letter "t" cute) he read, "Dune: Nov. 12th. 8pm. Be. On. Time!"
"Holy shit, it's that day!" November 12th was D-Day for Butch Jojo. The day his life came crashing down so hard that he couldn't forget it. Well, that was an exaggeration. To be more accurate, it was the day he was too chicken to tell Buttercup how he felt after she let it spill that she may have feelings for Mitch Mitchellson.
Mitch Mitchellson. A deadman. A cheating bastard. A coward who ruined the best thing that could have possibly happened to him. God, Butch wanted to punch something.
As much as he hated Mitch right now, that Mitch wasn't here. He didn't exist. He wanted to curb stomp a kid that did nothing wrong yet. And Mitch would never get the chance to, not if Butch could help it.
Barreling up the stairs he caught eyes with Brick as he sat at the kitchen table looming over a bowl of cereal.
"Blossom would judge you so hard if she saw you eating Trix, the sugariest cereal we have by the way, this late at night."
Brick's back straightened with a scoff, "You're gonna tell her that? Are you that petty?"
He laughed a bit before glancing at the clock above the refrigerator, "Well, if I remember correctly, you have like 5 minutes to scarf that down before Pinky gets here. If she catches you, I won't have to say shit."
The sight of a nineteen year old Brick had him a bit dazed. His brother used to be sooooo uptight, face always set in a frown. Thirty-four year old Brick had all sorts of emotions plastered on his face. At the time, before this time leap shit, it was a quiet wonder and a soft smile as he'd place a hand over his wife's pregnant belly, patiently waiting for a strong kick. Blossom would flash him a wide smile and place her hand over his larger one, softly massaging his outer palm as she glanced down at her stomach.
He was so close to meeting his 2nd nephew, but getting sent back like this would make the wait a bit longer. It was worth it.
Grabbing his keys, he darted to the old beater car his brothers shared. It took a couple of cranks to get it started when his vision went dark. The pain ebbed in the back of his head, flashing with the vague sight of what would have been the drive to the theater.
"What the hell was that?" His car was parked in the back lot of the theater, engine off and cold as if he'd been sitting there forever, but the flickering digital clock on his dash said 7:36 pm.
This time hopping shit was gonna get old, fast. Jumping out, he made his way to the front to purchase a ticket, mumbling his grief at the thumping between his eyes…
It was a strange feeling, seeing his best friends as young adults again. Teenagers. The lines in their faces are gone, faces a tad bit softer. But that strange feeling was amped up when he caught that first glimpse of her.
He saw her before she saw him. Dark hair and small frame drowning in green. His hoodie looked absolutely perfect on her. The "Boyfriend Hoodie" was in full effect, and he wasn't even her boyfriend. At least not yet.
When Boomer first crushed on Bubbles Utonium, they were twelve years old. At least, that was the story Boomer liked to tell. Butch knew his brother like the back of his left hand. Brick, the right. Butch knew that little five year old Boomer Jojo was adorably smitten with Bubbles Utonium.
So smitten was he that at 19 years old, Boomer sang praise over his dear girlfriend and her kleptomaniac tendencies of stealing his Abercrombie sweaters and hoodies. Why praise a bad habit? Butch ignorantly asked one day and his brother laid it out perfectly, "Because nothing is more attractive than my love wearing my favorite pieces of clothing. The way it makes her look even smaller, the way she smiles as she pulls at the sleeves. It's such a warm feeling."
And indeed it was warm. Scratch that. It was hot, burning, and he hoped that Buttercup couldn't see the way that heat rose to his face.
The movie was just as good as he remembered it, but if he had to be honest, he barely caught the first half. Though his eyes were on the screen, he was watching Buttercup in his peripheral. Watching as she shook and twitched slightly, a tell that she was anxious.
Grabbing her hand smoothly in a hope to be suave, he wondered if his hand was sweaty, or clammy, or if she was just extremely warm. The theater was pretty cold, but she felt like a human space heater.
He never let her hand go. Swinging them as they conversed with their friends, he wondered if he was being too obvious. Or worse, weird.
He was a grown man, granted de-aged through some weird mind bending means, but an adult man nonetheless. Buttercup is nineteen, though not a minor, a part of him felt a bit off.
Would he ever be able to tell her the truth? Would he ever jump back to the future? Was this indeed a dream that was too good to be true?
If it was a dream, he'd have his flight to Oregon to catch. Already backed, his suite case was placed by this front door, waiting.
When he'd gotten the three way call from her sisters, Butch nearly shit his pants in misunderstand. He'd thought Buttercup was in the car with Mitch. He thought they were both hurt, and for a few seconds the thought of Buttercup passing fluttered in his brain. The sickness bubbled up immediately.
Bubbles' voice snapped him out of his oncoming panic attack.
"Buttercup wasn't in the car…but Mitch. Mitch didn't make it."
He could hear her shuddering breath when she paused. Her last sentence was veiled with a quiet, haunting sob that bled into her voice.
He felt it again, the nausea. The sadness. His friend was gone.
Then the sadness delved into anger once the sisters told the rest of the story. About that he did, his betrayal. Butch saw red. The sickness stayed, he still mourned. But God, was it hard. The disappointment in his friend was palpable, he could taste it in the bile that threatened to rise from the back of his throat. He could feel it in the way his forearms flexed and how his knuckles cracked.
Butch was pissed, sad, mournful, regretful. He was a mess. A complicated, angry mess.
He decided to give Buttercup her space, she deserved it, but the moment she called, texted, hell, emailed, he would be right there.
He laid next to his phone for a couple of hours, just knowing she would call soon. He knew her.
Just as he'd decided to sit up and get ready to shower, the trill of his ringtone, specifically assigned to Buttercup's contact, played.
By the first ring he'd already dove for the phone and answered it…
"No, it's okay. Butch, I'm okay. I just-"
There came that swell of sickness again. Sitting upright from his laid down position, Butch let the words spill out of him. He wasn't listening to his brain at this point.
"NO! It's not okay! He hurt you, and now he's dead! I should have never- Fuck!"
"Butch…" Buttercup sobbed. His heart squeezed even harder in his chest.
"I should have never backed away. I should have never let him just waltz in and take you. Not when I knew how much I- How much I cared about you." Butch had already started packing his clothes, and he knew Buttercup could hear him shuffling around as he'd placed her on speaker mode.
"I'll see you soon Butters. If you don't send me your address, I'll just get it from Blossom or Bubbles...I love you Buttercup, and I always will."
He hung up faster than he would have liked as his brain finally caught up with him.
He knew what he meant by that, "I love you." It was the same meaning he'd always given it. For almost as long as he'd known her, before she even had daydreams of being Buttercup Mitchellson, Butch knew he was in love with Buttercup Utonium.
He didn't let go of her hand until they slid into that booth. He didn't think he could breathe until he confessed everything.
And when he did, when he realized it was her, he fought the urge to laugh, to cry. He kissed her hand, wishing it were her lips, gently making a vow that he'd never let their future go the way it once did.
Thanks for reading!