More Than Human, ch8, part 4

[essbeejay]

More Than Human, ch8

part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4

Title: More Than Human
Chapter 8: With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R/M, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus
Notes: Thanks to mathkid and juxtaposie for knowing when to leave me to my own devices and when to call me out on my bullshit.

More Than Human, Pt. 2 – Senior Fall Semester
August – With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry
-sbj-

***

“How are you feeling?” Bubbles asked as she poured a fresh glass of water for Boomer and carried it over to the couch. “Any better?”

“I guess. At least until you leave.” He grinned weakly at her, and she smiled.

“Ugh, now you’re making me sick,” Buttercup gagged from the kitchen, and Bubbles shot a disapproving look over her shoulder.

“Nobody asked you to stay,” Bubbles retorted, and Butch raised his hand from where he laid on the living room floor.

“I asked,” he pointed out. “Because Boomer didn’t feel like playing with me. ‘Go play with yourself,’ he said.”

“Hey,” Boomer warned, eyes narrowed. “We got ladies in the house.”

“Ladies cooking for you, no less,” Buttercup muttered under her breath as she set a pot of water to boil. “A little help, Bubbles?”

Bubbles looked down at Boomer and smiled again. “Drink your water.”

The look on his face was apprehensive. “Don’t leave me. What if I drown?”

Bubbles stifled a giggle and tried to look serious. “You’re going to drown in that cup of water?”

“I’m very sick, you know. It could happen.”

“You’re just… you’re so silly!” Bubbles laughed, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

“Hey, how come I don’t get any kisses?” Butch sounded upset.

“Bubbles! Help much?!” Buttercup snapped. “Seriously, for Christ’s sake!”

“Alright! Keep your shirt on,” Bubbles grumbled, squeezing Boomer’s hand before heading for the kitchen.

“Please don’t,” Butch said hopefully. “Please don’t keep your shirt on.”

Buttercup pitched a dish towel at him.

***

“Okay,” Blossom huffed, staring at Brick’s front door. “We’re here. Got your keys?”

“Mmph. Let me down, they’re in my jeans.”

Blossom shifted and eased him down to the ground. “You got it?”

“I got it,” he mumbled as his feet met the floor. Only obviously not, because the minute she stepped away he stumbled back against the opposite wall, knees crumpling.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake,” he moaned, trying to push himself up. Blossom bit back her instinctive reprimand for naughty language and instead reached to help him.

“You alright?”

“Everything except my dignity, which is clinging on by mere threads,” he groused, allowing Blossom to wrap her arms around his back and raise him to his feet. Her cheek was pressed to his chest and she paused, his heartbeat weak and irregular against her skin. His body was radiating unnatural heat in tidal waves. That wasn’t good.

“Oh my God, you’re hot,” she said incredulously, drawing back and pressing the back of her hand to his cheek.

He blinked and said, “Oh. For a second there, I thought you were jumping on the bandwagon.”

She curled her lip, disgusted, and pulled her hands back, leaving him to wobble against the wall himself.

“Yeah, because blindly trailing about in your wake like a swooning idiot is exactly how I’d like to spend my free time.”

“A good amount of girls do. I hear they’ve a website and everything.”

“Just give me your keys.”

As he tugged them out and passed them to her, he said, “For someone who hasn’t had a history of being particularly nice to me—”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Blossom snapped, jamming his key into the lock.

“You’re being unnaturally nice to me right now,” he finished, giving up on standing and sinking to the floor. “What’s up with that?”

“I help people,” she said abruptly, and pushed open the door. “It’s what I do. I’m a good guy.”

“A good guy,” he breathed as she slipped one of his arms over her shoulders and began walking him to the door. “One who helps out her mortal enemies?”

“If you still consider yourself one of my mortal enemies, then apparently yes,” she muttered under her breath as she kicked the door shut behind them. There was a brief lull in the room’s conversation as four heads swiveled round to find Blossom under Brick’s arm.

“Okay, me telling you the boys had AB was not an invitation to skip school to come visit them,” Blossom said sternly, narrowing her eyes at Buttercup and Bubbles.

“Oh, Blossom, Boomer's sick—”

“Class attendance is overrated—”

“I think I need to lie down,” Brick said, voice suddenly strained and urgent as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor, dragging Blossom down with him.

“Oh, for—” Blossom bit her lip and, ignoring the rest of the room’s eyes on them, curved an arm each under Brick’s shoulders and knees, respectively, and stood, Brick’s limp body folding up and curling against her chest. The room was already quiet, but as she straightened it suddenly seemed to get a hundred times quieter.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Where’s his room?” she asked, eyes settling on Butch and Boomer, who both wordlessly pointed at a door thataway.

“Thanks,” she muttered, and started floating to his room.

“I think I just fainted,” Brick said feebly, eyes shut and breath once again warm and sick against her neck. “In front of everybody.”

“You crumpled to the floor in a very dignified manner,” Blossom assured him. He pressed his head a little closer into her, almost a nuzzle.

“So long as it was a manly faint.”

“Oh, I don’t think it could’ve gotten more manly than that,” she said, and turned to the silent room again once she reached his door. Everyone’s eyes were still on the two of them.

“At ease, men,” she said dryly, and pushed into his room.

As the door shut behind them Butch’s face fell and he muttered, “That lucky bastard.”

***

Afternoon sunlight seeped in through the blinds, slats of light cutting across his bed. Blossom eased him down onto it and watched as he shifted on the covers, his cap rolling off his head onto the pillow.

After a moment of awkward silence she asked, “Are you… how are you feeling?”

“That’s a stupid question,” he mumbled. “I feel awesome and totally not sick. Happy?”

“Not really,” she muttered, noticing an empty glass on his nightstand and picking it up. She considered for a moment, then walked over to the connecting bathroom and rinsed it out, filling it with fresh water. When she returned he had curled into himself, his breathing heavy with sleep, and she took a deep breath as she set his glass down on the nightstand again. Another moment passed before she curled an arm under him again and tugged the covers out, smoothing them over him. He made an unintelligible sound and pressed his cheek to her hand just as she was lifting it away, and she stopped.

His room was very quiet, save for his breathing and the thudding of her heart in her throat. She felt herself blushing for no good reason and pulled her hand away, letting his head flop against the pillow.

That’s it, she thought. Go home. You don’t have to do anymore, just go home.

She took a hesitant step back, ran a hand through her hair. Bent and readjusted the sheets, letting a hand drift across his chest as she stood again.

This was stupid. Needless doting and touching, like he couldn’t take care of himself. She shook her head and turned away, squeezing out the door back into the living room. Boomer looked like he was feigning sleep on the couch and Butch was vaguely jabbing at the buttons on the remote. The girls were in the kitchen, bustling about. Blossom sucked her lips in between her teeth and strode over to her sisters, watching as they prepped and cut veggies. Bubbles met her eyes briefly and smiled. Buttercup was engrossed in her carrot washing. Blossom looked back at the boys, exhausted and pale with sick.

“What are you two doing?” she demanded as she looked back at the girls.

“Making soup,” Buttercup said shortly, and began chopping up her carrots. She still wouldn’t look up. Blossom stood there a moment, eyes flicking between her sisters and the door, thinking of Brick mumbling and breathing and fainting. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Is there,” she started uneasily, then sighed again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

***

“What a sight,” Butch sighed in happiness as he leaned against the breakfast bar, watching the girls in the kitchen. “Isn’t it, Boomer?”

Boomer groaned and complained, “I thought I told you to shut up and let me sleep!”

“Three girls! In our kitchen! Being domestic!” Butch sighed again. “There’s only one way this could get any better—”

“I have a knife in my hands, and I will cut your mouth off with it if you don’t shut up,” Buttercup warned, voice irritable as she glared daggers at Butch.

“Shut up, you two,” Bubbles said crossly. “Let Boomer sleep.”

“Thank you, love of my life,” Boomer called from the couch, and Bubbles blushed. Butch and Buttercup made faces of disgust at each other.

Blossom rummaged in the cabinets for bowls. “You guys never cook, huh? It doesn’t look like you’ve touched any of this stuff.”

“They don’t cook,” Buttercup immediately answered. “Nothing in those cabinets had been touched before we got here.”

“Why cook when you got ladies to come over and do it for you?” Butch automatically responded, and all three of the girls gave pause to consider the multitude of knives at their disposal.

“Okay, Buttercup? Explain why you are friends with him again?” Blossom said icily, ladling out soup. Bubbles grabbed a bowl and immediately took it over to Boomer.

“I am not friends with him,” Buttercup confirmed, shooting him a dirty look. “There are just extended shared moments of not wanting to kill each other that somehow worked their way into our existence.”

Butch was watching Bubbles spoon soup into Boomer’s mouth. He then turned to Buttercup and pointed at his own open mouth.

“Ah. Ah ah.”

“Like hell!” Buttercup bit, shoving a bowl at him. “Feed your damn self!”

“But I’m siiiiiiick!” Butch whined.

“You'll be sicker if you don't shut up,” Buttercup snapped, throwing a spoon into the bowl and sending soup sloshing over the sides.

He made a face at her and looked at his soup. “Fine. I’ll ask Blossom. Blossom?”

It occurred to the four of them that Blossom was nowhere to be seen.

Buttercup wrinkled her brow and said, “Blossom?”

Suddenly the sound of a slamming door echoed in the room, and all of them simultaneously looked in the direction of Brick’s room. Butch was agape with shock.

“That lucky bastard!”

***

“If you go out there again,” Brick mumbled bitterly into his pillow as Blossom shut the door behind her. “Tell them to please do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

“Language,” Blossom reprimanded quietly, and shuffled things around so she could set the soup down on the nightstand. She noted the empty glass and without a moment’s hesitation took it to the bathroom to refill it. Brick was in the process of sitting up when she returned. She couldn't believe he'd put his cap back on.

“I’m not really hungry, you know,” he breathed.

“Eat it anyway,” she ordered, setting the glass down. As she watched him steady himself on shaky limbs, a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Can you feed yourself?”

“Yes,” he said automatically and harshly, but he didn’t move to grab the spoon. His arms were still shaking. Blossom took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, considering.

“C’mon,” she finally surrendered, waving at him. “Scoot over.”

“No, I—”

“Scoot over,” she insisted, and instead of waiting for a response simply shoved him over so she could sit down. He sighed as she took the bowl in her hands and roughly stirred at the soup.

“I told you I wasn’t—”

“Shut up.” She blew on it very slightly with her ice breath, cooling it enough to drink.

“That’s a neat trick. Where’d you learn that?”

“I never really learned it,” Blossom said quietly as he let her slip the spoon into his mouth. “Just sorta… happened one day, I guess.” She wrinkled her face at him as she stirred the soup a bit again. “You oughtta recognize it. I probably used it on you when we were kids.”

“I don’t remember,” he sighed, and swallowed another spoonful. “Where’d this come from? It’s good.”

“My sisters went out and bought groceries or something—cut school to do it, I might add—and were making it when we got here. C’mon,” she urged, and he hesitated before sipping.

“When's, um... when's your dad going to have the vaccine ready?”

“He said he can bring it by later tonight. He's working on it right now. The Professor's one of only a few who can make the adult vaccine.”

“The hospital doesn't keep it in stock?”

“They keep the youth vaccine in stock, yes, but adults coming down with AB is so rare—seriously, it hasn't happened since the first outbreak—that they only have a few specialists who can whip it up when the need arises.”

“How's he going to administer it when needles can't break our skin?”

“He'll put just a little Antidote X on the area,” she said.

“Of co—” Brick suddenly went into another coughing fit, and Blossom pulled the bowl away so it wouldn't spill.

He gasped for breath after it was done and hissed, “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Blossom said, frowning.

“I hate this,” he went on. “I've never been sick before. We're not supposed to get sick.”

“Every immune system has its weakness,” Blossom said. “Even superhero ones.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks and it's stupid,” he whined, sounding remarkably like a kid for once. “I don't like it. I feel like a fucking weakling. I feel like I'm going to die.”

“Brick, you're not going to—”

“I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. And I fainted like five fucking times—”

“Actually, just two,” Blossom corrected. “And could you please stop cursing?”

He coughed again, and gasped, “I'm sore all over, and I can't even breathe right—”

He pushed his cap off his head long enough to swipe at his brow, thick with sweat. Blossom instantly set down the bowl and rushed to the bathroom, snatching a washcloth off the rack and wringing it under cold water. She sped back to the bed and grabbed Brick’s cap before he could put it back on, pressing the towel to his forehead instead. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Oh my God, that feels good,” he breathed, eyes closing.

Blossom smoothed his hair away and ran the towel along his brow to his cheek, his neck. Her other hand lingered in his hair, orange that wasn’t hers weaving along her skin. It was probably because he was delirious, feverish, that he lifted a hand and rested it on her leg, the weight of it heavy against the layer of denim. She froze, suddenly realizing she’d been inching closer to his face the entire time.

When his eyes opened she was perched a healthy distance away again, patting the towel against his neck. The sunlight fell in diagonal lines across her face, so he couldn’t quite see that she was blushing.

“Feel better?” she asked, eyes elsewhere, and he grunted assent. “Good,” she whispered, and stood, his wayward hand falling back to the bed. She hung the towel over his headboard and nudged the soup. “Do you want any more of this?”

“You can leave it,” he said quietly, watching as she fiddled nervously with his nightstand things.

“You should drink this water,” she mothered, holding out the glass. He took it and sipped. “I’ll be going now,” she announced, and backed to the door.

“Do I owe you for this?”

“Beg pardon?”

“This,” he clarified, giving a noncommittal wave around the room. “This ‘taking care of me’ business.”

Her eyes hardened. “If you have to bother asking, then yeah. I’d say you owe me.” She turned away again. “But don’t bother.”

“Why not?”

She paused at the door, then turned and met his eyes one last time. “I’m a good guy. Remember?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll think of something.”

“I already told you. Don’t bother.” She slipped out the door, their siblings’ conversation and laughter filtering in for a brief moment before she closed it, and then he was alone again.

***

“Come on, girls,” Blossom announced as she strode to the front door. “Let’s go home.”

“Already?” Butch whined. “But you guys haven’t even tried out the hot tub yet!”

“We don’t have a hot tub,” Boomer said.

Butch took a deep breath before snarling, “Boomer. Shut up.”

“We’re not dressed for a hot tub anyway,” Bubbles said innocently, and Buttercup smacked Butch before he could reply.

“Thank you,” Boomer said, flashing Bubbles a brilliant smile, and she bent to kiss him.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her lips.

“I don’t deserve this,” Buttercup said loudly, arms crossed. “Move it, Blondie.”

After another few protracted farewells Blossom and Buttercup managed to bodily drag Bubbles out and into the air.

“You are way too into that guy,” Buttercup griped as they flew home.

“At least I have a guy,” Bubbles shot back.

“Hey!” Buttercup’s voice carried threat of bodily harm in it. “I’ll date again when I’m good and ready!” They continued bickering all the way home and then some, until Buttercup said a nasty word and the Professor stuck her with kitchen detail after dinner.

“I’ve spent half my day in the friggin’ kitchen,” Buttercup grumbled as she started on the dishes. Bubbles went back with the Professor to the Boys' apartment to administer the vaccine—and also to make sure he didn't “accidentally” throttle Boomer. Blossom stayed behind.

“He was very well behaved tonight,” Bubbles announced as she wandered into their room. “I mean the Professor. Boomer slept through the whole thing.”

“Mmm.” Blossom was settled on the floor with her homework.

“What are you working on?” Bubbles asked, and was surprised when Blossom jumped.

“Just my Calculus homework,” she responded automatically, and Bubbles eyed the book in her lap that clearly read English. “I mean, History. I mean, English.” After a pause, Blossom gave Bubbles a furtive look and ventured, “Actually, in England they learn a different type of Calculus. That’s what I’m working on.”

“That’s actually kind of insulting, that you just tried that. And you aren't even in Calculus this year.”

The look on Blossom’s face was repentant. “I’m sorry.”

“So what happened with you and Brick today?” Bubbles said, her hands on her hips and head cocked. Blossom glared at her.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” After a moment, Bubbles sat by her sister. “That’s a shame.”

“No, it isn’t,” Blossom said, her teeth gritted.

“It kinda is. I mean, you have to admit.”

“I don’t—” Blossom shut her eyes, face pained for a moment. Then her expression hardened. “I’m not—I don’t like him.”

Bubbles studied her sister, watched as her eyes opened and her gaze drifted, focused somewhere that clearly wasn’t their room. The thin line that was her mouth softened, and she gave a little sigh.

“Seriously,” Blossom added, and Bubbles laid a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“That’s okay,” she assured. “I don’t actually like Boomer either.”

Blossom sighed. “Bubbles, you’re such a terrible liar.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bubbles smiled back, and her sister went quiet.

***

The next day Boomer and Butch were already back at school. Brick, on the other hand, had let his condition worsen significantly by spending the first morning out at school. The Professor said that he was going to be fine, but would need a few days of bedrest before he'd be back up and moving around. All the Boys were going to be on antibiotics for a few days.

Blossom had been slightly distracted all day. Brick was in mostly the same classes as her, even if they didn't have them at the same times. The only thing they didn't share was Art. She picked up an extra handout of everything, then packed it up with her books and shot over to the Boys' apartment as soon as the bell rang. The Dance Company could do without her for one day.

Blossom hesitated before knocking lightly on the door. She stepped back in line of the peephole, shifting back and forth on her feet and trying to look nonchalant.

Nothing happened. She frowned and reached to knock again.

“Need these?”

She yelped in surprise and dropped the armload of books she was carrying as Butch appeared at her side, dangling a set of keys from his hand. He had an interesting look on his face and laughed as she stooped to gather up her things.

“You could’ve given me some warning,” she grumbled.

“You could’ve given me his books at school,” Butch pointed out, unlocking the door. She rolled her eyes as he swung it open and allowed her through.

“Like you would’ve passed it on.”

“Hey, for you, I’d kill the guy.”

“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean my superhearing doesn’t work, jackass.” Brick’s voice was faint behind his door. “Blossom, what are you doing here?”

Butch interrupted her by imitating a porn riff. “Bow chicka bow—”

Suddenly the door to Brick’s room swung open and a desk lamp was fired out of it at breakneck speed. Blossom ducked as Butch got a faceful of lamp.

“Augh! What the hell, dude?!”

Brick appeared in the doorway, clinging to the frame and looking pale. “Clean that up,” he ordered, gesturing at the shattered lamp bits on the floor. Blossom immediately set her books down on the coffee table and began to make her way to Brick.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” he groused. “What are you doing—think twice before you ‘Bow chicka bow wow’ me, shithead,” he snapped at Butch before he could start.

“Language,” Blossom frowned. “Anyway, I… I thought you might… um… I brought your homework.” She indicated the books she’d set down behind her. He blinked torpidly in surprise.

“Oh.”

She waved her hands about, not sure where else to carry the conversation. “And, I dunno, I could go over it with you if you like—I mean, if you don’t feel—if you feel up to it, that is. Not saying that you’d have a problem playing catchup,” she hastily added. “But… um, if you felt up to it. And how are you feeling, I’m sorry, I forgot to ask?”

Brick blinked at her again. She wanted to cringe.

His gaze flicked to his brother, dumping the remnants of the lamp in the trash.

Sensing Brick’s eyes on him, Butch waved a dismissive hand and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stick around to piss you off. I’ve got plans.”

Say no, Brick thought. You should say no.

He pressed his mitt to his eyes and rubbed at them. “Um, I’m okay. Better than yesterday. Slept a lot.”

Blossom nodded. “Good. That’s good. You're not green like you were yesterday.”

“And, um… sure, yeah.” His eyes drifted to Butch, who was being a little too quiet for his liking as he made his way to the front door. “Just because catchup wouldn’t be a problem doesn’t mean I wanna do it, so—”

“See you,” Butch called out as he left.

“Bye,” Blossom and Brick responded simultaneously. The door echoed when it slammed.

***

“You ever get jealous of your sisters?”

Buttercup looked at Butch in the next batting cage. “Huh? Like of what?”

His bat made a sharp cracking sound as it connected with the ball. “Like of anything. You know, like... Blossom's all smart, and Bubbles sings and is so popular...”

“Well, we're all pretty popular.”

“Those are shitty examples. Just... you ever get jealous of them?”

Buttercup thought for a moment, swinging as another baseball came flying at her. “Yeah. Sure. Like... I know Blossom's the smart one, and Bubbles is the cute one, and I'm the tough one... but, it's like, people are scared of me. Because I'm supposed to be the tough, scary one. Like, Blossom and Bubbles are more girly, and more... I dunno, approachable, I guess. So people like talking to them.”

“You mean at school?”

“Or even just around the city, you know?” Buttercup said. “People say 'Hi' to them more often, they smile more, they strike up random conversations. People say 'Hi' to me, but that's usually it. They don't really... you know, talk to me.”

“Don't you prefer it that way?”

“I'm not saying I want to talk to them,” Buttercup said, rolling her shoulders back and readying herself for another swing. “But... the option would be nice.”

They swung a few more balls in silence.

“What about,” Butch finally said, then cleared his throat. “What about when they get things you want?”

After a second spent contemplating, she said, “Our dad's always been really good about not playing favorites, so I don't really feel—”

“What about trophies? Awards?”

“Well, we all do different things—”

“You don't feel like they get more recognition than you?”

“Dude, what bug crawled up your ass today?” she asked, stepping back and leaning on her bat. “Is everything okay with you and your brothers?”

“Just thinkin',” he said. “Brick... you know, back at... back at work. He's like their fucking Golden Child, you know.“

“He strikes me as the type.”

“He's got all the brains, all the ideas. I mean, I guess that makes sense. He's the leader.”

“His ideas don't always work though, do they?”

“No.” Butch swung, struck another ball. “But he has 'em.”

“You got ideas of your own?”

“I don't really think like that. I—fuck, you know. I don't do plans.”

“Yeah, well,” Buttercup scoffed.

“But he's always getting praised, you know? People are always throwing themselves all over the place for him.”

“I can see how he'd kinda... inspire that in a person.”

“Girls, too,” Butch said. “When we first got here. All the girls were looking at him.”

“I think they were afraid he was going to kill them.”

Butch thought back, remembering. “Maybe.”

Buttercup studied him as she lifted her bat off the ground and swung it experimentally.

“They looked at you too, Butch.”

“For like, five seconds,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You don't seem to have a problem with them,” Buttercup said. “With getting girls, at least. Keeping them's different.”

“I'm usually not interested in that.”

“Maybe that's your problem.”

“Brick's not interested either. But all he has to do is stand there and things fucking drop in his lap. He says he works for shit, and I guess he does work pretty hard, but then there's other shit that just... comes to him. I dunno. He works hard but he bleeds less for it.”

“Butch, you seem to like bleeding for things.”

He spat at the ground, tapped the dirt with his bat. “Most things.”

Buttercup took one last swing, then stepped up to the metal links separating them and leaned.

“You're really jealous of Brick, huh?” she said, in a voice that was almost comforting.

“No,” he said instantly, swinging hard and thinking of how Blossom had dashed up to his brother without so much as a look in Butch's direction. He let his bat drop to the ground, his arms hanging heavy at his sides. “I'm just sick of Brick getting everything I want.”

***

The rest of the week Blossom became almost as permanent a fixture as Bubbles was in the Boys' apartment. She passed her Dance Company duties for the week on to her fellow officers and was out through the doors before the final bell even stopped ringing, arms laden with books. Bubbles and Buttercup came over again to make another giant pot of soup. That was really the only time Blossom ran into Buttercup there again. She was hanging out with Butch a lot, who didn't seem to want to stick around. Bubbles often showed up, though, and had the very bad habit of retreating into Boomer's room. It made both Blossom and Brick very uncomfortable the first afternoon it happened, as they were studying at the coffee table.

After Brick glanced at his brother's door for the nth time, Blossom stood up.

“I'm going to check on them.”

“Thank you,” he said.

She didn't bother knocking; the door wasn't locked anyway. Bubbles and Boomer looked up from a card game they were playing on the floor.

“What?” they both asked, innocently.

After the fifth time it happened, Blossom asked if they wouldn't mind leaving his door open. That didn't help. They cooed at each other so often Blossom felt it was almost worse than the idea of them making out, and Brick thought he might be having a relapse.

“Seriously, I feel like I'm going to vomit,” he said, after Bubbles squealed at Boomer for winning the last round of Go Fish.

“Will you two take that somewhere else?!” Blossom shouted, a little angrier than she intended. A very perplexed blond couple left after that.

It was still the beginning of the semester, so there wasn't a lot to discuss, academically. Once they got through their homework—which seemed to go remarkably fast, even considering that Brick wasn't at top performance—they moved on to discussing what they should do for Mrs. Morbucks' event in November.

“Oh, I forgot, she bumped that back,” Brick said. “She called me earlier today. Said something else is going on then. We'll be doing the dance show in December.”

“That gives us more time, at least,” Blossom said. “You know, I don't think we can choreograph an entire show on our own. I mean, we'll be busy enough. Think she'd be okay if we brought in Jim? And Faust? Maybe I could ask Mel and the other officers to come up with something, too.”

They went back and forth about ideas over the next couple of days, generally stopping before it grew dark, when Brick got tired. He was definitely improving with each passing day, though, so it surprised Blossom on Thursday when she arrived—he now left the door unlocked for her—and Brick wasn't already in the living room. She set up at the coffee table and gave it a few minutes. When he didn't show up, she headed for his door and knocked.

“Brick?”

He didn't respond, so she gently opened it. He was asleep on his bed, the little bottle of antibiotics the Professor had left for him open on his nightstand. Blossom closed it and peered through it; only a couple of days' worth left. It did have a tendency to make one drowsy. He was sleeping with the blinds open, so the afternoon light was illuminating his room. She looked out across the landscape of Townsville through the window for a second, marveling at the view. Then she turned her attention to the shelves—sparse, but laden with books. She spotted Machiavelli and was reminded of their loud, very public spat in the middle of the hall just earlier this year.

Never would've guessed I'd be here now, she thought, a little cynically. He had another shelf of art books—various collections of photographs, of paintings, and an art history book on the Hellenistic period in the mix. When did you get so into art? she wondered. Had it happened when they were kids? She never would've thought it possible. Then again, it wasn't like they'd ever really talked.

There was an entire shelf dedicated to Camus. Again, the shelves were small, but the fact that he had set aside an entire shelf for the philosopher simultaneously surprised and thrilled her. Up until the Boys had arrived in high school, she'd never have considered Brick the intellectual type. One of the books was especially worn, so worn she couldn't make out the title on the binding, and she tugged it out, curious. It was a collection of essays in the original French (He should talk to Bubbles more often, she thought), and as she flipped through it the book automatically fell open to what was clearly the most read page in the book. Her eyes immediately shot to the sole line of text that had been underlined several times in faded pencil. She recognized his handwriting; he had translated it in the margin of the book.

I think my life is of great importance, but I also think it is meaningless. She mouthed the line to herself, trying to feel the same meaning Brick obviously derived from it. There was a sudden shifting on the bed, and she turned, closing the book and returning it to the shelf as she did so. Brick was sitting up, and as soon as he caught sight of her he seemed taken aback.

“Is it... is it four already?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Blossom moved to the foot of his bed, then, after a moment, sat delicately on the edge. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm okay. Just the meds. Made me sleepy.” He yawned. “Didn't expect to nap so long.” Something suddenly seemed to occur to him, and he glanced around the room.

“I didn't find anything incriminating,” she assured him, cracking a smile.

“Oh, good.” After a pause, he said, “Didn't run into my FHN collection, huh?”

“Not funny,” she scolded, but her expression wasn't exactly angry. He kicked off the covers.

“I'll be right out,” he said as he floated to his bathroom. “Just need to splash some water on my face.”

“Okay,” Blossom said, then, without thinking, “I'll be waiting.” She could hear the water running, filling the sink.

Brick was silent for a moment, then finally said, “Okay.”

***

Boomer and Bubbles were up in the sky relaxing amidst the clouds when he got a sudden phone call.

“Dude, I didn't think you could get reception up here,” he said in disbelief, then flipped it open. “Yo.”

“Boomer! What the fuck? You haven't shown up to practice all week!”

“Hey, Mitch,” he said, smiling at Bubbles. “You know I was sick.”

“For one day, jackass!”

“Hey, I'm out with Bubbles right now,” he said, and Bubbles perked up.

“Of course you're out with Bubbles,” Mitch grumbled. “How about coming out to see your band? And maybe practicing once in awhile?”

“Naw, man, I'm good—”

Bubbles snatched the phone out of his hands and said, “We'll be right there, Mitch,” before hanging up. Boomer pouted at her.

“But I want to hang out with you!”

“I can go with you,” she said. “Besides, he's right. You've been hanging out with me an awful lot. The guys probably miss you.”

They stopped by the apartment to pick up his guitar—Bubbles waved at Brick and Blossom in the living room—then booked for the Floydjoydsen's house.

“'Bout time,” Mitch muttered. The twins didn't look very happy, either. “Have you been practicing?”

Boomer shrugged. “Here and there.”

Bubbles darted a glance at Mitch and shook her head, mouthing, Haven't seen it.

“Great,” Mitch muttered.

“Tuning,” Boomer announced, then, after that was done, they started up their first song, stopping only once they hit the bridge and Mitch fucked up the bass part. Boomer had played perfectly up to that point.

“Geez, Mitch, I thought you'd been practicing,” Boomer quipped, and Mitch glared at him.

“Boomer, be nice,” Bubbles said from her corner of the garage. After getting through that one with minimal flubs, Mitch suggested one with a harder guitar part. Boomer snickered. As with the first, he played this one perfectly, too. In fact, he played them all perfectly.

“I thought you said this guy hadn't practiced,” Mitch said in disbelief to Bubbles.

“I said I hadn't seen it,” she said, clapping proudly. “Boomer, when do you do it? When your brothers are asleep?”

“No, Brick would kill me,” he said. “Are we good for the day? Can I get back to hanging out with my awesome girlfriend now?”

The guys grumbled their assent, and Boomer and Bubbles left, her clinging to his arm.

“You're so good,” she said happily, pressing against his arm.

“I know,” he said, smirking.

“Seriously, when'd you discover you had this special power? Was it when we were five?”

“No, I was... older than that,” he said, still smirking. “'S not really a special power. Or, well, I guess it kinda—”

“But you never have to practice! That's pretty much a special power, isn't it? If you can just, you know, do it?”

“You know, tell you what. Let's go. I'll show you.”

***

The rest of Brick's and Blossom's afternoon went as per usual. They got through their homework, then lapsed into discussion of the big charity event. They decided that next week, once Brick was back a hundred percent, they'd start rehearsing. Once settling that, Brick looked out the window and realized it was already dark.

“Oh my gosh, it's almost dinner time,” Blossom said, incredulous. She started to pack her things.

“Did you guys have plans tonight?” Brick asked.

“No, the Professor's working late again. It's just leftovers.”

Brick glanced at the clock, fidgeting. He was feeling better. A lot better, in fact. Well enough to go out...

He tried to think of someplace to take her. What kind of food did she like? Someplace nice; he thought she might like that. He bit his lip and rubbed his hands along his jeans, his brain working furiously to come up with a suggestion.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, already at the door.

“Yeah, bye,” he said hoarsely, and the slamming of the door echoed in the now eerily quiet room. He sighed and went into the kitchen, heating up the last of the soup for dinner. He finished it at the dinner table in silence, occasionally glancing at the coffee table in the living room, decorated with his open textbooks. It bugged him that he'd thought of asking her. It bugged him even more that he hadn't.

After some pacing, he stacked up his books and decided to just get ready for bed. He thought he might actually go in to school tomorrow, even if the meds made him sleepy. He started to shed his clothes to dump them in the hamper, then went around the room collecting any other discarded clothing. He cringed as he did so; shit, if he'd known she'd come into his room he'd have cleaned up the place a bit, and maybe double-checked to make sure she wouldn't find anything incriminating. He fished through the pockets of a pair of jeans, just to make sure he didn't lose any bills in the wash, and discovered Joseph's business card. Brick paused, his eyes tracing the phone number as he thought about Blossom, upset and ashamed in the booth last week. Joseph had asked her, he was sure of it. Brick felt a dim fury well up in him at the idea; even though Blossom had no reason to be ashamed of her beauty it made him inexplicably angry that Joseph had asked such a thing of her.

He thought about tearing up the card, about setting it aflame and watching those ten digits, those six letters, curl into black ash. Then he opened the drawer of his desk and grudgingly set it down, next to Reccardi's, and continued to get ready for bed.

***

Boomer took her to the music store they'd visited over the summer. It was already dark and closed, and Bubbles hesitated as Boomer knelt and examined the lock on the gate.

“Boomer, what are we doing here?”

“I just need some instruments,” he said, producing a little blue spark of a key and using it to jimmy the lock.

“You're stealing?” she gasped.

“No, no,” he assured her as the gate gave and he set about working on the door. “I just need a place with some instruments. I'm just trying to show you.”

Bubbles still held back, even after the door was open and he beckoned her inside.

“Boomer, no. I don't like this.”

He came up to her and gave her a quick kiss. “We're not taking anything, I promise. I just want to play some instruments for you.”

She reluctantly let him lead her into the dark store—that was another thing creeping her out, and Boomer found the lights and hit them. Then she just felt like they were on the spot, begging for the cops to come.

“We won't be here long,” he promised, then stepped back. “Okay. Pick an instrument. Um, maybe not something that requires me putting my mouth on it. Not that I mind, but whoever buys the instrument might.”

Momentarily distracted, Bubbles thought. She knew he played guitar and piano.

“Can... can you play the drums?”

They found a kit in the back of the store and she discovered, yes, Boomer could play the drums.

“Pick another one,” he urged her, grinning.

“Um... how about the xylophone?” Another percussive instrument, but definitely different from the drums. They located the xylophones, and Boomer played those, too. She was smiling when he finished.

“What else?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said, looking around. “What about... oh my gosh, do you think they have a harp here?”

There was one harp in the store, a very expensive one behind a red velvet rope on a platform, and Boomer clambered under the rope and then played While My Guitar Gently Weeps so sweetly that it almost brought Bubbles to tears.

“That was beautiful,” she said as he finished, her eyes moist.

“Pick another,” he said simply.

“I don't even... um, banjo.”

He played the banjo.

“Violin.”

He played the violin.

“Cowbell.”

He looked at her. “You're kidding, right?”

“I can't think of anything else,” she said, sinking onto a stool. “I can't believe it. Where—you said this isn't a special power?”

“Well, it only... kinda is,” he said, scratching his neck. She shook her head.

“I don't get it. What do you mean?”

He knelt next to her, a secretive look on his face. “Promise you won't tell?”

“Tell what?”

“Not even my brothers know about it.”

The exclusivity of his request thrilled her so much that she started to whisper. “What is it?”

“I didn't discover I had this special power,” he said quietly, his eyes glittering. “I asked for it.”

She stared at him a second, trying to process the information. “I don't—what?”

“I didn't, you know, figure out I had any musical ability or anything like that,” he explained. “I... asked for it. And I got it.”

“No, I mean... how do you ask for something like that? Who do you ask?”

“I asked Him,” Boomer said, and Bubbles gasped and shot out of her seat, sending the chair clattering to the ground.

“What?” she said, her voice tiny and her expression horrified. Boomer looked up at her, confused by her reaction.

“What's wrong?”

“You asked Him for your ability?” she asked, panic rising in her.

“Yeah.”

“How... when? When did you ask?”

“I guess... when I was eleven or so. Before we left Townsville.”

“He took something in return, didn't he? Did he take something of yours?”

Boomer shook his head. “He said he'd just ask a favor of me later—”

“Oh my God,” Bubbles gasped, covering her mouth and feeling tears welling in her eyes. “Boomer, how could you do that?!”

“I thought... I thought you thought it was cool, just a second ago,” he said, uncomprehending.

“Before I knew that you made a deal with Him for it!” she cried, unable to look around them, at all the instruments Boomer had played with borrowed ability, borrowed talent from the Devil. “How could you do that?! Don't you—don't you know what He could do to you?”

“You don't think I can take care of myself?” he said, a little offended.

“It's not a matter of whether you can take care of yourself or not!” she shrieked. “That's not going to matter when He—”

The distant sound of sirens cut her off, and after a frantic few moments the both of them stole out of the store, flying well away into the sky and taking cover behind a cloud. Boomer looked sullen and hurt. Bubbles almost felt sorry for him, but she was too upset with worry.

“Why did you make a deal like that?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to be good at something,” he bit out, a little emotional. “I... you know, Brick was the guy with the plan, and Butch was the guy with the violent streak, and I...” He was staring down at the city below them, biting his lip and shaking his head. “I had nothing. Nobody had anything special to say about me. Except that I was stupid.”

Bubbles' gaze softened as she took his words in. “Oh, Boomer.”

“So I wanted... so I thought about it, and thought it'd be really cool if I could play an instrument and sing. I didn't really care about being smart, or tough, you know. I didn't... think I could compete with my brothers when it came to those things, anyway. And I thought with Him being, you know, all-powerful and all...” He trailed off, then, a little bitterly, “I thought you liked it.”

She came close, touched his face. “I like you.”

“You got angry about it,” he mumbled, still staring at their feet.

“Because I'm worried about you,” she said, touching her forehead to his. “You know? I just don't want anything to happen to you.”

Boomer glanced at her, then sighed. She almost didn't want to ask it of him. But she had no other bright ideas. It probably wouldn't matter, but it would at least make her feel better. A little. She gave him a soft little kiss on the lips.

“Boomer,” she whispered. “You should stop playing and singing.”

He jerked away from her. “What?!”

“You... you should stop,” she repeated, sadness in her eyes as she tried to make him see. “It's like... the more you do it, the more you're going to owe Him when He finally comes to collect.”

He looked around helplessly. “How do you know?”

“I don't.”

“I don't want to!”

“I know,” she said quietly, tears welling up. She didn't know how else to make this better. He'd already gotten his ability from Him. He'd already been using it, all these years. And Him still hadn't come for Boomer, which only made her wonder how horrible it was going to be when He did..

“Boomer, please,” she said, grasping at him and forcing him to look her in the eye. “For me. Please?”

He stared at her as she clenched at his hair, her tears cutting tracks down her cheeks.

***

“He quit the band?!” Buttercup gasped, incredulous.

“Fucker doesn't show up for an entire week to practice, comes in and plays everything perfectly, and then ruins my God damn Monday by waking me up at like one in the morning to tell me he's quitting!” Mitch exclaimed.

“Dude,” Butch said. “Them's tough breaks.”

“Did he give you a reason?” Buttercup asked.

“No. He was bitching about needing to spend time with Bubbles before, though.” Mitch groaned and thumped his head against the lunch table. “Fucking great. I don't know, I think Floyd and Lloyd and I are just going to give it a rest. You know? Fuck it. It's our senior year, anyway. It's as good a time to go out as any.”

Butch glanced at Buttercup, who looked a little melancholy. She hadn't been with them for almost a year, but obviously she still felt some ties to No Neck Joe.

“That sucks, man,” she said as the bell rang and they started to gather up their stuff. All three of them had a free block now, but Buttercup couldn't hang out—she was heading to Volleyball practice early. They said their goodbyes and split.

Butch withheld a sigh when he walked into their apartment, glad that Brick was better and back at school. Coming home to his brother and Blossom in the living room for nearly a week had been kind of a mood killer, and he was glad for the lack of it now. He rummaged through his drawers for his stash of weed, then discovered a most troubling thing: he was out.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” he muttered. He hadn't been smoking that much, had he? He checked his pockets, then the pockets of his other jeans. Damn. He was definitely out. He groaned and flopped back on his bed. After a second, he flipped onto his stomach and searched for his phone, scrolling to Mitch's number.

“Hey, man,” he said once Mitch had picked up. “Help a guy out, would you?”

***

Mitch was busy running errands or something for his mom, so Butch couldn't head over until it was almost dark. He played games until then, and once Mitch called and told him where he lived Butch dashed over.

“Dude, I really appreciate this,” Butch said as he landed in Mitch's trailer park.

“Don't mention it,” Mitch said, leading him inside. He waved at an old thing planted in front of the TV—Butch assumed it was a person, but it didn't move, so he wasn't sure—and then opened the door to his room. After closing them both inside, Mitch dug for a tin under his bed.

“You are a lifesaver,” Butch said, slapping some bills into Mitch's hand as he handed over almost half of his stash.

“I try,” he said as he pocketed the money and returned his tin to the cavern under the bed. Butch looked around.

“Mitch, I’m not saying so to offend, but you kinda live in a shithole,” he laughed, nudging a water-damaged stack of magazines over with his foot.

“Fuck you too, man,” Mitch said, opening up a mini-fridge and popping the top off a soda. “You want one?” Butch held up his hand and Mitch tossed him a can. “You fucking spill that on my floor and I’ll kick your ass.”

“You and what army?” Butch snorted. He pressed the cold can to his forehead and sighed. “You at least have an A/C in here or something?”

“You cry like a bitch, you know that? In all the times she’s been over, Buttercup never complained as much as you have, and this is barely your first visit.”

Butch had started to sit on the bed, then suddenly shot up. “Speaking of, when was the last time you washed your sheets?”

Mitch flipped him off. “Less than a year ago, jackass. Go to hell. For what it’s worth, we never did anything like that.”

“You do anything worth talking about?”

Mitch scoffed. “Nah. It wouldn’t have done us any good. Whatever that means.” He shrugged, fixated on a dusty shelf. “We weren’t that into each other.” A weird moment passed, during which Butch broke the silence by finally popping open his can of soda.

“So,” he started—

“Mitch!” a woman’s voice suddenly shrieked.

“What?!” screamed Mitch, making Butch wince.

“Come give me a hand!”

“With what?!”

“Just come give me a hand!”

“God damn—” Mitch groaned and thunked his soda down on the desk. “I’ll be right back, man. Don’t fuck anything up while I’m gone.”

“Whatever.” Butch watched him go, then turned back to study the room. Metal and punk rock posters littered the walls. From the look of them, they might have been put up just to hold the walls together in the first place. CDs, DVDs, and magazines covered every other available surface in the room—shelves, the desk, the floor, the bed. Butch’s eyes trailed across the chaos of wrinkled paper and cracked plastic sinking into the rug. Dust and old water spots—Butch imagined the place leaked, which might explain the smell—had accumulated everywhere. The only pristine thing in the room was Mitch’s bass guitar, perched carefully in a corner and nestled between a tiny amp and a bookcase, of which only half a shelf was dedicated to books at all.

Butch wandered over to Mitch's desk, where his PC sat. Mitch had an old CRT monitor—seriously, that thing was ancient—hooked up to a struggling unit under the desk. It was on the screensaver, and Butch nudged the mouse. The screen flickered to Mitch's desktop, and Butch sipped at his soda while scanning the names of the files and folders. He paused and squinted, his naturally sharp eyes picking up on something amiss. It took him a moment to place. Where everything was labeled mostly intelligibly—band, school, pics—there was one folder titled absolute gibberish, a random selection of letters and numbers. Butch pursed his lips and looked back at the door, then double-clicked on the folder. A little window popped up prompting him to enter a password. Ha. He'd just discovered Mitch's porn collection. Butch wondered if he had anything good in there.

He heard a thump and snapped his head up, eyes on the door. He could still hear Mitch on the other side of the trailer, grumbling about something or another while Ms. Mitchelson griped at him to stop complaining. Apparently he was still occupied. Butch looked around and discovered a stack of blank CD-Rs under the desk.

It was only one folder, so it took no time at all to burn. After extracting his fresh CD from the drive and taking the desktop back to its screensaver, Butch located an album to borrow and hid the burned CD in it under the actual disc just before Mitch returned.

“Hey. Sorry, man, gotta kick you out.”

Butch downed the rest of his soda and crushed his can. “'S cool,” he said, tossing it into the overflowing wastebasket, then held up the case in his hands. “Hey. Mind if I borrow this?”

***

Butch arrived at home to find Brick in the living room. Alone. He could hear Boomer rustling in his own room, behind the closed door.

They grunted at each other, and Butch retreated to his room to partake of his drugs. He tossed the album on his bed, figuring he'd get to it later, maybe after a hit or two.

There was a dim booming sound from outside, and Butch looked out of his window as he opened it, peering through the darkness. Huge clouds of smoke billowed out from what looked like downtown Townsville, near City Hall.

“Huh,” he said, lighting up.

***

Brick, meanwhile, wandered back into his own room and sat on the edge of his bed. It had been a weird day. They'd actually kinda talked to each other, which was weird—they'd gotten used to talking to each other here, at his place, but at school... Well, since they'd gotten so into the habit of yelling at each other at school, it was just weird to have a civil conversation there. He nudged the carpet with his foot absentmindedly, trying not to think about it too much.

A distant boom in the city drew his attention. He looked up, frowning, then opened the blinds to see a large plume of smoke rising from the center of downtown.

“Mwahahahahahaha!”

His superhearing picked up on Mojo's familiar laugh, and he watched as three streaks of pink, blue, and green shot out of the suburbs and towards the very heart of Townsville.

***

“We were wondering when you'd show up again, Mojo,” Blossom said, staring up at him in a newer, more updated version of the last Giant Robo Jojo they'd destroyed.

“Aw,” he cooed. “Are you actually saying that you missed me?”

Buttercup yawned, and Bubbles chirped, “A little.”

“I'm sure! Because an evil mastermind such as myself would indeed provide you with some much needed excitement in this stuuuuupid city, with its stuuuuupid people, not to mention the regular promise of a challenging fight, much in the way that dogs need to be exercised—”

“Did you just call us 'dogs?'” Blossom exclaimed, offended.

“Whatever,” Buttercup announced, throwing her arms up. “Can we get this over with? I had a long day of practice and I've got more tomorrow morning, so let's cut your Mojo-logue down tonight and just get to the part where we kick your ass!”

“Language!” Blossom and Mojo screeched at her.

“Buttercup, I know this is a fight, but that's no excuse!” Blossom scolded.

Mojo shook his fist at her. “While I may be a villain, I do expect a certain amount of respect, courtesy, politeness, even from you, my most haaaated enemies, so zip up that insolent little foul mouth of yours and learn some respectful English!” He paused to consider. “You do have a point, however.”

And with this he punched a giant button, and a deep rumbling occurred. Suddenly, out of the darkness emerged countless more Giant Robo Jojos, flocking to their master and surrounding the girls.

“Wow,” Bubbles said, looking around. “Someone's been a busy little monkey lately.” Buttercup made a face.

“Excuse me, but where the fuck were you hiding these things?!”

“Buttercup!” Blossom shot her a warning glance.

“Wash your mouth!” Mojo said, and shot her in the face. Before Blossom and Bubbles could retaliate in their sister's defense, he fired at them, too, knocking them both to the ground.

“Oh, Mojo, you are in for it,” Buttercup seethed, wiping the remnants of the black liquid away and pulling herself to her feet. Blossom stared at the dark fluid sinking into the asphalt and a dim horror welled up in her. She recognized it. She recognized the smell. She heard a sudden whirring sound as Mojo powered up his laser, and she scrambled to her feet, tackling Buttercup out of the way as he fired right where she'd been standing. They hit the asphalt, and it actually hurt a lot.

“What are you doing?!” Buttercup cried, trying to push her sister off, then pausing as she caught sight of her scraped hand, gravel dug in amongst the red.

“Mwahahahahahaha!”

“Mojo, you cheater!” Buttercup snarled.

Where did he get more Antidote X? Blossom thought frantically to herself. The Professor kept it under guarded lock and key in the lab, heavily protected, and he was supposed to be the only one who could even create it. Mojo hadn't successfully stolen any for the past few years, and if anything, that stealth fighter they'd faced at the beach would've sapped any reserves he'd had of it dry.

“Whoo! Excellent aim, was it not, Powerpuff Girls? And good, that it was excellent, as that was the final drops, the absolute end, the very last of my Antidote X stores.” He sneered and maneuvered the robot into a crouch, so his perch in the head of his Robo Jojo—a robot fashioned after his likeness, naturally—came level with them. “Got you out of the way as quickly as possible! Incidentally, you now also have the perfect front row seat to witness my complete, finite, ultimate takeover of Townsville, and then, of the woooorld!”

Buttercup glared at him, cackling behind his glass. Then she drew her fist back and punched it, hard. The clear surface cracked, just slightly. Mojo ceased his laughter.

“Hey!”

“Didn't improve your glass much, I see,” she grumbled, and brought her fist back again. The Robo Jojo stood and swiped her away, knocking her against the leg of another.

“Buttercup!” Blossom and Bubbles dashed over to help her up.

“Well, girls, it has—as you young people say—been real. But I have more important, grown-up duties to attend to. Like taking over Townsville! Mwahahahahahaha!” He began to pilot his Robo Jojo away, and the rest of his robots began to disperse as well. Most of them. The girls stared up at the few that didn't move, the few that stayed right where they were, bearing down on them. Bubbles swallowed.

“Um, five. We can take five, right?”

“We can take five hundred,” Buttercup snarled.

“No,” Blossom said matter-of-factly, fearlessly, despite her panicked, racing heartbeat. “Not like this. We can't take any.”

“That's—” Buttercup started, but then one of the robots raised its foot, and the girls had to scatter as it smashed down, crushing the asphalt where they'd stood.

“Not cool not cool not cool!” Bubbles cried as the rest of the Robo Jojos followed suit, doing an odd, robotic dance of sorts as they all tried to squash them. Blossom dodged one foot after the other, then looked off into the distance at the sound of a crash, gasping.

“They're destroying the city!” she cried.

“No duh!” Buttercup snapped. “What the fuck do you think he made them for?!”

“We have to get back to the lab!” Blossom shouted.

“We're all the way on the other side of town!” Buttercup shrieked.

“Well, do you have any bright ideas, Buttercup?!” Blossom yelled back. “I don't see you suggesting anything!”

Buttercup drew up to her as she fled another robot, glaring. “I suggest we fucking fight back!”

“Watch your language when you talk to me!”

“Both of you cut it out!” Bubbles snapped, snatching them both by the arm and dashing them out of the way of another foot. She tripped on the upturned asphalt and they all took a spill, hitting the ground once again. Buttercup hissed as her injured hand ate more gravel.

Bubbles moaned, “Having no powers sucks. And it hurts, too.”

Blossom pulled herself up to her feet, looking up in dismay as they were surrounded by the five Robo Jojos. The clicking and powering up of five lasers all at once was almost deafening. Bubbles stood up beside her, gripping her hand.

“Blossom,” she whispered, her fear and uncertainty evident. “What do we do?”

We might be able to dodge them, Blossom thought. If they ran, right as the robots fired, they could steal between the legs...

A bright glow built up in the well of the laser, and Buttercup instinctively moved to the front, her shoulders tensing.

“As soon as they fire, girls,” Blossom whispered. “Run for it.” She started counting down in her head, trying to be calm, to think straight, to not panic. One... two...

“Run!” she screamed, the very instant the lasers sounded, and the girls broke.

She saw Bubbles trip and scream, but before she could turn to help she hit something hard, face first, and stumbled backwards to the ground.

We're done for, she thought helplessly, but when death proved to be nowhere near as painful as she expected, she blinked and slowly looked up, and discovered what she'd run into.

A green, flickering dome surrounded them. To the side, Boomer was gripping Bubbles' hand—she hadn't tripped, she had been snatched out of the way. He was glaring at the remains of one of the robots outside the dome, cut to pieces. In his other hand flickered an immense, crackling blue sword. Outside the dome the last vestiges of a bright red flash were already fading, the other four robots lying still and dismembered on the ground. Butch lowered his arms, smirking at the girls, and the shield flickered off.

“Aw, girls,” Butch said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Look at the mess you got yourselves into.”

“Shut up, Butch,” Buttercup snarled.

He was undeterred; almost giddy. “Looks like you'll have to let the boys handle this one!”

Blossom stared at Brick as he hovered, looking down at the robots he'd just destroyed before turning and meeting her eyes. Beyond him, Mojo's cackle echoed in the distance.

-end Ch. 8-