CHAPTER 78: DO NOT CRY WOLF

ME: *stares blankly at the floor*

BUTCH: Uhh… *leans to whisper to Buttercup, gesturing* what's Kuku doing?

BUTTERCUP: *shrugs* How am I supposed to know? She's been like that for—

ME: IT'S FINALLY DONE.

BUTCH: What's done?

ME: THE NEW CHAPTER. IT'S FINALLY DONE.

BRICK: *glances at calendar* Wow. This time it took you like, 10 months. You updated September 6, and now it's July.

ME: Yes I know, and I am so sorry. I had to finish school, then I was doing NaPoWriMo in April, and then my phone got stuck in a boot loop and well…

BLOSSOM: Uh-oh.

ME: Uh-oh is right. I had to reset my phone to factory settings so I lost everything in it that wasn't on the internet: photos, notes, and so on. That also means I've lost a chunk of my Call of the Wolves planning and other writing stuff, but I'm…doing my best to make it work.

BRICK: So—

ME: And before you say anything sarcastic, I'm also dealing with existential crisis as I finish up school and worry about the future and deal with this current pandemic and also try to write a proper academic thesis all while trying not to cry. Plus I cut my thumb open so I typed a lot of the latter half of this using my left thumb and right index finger on my phone, and now I can feel how tired my index finger is from stretching out so much.

BRICK: …I wasn't going to say anything sarcastic. Just that since Kuku has dealt with so much, it'd be nice if everyone leaves a review, I guess.

ME: *taken aback* Oh… That would be nice, yes. Please let me know if you enjoyed the new chapter, and sorry again for taking so long! In good news, I finally figured out the designs for Vix and Christie after years of struggling to draw them, and soon you'll be able to see them on my Instagram and Tumblr under kukuandkookie and my DeviantArt under kuku88! Oh, and I've also been a lot more active writing-wise on Archive of Our Own under kuku88 if you want to check my stuff out there! I make a lot of stuff for donghua, manhua, and more right now!

Chapter 78: Do Not Cry Wolf

There was knocking on her door which she really really wanted to ignore, but it was starting to grow more and more insistent as time passed.

Buttercup swivelled around in her office chair, glaring daggers at whoever was behind that door. "What?" she demanded.

It pushed open and her older sister popped her head in, pink eyes wide. "BC? What's up?"

"Why are you asking me? You know what's up, don't you?" Buttercup flicked the stubby pencil she'd been writing with irritatedly, causing it to fly into the wall. "Boomer's unconscious and now all the Rowdyruff Boys are here as everyone tries to save him."

Blossom frowned as she closed the door behind her, stepping further inside her sister's room. "I wasn't referring to what's up generally."

"Then what were you referring to?"

"You." The pink Puff crossed the room and sighed as she sat down on Buttercup's bed, sinking lower as her shoulders fell and she suddenly appeared very, very tired. "It's bad enough that Boomer's been hurt, but I couldn't help but notice your attitude."

"What attitude?"

"This attitude." Blossom gestured at her, as if all of her were a problem.

Buttercup recoiled a little. "What does it matter?"

"I think it does." Her sister's voice and gaze were calm as she continued, "I got to speak with Butch briefly, and—"

"And what? It's not like he ever says anything useful," she interrupted bitterly.

"That's exactly the problem."

"Him never saying anything useful?"

"No, you and him."

"What about us?"

"He told me you two got into another fight recently. Or rather, I managed to pry it out of him."

Buttercup snorted. "Aren't you Little Miss Nosy?"

Blossom smiled wryly in response. "Sometimes it's the only way to get answers around here. Besides, I had to talk to him about something else anyway, regarding an issue Brick shared with me."

Now her curiosity was piqued. "What?"

Blossom hesitated. "That's confidential information…"

"Oh come on, Bloss. Don't tell me you're going to become like one of the Rowdyruff Boys, always hiding secrets from us," she groaned.

"Well, I'm finally starting to realize why they hide stuff from us, and…it makes sense, if we're going to be fair to them."

"I don't want to be fair to them. Least of all Butch. He doesn't deserve it," Buttercup said grumpily.

Blossom sighed. "I know, BC. But it's really really important to them."

"What else could possibly need hiding? I already know they're vampires!" Buttercup burst out in frustration before she could stop herself.

Her sister's eyes widened as she froze. "Y-You know too…?"

Buttercup froze, her slip of the tongue having shocked even herself. She didn't even realize right away that Blossom appeared to have also known information similar to hers.

"So he did tell you?"

"Who?"

"Butch?"

"No way that fuckface would ever tell me anything!" Buttercup crowed indignantly, briefly forgetting her mistake from earlier. "Ross did."

"Oh, I see." Blossom appeared to be deep in thought for a few moments before asking, "And he told you the Rowdyruff Boys are vampires too?"

Now Buttercup hesitated. "Well, not exactly. He told me…" She paused.

"Let me guess. He told you he was a vampire," Blossom offered.

Still she hesitated, before sighing and nodding. "Yes."

"Brick mentioned that Vincent is probably a vampire, and that his friends are definitely vampires. Seems that includes Ross, and seems that Brick really was telling the truth—not that I doubted him or anything!"*

"Wait, Brick told you that? A Rowdyruff Boy actually told you something?"

Blossom's wry smile came back, this time with a hint of amusement. "Yes, well, as you said, I'm very nosy. And he's my boyfriend."

"I'm still impressed a Ruff would say anything."

"To be fair, Ross told you his secret because he's also your boyfriend. This is what couples do when they trust each other: tell the truth."

Buttercup glanced at the wall, where her stubby pencil lay. "But he's always been more open with me than Butch is. Even when we weren't dating."

"You know Butch's personality. Rough around the edges but with a good heart. He's defensive and stubborn and temperamental; I'm not surprised he'd be so protective of his family's secrets." Blossom paused, sighing. "Brick too. It took us a long, long time to reach here."

Buttercup didn't reply, still sullen. They should tell us. They're our friends, aren't they? I've always been closer to Butch and Brick. Why can't they tell me?

"BC… If there's one thing I've learned since I became Brick's girlfriend, it's that relationships take a lot of work." Blossom smiled, suddenly appearing very tired. "When he got amnesia and I was hesitant to bring back the old him because we had our stupid fight, or when we started dating and I…I got attracted to Vincent… Each and every time we hit a roadblock, we had to work together to get over it.

"And I think you should try that too—with Butch. I know he's hurt you, but you have to understand where he's coming from. It's frustrating, but it's true that it's dangerous. I'm sure if we were in their situation, we'd want to keep things secret too."

Buttercup's shoulders loosened a little, but she didn't stop glowering at the wall. "It's not fair. They should trust us."

"I know. And they do. They just…want to protect us." Blossom sighed. "Just…try and talk to him. You two can't do this forever, and sooner or later you'll realize you miss him. And the only way to get over this issue is to communicate with one another."

"I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to communicate. I'm not going to miss him," she retorted stubbornly. All he ever says is sorry.*

"And do you really think you two will be able to carry on like this forever?" she responded, her tone incredulous. "You'll have to avoid each other for the rest of your life. You'll never get to talk or game or race or do whatever with one another ever again. For the rest of your life, you will be estranged from one another. Do you really want that?"

Buttercup paused, the words having struck a chord within her. She suddenly recalled days when they were younger and more carefree, Butch and her playing and fighting and play-fighting. They'd been good friends then.

Did she miss that?

Her heart tightened. Maybe, but that doesn't mean I miss him. "I could try."

Exasperated, Blossom said, "Try what? Hating him for the rest of your life? BC, relationships are never this black-and-white. You just argued this once; don't be overdramatic."

She whirled on her sister, her voice rising. "Overdramatic? Bloss, he's constantly hiding things from me! This just so happens to be the last straw! Why is it that Butch, someone I've known longer, can't tell me jackshit while Ross, someone I only met a few months ago, is willing to put his faith in me?"

"Because he really likes you, BC!"

Buttercup froze.

Blossom lowered her voice, repeating, "He really likes you. He may even love you. And that comes with trust."

She looked away. Even though it was obvious she and Butch weren't a thing, it still stung for some reason knowing that he didn't care enough for her to tell her the truth. She was happy with Ross, but she wished Butch trusted her enough too.

"Ross loves and trusts you. Butch cares for you as a friend, and that comes with a protectiveness."

"He knows I have superpowers. We both do, so he knows how strong I am. I don't need protection."

"It doesn't hurt to be careful."

They both spun towards the door, which had been pushed open without them noticing. A boy with spiky black hair and forest-green eyes stood in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest.

"Butch," breathed Buttercup, before she remembered her anger and she threw her pencil at him. "What are you doing in my room!? And haven't you ever heard of knocking!?"

He didn't flinch as the pencil whacked him on the cheek, even though it must've hurt considering Buttercup's rage and super-strength. "I didn't think you'd let me in if you knew who I was."

"Damn right," she growled back.

Butch sighed, uncrossing his arms and standing up straight. "BC, I'm tired of all this fighting. Can we stop?"

"I'll stop when you trust me more."

"I do trust you."

"And yet you won't tell me anything. And don't just say 'you have Ross' again. I know I have him and he's my boyfriend so he trusts me and blah blah blah, but we're friends and you should be able to trust me as—"

"Honestly, you talk too much." He planted himself in the middle of her room, sitting down cross-legged.

She glared at him. "Oh jeez, I wonder why," she replied scathingly, her voice sarcastic. "Maybe because one of us doesn't ever say anything useful."

"Point taken." Butch planted his hands on his knees and gazed up at her. "That's why I'm here to say sorry."

She snorted. "You did that last time and it didn't work out quite well, remember? All you ever say is sorry."

"Right." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I also came here to tell you some things. Especially since I found out Brick's already told Blossom." Here he glanced at the pink Puff, who appeared to feel really out-of-place as a sort of third wheel. "But I see she's beaten me to the punch."

"I didn't mean to," Blossom said quickly, apologetically.

"Much use that information would have done me! I already know from Ross," added Buttercup.

"Yes, but I thought you'd like confirmation." Butch stared down at the floor, now appearing hesitant and unsure. Then he looked up, his eyes tired and even scared. "I was…" He paused, swallowing. "I was going to tell you more."

Now Buttercup snapped to attention, her eyes wide. Is he about to admit he's also a vampire? Or could it be something else?

He met her gaze, his own searching hers—for what? she wondered briefly—but she was far too breathless with sudden excitement to dwell on it for long. He seemed slightly disappointed that he hadn't found what he'd been searching for in her eyes but drew himself up anyway, taking a deep breath.

"Sh-Should I leave for this?" Blossom wondered aloud, her voice almost too loud in the crackling stillness.

Butch smiled, although it was a tired smile. "It's fine. You know enough already, and I can't imagine Brick will keep this from you for long." He turned back to Buttercup, his eyes now pinned to hers as he began slowly, "I wanted to explain our rivalry with Ross and his friends."

Buttercup's head jerked upwards. Things had grown so crazy since those days when it had just been her wondering why the Rowdyruff Boys and Ross' friends didn't get along that she'd nearly forgotten the question. She certainly hadn't expected this to be Butch's big reveal, but at the same time she realized her curiosity on the matter was still piqued, so she let the surprise go.

"We…We have a longer history than just meeting in high school and becoming rivals," Butch admitted. "We've actually known each other since around the late elementary school to middle school period.

"Back then it was a much simpler rivalry, but we hadn't known…" He stopped himself for a second, seemingly searching for the right words. "We had this mentor, you see, named Damon. He was one of the kindest people we knew, and he had an adopted son called Vix."

Buttercup and Blossom shared looks, both of their eyes stretched wide. They recognized both names. They'd met Damon in his cabin, where he'd nearly shot them, and Buttercup had fought with Vix, while Blossom had heard Brick accuse Vincent of being Vix.

"We didn't know Damon's past but we didn't care," Butch continued, oblivious to their silent exchange. "We liked him for who he was. But then we found out that he may or may not have done something horrible to Ross and his friends' families, and by then it was too late. Michael's uncle Danes…he…he split Vix and Damon up forcibly. Then Damon vanished without a trace until recently, and he acts so insane now."

Definitely insane. Buttercup remembered how creepy Damon had been, laughing and talking in this smooth yet eerie voice that echoed with hidden threats. He'd given them tea and cookies and yet also threatened to shoot them.

"But what did this Damon do?" Blossom wondered aloud.

Butch was silent for a really long time, staring off into space. Buttercup was afraid admitting a single secret had taken so much out of him that he'd just completely shut down.

Feeling softer towards her counterpart now, she leaned closer to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Butch?" she asked, her tone gentler than anyone would ever expect hers to be.

His gaze snapped back to her, fixing on her apple-green eyes once again. They seemed to pull him back, and soon he answered in a voice so low both Puffs had to strain to hear him.

"He may or may not have killed Ross' father."

Ross set down the pen he'd been using to take notes on his father's diary, sneezing lightly as a sudden chill went through him. He surveyed the room, wondering where it had come from.

His room felt dark and huge and gloomy, its walls stretching far apart and yet still feeling like a prison. He suddenly felt very, very lonely, and he wished Raymond were still here.

He wanted to apologize to the man for confusing him for his twin brother earlier, especially since so many of Danes' soldiers already associated him with Damon too closely, judging him for his brother's crimes. He certainly didn't need one of the few vampires who trusted him also viewing him as an extension of Damon.

Ross certainly hadn't meant to do so. He'd just been so wrapped up in his own grief, so overwhelmed with emotion that he'd wanted to ask Damon why he'd hurt him like that. And Raymond had just so happened to be there, looking so much like Damon…

Yet Raymond had only wanted to help, and Ross felt like he'd pushed the man away.

Not only that, he was sure Raymond suffered the same mixed feelings on Damon that Ross did, albeit in somewhat different ways.

You need to stop doing this, Ross, he scolded himself. He was doing it with Sydney, and he'd done it with Shamus when he was younger. Even though he and his uncle got along much better now, but Ross cringed whenever he remembered how ungrateful he'd been before.

He turned his attention back to his father's diary. Lifting it up and squinting at it, he sighed. What secrets do you hold? What else can I glean from you?

The normalcy of his father's passages, filled with both pain and joy, later became more joyful…at least until Sylvie died. Then the words became muddled and stretched out, with empty spaces in between. His father's hand became unsteady and the words less coherent.

"'Still gone

Today.

Can't seem to

Breathe. Shamus says to get some rest.

I want to rest.

Rest. Rest.'"

Ross frowned. What happened to you, Dad? Did you… Did Mom's death drive you crazy? Or were you trying to leave a message? For who? Uncle Shamus? Or me?

Or maybe even Damon?

"'Damon stopped by again. He wants me to eat.

'You've become skin and bones,' he said. 'A shell of your former self. Please eat, Ty. Just a little, even.' He resorted to begging. It reminds me of when he first joined us, and whenever he was upset, I would come to his room and try to get him to eat.

I ate a little, for his sake. He watched me lift a spoonful of rice to my lips and watched me chew and watched me swallow. He watched me eat the whole thing, not leaving until I had finished.

'Thank you, Ty,' he said before he went.

He looked like a shadow, standing against the doorframe. He said I look ashen. More ashen than usual. Perhaps I am like the books that surround me. Skin of ashes and bones of paper.

I wonder if paper and shadows can hurt me.'"

Seeing the lines made Ross wonder. Did you suspect him, Dad? But then why didn't you stop him?

"'I'm afraid.

I hope Ross will be alright. Shamus fears I am scaring him.'"

Seeing his name made him freeze. Sometimes he felt so disconnected from his parents, he forgot they were once tangible to him.

Bending over the book, Ross felt the tears come again.

He wanted them to be tangible again.

"'I miss peace.'"

His phone rang just then, and he pulled it out of his pocket to glance at the screen. Through his tears, he managed to make out Buttercup's picture and her name, causing him to accept the call.

"Hello?" he sniffled.

"Ross? Ross, are you okay? Are you crying?"

"I'm fine. Just…sniffly." He realized how pathetic of a lie it sounded, especially since his voice came off so nasally, but he felt too tired to form anything more believable. "What's up?"

She hesitated. "I…just wanted to check on you."

He furrowed his brow. "Is there any particular reason? Something gone wrong?"

"No, I…I just missed you."

His shoulders loosened. "Aww, BC, I miss you too."

"I love you."

"I…love you too."

"If you ever need to talk, just give me a call, okay? I'm just a phone away."

"Of course. But why did you think I wouldn't be okay?"

"I just had a feeling. A gut feeling." She paused.

"BC?"

"Ross… I met someone recently. Someone scary. Dangerous."

He furrowed his brow. "Who? Is it because I told you I'm a vampire? I'll be sure to talk to them so you don't—"

"I met a man in the forest."

Ross froze.

"Ross… What…What do you know about this man named Damon? He…said he knew your father. That they were once friends."

His breathing grew laboured. "Did he say anything else?"

"He said he killed your father."

His eyes widened as the phone slipped from his hand, suddenly feeling like a rock. It hit the floor and he could hear Buttercup calling his name, but he was too stunned to move.

Damon admitted it. He finally admitted to killing my dad.

Ross stared into nothingness, a nothingness as vast and empty as the universe. And suddenly he felt like an insignificant speck as the universe swallowed him whole.

He curled up on himself and began bawling, all while Buttercup called his name.

And in front of him, the diary's words blurred.

"'I wonder if paper can burn.'"

Damon was running. Running for his life, away from a place he used to call a second home, away from his old friends, and most of all…away from a body. His footsteps felt heavy in the dirt, with his legs dragging through the grass as if they were made of lead. He stumbled on though, desperate to get away, scared of what they would do to him when they found and caught him.

He had hurt his own friends, those he'd come to consider a family, and now they wanted him dead for what he'd done.

Panting, he ducked down and avoided a heavy tree branch. His hands felt sticky with the blood that dripped down his fingers, drying in the rush of wind against his skin. Something loud howled in the back, a full moon lingering in the sky like a ghost, slowly sinking.

It's insane what can happen in a few years, Damon thought as he ran, memories dancing in his mind.

To think that he'd once believed he stood a chance with Sylvie, the most beautiful person in the world. But of course her generosity needed someone to match her, and Tyrone's kindness had been the perfect one. Matches made in heaven, everyone called them.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Tyrone had asked over and over again, his brown eyes wide with guilt behind his glasses.

Shamus and Damon had looked at each other. Despite everything, Damon had smiled and said, "Of course!"

And so they'd given their blessing, and soon Tyrone and Sylvie were together.

The special pendant that Sylvie and Tyrone had gifted him became little more than a constant reminder of what he'd failed to do, and how torn his heart had become.

Damon had done his best to fix his broken soul since the discovery that Sylvie loved Tyrone, but the news of their engagement had still managed to crack his heart a little more.

"Damon…I want you to be my best man."

He'd set down a flower arrangement in surprise, chuckling as he said, "A-Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather have Shamus do it?"

"I asked him and he told me he was too nervous planning everything to be best man. He was the one who recommended you."

"Really?"

"Of course, Damon." Tyrone smiled. "I know you loved Sylvie. But I'm eternally grateful you were willing to support us."

"Ty… It's the least I could do, after everything you've done for me."

"You're a noble man, Day. One of the noblest I know."

I'm not jealous.

While he did his best to support the couple, Damon's growing jealousy was dangerous. It also came with an immense burst of guilt. Watching the couple dance or kiss or even talk—it was hard, sometimes, and when the envy came, so did the fear.

While he was the best man, there was still that part of him that longed to imagine that his suit was that of a groom, and that Sylvie was walking down the aisle as his girl. But she wasn't. She was Tyrone's, and only his.

I'm not jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm not jealous.

His feelings had never been as intense as they were the night of the wedding. Perhaps it was the intensity of knowing that after this ceremony, he would lose her forever. There was regret in how he'd failed to win Sylvie over after so many years together, watching her laugh and smile and say such beautiful things, falling for her again and again, always deeper and faster.

So he imagined.

The fantasy was almost real enough that he started to believe it, drowning himself in it to avoid the inevitable pain. Every step drove her closer toward him, but then she walked past him and his fantasy fell apart in broken, jagged pieces. He watched her and Tyrone exchange vows and a kiss. He watched them become officially man and wife. It hurt so badly, but he did his best to smile and cheer and celebrate.

It was after a year that Sylvie was pregnant. She gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, whose features resembled Tyrone's so much that the boy's very existence briefly drove a wedge further in Damon's heart. They named him Ross. It was a Scottish name, meaning both a headland and woody meadow. Damon had helped them decide on a name, and they chose Ross because they wanted him to always be free, out in open fields.

"We named him Ross so he can fly in the sky," Sylvie had giggled after they explained the freedom aspect of his name. She'd said it in her dreamy, imaginative way—the way that made anything seem possible.

Damon's heart skipped a beat and the pendant felt warm. But then he saw Tyrone nudge her and joke that what she was saying was impossible, and he began hurting all over again as the pendant became icy, stinging cold against his skin.

But of course he was happy for his dearest friend. When Tyrone approached him carrying the bundle with a smile, Damon had stiffened.

"Your new godson," he had murmured.

Damon glanced at him and felt his heart swell. Any rage inside him suddenly only manifested for himself—he hated himself for his own envy of his best friend. He loved him with all his heart for saving him so many countless times.

He looked back at Sylvie, still lying in the hospital bed. She smiled encouragingly.

So Damon picked the boy up, and the pain he felt lifted off his skin like a million songbirds as the tide came in, his heart swelling with an ocean of love.

"Ross," he'd breathed. "Welcome to the world."

Sylvie was right. Ross was capable of making hearts soar.

But then Sylvie had died.

And so many hearts came crashing right back down to the ground, but none harder than Tyrone's. He fell through the earth at breakneck speed, as if he wanted to reach his dear Sylvie one more time.

Ross was only six. His mother had always been sickly and a little weaker than others, but she always seemed to be getting better. Everyone had been terrified when her condition had worsened, with her staying in bed more and more every day. Soon she had trouble doing things others could do.

Damon knew Tyrone was devastated. Even as his friend hid behind a mask of reassurance, forcing smiles, he fell deep into depression and cut himself off from his friends. He was strong enough to still take care of Ross, but even that eventually became a strain despite his love for the boy. Shamus took over much of Ross' care, making sure the boy wasn't lonely or scared or neglected. Damon helped as best he could, worry and hurt for his best friend gripping him.

Still, there may have been something crawling in the back of his mind, scratching at his brain like nails on a chalkboard. This scary part of him kept saying that it served Tyrone right for stealing Sylvie from him. The very idea sent chills down his spine, and Damon would push away the disturbing thought as soon as it whispered its entrance in his mind. He constantly reminded himself that he wasn't jealous.

But maybe, after everything, he really had been.

Damon stared down at his hands, still sticky with drying blood. The rising sun shot tendrils of light that burned his skin, and he buried his face in his hands. Fat tears streamed down his eyes as everything around him blurred and lost meaning. He'd just lost his entire world. Everything and everyone.

From now on, he could never go back. They would hate him for the rest of their lives, and rightfully so.

The blood on his hands was that of his best friend, a brother he'd betrayed—a brother he'd been betraying for years.

Because he was jealous—he'd always been jealous.

Vix walked, but he wished he could run. He was carrying a basket of berries that Damon had sent him to gather, along with some other groceries he'd fetched and a few pieces of prey he'd managed to catch.

For just the two of us, Damon is going through some of these pretty fast. He glanced down into the basket. He hadn't been given a long list this time—just toothpaste, eggs, spinach, pork, and a pack of gum. Vix half-suspected that Damon had simply wanted him out of the house for a while.

And now I'm picking berries. Delightful. He lifted a blueberry and studied it blankly before popping it into his mouth. Then he continued pulling more off the plant to fill his basket.

He felt extremely tired for some reason. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed to himself. I guess it has been hard to sleep in that prison that Damon calls my room.

But it wasn't just that he was trapped in that cabin. It felt wrong sleeping there now—back in his old home with the man he'd once called a father—but now everything had been turned upside-down. The cabin no longer felt like home, that man no longer felt like his dad, and he even found himself missing his room in Danes' mansion.

He found himself missing Christie.

He snorted. Ironic how things changed. It wasn't long ago that he used to lie awake in the Hawthorne mansion, thinking instead of Damon and his wooden cabin, missing them along with the open, clear starry sky in the forest.

But that was before the war. Before he fell in love. Heart clenching, he placed his hand on his chest and tried to breathe. How are you, Christie? I hope you're doing well—hopefully better than I've been doing. I'm sure your family was delighted to have you back.

I wonder if you're smiling right now, with them? A part of him wanted to wonder about whether she would be frowning with worry for him, but he also didn't dare.

He would rather she be happy with her family than thinking of him again for whatever reason. He didn't need her throwing herself back to Damon's cabin and putting herself at risk again—no matter how much he and she knew she was capable, Damon was still dangerous.

And unlike Vix, Christie wasn't expendable. He plucked a raspberry off the bush to study. Not that I'd have it any other way. Her life is priceless.

I hope you know that. I also wish you knew how much I love and care about you.

Although…I know I never truly admitted it to you. Still, I just wish you could know. And maybe…I would dare to wish you could feel the same about me. This was the one thing about being alone. He could say or think the things he usually wouldn't dare acknowledge.

Placing the berry in his basket, he then continued on his way, brushing aside brambles and thorns without a thought to the pain they caused his skin. He simply let his right eye heal all the small external injuries.

At least that way, he could trick himself into thinking it was helping to heal his heart.

He continued working away at the berries for some time, picking many different kinds off the bushes, but soon he found the harmless errand causing him to shudder. He should've been alone, and yet it felt as if someone was tracking him.

Vix turned around. There was no one he could see, and he couldn't seem to smell anything either.

He narrowed his eyes before refocusing on a bunch of blackberries, still keeping watch cautiously from the corner of his eye.

Something was approaching. A humanoid—man? Vampire? Other?—of some kind that he couldn't make out the details of.

Vix spun, the basket waving in the air as it dangled off his arm, his leg sweeping forward as he tried to kick his tracker.

Whoever it was, they flipped back two times and stood back up, fists raised. They were carrying a dagger.

Vix's eyes widened before narrowing. So it wasn't just me being paranoid. There really is someone tracking and trying to attack me after all. He got into his own stance. "What do you want, stranger?"

The person, who was dressed entirely in black with a black mask over their mouth and their hair all wrapped up and hidden, seemed to scoff. They charged forward and swiped at his neck, but Vix easily blocked it.

They tried again for his waist with their free hand, which was holding the dagger. Vix blocked that too.

"Not bad, huh?" he hissed.

His opponent responded by leaning forward and slamming his forehead into Vix's.

Growling in pain, he stumbled backwards while the other person stepped back calmly. "Fuck you," he spat, waiting for his vision to calm down. Even then, his head was still pounding.

His attacker slid back into position and raced forward, shooting their leg out and catching him in the stomach. Vix gasped as he fell to the floor, hacking.

They then elbowed him on the back, forcing his face further into the dirt. He could then hear the dagger whistling through the air.

Vix rolled away just as they stabbed the grass, a large crack appearing. Vix stared forward with large eyes. If he'd stabbed me with me that much force, he could've bent the blade and destroyed my body.

They ran towards him again but now Vix made the first move, refusing to let them get the upper hand again. He flipped backwards and kicked them in the chin before grabbing their neck with his legs and throwing them through the air into a tree. He then landed gracefully back on his feet.

The person stood up and charged again. They exchanged blows for some time, simply fist against fist and leg against leg, but then his attacker stomped hard on his foot.

Gritting his teeth in pain, Vix leaned down to punch him in the stomach.

His attacker grabbed him and threw him into some brambles. Then they descended on him, fists flying.

He managed to block some of them, but the attacks came too fast for him to stop all of them. The fist connected with his face. Then his stomach. His chest. His mouth.

Vix wiped his lips with the back of his hand, which had started bleeding. "Asshole. You know you have that dagger, right? You're wasting your energy."

To his surprise, his attacker actually responded. Their voice was a low, raspy voice, but it sounded male. "Perhaps…I want to do this."

"You want to torture me? No quick, painless death for li'l ol' me?" He raised an eyebrow. "How gruesome."

This time they didn't answer, instead punching him in the face.

The sheer force of it pushed his face away, and he could already feel his left cheek beginning to swell, but he simply spat at the ground and looked back at the person. He grinned cheekily. "Nice hit. Mind if I return the favour?"

Then he kneed them in the groin.

The person groaned and collapsed, holding that area in pain, and Vix quickly got up. He stomped down on their neck and watched in satisfaction as they wriggled somewhat.

"Now let's see who you really are," he muttered, reaching to peel away their mask as he sniffed the air cautiously, trying to find their scent and decipher it. He was already running down a list of potential suspects, and most of them were vampires. The only question he really had—besides who was this person specifically—was why were they doing this?

He knew he wasn't exactly popular and even Danes might've suspected him of treason by now, but he found it a little unlikely the gruff man was giving him much thought. Definitely not enough to send an assassin after him.

And there was, he supposed, that flickering spark of both hope and fear—the kind he always felt when he wished the people he was with cared even a little about him—enough not to send someone to try and kill him. He knew he was viewed by many vampires as insufferable, but he'd liked to imagine he had a place at the Hawthorne mansion, and that even Danes could've developed a little sympathy for him.

He took a deep breath. The answers aren't going to come to me if I just keep standing here like an idiot. At the very least, his attacker had stopped squirming.

He began unwinding the fabric, but he froze when he spotted a flash of colour.

Then the person plunged their blade into his leg.

Letting out a frustrated, pained hiss, Vix staggered off of them as he tried to nurse the injury. He gripped the hilt and ripped it out, his eye immediately turning white as it tried to heal the wound. His flesh started bubbling over as it regenerated, but he was still left exposed in an awkward position, balancing on one leg.

His opponent took advantage of this, charging toward him and punting him into a tree.

He groaned as he crashed into the bark, sliding down into some bushes. The world was starting to spin a little. Okay. So that's bad.

He tried to stand up and found himself swaying. He fought gravity for a bit before collapsing on his hands and knees, staring at the grass. They were doubling in his blurring vision. Okay. Okay. So this is really really bad.

The hit was hard, sure, but it couldn't be messing with my senses this bad, could it? he wondered, trying to push himself up.

Still unstable.

He felt the person kick him in the side, but even the pain that richoted in his ribs was numbed. Really really really bad. And getting worse.

What was going on?

Then he spotted the dagger lying in the grass, which had become almost fan-like now that he was seeing triple.

Poison?

He snorted to himself. That sounded delightfully cliché.

His enemy had moved to retrieve the weapon. They returned to his side, lifting it.

And Vix could only watch through bleary eyes, feeling powerless. So he did the one thing that he could still control: he closed his eyes and waited for it to plunge into his flesh.

Maybe this is what I deserve. It felt a lot like fighting himself actually, all things considered. Perhaps he could view it as metaphorical.

He could barely hear, but he could feel something numbly sharp, as if the person was carving rather than stabbing. A little over-the-top and macabre, if you asked Vix, but he thought he could hear the person whispering, "Time to trim the roses."

Roses?

His mind was going in a lot of different directions—the poison may have been making him just the teensiest bit loopy—but the mention of the flower reminded him of the colour scarlet and its scent. He couldn't forget what he'd seen briefly under the fabric wrapped around his assassin's face and hair, or what he'd managed to smell of them.

Pieces of a puzzle fitting together. The problem was that the person hadn't smelled like much of anything, at least to him, although up-close that tiny whiff almost felt horrifyingly familiar. And then that moment he'd lifted away some of the fabric had only further confirmed his suspicions.

He'd seen a flicker of bright red hair, the colour of blood in the forest light.

"Are you sure you two are going to be okay?"

Michael turned forward from the window at the sound of concern in his mother's voice. "We're alright," he murmured.

Christie nodded, still staring out her own window. She still came off as dazed, even though their trip had ended and they were now going home from the funeral in Redstone.

After a fairly lengthy time away—or lengthy enough, considering the war—Michael was ready to go back to fighting. Part of him hated it, but the other part of him was so worried what they could've missed while they were gone that he was desperate to return. I hope all my friends are okay.

Inexplicably, his mind's eye flashed a girl with long blond hair in low pigtails and sunny yellow eyes.

Michael grimaced.

"Michael, honey?" Maggie glanced back at him as she pulled into their driveway.

He forced a smile. "Nothing. Just…letting myself mourn the loss of Clara and miss Genevieve one more time before we become emotionless soldiers for the war again."

"Oh, sweetheart… You know that's not what we want for you." She faced him directly now that the car was stopped. "Even if we're fighting a war, we can still have feelings. I want you two to be able to mourn the losses and celebrate the victories and to fall in love, despite everything." She glanced at Chris, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

"Your mother's right," Chris said softly. "We fight this war because we feel so much."

Maggie's lips twitched upwards in a slight grin before she leaned forward and kissed her husband's nose. "That was so cheesy," she teased.

Michael rolled his eyes, any consideration of his father's philosophy now slipping away as he tried to ignore his parents' public display of affection. He glanced at Christie again.

Despite Chris saying that this war was due to intense feeling, Christie looked emotionless. Or at the very least, entirely blank.

Did the funeral really affect her that much? he wondered.

After the family got off the car, Michael told his parents he would hang around outside a bit for some much-needed fresh air. The drive home from Redstone had been a long one, after all. They nodded and headed inside, with Christie about to follow. But Michael stopped her, grabbing her wrist.

"Wait," he said breathlessly.

She paused.

"Christie…"

"Yes?" She faced him now.

He scratched the back of his neck. "I just wanted to double-check on you. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine—or as fine as you are, which is as fine as we can be, all things considered."

"So does that imply part of you isn't fine?"

Something softened in Christie's features, the weariness fading a smidge. It was like seeing the ghost that had possessed her briefly leave her body. "Michael…I appreciate your concern, but I don't understand it. We're going through the same pain right now, aren't we? How you feel is how I feel. And we both know we won't address it anymore now that we're back home and we have duties to fulfill again."

"But it's not the same—"

She frowned. "I suppose you're right. You lost Banana. Doesn't that mean you're hurting more than I am?"

He flinched at the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name, the image of her yellow eyes again returning to his mind. "And you lost Vix," he pointed out.

Christie shook her head. "I don't know where all this concern for Vix comes from, but I told you. I don't care about him. I never have, and I still don't. The same way he never cared about me."

"That's a lie."

She stopped.

"Or at the very least, it's a lie that Vix never cared about you." He forged onwards, attempting to gain a strong footing on the slippery slope he'd now thrown himself on.

Christie's fingers tightened into fists.

"He was one of our closest allies. One of our best friends. And he really liked you, Christie." Michael stared at her trembling hands. "I think he might've even lov—"

"He left us!" she snapped back. "He's a traitor!"

He stared at her, astonished at her outburst. "You know that's not what happened—!"

"Enough. I'm going inside." Christie whirled around and stalked up the steps to their front door. She only paused when she had twisted the knob, glancing back to say, "For what he's done, I despise everything about him."

The door slammed shut, leaving Michael standing there staring at the ghost she'd left behind with wide eyes.

He frowned and turned away, kicking at the pebbles by his feet as he pondered his sister's attitude. He was disappointed she now acted like she couldn't talk to him; that she was hiding what had happened between her and Vix. Michael knew this had to run deeper than she insisted.

He wandered about the gardens, glancing up occasionally at the windows of the mansion. Part of him didn't want to head back inside, if only because the house felt so gloomy these days. He wondered if Christie was sitting there now, watching him.

The thought made him shiver, which only made him more frustrated. Since when am I scared of my own sister?

But isn't that because she's not acting like my sister?

The thought was small and barely a whisper in the back of his head, but it was still there.

Christie…

He knew the trauma and pain of war and death—as her younger brother, he should've understood her feelings better than anyone. But she had always been poised, her capability as a leader exceeding Michael's own due to his hotheaded, stubborn nature. Christie was more willing to sacrifice her own hotheaded stubbornness for the sake of duty, but had this whole fiasco with Vix finally pushed her over the edge?

He hated that he seemed to be losing her suddenly, so soon after they had only just reconnected. But where can I find any answers?

Michael remembered Vix's green eyes gazing at Christie.* That look in his eyes… There had been a fire there, or at least some smouldering embers. Something akin to desire.

What happened between you two, Christie?

As he meandered about, he spotted a yellow streak colouring the gray skies. Blaster. His hands clenched into fists.

The yellow Rowdyruff Boy landed nearby and skidded to a stop, scanning the area carefully, causing Michael to duck behind a tree and watch. Blaster was carrying a bouquet, appearing hesitant and almost nervous.

Michael's chest clenched as he remembered Christie telling him how much she cared about Blaster, and his chest only clenched back even more as he remembered Banana's own expression while speaking to Blaster. Her yellow eyes lit up like stars with him.

Somehow Blaster was so much more capable and empathetic than Michael; so much better at connecting with other people—including the people Michael cared most about—as if he were the sun they all orbited around.

And if Michael was a star of any kind, he was more so an exploding supernova. An already decaying star.

Perhaps it was because he was already exploding that he felt no fear, stepping out of the shadows into the sunlight.

Blaster jerked his head back. "Michael!" he gasped, clearly startled. He quickly recomposed himself, becoming wary.

"What are you doing here?" The question was almost just courtesy. The flowers made it clear what Blaster wanted. His fists tightened. You manage to wrap both my sister and Banana around your finger. How did you end up so close to them? What makes you so much better to them than me?

Better. There always seemed to be someone out there better than him.

Christie, Ross, and now Blaster…

Michael was never good enough.

"Relax, I'm not here to fight. I just wanted to gift these to Christie." Blaster gestured at the flowers. "I…noticed she wasn't herself today."

Stopping in front of him, Michael could now stare into the other boy's eyes. It was like looking into the sun—blinding in its perfect glow.

They look at you as if you're their sun.

He avoided his gaze. "You shouldn't be here."

"I just want to be here for Christie. She's clearly having a tough time—"

Michael shook his head. "Later. You should leave."

Blaster frowned. "Michael, I get what you're saying. But I have the right to visit my girlfriend and hopefully cheer her up, don't I?"

"No, you don't get it. We are at war, Blaster. You can't just saunter in here like the whole family has accepted you."

"Christie has accepted me."

"Do you need me to spell it out!?" He grabbed the other boy by the collar, snarling. "You're a fool to step onto enemy territory. If Maxim or Coal or anyone else catches you, then you're dead."

"Relax," the other boy said, annoyed. "They won't catch me."

"You're practically delivering yourself on a silver platter for them." He let him go, frustration still clawing at his belly as the words he wanted to say bubbled in his throat. He pushed them back down.

"And what about for you? You're not going to attack me in this time of war?"

"Is that a challenge?" He flexed his fingers. "Because if you're asking for it, I can try and oblige you."

"I'm not. I'm merely asking what you want."

"What I want"—is to really deck you in the face right now—"is for you to leave before you get yourself killed. Besides, Christie isn't feeling well. She wouldn't want visitors."

"That's all the more reason to see her then. I knew she was acting weird earlier. I—"

Michael blocked his way. "Leave her alone, Blaster. She needs rest."

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem!"

"Then why won't you let me see Christie?"

"You can always just go back to Banana, can't you?" he snapped, blurting the words out before he could restrain himself.

He froze. I always do this. Never cautious enough with my words.

Blaster was now frozen too. "Is this what this is about?"

"No." Michael kept his gaze averted. "It's about you getting yourself killed."

"I told you that wouldn't happen. Besides, I can handle them—"

"So what, you think you can handle this?" Michael demanded, spinning around and throwing his fist into Blaster's face.

The other boy stumbled a few steps to the side from the impact, petals from his bouquet scattering into the wind. He stared back at Michael with wide eyes.

Michael stared down at his own fist, startled that he'd tipped the cauldron over when he hadn't meant to. He refocused on the other boy with him. "Blaster, I-I didn't mean to—"

The fire in Blaster's eyes roared and he flew forward, crashing into Michael so that both of them skidded through the dirt. Michael grimaced, his arms in a block against Blaster's fists.

When he was let go, he jerked his head up with a gasp.

Blaster stepped back and watched as Michael got up. "I told you," he said, staring down at the other boy. "I can handle myself."

Growling, he leaped upwards and rammed himself into Blaster. When the Ruff rolled back up, Michael lifted his arms. "You're going to have to do better than that to prove yourself to me."

His opponent let out a hiss before charging, swinging his fists as Michael dodged, weaving back and forth. Then Michael was kicking and Blaster was blocking, and soon claws and fangs were outstretched as the two duked it out.

Something glowed deep in Blaster's eyes, ignited by his adrenaline, and his fists lit up like the sun. Soon he was shooting beams at Michael, causing him to duck and roll.

"That's not a fair fight!" he growled out, rushing for Blaster's neck.

The yellow Ruff pulled up a defensive wall. "If I have these powers, I might as well use them." Then the wall was shot towards Michael, slamming him into a tree. The whole ground shook.

Gasping at the intense streak of pain striking his spine, Michael crumpled against the tree as his consciousness blurred.

Blaster's eyes widened and something like regret flashed within his gaze, but Michael wasn't sure if it was.

With his vision fuzzing, he could see the mansion's doors opening as thunderous footsteps drowned out Blaster's cries of concern, voices yelling in confusion.

He spotted the flowers then: peonies…

Those always were Christie's favourite flowers.

She drew the curtain over her window, turning away from the boy pacing in the garden who was now staring up at her room, as if he knew she was watching.

She began mirroring him, pacing in her own room, counting the seconds in time with the clock. But she knew she was only trying to distract herself, and it wasn't even working.

She stopped, staring at the floor. What was with that look in his eyes? They had been so wide, filled with a kind of terror and despair, as if she'd said something horribly unexpected. Like I was some sort of ghost?

Now she sought out the floor-length mirror in her room, reaching up to touch her face. I'm still me, aren't I?

Am I not still Christie?

She bunched her skirt up in her hand, narrowing her eyes. The trouble had all started with that boy—as it always did. The boy with eyes the colour of weeds and hair the colour of hellfire.

Vix.

"He was one of our closest allies. One of our best friends. And he really liked you, Christie," her brother had said. He'd almost continued to say something else too—something she stopped him from saying because she couldn't stand it. The very implication made her skin burn.

But Michael hadn't been the only one. Blaster had said something similar: "He was a good person… A good friend. And h-he really cared about you."**

Blaster. Her current love. Her boyfriend. Christie squeezed her hand to her chest, smiling a little at the butterflies that fluttered there. But there was something wrong too, like her butterflies were flying lopsided with torn wings.

Why had he asked about Vix?

And why is it that, when I think of Vix, my heart flutters even harder? It felt like a whirlwind forming, and while originally it had been flames of anger that threatened to grow, now it was something anxious. Almost…painful.

Christie bit her lip now. She had told Blaster, "I feel like something is missing. As if…something has been taken from me."**

A chunk, she'd called it. Like it had been a large part of her that had just been twisted and ripped away, and now everything felt warped.

Aren't I supposed to be mad at Vix? But when she thought about it even harder, she felt even more confused. Why?

Why, why, why? She struggled to recall his face. She only remembered green eyes and red hair, and a voice…

His voice, saying, "Goodbye, Christie."

She whirled around, the wind whipping her hair as a shudder ran down her spine, as if Vix was in that room with her, saying the words to her again. But it was only his ghost, and she almost stumbled forward in her attempts to try and catch his remnants.

Wait, she cried, come back! What else did you say? Why does it feel like there's fog in my brain every time I try to think of you? I thought I was supposed to be mad at you. So why…

She gripped her skirt, the only thing she could grab on-hand, staring at the mirror as if Vix could be staring back at her.

Why aren't I? But the questions ran even deeper than that. Now she was wondering, Why should I be mad at you? What did you do?

Christie sat down on her bed, closing her eyes. Everyone around her kept reminding her of how much he'd mattered to her and how much she'd mattered to him, even though she couldn't remember this. But she couldn't escape his name either, and two reliable people had claimed Vix and her cared about each other—perhaps even more than that.

She tried hard to remember, even though it was so hard getting past the dark, thick smog in her mind. Every memory of Vix she did have seemed to be bad, but it was almost warped in some way, because when she tried to grip the memories tighter, they'd twist and turn and flit away like shadows.

But she could still hear that voice, and she was finding her way through the smog by following that sound, as if he were a lighthouse—or a siren. She wasn't sure which yet.

He'd said, "Goodbye Christie," and then what? Then…he'd said… Or rather, the memory was now playing backwards, like she was rewinding a film.

Before saying that goodbye, he'd said, "I've always been alone. I never had someone worry about me. But I'm glad that you care so much about me."*

Her eyes flashed open. It was suddenly rushing back now. He had even said she cared about him. And now she remembered it.

He—Vix—had told her to forget him: "Don't say that name anymore. Don't think about Vix anymore. Forget about everything involving Vix. Erase Vix from your worries."

And she remembered protesting until he kissed her forehead, promising her she could do it—because he'd already forgotten.

This is when her mind had started slipping away into the far shore.

Trembling, she lifted a hand to her lips as her eyes started to water. She had cared about him! And he'd done something to make her forget—

Now she was being flooded with all these emotions, swirling like a tsunami in her chest. Why did you do that to me, Vix?

Now she was even more angry at him, but there was a sadness there too—a pain and despair that he'd chosen to push her away. But how?

Christie touched her forehead. That kiss somehow…somehow erased some of my memories. But it was so selective…

She jumped up. Now that Vix was back in her memories, it felt so wrong that he'd ever left. He had always been there. And he should be there. He belonged.

Michael was right. Vix, he—

There was a crash from outside, causing her to spin towards the window. But when she pulled the curtain open, she couldn't see anything. Still, she could already hear the rumbling of people rushing outside her room.

Christie ran towards the door and outside, watching as maids and butlers and soldiers all made their way toward the front entrance. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into that ocean of people and followed.

She emerged outside, gasping for air and tiptoeing as she tried to get a better glimpse. The people were congregating by a large tree, so she pushed and apologized and made her way over.

Then she froze.

Michael was sitting there, his eyes closed. And by his side lay a ruined bouquet of peonies.

Christie looked up just in time to see the very last remnants of a yellow streak disappearing into the sky, a detail the others seemed to have missed.

Stunned, she crouched down beside her brother.

Maggie immediately shoved her way forward. "What happened!?" she demanded, before gasping when she spotted her son. She hurriedly grabbed him while Chris managed the crowd.

Christie moved aside, still too shocked to speak. She stared at the bouquet. Blaster…? But why…did he attack Mikey?

Maggie followed her daughter's gaze, noticing the flowers. Her face darkened and she stood up, lifting her heeled shoe.

Christie let out a gasp as she rushed back to reality. "Mom, wait!"

But Maggie had already brought her foot down, twisting the peonies until their petals got torn. Her face was shadowed as she uttered viciously, "So you leave these as a warning, eh? Well, fine. I'll play your game." She lifted her hands, squeezing the air as if there was a neck there to strangle. "And I'll find you and slit you open until all your insides fall out and I'll stuff them full of flowers. See how you like it then, asshole."

Christie shuddered.

"Maggie, dear," Chris murmured, leaning in to whisper something to his wife.

She blinked before glaring at the crowd. "Disperse!" she commanded. "Before I break every bone in your bodies!"

The people began moving away. All except Raymond.

He awkwardly offered in a gentle voice, "I-I'll examine him."

Maggie nodded at him curtly. "Luckily it doesn't seem to be anything too serious." She hoisted her son upwards and carried him away, clicking her tongue as she added, "Come. Follow me."

Raymond bowed his head at Chris and Christie before turning to follow.

Chris glanced at his daughter, who was still staring at the bouquet in disbelief. "Are you okay, darling?"

"Huh?" She looked up, blinking before realization dawned. "O-Oh, I'm fine. Mom was right. At least it wasn't serious."

"Still, it can be quite scary. I understand your concern."

She forced herself to smile a little and nod. "Thanks, Dad." Then she reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. "But I'm okay, really. You should check on Mikey."

He checked her over one last time, his ice-blue eyes searching. She felt as if he could see everything, but if he did, he let it go. "Very well. Rest soon. It's been a long day, with the funeral and now this."

Christie nodded. "Promise."

He dipped his head before leaving.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down at the tree and kept staring at the flowers. For some time she stayed like that, until someone coughed from another tree nearby.

"I…hadn't meant to hurt him."

"Blaster!"

He emerged sheepishly, glancing back at the entrance where guards were stationed. "Sorry about…that. I-I lost my temper."

"It's okay." She forced herself to relax. "I know you wouldn't mean to hurt my brother." She purposefully said "my brother" and not "Michael" as a reminder and a form of emphasis.

He seemed to get the message because he developed a pained expression before nodding. "I care about you too much to hurt either of you like that," he agreed in a whisper.

She felt her heart tighten. "I…assume you wanted to see me?"

"H-How'd you know?"

Christie nodded at the flowers.

"Oh. Right. That."

She studied him. He was gazing at them with disappointment—perhaps because things hadn't gone according to plan. "Were you worried about me?"

When he blushed, she smiled.

I

"Thank you."

"It's nothing. I just…wanted to check on you. I thought…" He hesitated now.

"You thought I was acting weird, right?"

He nodded.

"I'm still not clear on all the details, but you were right."

Blaster furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You were right. I had somehow forgotten Vix and everything…he meant to me."

Blaster's eyes widened now. "Y-You remember him!"

She nodded. "I do."

"So do you…remember all your feelings regarding him?"

She hesitated before nodding again. "Mostly."

"And did you…remember if you've decided how you feel about him? How you feel about me? Who…you would like by your side?"

Christie stared back at him, her heart doing flipflops. Her eyes softened as she felt like she was about to tear up, even though there didn't seem to be any reason to—besides the fact Blaster seemed ready to tear up too. This time she could only shake her head.

"Oh." His shoulders slumped.

"I still don't…really know how I feel about him," she explained. "Whether it's that far or not. But I know I care about him, even if I'm still a little mad at him.

"But what's more, I even kind of remember how I forgot in the first place."

Blaster's eyes grew large. "You do…? How…?"

"H-He…" Christie's face flushed. "He…k-k-kissed my…" Her voice had started fading into a whisper, and Blaster strained a little to hear, but his super-hearing soon picked up the words enough for him to grow rigid.

Christie tried to form the sentence again: "He kissed…my forehead, and then everything…started to grow fuzzy. I could feel myself getting pulled into this kind of sleep, and he…"

He, like Michael had assumed, had told her that not only did he care about her, there was more to it. And even though she'd already suspected it, the words were like the snow melting away to reveal a delicate little rose, blooming from its thorns.

Flashback

"No…" But the protest came out weak and small, barely audible—just a breathy whisper against his chest.

He stroked her hair, and she felt her mind drifting off into an ocean of darkness—a place with no stars. As the deathly quiet descended on her, she thought she heard the quietest whisper slither into the black, fuzzy silence.

"I think I might love you."

And in the next instant, her mind was gone, with only the bright red of blood stabbing at the corners of her vision, enveloped by the starless sky like the arms of a trembling, scared teenage boy, with bright red hair and emerald-green eyes, a heart beating fast and breathing coming out shaky as his cold skin began to thaw.

End Flashback

He had said it out loud. He'd given the words life for Christie to hear.

He'd told her he loved her.

She spun around. "I have to go find him again! I need to demand answers and—"

"Wait!" cried Blaster, grabbing her wrist. When she faced him, he murmured, "I'm coming too. He's also my friend."

She softened. Blaster deserved to get answers too, and she didn't want to come off as if she was choosing between either of them just yet, because she still didn't understand her own feelings. That damn Vix, she thought, always messing with me and my emotions—literally! I can think and make decisions for myself, you know!

But she was too worried to be truly angry, and too scared to decline the company. Christie squeezed his hand and nodded. "Let's go then. Together."

And so they did.

Finding herself traveling the familiar path to Damon's forest, she was almost shocked she could've ever forgotten how often she'd done it. How many times have I gone to see him now? she wondered to herself.

They soon skidded to a stop outside Damon's cabin, staring up at the decaying structure.

"I hate this place," she muttered honestly.

Blaster took a deep breath. "I hate what it's become."

They looked at one another, and he took her hand. She swallowed and gave it a squeeze, and then they made their way toward it.

And then the door opened.

"Greetings, greetings! I wasn't expecting any more guests," Damon's voice boomed. "It's been so quiet lately, and for so long too!" Now he leaned against the doorframe, grinning lazily. "It's been quite nice, actually.

"Not as noisy."

Christie lifted her fists. "This time, I'm not leaving without Vix. This time, I'm taking him home."

"Oh, but what if he doesn't want to go home?" Damon said, laughing. "That's why he pushed you away, isn't it?"

"That wasn't real!" she shouted back. "You forced him!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Did I?"

Christie almost ran forward to slice open his throat. Maybe she'd even stuff him with flowers—dahlias, probably; the flower of betrayal—the way her mother had threatened Blaster. Christie had never understood her mother's rage so much until this moment.

"Bring him out here if you dare. Have him tell me to my face that he doesn't want me to ever see him again."

"I would, except I can't."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "And why not?"

He shrugged innocently. "Vix was ambushed in the forest and I need to treat his wounds."

"He was what!? You're supposed to be taking care of him! How could you let this happen!?"

Damon arched an eyebrow. "If anyone is to blame here, it would be your people. Your uncle. Your soldiers. Every single one of you vampires, and for being cowardly enough to ambush a weak, helpless boy."

Christie opened her mouth to reply but found no good retort, causing her to bite down on her lip as her fists trembled beside her.

Blaster furrowed his brow at her. "Christie…"

She hated him even more in that moment because he had a point. It wouldn't be unlikely for one of Danes' soldiers to suddenly go rogue and decide to strike Vix down. Kinley, for example. Slimy, stupid Rodriguez. Coal.

"At least let me see him."

Smiling in amusement, Damon leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. "I refuse."

Growling in frustration, she leaped at him and her fist connected with his face.

Damon's own expression darkened as he grasped her fist and began twisting it. "Temper, temper. You and that awful temper of yours."

Christie tried not to let her pain show, biting back a help as the twist reached her arm.

"Let her go!" Blaster commanded, storming over and pulling on Damon's hand.

The man eyed them both lazily. "Adorable little pests," he finally said, grabbing the yellow Ruff's hands as well. He yanked them both down hard, causing them to stumble.

He stepped away and hit them both in the middle of the spine, nearly causing them to slip into unconsciousness and briefly immobilizing them. "I trust that will teach you to lose your temper so quickly," he tsked. "I may have said 'I refuse,' but you could've at least tried to bargain with me. Who knows, I might've—"

A loud whooshing noise swallowed the last of his words.

"What was that?" gasped Christie, scrambling back up.

"I-It sounded like giant wings," Blaster added.

Damon frowned at the sky, where whatever it was had disappeared. "Interrupting me? Humph." He pulled something out of his green cloak and hefted it upwards just as a giant shadow covered them all.

Blaster's eyes grew large as he realized simultaneously what was above them and what the man was holding. "Damon, wait!"

But the man had already fired his gun. Twice.

Two bangs rang out, causing both Christie and Blaster to duck as they covered their heads. The man appeared pleased, smiling as he lifted his eyes. They dared to peek and he simply pointed as whatever he'd just shot began convulsing.

And then the shadow above them filled the area with the sound of its ungodly shriek.

"Sorry to intrude," Braker said, walking into her room shyly.

Bliss managed a smile as she closed the door behind her. "It's no problem. You guys need a place to stay, and Boomer's condition is quite bad. This is the least I can do, as someone who doesn't have the healing abilities of some of our siblings."

When she turned, she was almost startled to see how close she and Braker were standing. His eyes suddenly became half-lidded as he glanced down at her lips, a softness behind his bright orange irises.

"It's more than enough," he whispered, and she could feel his breath on her nose.

She felt a shiver race down her back before she smiled and quickly pulled away, her heart thudding. "Sooooo! What would you like to do? We could just talk or play a game or something."

"I wouldn't mind talking." He moved so that he was sitting on her bed. "You were asking me about what it was like hanging out with DJ, right?"

"R-Right."

"We were actually…trying to cheer him up."

"What's wrong?" Now she snapped even more to attention. "Is he okay? I-It wasn't me, was it?"

Braker shook his head. "He's upset at what happened between you and him, but he knows that wasn't your fault. He's upset at himself for that.

"But rather, the current incident that's bothering him involves his…parents. His dad…and his mom."

Braker was clearly hesitating, but Bliss wasn't about to let this topic go. "Wh-What about his parents?" DJ had hardly ever talked about his dad with her unless it was to complain about him, much less his mom.

"He found out that what he thought he knew about his mom, and how she met his dad, was all wrong. His dad"—now he stared down at his clasped hands—"had lied to him basically all his life."

Her eyes widened. Then she rushed forward, grabbing Braker's hands. "And what was the lie? What had his dad said about her?"

He stared at her, a forlorn look in his eyes, and clear hesitation as he opened his mouth but immediately closed it again. He pulled a little away from her, sighing. "I don't think it's at all my place to say, but I do think you deserve to know as his—girlfriend.

"Basically, his dad hadn't told him his mom's real backstory. They hadn't married out of love, and what's more, his mom…wasn't a vampire."

Bliss felt her breath hitch in her throat. "She was…human?"

Braker hesitated even more now, before groaning and getting up. "Ughhhhhh, I can't do this! I can't say any more. You'll have to go find DJ if you want more answers."

"But we aren't… He hasn't really wanted to talk to me since that incident where he tried to drink my blood."***

"He does want to talk to you. He just doesn't want to hurt you further." Braker turned to face her, a sadness in his autumn eyes. "I know how that feels."

Staring at him, Bliss felt her heart flutter. Her cheeks burned and she swallowed, quickly rushing to the window. "I-I'll go talk to him then! I'll try and help him feel better."

"Try Elias' restaurant. DJ wasn't planning on going back home."

"Got it. Th-Thanks, Braker."

"Good luck."

She didn't dare glance back as she dove out the window and flew into the sky. Her heart was pounding and she felt her cheeks, which were still warm. Wh-What was that? Why did I suddenly get all those butterflies?

She'd been feeling a little awkward around Braker ever since he'd comforted her after DJ had nearly drank her blood, and even a little before that, but he'd been so gentle… The way he'd given her a blanket and made her hot chocolate and talked to her…

And he had been listening to her too. He'd gone ahead and tried to befriend DJ, and now he was still trying, because she knew how he felt about her, but he was still encouraging her to go back and comfort DJ.

I-I never realized Braker could be so reliable. She stopped before Elias' restaurant and slowly descended.

Braker was still on her mind as she pushed the door open to find Elias wiping down a table.

"Elias!" she called, rushing toward her friend. "I-Is DJ still here? I really need to talk to him."

He'd greeted her with a smile and a wave, but now his brow furrowed as something flitted through his gaze. She figured it was just concern for DJ, and Elias was soon back to normal as he pointed to the kitchen. "He's been helping us all day. You can find him in there."

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, flying over to it.

The door opened just as she reached for the doorknob, and she came face-to-face with DJ.

"Ah!"

It took him a moment to realize it was her, and as soon as he did, he almost stumbled and dropped the plates in his hands. Bliss immediately rushed to catch everything, giving them back to him.

"B-B-Bliss?" he stuttered, still gaping at her.

"C-Can we talk? In private?"

His face reddened and he said quickly, "Maybe. A-After, I mean. After I get these dishes out."

Before she could reply, he'd already turned and hurried away.

She saw him pass the dishes to the customers, eventually stopping by Elias' table. He gave DJ a reassuring smile and squeeze on the shoulder before DJ came back to Bliss.

"Let's head to the back," he murmured.

She nodded and followed him away.

They were soon both standing in the alleyway, leaning against the wall and staring at one another in complete silence. Bliss' heart raced, and she was surprised how nervous and awkward she felt.

What changed?

Or rather… Why did it feel like our relationship has devolved back to before we started dating? She thought of how DJ had basically broken up with her after feeling terrible for scaring her, and they'd basically been like strangers. But not only that, she couldn't even seem to find her words around him anymore.

"What…did you want to talk to me about?"

"Braker told me…some things about your mom." Bliss took a step forward as DJ's eyes grew large. So it was true.

"That jerk—"

"He didn't tell me everything! He knew it wasn't his place to do so. He just thought I deserved to know, and that I could help you."

DJ paused as his fist relaxed. "I know," he finally whispered. "And I wasn't actually mad at him for it. I just didn't…want you to know…" He searched her face and she saw that his baby-blue eyes were shimmering and watery, like a river about to become a waterfall.

"But why?"

"I didn't want everyone to know… Not yet…"

"We could help you."

"But don't you know how shameful it is? That my mom isn't…"

"Isn't what?"

He stared at her. "How much did he tell you?"

"He told me she wasn't a vampire. So are you…ashamed she wasn't?"

"Of course I am!" DJ glowered at the wall. "Dad has always painted her as this perfect, beautiful woman whom he loved with all his life, but instead she wasn't any of the things he'd told me."

"You…" Bliss swallowed. "You're ashamed of me?"

DJ blinked before he realized what she was asking, causing him to spin around. "No, Bliss, it's not like that at all! I didn't mean…"

"But you said it. You said you were ashamed she wasn't a vampire."

"That's—only because she also wasn't—"

She took a step backwards. "Wasn't what?" she challenged, her voice low.

He stared at her, his face full of pain, before he finally managed to say, "It wasn't that. It's because Dad and her didn't even love each other." Now he was making his way toward her, reaching out.

She flinched, and he froze.

He sighed as he pulled away. "Not like how I love you." He paused. "I was upset that he lied to me."

Bliss regretted having just pushed him away. She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"No. I mean…I'm sorry I challenged you when I meant to come comfort you."

"You don't owe me that."

"But I want to help you. You mean a lot to me, and I…"

Now DJ met her eyes. "But things have changed, haven't they?"

Now she had to look away.

"I still love you, Bliss." He stepped toward her. She tried not to step away.

When there was a long moment of nothing, she dared to glance back to him.

He was smiling, but it was so sad and rueful, and nothing glimmered except tears in his eyes. "But you no longer feel that way about me, do you?" The tears began to fall.

The river had dropped off into a waterfall and Bliss could feel herself getting swept up in the thundering waves. She began to cry too. "I don't—I don't know anymore! I didn't mean…"

"It's okay." He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. Even though he was saying this, she could tell he was still crying. "I understand. You deserve better than me, anyway."

"No, DJ! You're wonderful. Please…" She grabbed his hands, the thing he had tried to do before she had flinched away. "It isn't because of you. Really. I know how cliché and fake it sounds, but you really have been so, so good to me.

"And I'll always care about you. Always. It's just that…so much has happened, and I can feel you leaving me behind. I don't understand your world. Even though you helped me catch up, you were already another five steps ahead all over again, and I…"

He stared at her, searching, before smiling a little and brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I see." He gave her a peck on the forehead. "You've found someone else."

Bliss realized she'd crashed into the ocean below the waterfall. She began floundering. "N-N-No, I—!"

"He's a good one. I think he deserves you." DJ swallowed, his hand now hovering over her hair. He closed his eyes. "Thank you for everything, Bliss. I love you, and I wish you nothing but the best."

Did that really just happen?

"DJ…"

He'd turned to leave, but now he glanced back with another sad smile. "Good luck with Braker! Take care of each other. I'll see you around."

"DJ, I—!"

But he had already gone back inside, shutting the door behind him.

Bliss collapsed against the wall. She'd come with every intention of cheering DJ up—not making things worse. She had half-expected they could make things work between them again.

She placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heartbeat. There was a little horror to find some relief mixed in with the pain.

But DJ hadn't been wrong, had he? He'd seen right through her, even when she was trying to ignore it herself. The truth was that when she thought about Braker now—his eyes, his lips, his hands, his voice, his confession, his time with her—she felt her face feel hot and her heartbeat become rapid. It was the same way she used to feel about DJ.

Things had changed. And even before DJ had plunged her into that ocean, she'd already fallen.

But this time for Braker.

Bliss took a deep breath. She glanced one last time at the door, considering opening it, but thought against it. DJ was already hurting, and she didn't want to add to his pain. She would see him around, and there would be more time to comfort him in the future, but for now she believed he needed space. So she spiralled into the open sky.

Meanwhile, DJ had been gazing at her from a crack in the doorway, but now he shut the door completely and pulled away. He was about to just walk back to the kitchen, but blinked when he realized Elias was standing in the doorway.

"You okay, bud?"

"I…" DJ couldn't find his voice. He tried again, swallowing as he said, "We… Bliss and I…"

Elias walked toward him.

"We broke up." Now it was harder holding back his emotions, and he began to cry again. "I love her, but her feelings have changed. And we broke up."

Elias didn't say anything, just pulling DJ into a hug.

While Bliss made her way back to him, Braker himself was distracted by a text on his phone. One that every Rowdyruff Boy received in their family group chat.

It screamed with the same urgency that Butch's had screamed just earlier in the day.****

"'SOMETHING'S COMING AT DAMON'S CABIN! IT'S TRYING TO ATTACK!? URGENT!'"

"Blaster!" Braker exclaimed, already flying out of Bliss' room. His brothers were already pouring out too, streaks colouring the Powerpuff Girls' house.

Some of the Puffs came scrambling out, along with the Professor, calling out in bewilderment, "What is going on!?"

"Something came up! Sorry!" Braker managed to yell before diving out the window.

He was joined by Bandit, who glanced at him with tired eyes. "Why do you think Blaster is at Damon's?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I know we need to save him," Braker responded, dodging a bird in the sky.

Bandit sighed.

The Rowdyruff Boys all banked as soon as they caught sight of Damon's cabin. The man was standing there with wild eyes, holding a gun up at the sky. He nearly shot at them before realizing who they were, relief clouding his vision.

"Damon!" Braker yelled, pushing aside the fact that they were technically now enemies. "What is going on!?"

"Don't ask me! That thing came out of nowhere!"

"Guys!" Blaster added, bursting out of the bushes with Christie. "Duck!"

Everyone did as he was told, without even having a chance to question why their brother was with Christie, just as a loud screech filled the sky. Braker slammed his hands on his ears. He fought against the urge to scream too.

Something big rushed past above them, and as soon as it was gone, Butch lifted his head with wide eyes.

"It's back," he breathed.

"What!?"

"We don't know! But it's what attacked me and Bandit and Boomer!"

Hearing that filled Braker with rage. He scrambled upwards and looked around.

"Get down!" hissed Bandit, tugging on his sleeve.

The creature came back just then, another scream as giant claws descended.

Braker couldn't see with the beast's large wings blocking the sky, but he aimed his laser vision upwards. Two red beams shot upwards and the creature shrieked in pain before stumbling off.

Damon fired after it, and someone above fired back.

"Is someone riding that ungodly thing!?" Braker demanded in disbelief.

"Seems so! Same thing happened when we fought it!" Butch confirmed.

"How the fuck do we fight this thing!?"

"I don't know, but whoever's behind this is clearly out to kill us! They know we've already been weakened by the other attack from earlier today!"

"Well, they have another thing coming, because I wasn't in that attack, and I'm still fine!" Braker lifting his hands at the sky.

When the shadow came swooping back, he shot energy beams at it.

"Everyone, fire!" Brick hollered.

Soon more beans of colour joined Braker's, forming a rainbow (that just so happened to be missing blue), shooting at it. Damon was also contributing with his gun, and even Christie had flown up in bat form to scratch at its underbelly.

The beast let out another horrific shriek, twisting and turning, before it fell from the sky. There was a loud crash as it landed past the trees. The impact of its descent shook the whole forest.

"Serves you right, you piece of shit," spat Damon, reloading his gun.

"Come on," Brick commanded. "Let's go see what it is."

"Oh, I don't think so."

Everyone froze at the sound of Damon's voice, focusing on him. He had the gun aimed at Brick's head.

"Damon," the red Ruff said slowly. "Now isn't the time."

"I need to go check on this thing," the man replied. "And you need to stay here."

Butch lifted his fist menacingly. "We're five against one."

"Ah, ah, ah. One wrong move and I blow his brains out," warned Damon, pressing the gun to Brick's skull.

Butch froze, growling.

"Damon, please," Bandit tried to say. "Can we not do this right now? You won't win."

"Oh, but I think I can. The numbers are more even than you think. I have a few little friends ready to pounce when necessary." He glanced back at the purple Ruff with a lopsided grin. "Still, if you boys promise to stay here, I'll let everyone go."

Bandit's gaze flicked toward Brick, who nodded once. "Okay," he breathed. "We promise."

"Good." Damon pulled the gun away and walked away, humming cheerfully.

Braker watched them go. "What the fuck was that? Why did he pull that?"

"He deserves to get his brains blown out," grumbled Christie.

"He probably just doesn't want us investigating." Brick sat down, pulling his red cap off with a groan. He landed in the grass, fanning himself. "Holy fucking shit."

"How can you be tired!? I'm the one who's tired!" Butch yelled back.

"We're a mess," Bandit finally commented, thumping onto the ground with a sigh. "Whoever was attacking us is clearly taking advantage of us being so fucking weakened."

"I—" Before Braker could answer, a loud, high-pitched scream sounded. Every one of the Ruffs jumped up, startled, just as a giant black shape shot into the sky.

It flew off, wobbling as it went, wings the colour of ink.

"It's still alive!?" Butch cried in disbelief.

Damon soon returned, shaking his head. "And I only just managed to tear off a piece of it for analysis," he grumbled.

Now they noticed his bloodstained hands, which were carrying a large chunk of flesh.

"You…want to keep that?" Braker said finally.

"For science!" the man confirmed cheerfully.

Braker suppressed a shudder. "What kind of science though? What are you planning to do with it?"

"Test it first and trace its source, of course," Damon responded, furrowing his brow at the orange Ruff quizzically, as if it should've been obvious. Then he walked past the teens. "I have a feeling I know who's behind this. It is, after all, bat flesh."

The Ruffs looked around at one another, eyes wide.

Bat flesh.

Whatever had attacked them—twice now—thrice if they counted the attack some of their fellow soldiers had reported earlier—had been bats.**

"Danes." Brick's voice was hollow.

Every head swivelled towards Christie except Blaster's, who lifted her hands defensively. "Hey, you saw what happened. It attacked me too, without even caring that I was there. That couldn't be my uncle." She held her breath, withholding the fact that the mutant bats were her uncle's doing, even if he hadn't rode this one specifically and commanded it during its attack on the Rowdyruff Boys.

"Or it didn't see you," Brick countered slowly.

"Are you seriously accusing me right now!?"

"It is a giant mutant bat. If it wasn't your uncle, then who else could have access to create something like that?"

"Lots of vampires have money! And—" She clamped her jaw shut and began storming off. "I don't have to tell you anything else."

"Christie!" cried Blaster, chasing after her.

Bandit watched them go before arching an eyebrow at Brick. "Bold move accusing her so soon. Now she'll have reason to report this to her uncle and warn him that we're on to him."

"It is true it could still not be her uncle," Brick answered, "and if I'm playing my cards right, she'll go home and investigate, helping us gain an upper hand without even realizing it."

"And how do you plan on extracting that information?" Braker piped up.

Brick was still eyeing Blaster and Christie, who were clearly arguing. "With our sunny little brother's help, of course."

"Oooh, devious. I like it."

Brick smirked.

Soon the yellow Ruff returned while Christie stalked off. She only paused once in front of the cabin, clearly wishing to go inside as her hand hovered over the doorknob. But then she whirled away and left.

Blaster was rubbing his temples. "She insists it wasn't her uncle, and I believe her. Danes isn't the kind to jump into battle like that. You shouldn't have provoked her, Brick."

"We're just trying to find out who's trying to murder us," he said innocently.

"She's already been so on-edge lately and then there was the thing with Vix, and—" He cut himself off.

But Brick had already snapped to attention, leaning in closer. "The what with Vix?"

"It's nothing. He argued with her and chose Damon over her. That's all."

"I find that hard to believe. Vix wouldn't just choose Damon; not when he lo—"

"I never said he wanted to choose Damon, alright?" Blaster snapped. "I just meant that he was forced to stay with the man so he felt it would be safer if she stayed away. That's why they argued."

Brick and Bandit frowned at one another but didn't push.

Instead, Bandit said, "If Christie does tell you anything about what she finds out while investigating who sent those bats, let us know."

"I don't want to betray her trust."

"And we don't want to end up dead."

"Yeah, there's still a war going on, remember?" Butch added.

"I didn't forget! I just…"

"Blaster…?" Bandit prompted.

"I just wish it was already over."

Now everyone fell silent because he'd just said what they were all thinking. What they were all hoping for. Things had changed since the war started. There had been answers, followed by new questions. New thoughts. New ideas.

New friends.

Bandit glanced at Blaster. And even new love.

"Well," Brick said finally, "just do what you can."

"Let's get back," sighed Bandit, gesturing for his brothers to follow him away.

They began to fly, ready for the trip back to the Powerpuff Girls' house, but a snapping twig gave Bandit pause.

Brick noticed his wary gaze. "What's wrong?"

"I thought I heard something," he murmured back. "You guys go on. I'll catch up."

The brothers were ready to argue, but a Bandit shook his head. So Brick shrugged and got everyone else to lift off into the air.

Bandit, meanwhile, cautiously approached the area the noise had come from. He walked on tiptoe and lifted his face to sniff the air. There was a familiar scent there but it was mingling with other familiar scents and—

No. It couldn't be.

His eyes widened as he suddenly began running forward. He grabbed a large bush and forced apart its branches to try and get a better view.

For a moment they seemed to meet gazes.

But they quickly moved quickly. He could see silhouettes slipping away in the shadows nearby, with a flutter of lavender before him.

Bandit stared. He blinked. How many of them were there…? His fingers curled into fists as he clenched his jaw.

Then he burst back into the sky, where Brick was awaiting him. "What had you noticed?"

For a moment he said nothing, but his brother's "well?" face prompted him to finally mutter, "Nothing. I just happened to catch a whiff of a curious little bunny."

"Now this—this—is just lovely," Damon remarked, stepping inside as he ran his fingers along the mess of fur and skin and meat and bone in his arms. He paused, his lips twitching downwards a little as he noticed the blood on his hands. "Ah. Well, nothing a good wash won't fix."

He carried it into the kitchen, being careful not to let it drip on the floor. Then he pulled out a book in his bookshelf. The shelf swung open.

He readjusted his position before walking into the office room. "Are you feeling any better, my dear Vix?"

A moment passed as no one answered.

"Well, Vix?"

"I'm fine." A boy with fiery red hair appeared in the doorway of one of the rooms, bandages covering his exposed chest and arms. There was also a plaster on his cheek. He leaned against the wooden frame, frowning at the thing in the man's hands. "What is that?"

"A gift our little friend Danes seems to have left us." Damon held it up so that he could see it in all its bloodied, messy glory. He smiled coyly. "Isn't it lovely?"

"It's disgusting."

Damon shrugged. "Perhaps it is, but delightfully so." He began making his way toward the carpet. "Come lift this for me."

He followed obediently, pulling up the corner of the carpet and then unlocking the trap door underneath. Then he followed Damon downstairs into the lab-like room.

"What are your plans for it?"

"Testing, mostly. I'd like to trace it to its source as well—and then who knows; maybe a little recreation and experimentation." The man grinned as he laid it out on a metallic cart. "Could you go fetch me those scalpels please? Left cabinet on the top."

He nodded and opened the cabinets, passing Damon the tools he'd asked for. He watched in disgusted fascination.

"First I'm going to break it down a little," Damon explained. "I want to check it under this microscope."

As he did so, he let out a surprised click of the tongue.

"What?"

"It seems my suspicions were correct. These are mutated bats. And they've been engineered to have abilities far out of reach of normal bats; imagine something akin to the superpowers of the Rowdyruff Boys." He smirked. "So our old friend Danes is playing with nature, hmm? Well, two can play at that game."

The redheaded boy suddenly pulled away, seemingly shrinking a little as he glanced uncomfortably at a giant vertical tank nearby. He wrapped his arms around himself and tugged on one of his bandages, biting his lip.

Damon lifted his head with a grin, stroking the fur beneath his hands. "After all, I've been creating my own army of creatures that shouldn't be. So grotesque. So inconceivable. So beautiful. Like pretty little roses, yes?"

His green eyes flicked toward Damon.

"I wonder what Danes would think of my precious new clone pets, hmm?"

No response.

Damon was too giddy to notice his companion's uncomfortable silence as he turned around and laughed. "You could, perhaps, even call them an army."

*(A/N: Reference to chapter 75!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapter 77!)

***(A/N: Reference to chapter 72!)

****(A/N: Reference to chapter 76!)

ME: Ahhhhhh I'm so glad to be done! *cries*

BUTCH: Guys…she's crying.

BLOSSOM: *sighs* Yes, we can see that, Butch.

ME: Sorry, it just feels so good to get things done, and I missed all of you. *cries harder as I pull everyone into a hug*

BUTCH: Umm…okay.

ME: Sorry it's a shorter chapter, everyone!

BRICK: It is still 16,000 words.

BUBBLES: Please leave a review, everyone!

BUTCH: *mutters* If anyone's still reading.

BOOMER: *elbows Butch*

ME: See you again, my dear readers! Hopefully soon. *sniffles* I'll be doing my best to finish this story no matter what, and in the meantime I'm still active online under my other handles!