The Girls Are All Grown Up

Ch. 42

But his Buttercup was somewhere deep down in those eyes, was somewhere watching and hearing everything happening but unable to stop it. 

''I never stopped fighting for you, y'know. So I need you to not stop fighting for me, right now.'' he whispered in her ear, half begging for a sarcastic retort or a sly smile to come from her.

A scream tore out of her throat as she jerked upward and fought against him.

Her laser vision snapped in and blasted him off her and into the wall for the second time.

''Buttercup...'' Butch murmured blearily, looking up as his vision cleared.

She stood over him with a broken expression, a mix of torment and anger. One eye green and the other the same soulless black.

All he could focus on was her even as he crawled out of the rubble to her feet, coughing as he went.

''Buttercup,'' he muttered again, ''I can't...I won't fight you like this. This isn't you, no matter what they make you do. No matter what...happens, you'll always be my Buttercup.''

Just as he said her name the last time, Buttercup swiveled in place and caught the Professor's arm from where he'd tried to sneak up behind her to help Butch.

Grabbing the old man by the collar with one hand, she lifted him up above her head and quietly said in a eerie tone, ''Bye bye Utonium, guess you shouldn't have forgotten about old friends.'' With her other hand she pulled out a long hunting knife from her left boot.

Butch's blood ran cold at the sight, realizing what she was about to do.

In the blink of an eye, the Professor landed on the ground with a groan. He looked up at Butch who'd jumped at Buttercup and saved him. The Ruff was standing in front of Buttercup with a look of sadness but also love in his eyes.

Buttercup's eyes turned her normal green at long last, and her face crumpled as if she were being tortured as she took in the knife she still held lodged just under Butch's ribs.

''Butch,'' she whispered, tears flowing down her cheeks as he gave her a gentle smile. 

And then coughed up more blood.

''No, no, no. NOO!!!'' Buttercup cried, desperately pressing her hands against his wound to stop the bleeding.

''Dad! Help!!" She screamed towards the Professor. ''Please! He's--'' she choked on her sobs, unable to meet either of their eyes.

The two most important men in her life, and she'd almost killed them both. Butch tried to stop me from killing Professor, she thought.

It hadn't been her, the monsters had been controlling her, but it had still been her responsible for the damage. It was her who'd stabbed Butch.

If he died....here in her arms, it was her who would be responsible for killing him.

She'd been able to see and hear everything during the mind control but had been unable to fight back until the very end. She'd felt like a doll with strings that someone else was pulling, her resistance hadn't mattered.

As she looked down at Butch coughing on the ground in front of her, she realized this was exactly what Blossom had lived. This is what she relived during every nightmare.

All the anger she'd had at her sister for making them agree to run and stay away from each other for years, it melted away. Because she understood the shame and utter guilt now. Now, she realized why Blossom was still unable to look her or Bubbles in the eye. Much less look at their father.

Her father placed a warm, kind hand on her shoulder. ''It's okay, Buttercup-- we'll save him. But we need to hurry.''

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She didn't have a word for it, shame and guilt didn't cover it enough. It was like a large empty hole had opened up in her stomach, and was sucking her in more and more. She couldn't hide what she'd done, she couldn't hide from it anymore than she could stop seeing Butch bleeding on the ground in front of her.

Buttercup couldn't stop sobbing, and she couldn't stop hating herself for everything she'd failed to stop. She should've fought harder, she was supposed to be stronger damn it. She'd almost killed her father and Butch was only alive at the moment because she hadn't succeeded.

Butch hugging her and whispering reassuring words didn't make the feeling go away, or the sight of her stabbing him from disappearing behind her eyes.

All she could hear and think was: Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

And it was.

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*Glances down at coffee mug* should I put more coffee or whiskey in this?