Something To Fight For-ppg Boomubbles

Prologue

"We pull our boots on with both hands

but we can't punch ourselves awake and all I can do

is stand on the curb and say Sorry

about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time."

― Richard Siken, Crush

Bubbles POV

~~~

   I couldn't take it anymore.

   I watched as my sisters battles for their lives against the boys. The Ruffs. For years, it's been the same cycle. They come, we beat them, they come back again. I honestly don't know how someone hasn't locked the delinquents up by now; we've beat them unconscious so many times. Yet somehow they always seem to disappear.

   I kept an eye on my counterpart, who had been stunned for the last few seconds by an attack I'd delivered. The time was short, but it had given me that moment of solace, of peace. A moment to look around me and wonder why I was even standing here.

   Boomer got up with a groan. He'd grown over the years, I noticed. He was looking more like a teenager and not some disgusting, snotty little boy. Boomer's golden blonde hair looked almost just like it did when he was first revived by the demon Him; it was just a little longer, and he'd grown bangs. He wore a dark cerulean sweater with a single black stripe going around his waist. Where he and his brothers got the clothes, I had no idea; they wouldn't be caught dead in a clothing shop. Yet his sweater fit perfectly, so it was fairly new. Him, maybe? I laughed at the idea of the demon pushing a buggy through Macy's.

   He growled when he heard my giggle. "What's so funny, huh!?" he shouted. I widened my eyes and began charging up an energy ball, but he beat me. I groaned as I felt the back of my head hit the pavement; he'd tackled me. I tried kicking his gut, but he held my leg firmly in place. He raised his fist to deliver a crushing blow to my face, only to be knocked off of me. I peered cautiously over to Buttercup, who was grinning at me. I smiled my thanks and returned to Boomer. My kick landed successfully this time. He skidded across the ground and didn't get up again. His chest still rose and fell, so I knew he wasn't dead.

   I turned to the other two Ruffs, a scowl on my porcelain face. I knew one of my eyes was hidden beneath a long golden bang, but it might have glowed from anger enough to announce its presence. An energy ball began charging in my hands.

   Those Ruffs would be begging for mercy.

Boomer POV

~~~

Embarrassment.

   That's all I felt.

   Why, oh why, do they always beat us? Those stuck-up little girls always just managed to luck out on me, no matter what I did. And I can't believe that I was beaten by BUBBLES, of all the Puffs. The gentlest, most softhearted Puff, and she beat me.

   Butch and Brick were over by the fireplace, playing with some old guy's cards. Mr. Looper, I think?

   I was seated over in the corner of our little shack, thinking everything over. Bubbles. That's what popped up. Initially I felt rage pop up; but it was gone in a bit. It confused me when it did that. My brothers always said that I hated Bubbles, and so I did. Whatever they said, I agreed with. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm too soft to stand up to them. Too innocent. Sure, we were all evil, but I could always sense something in the back of my head that told me not to do the things my brothers make me do. I ignore it. Always have.

   But I wonder now if I shouldn't ignore it. The rage and hatred that my brothers told me I had...it was going away, fast. I saw no reason in our attacks anymore. I constantly told my brain that I hated her, loathed the Puffs, yearned for their deaths. But I was becoming unconvincing.

   Even though they constantly embarrassed me, and beat me, I just couldn't hate them. Couldn't. I was beginning to see the other side of the story. Looking up to Brick and Butch, I realized that what I felt for my brothers is what the Puffs felt for the whole city. I understood, in that moment, why they protected the city and beat us. They had something to live for. Something they held dear to their hearts.

   Something they love.