Goodnight Moon

A/N: A lot of PPGxPPG in here. ButtercupxBlossom, ButtercupxBubbles, BlossomxBubbles. It's all in here. So don't be surprised when you read it.

Besides being a romance, this is a horror story. My goal is to keep it creepy. So there will be a little gruesomeness and a dark tone overall. Quite a bit of drama and angst. No happy here. Not a lot anyways.

This first chapter is short, and has a lot of mystery to it and unanswered stuff. But, believe me, all the history summarized here will be explained throughout the story in much detail. I just don't want to overwhelm with all these subplots so early on in the story.

And yes, the title of this is inspired by the children's book: Goodnight Moon.

I hope you enjoy. :D

Chapter 1

I've always been afraid of the dark. I don't normally admit that so easily now that I'm nineteen and supposed to be an adult. But the truth is, I'm more scared of the dark now than I was at the age of five.

But there were a lot of things that kept me protected at that age. When I was five, I still had my innocence and naïve way of thinking. If the Professor checked the closet for monsters, there'd be none to get me. If I had my nightlight turned on, it'd repel and keep any evil from touching me. And if none of that stuff worked, when I was five, I still had my sisters. With the two of them tucked in for bed beside me, I felt safe. But most importantly, I had Blossom. As long as I had her to give me a hug after having a nightmare, I felt fine. Buttercup was always too annoyed by my night terrors to give me anything more than a "You big baby." But Blossom would always make things better, so that didn't matter.

But I don't have that stuff anymore. No innocence, no Professor, no nightlight, and no Blossom. It's just me, the dark and the moon.

I carefully patted the soil around the new group of miniature rose bushes I had just planted alongside the pathway to our home. I looked over my shoulder at my sister who worked on the driveway. I could only see her feet, from where she lay underneath the classic, cherry red, 1955 Chevy Bel Air, covered in grease and oil.

"Just what is she up to?" someone asked me.

"She likes cars," I answered, not bothering to see who spoke to me. I assumed it was either a nosey bird or squirrel, just as usual. They were always bothering me as I worked in the garden. "Tearing them a part, rebuilding them, fixing them--"

"Driving them?"

"She can fly. Why on Earth would she drive?" I laughed a little.

"That's what I thought, and that's why I was asking."

"She just likes cars," I shrugged my shoulders. My eyes were still on my sister. "I think it makes her feel normal," I continued. "Working on something so common like automobiles. And what's more ordinary than being an average Joe mechanic? That's my theory anyways."

"It's a silly hobby to have, if you don't even have any use for what you're fixing. It's a waste of time, if you ask me."

"Well, I don't think anyone asked you," I returned. I turned my head to see who I was speaking to, but didn't see anyone.

"Down here."

I looked down, between my fingers which were still buried in the dirt below. I blinked at the small rose bush. "You?"

"Who else?"

I stared at the little plant for some time, but didn't say anything.

"Well, are you going to give me some water, or aren't you?" the rose bush said with attitude.

I blinked. "Uh, yeah. Sure." I reached over to my watering can and gave the snappy little shrub a light shower of water.

"Bubbles, who the hell are you talking to over there?" Buttercup mumbled from beneath the car.

"Nobody," I answered right away, quickly standing. "I'm going to start dinner, okay?" I brushed myself off as I approached my sister.

Buttercup rolled out from underneath the car. Her face was completely black with dirty sweat and grease. "Who were you talking to?" she asked again.

I couldn't help but laugh at her dirty face. "No one," I answered with a giggle.

My sister rolled her eyes. "You're not hearing the car talking to you again, are you?" she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I told you already, I was tired that night. Besides that mustang made funny noises, even you thought it was saying stuff the way it sounded. No, this one isn't saying anything to me. Okay, Smart Ass?"

"Damn," Buttercup kicked at a wrench that lay at her feet. "Would've helped if you could hear it talk. I can't figure out what's wrong with this thing."

"Isn't that nice? My own sister hoping that I go insane and start communicating with inanimate objects."

Buttercup returned her attention to the car and I made my way inside the house, still hearing that cursed rose bush yelling at me from the yard.

I still lived in the same home I was raised in, only now it was just me and Buttercup. We still saved the day and made sure the city of Townsville was safe. I guess the two of us would have that responsibility until our dying day. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. We received plenty of adoration and appreciation from the entire city. Never had to worry about money or anything as our reward for our duties.

Professor died when we were just fifteen. My sisters and I always blamed ourselves for his death. After all, we were constant targets. Every crook and villain wanted us dead and wanted us to suffer for just doing our jobs. One day, my sisters and I got home from school and found out that one of those monsters finally succeeded in their quest for revenge. The Professor was dead, and just the three of us were left. I think that's when the whole idea of us being a family just… disappeared.

I decided to make spaghetti. It was a favorite of Buttercup's but something I had always been afraid to make. Blossom was the cook before she left. Spaghetti was something I always messed up. It was the most simple dish to make, but I always managed to screw it up. And this night was no different. The dish was a complete disaster and I ordered pizza at the very last minute, hiding my failure deep in the kitchen trashcan.

"You forgot the seasoning when browning the beef. That's all," was the advice I received, but ignored from the trashcan.

Truth was, things were talking to me that shouldn't be talking to me. I didn't want to worry Buttercup with something like this though. It only started recently.

When I was a kid, I learned quickly that I was gifted with the natural ability to communicate in any language. I could speak to any human on the planet, along with any animal. I never questioned it. Professor said it was my special power, just like Blossom's ice breath.

And that's why I couldn't tell Buttercup what was happening. She'd right away think back to Blossom and her own special power. She'd freak out. She'd expect the same thing to happen to me that happened to Blossom. I just couldn't let her know that all that could be happening again.

It happened over a period of just six months. It started with just a low temperature, but ended in a way we never saw coming.

Blossom's special power was her ice breath. With a careful blow, she could control an ice storm which naturally came from within her. Only about a year ago, she just couldn't control it anymore. It was like her special ability just went completely haywire. Soon, any normal breath she took created an icy storm to escape her lips. And the wintery breeze just got colder and colder and worse and worse. Towards the end, her whole body was stiff and frozen and all she could do was lie in bed, frozen beneath her bed sheets, in her icebox of a room. I guess her heart just froze over and that was it. We don't know exactly what happened or why. It just did.

If one of us three had to die, I wished it had been me instead of her. Really, she was the last person who deserved it, and her death was just the most cruel thing that could happen. Both me and Buttercup relied on her so much. Our sanity relied on her. She's what kept the three of us going after the Professor died. She was my only protection from the dark.

But my need for Blossom was a selfish one. I loved Blossom more than anything, and I know she loved me, too. But I know she loved Buttercup more, and Buttercup loved her more, too. I may have needed Blossom, but Buttercup needed her more and Blossom needed Buttercup. Their bond together was greater than anything I could ever imagine.

That was why I should have been the one to go. They needed each other. It was perfect. They didn't need me. If I had gone instead, things wouldn't be so sad. Instead, she went, and things couldn't get any more tragic.

I used to listen to the two of them through the bedroom walls. Growing up, they'd always be fighting and arguing. It was just their thing. I used to try and intervene, but I eventually learned that if I tried to get them to stop, soon they'd just turn on me. So I stayed out of it, and listened silently in the next room, and just waited for it all to end.

One day when we were sixteen, I was listening to them fight from across the hall in Buttercup's room from my own room. The door to the room was open, as was mine. They didn't know I was watching though, and I honestly tried not to. I could have shut my door, but I just watched instead.

"You're being overdramatic," Buttercup crossed her arms.

"Overdramatic?" Blossom repeated. "Buttercup, you were almost killed today."

"No I wasn't--"

"Yes! Yes, you were! That beast was this close to ripping your head completely off! If you would have just listen to my directions, it wouldn't have happened!"

"But it didn't happen! I had everything under control! And the monster's dead and gone. So, just cool it, already!"

"All I ask is that you be more careful, Buttercup! I don't know why this is so difficult for you! I don't understand why you have to take so many risks when--"

"Uh, Earth to Blossom? Our entire job is nothing but risk taking! You know what? Yeah, I take risks. But I get the job done, alright? You got little baby Bubbles over there who barely takes risk, so somebody's gotta make it up, right? And that's me! And I'm glad to do it! I'm good at it."

"Yes, we all take risks. But there are just some risks that aren't worth it, Buttercup!" She looked as if she was about to scream something else at Buttercup, but stopped herself. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "Just, please, be more careful. That's all I'm asking."

"I am being careful--"

"Buttercup, please!"

"But I am--"

Blossom grabbed my sister with both hands by her face and brought her head close to hers. I remembered the look in my sister's eyes. The redhead looked desperate, and she begged with her gaze. "Please, Buttercup. Just, please," she said with a shaky voice.

Buttercup's face flushed a bright pink then. I remember being shocked beyond belief at the sight of my tough, tomboy sister blushing so hard. "Okay," Buttercup replied quietly after a long moment of silence.

At that point, I watched my sister Blossom throw her arms around Buttercup and just cling to her forever. Buttercup stayed completely still as our leader wept on her shoulder. "You really scared me today," I heard Blossom confess to Buttercup.

"I'm… sorry," Buttercup said, and actually meant it, which was a rarity.

Blossom looked up at Buttercup and lightly placed her lips on Buttercup's. It lasted just two seconds. When Blossom retracted from Buttercup, Buttercup looked just as surprised as I was. Blossom looked embarrassed and then it was her turn to blush as she left the room, without another word or explanation.

Over the next three years, the two would only grow closer. And that's why it was so sad that she had to be the one to go when she did. It was sad for me, but it was much more sad for Buttercup. Sometimes when I look at her, I can still feel how painful her screams were that night when Blossom passed.

I honestly don't know how she's been able to move on, or at least put on the appearance that she's moved on, that is. Now, she acts as if we never had a sister named Blossom. She acts as if she was never even in love. She just continues to fight crime, work on her cars, eat and sleep. On good days she'll give me some conversation every now and then, but usually nothing more than six or seven sentences long.

But I guess I have plenty of companions to talk to now that I can talk to plants and household items these days. At least, I don't think my own special ability getting a mind of its own can lead to my death like what happened with Blossom.

It's not like voices can kill.

At least… I hope they can't.