¡Viva La Gloria!


AN: This is a story inspired by the song ¡Viva La Gloria! by Green Day.

BlossomxBrick. PrincessxButtercup. Don't like it?- Don't read! :)

Beware: Bad language, mild gore and blood, some drug use, sweet action awesomess, lesbians, and villains.

Oh yeah, this is dedicated to Danny. :3

Enjoy, and please review. :)


Chapter 1

Three versus three. The average spectator might call that a fair fight. Three Good versus three Evil. Both groups protect and serve. They just happen to protect and serve different portions of society. Both think of themselves as the more supreme, although one is a little more modest.

The war went on longer than anticipated. However, in the small town American city of Townsville, it's been agreed by most that the war has ended, and the Powerpuff Girls won.

What the town called the "final battle" was centered on the three boys and three girls. Both the boys and girls were just seven-year-olds then. Neither the girls, nor the boys, could comprehend what they were fighting for. They were all good children, who did what they were told.

"Fight the bad guys. Save the city."

"Fight the enemy. Save us."

These were children blessed with innocence and cursed with power, and they did what they were told.

The boys lost and the girls won. The boys were sentenced to five years and punished with Antidote X, forcing the villains into early retirement. Of course, only being seven years of age-too young even for juvenile hall- they got out in less than two years, and were placed in foster care. The men they learned from and called their parents and mentors would be behind bars all their lives, and somehow, they are expected to move on.

Townsville- villain-free for five years. All the bad guys were locked up, and when the little girls turned twelve, it was time to retire just in time for middle school. The war was over, and so the town judged it was time for their curse to be lifted. The girls were rewarded with Antidote X.

Everyone in Townsville expected it to end just like that. For some reason, no one anticipated what the children thought of the whole matter.

There are still grudges, and there is still hatred. Injustice and broken-hearts remain. Both sides feel robbed. Truthfully, both were indeed cheated. And to the little boys and girls who are now young men and women: the war is far from over.


"It's just three weeks until summer vacation, Girls. Have you thought about what you will be doing with your free time?"

His daughters were seventeen now and yet he still woke up every morning to baby them with daily, hearty breakfasts, complete with smiley face pancakes and extra tall glasses of orange juice. The caring father ignored the 102 degree whether outdoors and heated up the oven especially early that day to bake a "Thank You" cake for Buttercup's fourth period Trigonometry teacher for the extra tutoring after school.

Bubbles clapped her hands and woke everyone up, all high-pitched, loud and caffeine-free: "Oh! Yes! I'm volunteering at the Kitty Rescue this year!" She giggled cheerfully, completely oblivious to both her sisters' annoyance with her 6:43 AM shrill. "It's going to be so much fun!"

Buttercup groaned without lifting her forehead from the tabletop in front of her. She had face-planted as soon as she took her routine seat at the kitchen table that early morning. "I hate my life," she thought to herself before speaking aloud: "Bubbles, you do that every god damn summer."

"Language," Professor lectured automatically.

"Bubbles, you do that every summer," she repeated in the same disgruntled moan, her face still glued with sticky sweat to the table.

"Nuh-uh," Bubbles stuck her nose in the air, "Last year I volunteered for the Townsville Terrier Club!" She giggled to herself as she remembered the West Highland Terrier pup she helped teach how to potty on newspaper all on its own.

"What are you doing this summer, Buttercup?" Blossom asked as she handed her sister a cup of coffee. She sat beside her with her own cup. Bubbles made a gross face at the sight of the dark beverage. Coffee, straight black, no sugar or cream. One thing the green and pink Puff shared in common.

Buttercup rose at the smell of her morning pick-me-up. She sipped, savored, then spoke: "I'm earning some cash."

"Me too," Blossom nodded. "And I'm volunteering at the food bank, the library and organizing a 'Freedom for Joe' campaign."

Buttercup rolled her eyes. "Of course she's doing everything and then some," she thought. "Freedom for Joe?" she snorted.

"Yes."

"But… didn't he like… kill a guy?"

"No, he was framed."

"Right."

"It's called a conspiracy, Buttercup."

"I think he's innocent too!" Bubbles interjected. "I mean…. Why would anyone kill anyone?"

Buttercup laughed louder. "Why would anyone kill anyone?" she repeated. "Bubbles, that's just… genius."

"Thank you," Bubbles smiled, unaware of any insult.

Buttercup shook her head at her two naïve siblings. A bad guy's a bad guy. That was her thinking. They all needed the crap beat out of them and deserved whatever sentence they got. If she had had it her way, she and her sisters would still be in the crime fighting business. But it was two against one, and here they are talking about a murderer as if he was a human being, instead of kicking his ass personally.

Buttercup raised an eyebrow and looked at her redheaded sister.

"What?" Blossom questioned.

"You really buy into all that liberal 'Joe is innocent' crap?"

Blossom's eyes narrowed. "So what if I do?"

"He killed a cop."

"In self defense!"

"He killed a cop!" Buttercup slammed a fist on the table and turned towards her sister. She jabbed a finger in her direction: "Less than five years ago, we worked with them cops! And he killed one of them! You saying the cops are the bad guys!"

"I'm saying it was a complicated case of mistaken identity-"

"But Joe's not bad?"

"He's not!"

"So then the cop was bad?"

"No!"

"Well then who is bad? Whose fault is it? It's gotta be someone's fault!"

"Ugh!" Blossom was beginning to have enough. "We are supposed to be a democratic society-"

"So at the Kitty Rescue, I get to work with Sally from school!" Bubbles strategically interrupted her two bickering siblings. "It's going to be lot's of fun."

"That's nice, Bubbles," Blossom played along with her sister's diversion. If she didn't stop then, things would only continue to grow worse. "I'm sure you and Sally will have lot's of fun." Blossom forced a smile on her face. " So, any idea about where you'll be working this summer, Buttercup?"

"I dunno."

Blossom sighed. "Would you like me to ask if the alley is hiring?"

"It's about time you offered," Buttercup grinned.

Blossom sighed again. "Don't even think about being an ass if you're hired! I've only worked there for two months, and I don't want my sister ruining my job security because she decides to challenge a customer to a wrestling match or whatever."

"Red, you work at a bowling alley for Christ's sake. Bowlers are fat and out of shape. It's a sorry excuse for a sport, so no one there would be worth the challenge," Buttercup smirked. "Besides, getting fired is the last thing I want this summer. I need the cash."

"So you can blow it all on video games?" Bubbles laughed.

"Exactly."


"Okay, one of us has got to suck it up and get a job this summer." Brick slammed the refrigerator door closed. There wasn't very much inside. Just a carton of milk due to expire in two days.

He sat at the bare kitchen table, already calculating in his head just how he was going to make the thirteen dollars in his back pocket last at least two more weeks until his next paycheck. "And by 'us,' I mean one of you twos," he stared at each of his brothers.

"Why can't you just get another job, Brick?" Butch asked.

"Because, Retard, there are only 24 hours in a day and I already work two damn jobs."

"I've been looking," Boomer interrupted. "Just… no one seems to be offering."

Butch crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "They're offering alright. Just not to skinny, blonde bums like you."

"Hold up a sec," Brick glared at Boomer from across the bare table. "Whaddya mean 'been looking'?"

"I mean-"

"No, no, no, no, no," Brick cut off Boomer. "You ain't the one who needs to be looking." He shot a mean stare at Butch. "He should be looking."

"Dumb Ass, you just said one of us two needs to get a job. Why can't it be him over me?" Butch returned a mean stare.

"I said that, but what I meant was the laziest of you twos needs to get a job."

"So, I'm the laziest of us both?" Butch sat up in his chair quickly.

"Am I mistaken, or are you the retard who skips class to get your damn fixes with my money?" Brick stood up, challenging his brother.

Butch jumped to his feet next, accepting the challenge. "You're the dumb ass who dropped out of school altogether!"

"So that I can earn money for your stupid ass! Money to feed you, not for your fucking drugs! Maybe I'll just stop working, like you stop going to school and throw away everything!"

"Why the hell can't Boomer work this summer?"

"Because Boomer actually does alright in school! He at least passes his classes and learns some stuff, and when he's done he'll probably be able to find a pretty good paying gig somewheres!"

"We'll both look for jobs. How 'bout that?" Boomer proposed.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Living was hard for the three brothers. It was most hard for Brick. After all, he was the one with the most sense and smarts. At least enough sense and smarts to see the bigger picture.

For five years, they lived with about eight different couples who took care of them as foster parents. In other words, gave as little support as humanly possible. Next they were shipped to a woman who was supposed to be their permanent guardian. Once that paper work was complete the state said "Adios!"

No longer the government's problem, and never society's problem, they were with an old woman who hardly knew them. It was like that for almost a full year. Just when the boys had finally learned her name (Debby Rivers), she just disappeared one day, leaving the kids alone to fend for themselves at the age of fifteen.

That's when Brick had to grow up. He was the only one with the most sense to do so. But his brothers were all he had, so of course he would sacrifice for all he had. Now two years of nothing but work, sleep, eat, work, he hardly remembers the meaning of that sacrifice anymore.

"Get to school you twos," Brick sighed. "I'll have something in that fridge by the time you all show up."

"How I'll get something in that fridge? Who the hell knows?" Brick thought to himself as he watched his brothers depart for school. As his brothers turned left on the sidewalk pavement, a Postal Service truck pulled up in front of the small home.

"Great," Brick muttered. Half of the statement was meant to be sarcasm and half was a thankful prayer to the heavens above.

"Mr. Rivers?" the delivery man asked as he sat down a medium sized package at the door step. He handed Brick the form to sign.

"Unfortunately," Brick muttered and sloppily scribbled on the clipboard. "Why the hell couldn't she have taken her douchey name along with her?" he thought to himself. It seemed unfair that he had to forever live with the name of a woman he hardly ever knew.

Brick took the package inside and straight to his bedroom. He stared at it, wondering just what the hell it could be this time. Every now and then he received something in the mail from a "Mr. Bonaparte." He knew it was just a cover. He knew who it was really from. He just didn't understand why. It started about two years ago when Debby disappeared. This would be the seventh package from Bonaparte.

He hesitated, but knew he could use at least half of what was inside. He always could use it.

There was always two things inside these packages: a stuffed bear and a baby doll. He didn't even bother ripping open the bears anymore; they always had nothing but things from his past- things he did not wish to associate with anymore. But in the baby doll, there was always a generous bundle of much needed cash.

Sure enough, he found a nice stack of twenties hidden inside the baby doll as usual. He added them up and discovered he now had plenty of money for groceries. One thousand dollars. "Usually Mr. Bonaparte sends half of that," Brick inspected the bills. "Bastard must have some sort of psychic sense bullcrap."

He read the note that was inside the box:

"Happy Birthday, Gloria.

I hope you like this bear especially. It's indeed very special.

Your Uncle Bonaparte."

Usually Bonaparte's notes simply read "Happy Birthday, Gloria." Brick stared at the big, plush bear. His eyes drifted across the room to his closet. Stacked in the corner were six other bears. He had only opened three of them. After the third bear, he stopped. The contents were all the same. Hand grenades, pistols and bullets. Weapons with a purpose.

"I ain't doing your dirty work, you old fool," Brick glared at the bear in his hands. "Just what the hell do you want with us anyhow?"

He glanced at the note again.

"Very special."

Why was this bear special? Maybe the contents were different? Maybe even… useful?

Brick's curiosity grew stronger, but he fought against it with all his might. He had fallen for it three times before.

It was so tempting to listen to every command of his. After all, he was the smartest man Brick had ever known. If he simply listened, he could get his revenge on those three that cursed him to this hard life. But he had listened to that man once before and where did it get him?- Two years in juvi, that's where. All he had to do was resist temptation, and maybe life would eventually stop being unnecessarily complicated.

Live your honest life. Do your honest work. The American Dream applies to you, too.

"Just work, sleep and eat, Bricky-boy," he repeated to himself: "Work, sleep and eat."

Thankfully, the alarm clock in his room screeched loudly, and it was time for work.

Brick pulled on his black jumper and slipped into his thick, waterproof, rubber boots. He tied his long red hair back and adjusted his baseball cap. It wouldn't take too long for the mystery bear to be out of his mind. After all, when you're knee deep in cow shit, the odor distracts one's mind from virtually anything and everything.