Hello, all! This is my first PPG story here, hope you like it enough! Comments/ reviews/ critiques are very much wanted!

I don't own the Powerpuff Girls.

Title: Delusional

POV: Buttercup

Couples: none. There's sibling love here, no couples, no incest, none of that stuff (not that I'm against incest, don't go hating me for that)

Rating: K+ (mild swearing, like maybe three times in this whole thing)

Summary: I suck at summaries, so here's a little excerpt from somewhere in this oneshot: "We were dying together, as we had been born together. It was the only proper way to go, and I found myself blissfully happy."

Notes: Ermm, they're about... let's say 15 years old.


She was disappearing before my eyes.


I had seen it clearly, her frame had started to pale—then it faded. Soon my sister was just a pale pink light in front of me, and I couldn't get her to reappear.

"Buttercup! What are you saying? She's right here! Blossom's right next to me!"

No, Bubbles, you're wrong. Blossom's gone. She just vanished, she's kaput and I can't find her again. How the hell did I lose her?


"Buttercup, I'm fine! Get a hold of yourself!"


And I was being shaken, ferociously, back and forth, at the speed of light, literally. Blue orbs bore into my vision, trying to communicate with me telepathically. Are your eyes working? She's alive and well, directly in front of you! They screamed hysterically.

And then those eyes slipped from my line of vision as well.



"Quit kicking me!"

Was I thrashing? And screw my vocabulary, my sisters— my own flesh and blood— just went poof! Gone! Forever dissolved into nothingness!

I have to save them!

"Let them go you no-good-deed-doer! Give them back!"


Before I knew it, I was crying—sobbing. I had never felt a pain this deep, never had a wound so burning as the loss of Blossom and Bubbles. I felt useless, defenseless, scared. I couldn't do anything—no matter what I did, they wouldn't come back. They'll never come back. Why them?

A mirror vaporized before me. Reflected in it was a lone figure, my own. I stood there, naked, vulnerable, wearing nothing but a tired face and the disheveled mess of hair on my head.

I saw the pools in my eyes, the redness in my cheeks. All of my tears were starting to turn my big green eyes a deranged red. I was frightening. I was pitiful.

I was crumbling.

Literally. I was a witness to my own demise—first my knees gave out. As I sunk down to the white floor beneath me, my body started to fold into itself. I was folded, much like a piece of paper, several times until I was just a little square of human flesh. Still, however, I could see my full reflection in the depths of the glass mirror, and the forms of my sisters, fully clothed, but in Angel's robes soon joined it.

My mirror self looked delighted to be reunited with her sisters; she lifted her arms up to give Angel-Blossom a hug, but her arms fell right through the red head's body. My reflection looked horrified, and she then tried to embrace Angel-Bubbles. The Blonde only frowned and sadly shook her head, as though telling Mirror-Buttercup that she was imagining their presence.

And maybe she was.

Then, Real-Me, the microscopically crumpled one of the marble ground, started shouting. What I shouted, I don't know, something in Gibberish, but afterwards, all was black.

And I was falling. I was no longer a discarded clump of nothing, I was shaped like my regular self again, clothed, and I was falling through darkness. I was pelting down—was it down? It could have been any direction— at the speed of a bullet. I tried to fly, but I couldn't. I couldn't fly anymore, just like I couldn't save my sisters earlier, I was hopeless.



"We're not dead! Please, Buttercup!"

I could hear it—Angel Bubbles was crying. She choked on her words talking to me. I was hurting her.

I was a monster.

No, I didn't want to harm her; I wanted to save her, help her. Her and Blossom, the both of them, they needed me. I needed them.

"Don't cry, Bubbles, please don't. I'll save you guys, just wait for me."

"We don't need to be saved, Buttercup! We're fine!"

How could they be so naïve? They clearly weren't okay—far from it. They were angels, dead.

And I've lost them again, speaking of those angels. Where had they gone? Were they falling with me? No, angels could fly. Then again, I could fly too, yet I was failing miserably.

And then I was gliding upwards—I was sure that I was rising this time. I looked to my left, I looked to my right. On both sides of me, I saw the white shining wings of angels. I looked up more, and could see the halos perched above a blonde head and a red head.

My sisters were flying me to safety. They were saving me from falling into the pits of Hell. They were carrying me onwards to Heaven.

When had I died? I don't recall dying. But I guess that I must have died, somewhere along the way, since I was positive that Blossom and Bubbles were guiding me into the white afterlife.

We were dying together, as we had been born together. It was the only proper way to go, and I found myself blissfully happy.

But I never reached the clouds above the Earth's atmosphere. No, I stopped before I could go beyond the ozone layer. I awoke, and I was lying on snow. The white sheets beneath me were warm though, nothing like the precipitation of winter. And it wasn't flaky, nor was it wet. It was silky, smooth, dry, and warm. It was like a bed sheet.

It was a bed sheet. I wasn't resting atop of a snowy mountaintop. I was lying in a bed.

Hospital bed.

I jolted bolt upright in the cot. I snapped my head in both directions—surely Blossom and Bubbles would either be standing by my bedside or else snoozing peacefully in the beds adjacent to my own.

To my right, there was just a white-framed bed with white sheets.

To the left, I found another empty bed.

I looked straight ahead, and was terrified to find only the foot of my bed. They weren't watching guard over me; they weren't resting beside me. Those were the only places that they've ever been my entire life….

Which brought me back to my earlier question: where were they?

I tried to scream, but was surprised to find that I couldn't. There was a tube attached to my mouth—I couldn't talk, I could barely breathe through the contraption—but I had to call to them, to anyone, somehow.

Before I could call anyone though, the sliding doors opened and a nurse stepped in. She quickly rushed over to me and ushered me to lie down. I refused. I grabbed her arm with both my hands to keep her from moving me, from moving herself. I stared into the lady's brown eyes with my own, trying to ask her without speaking what happened and where my sisters were.

Her eyes grew sad. She shook her head lightly, but I rattled her arm to emphasize the point that I wanted—needed—to know.

She sighed and I saw her eyes start to water. "Buttercup, honey," I was so tense, I even ignored the fact that this stranger called me 'honey.' "Sweetie," she began again, "They didn't make it, dear."

My eyes widened. I shook my head; I grasped the nurse's arm tighter; I pulled on the limb. She was lying to me, I knew it.

"Ouch, Buttercup, deary, please," I yanked harder on the woman's poor arm. I shook my head again, I was shaking, my whole body, in my hospital bed. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. Please, lie back down." I had had it. I shoved the lady away from me; she went crashing into a medical cart on the opposite side of the room. I fell back against my pillows, my hands covering my protrusive eyes, and sobbed. I cried waterfalls from my eyeballs—I broke down harder than Bubbles ever had.

Bubbles. Blossom. They were gone. Officially, I wasn't dreaming this time. It was official; I'd never see them again.

I howled in pain. This hurt was worse than anything I'd ever experienced physically. It was even worse than loosing my sisters the first time, because this time I was conscious and I knew it was real.

I was an only child, and I hated it. Why didn't I die too?

No, I hadn't been dreaming before. Those experiences—me looking in the mirror, folding into tiny pieces, falling through layers and layers of blackness, Angels Blossom and Bubbles—that had been real. All of it. It was supposed to be my journey to Heaven or Hell, whichever one I would have ended up in. But I hadn't ended up in either, because I was saved. Blossom and Bubbles, they're last gift to me had been saving me.

It was the worst gift I have ever received.

They must have hated me, to leave me all alone in this town, Townsville. To leave me so lonesomely alone on this planet, Earth.

But I couldn't hate them for abandoning me—I still loved them, how could I not?

In the end, it wasn't worth it to be the toughest fighter. Only the strongest survive, and I wish that that wasn't true.

Please give me your honest opinions! The story is opened to anonymous reviews.