Chapter Text
The Townsville State Prison was one of the few accomplishments Sara was proud of having managed to take from the California government. The city wasn’t exactly remarkable in a state that had Los Angeles and San Francisco, but it was a growing city — one Sara was proud to be part of.
From the outside, the prison was intimidating, to say the least: guards on the walls, at the gates, inside, and in almost every room. The walls were tall, the surveillance constant. Inside, it was just as bleak — the bars stretched for meters and meters, containing the most dangerous villains and criminals in Northern California.
Everywhere Sara went, she was greeted by the guards. They all knew and recognized her for how often she visited, and she greeted them back—she knew very well how important it was to maintain a healthy relationship with those around her, especially the guards of the place where the most violent people were kept. She walked with elegance as the prisoners stared at her, some with anger and others with… less innocent feelings. Many of them were there because of the public safety campaigns she worked so hard to promote alongside the mayor.
She stopped before a large door covered with danger signs. Yellow and black stripes surrounded the entrance area. A police officer guarded that section of the prison; with a simple nod, he gave way to the redhead, who already displayed a special card — a key granting access through that door.
“Access granted. Welcome back, Miss Bellum,” said a robotic voice after the card was inserted into the reader.
The metallic door, full of heavy mechanisms and safety levers, slowly opened, allowing the redhead to step inside before closing quickly behind her.
Unlike the outside, the interior was completely different. The once-gray concrete walls were now covered in multiple colors — mostly red, blue, and green — along with doodles covering every visible surface, making the place look more like a normal house than a maximum-security prison.
“She’s here!”
“Finally!”
Sara was quickly swarmed by two small figures floating at her eye level — two boys in customized child-sized Townsville prison uniforms, their names embroidered on the right side of their chests.
“Sorry I’m late, boys, things were busy at city hall.”
“Look, look! I made a drawing today!” said the blond boy, showing a piece of paper full of scribbles depicting three boys blowing up a green monster. “This is me, that’s Butch, and that’s Brick! And this one here is Mr. Lizard!”
“Look, I beat Dungeon Monster 3 without dying once!” said the dark-haired boy, holding a portable video game showing every stage completed with golden invincibility icons.
They proudly showed off their latest accomplishments, their eyes full of excitement and pride — so much that Bellum couldn’t help but smile at seeing their interests blossom.
“That’s a very nice drawing, Boomer. We’ll frame it and hang it on the wall. And congratulations, Butch, I know you worked hard for that,” she said, ruffling both boys’ hair.
Their wide, honest smiles warmed Sara’s heart. It wasn’t much, but these little ones were all the recognition she needed to remind herself that, even through ups and downs, she was on the right path.
“Now, be strong boys and take these heavy bags to the kitchen,” she said, pointing to the bags full of supplies she carried.
Before she could finish, two streaks — one blue, one green — rushed past her, snatching the bags from her hands. For reasons that no “Super Parenting for Beginners” book Professor Utonium had lent her could explain, the boys were strangely competitive about everything: who reached her first, who carried more grocery bags, who showered faster, and so on.
“Hey! Let go, I grabbed it first!” said Butch, pushing his brother.
“But I saw it first!” said Boomer, sticking his tongue out.
“Butch, stop pushing your brother. And Boomer, stop sticking out your tongue. Is that the kind of manners I taught you?” she said firmly, staring at the boys — who froze the instant she spoke.
Sara didn’t know much about raising children, but she’d spent enough time in politics to know how to deal with men. Ms. Keane questioned her methods, but the bit of discipline she applied to the boys’ upbringing at least yielded results.
“No…” the brothers muttered.
“Now apologize to each other.”
“But he started it!” said the blond.
“I don’t care who started it. Apologize and be done with it.”
Both boys looked uncomfortable but did as told, avoiding each other’s eyes. “Sorry…”
“Now hug each other and say "I love you".”
“But…” protested the dark-haired one, only to be met with the tall woman’s stern gaze, arms crossed.
The hug was clumsy. Sara had discovered — sadly — that the boys weren’t used to hugging, not each other or anyone else. Teaching them that it wasn’t a punishment but a form of affection had been a long and exhausting task.
“I love you,” the boys muttered, doing their best not to look at each other.
“Good. Now take those bags to the kitchen, I’ll be right there.”
Just like that, the boys vanished, leaving behind only the streaks of color that proved they’d been there. Sara lingered for a moment, smiling to herself. It had been hard work at first, but all those hours reading parenting books and applying what she learned were finally paying off — at least with Butch and Boomer. Brick, on the other hand, still resisted any sort of emotional connection.
Speaking of him — that was where Sara went next. She walked down the corridor, dodging toys scattered around, mixed with drawings on the walls of battles, monsters, and cars—the things the boys usually liked.
Beside the living room, where a large TV stood, was a wooden door leading to the boys’ bedroom. On it hung a big sign that read, “No Girls Allowed,” and “RowdyRuff Boys’ Lair. Forbidden People: PowerPuff Girls, HIM, and Mojo Jojo.”
Bellum hesitated before knocking — she didn’t want to risk waking Brick. Their relationship was improving gradually, but there were still barriers. The redhead was loud and talkative with his brothers but as guarded as a rabid dog when it came to any kind of non-violent interaction.
Still hesitant, she knocked and said, “Brick, it’s me. Can I come in?”
Keane had warned her about respecting personal space — each of the three had their own boundaries. Butch didn’t care and often invaded others’ space without realizing it; Boomer was very receptive to touch and contact; and Brick was like a territorial animal, defending his space with tooth and nail.
When no answer came, the redhead decided to take the initiative and entered. She respected the boy’s boundaries, but she also knew she needed to be firm and persistent — Brick was as stubborn as a mule.
“What do you want?” the boy asked sharply.
“I came to see how you’re doing. What are you up to?”
“Reading.”
“What are you reading?” she asked, stepping closer.
“Why do you care?”
“Because I’m the one who gave you that book, and I need to know if you like it so I can get you more.”
Bellum had learned the hard way that with Brick, she always had to have an answer ready. He was smart, curious, and temperamental — always replying rudely to any show of care. But she’d grown used to it, willing to cross this emotional minefield if it meant helping him.
“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s a classic. Do you like science fiction?”
“I do,” he said through gritted teeth.
When she reached him, Bellum simply stood near, letting the boy decide whether he wanted to be touched. Brick never took off his hat, so head pats were nearly impossible, but he had become more open to hugs lately.
“I’m glad you like it. You learned to read very quickly. It makes me happy to see you discovering new interests.”
“Do you really care?”
“Yes, because I’m responsible for you, and I want you to feel good here.”
The boy’s red eyes glared through the strands of red hair that framed the woman’s face. Brick hated how she always had sweet answers for his sharp questions — hated how his chest ached every time she did, and how he no longer wanted to be so mean.
“Tch. Anyway, I’m done with this one. I want Around the World in 80 Days next.”
“With that attitude, you won’t get it. What’s the magic word?”
As if it were the hardest thing in the world, Brick groaned, “Please. I want Around the World in 80 Days.”
It wasn’t much, but for the RowdyRuff Boys, manners and values were nearly impossible to instill. It took plenty of bargaining and deals for them to learn such simple words.
“That’s more like it. I’ll get it for you,” she said, giving him a short hug.
Brick didn’t hug back — he hated hugs; it showed clearly on his face. But in the past few months, he’d stopped rejecting them. He used to run from them as if they could burn him. Now he accepted them naturally or, well, as naturally as he could.
“Now get ready; I’m going to make dinner.”
The moment Brick heard the word “dinner,” something switched in his brain. The grumpy, irritable boy vanished, replaced by an eager child. Before Sara could even react, a red streak blurred past her, leaving her alone in the boys’ room.
The bags were already empty, with all the supplies laid out on the counter. The boys weren’t exactly examples of helpfulness, but when it came to food, they were always willing to help so it would be ready faster. Bellum didn’t see them; they were probably playing somewhere. She could hear Butch speaking loudly while playing and Boomer scribbling something.
As she tied her hair, Sara felt watched — a sixth sense she had developed after years living in Townsville. When she turned, she faced scarlet irises staring at her, trying their best to hide, leaving only the red cap and hair visible.
Another thing Bellum had discovered about Brick was that he had developed a taste for cooking. At first, she thought he was just eager to eat, but she had already noticed he watched her cook almost every day, and she had found used pans a few times that weren’t there when she had left.
“Brick, I can see you.”
“No, you can’t, your girl brain is seeing things,” he said, hiding behind the fridge.
“My girl brain needs help, why don’t you come and wash the vegetables for me?”
“Vegetables are stupid,” he said, approaching while Sara placed a steak on a cutting board.
“You’re too young for a knife…”
Before Sara could continue, Brick grabbed another knife from the utensil drawer and stabbed his own arm, only for the knife blade to bend completely upon contact with his skin, leaving not even just a single scar and basically rendering the knife useless.
“Okay, got your point. Stay close, I’ll teach you.”
The red eyes locked on the redhead’s hands, shining in a way Bellum didn’t often see in the boy. She handled the knife with frightening skill, and Brick was practically jumping on the board he was so close.
“We can’t remove the fat, it helps cook the meat and adds flavor. We cut against the grain to make it easier for you to eat, and I divide it into three equal slices. Do you know why?”
“Because idiots won’t accept having one smaller than the other.”
With the same speed she used to handle the knife, Bellum grabbed a wooden spoon and lightly tapped the boy on the head in a corrective way. She knew she didn’t have the strength to hurt any of them; she had seen the boys slam into walls countless times — they didn’t have the healthiest games for children their age.
“Ouch! Why did you do that!?”
“Don’t call your brothers idiots.”
“But they are!”
“That doesn’t give you the right to insult them. Value the people who are important to you.”
With the same stubbornness that had followed him his whole life, Brick scowled and crossed his arms. His intelligence was stronger than his stubbornness, and deep down, he knew Sara was right. Both knew Brick had a defined list of priorities, and above all he knew, the thing he cared most about in life, something that made him swallow his pride: his brothers.
While the boy started another one of his many tantrums, the redhead continued cooking, turning on the stove and letting the fire do its work. Brick was stubborn and would probably stay grumpy for a while, but at no point did he leave her side, watching her mix the ingredients while preparing multiple dishes.
“Take these dishes to the table, and ask your brothers to set it.”
When Sara arrived at the table with the last dish, it was set and full of multiple plates of food — steaks, salads, spaghetti, among others. The three boys literally drooled, waiting for the woman to announce that they could eat, yet another of the many things taught after much bargaining.
“You can eat.”
The table was attacked as if wild lynxes hadn’t seen a wounded deer in days. The boys ate a lot; a full table never lasted more than a few minutes with them around. She asked the teacher if it was something in their chemistry, but the girls didn’t eat at this level. He theorized it was just to fuel them for the growth phase they were entering. The redhead could see their happiness as they devoured whole parts of a chicken. Of course, they played a bit and spoke loudly, but generally, they focused more on eating than talking among themselves.
“Are you enjoying it?”
“The chicken is so good!” said Boomer, teeth visible in a big smile.
“You’re the best chef!” said Butch.
It took minutes for all the dishes to be cleared, because even though none of them were particularly fans of everything served, especially the salads, they never wasted food—not a single grain of rice. Sara tried not to think about it, but sometimes it bothered her.
“Alright, clear the table and brush your teeth. Tonight is movie night.”
“It’s my turn to choose!” shouted the blond boy, balancing multiple plates in his arms.
“Just don’t pick anything boring,” said the darker one.
“We don’t want any girly movie.”
“Boys, respect your brother’s turn. You can choose whatever you want, dear.”
After putting the dishes away in the sink, all three boys went to the bathroom, leaving as quickly as they entered, stopping side by side as if to report to an army sergeant, but it was just the tall red-haired woman waiting for them at the door.
“Open your mouths,” she said, crouching to their level.
All three opened without hesitation, showing their clean baby teeth after a brushing session far too violent for conventional children. But when you have X-element in your veins, even brushing with steel wool leaves your teeth clean and gums healthy.
“Did you floss?”
Boomer and Brick nodded, unlike their dark-haired brother who just dragged his feet, ignoring the red fringe of the woman in front of him.
“Butch… go back and floss.”
“But that’s stupid, the teeth will fall out anyway,” he said, pointing to a lost baby tooth that had fallen after a session of “boy’s games” the prison guards had conducted the previous week.
“Do as I say, and you’ll have beautiful, white teeth when you grow up, like Godzilla’s.”
“And pointy?”
“Very pointy,” she said, giving a small touch to the boy’s nose — well, where his nose should be.
The boy quickly went into the bathroom, sliding the floss between his teeth fast enough for the sound to echo through the hallway, like a saw cutting a tree trunk.
When Butch finally finished, his brothers waited on the living room sofa, the plasma TV on while Brick opened the streaming app. How did the RowdyRuff have a plasma TV? They had received it as a gift from Sara after helping the prison guards in a prisoner riot, which regularly occurred before the boys’ arrival.
“So what do you want to watch?” said Sara, taking control of the TV to Brick’s annoyance.
The boys had already seen a lot in life — violence was commonplace — but Bellum wanted them to enjoy childhood as normally as possible, so she insisted they watch kids’ programs instead of war documentaries, which were what was available in the Mojo Jojo lair.
Her streaming service was full of cartoons, educational shows, and especially what they loved most: Disney movies, at least the older ones. So, while scrolling through dozens of previously watched movies, Boomer jumped at the TV and began poking it.
“That one, I want that one! Ilo and tich…” he said, trying his best to read.
“It’s Lilo and Stitch, idiot…” Brick started to say before stopping under the heavy look of the woman beside him. “Boomer, it’s Lilo and Stitch… Boomer.”
“You’re almost there, Boomer. A little more practice and you’ll be able to read easily.”
Boomer sat close to Sara, stretching his head so she could pat him while showing a victorious face to his red-haired brother, who returned it with the maximum disgust he could show without being grounded. He was tired of being punished “just” for swearing or flipping off Boomer for doing something that, for him, was too easy to be difficult, like reading or math.
An hour of the movie passed quickly, since Brick and Butch fell asleep in the first thirty minutes. Butch always slept; he was the brother who slept the most because, proportionally, he was the most restless. Brick hated boring things; he liked his things too much to be bothered by them. Mrs. Keane said it was the fire of passion for his hobbies that drove him. Boomer, however, watched every minute of the movie with wide-open eyes, glowing with interest in the family story, especially Stitch, the little blue alien who struggled with trivial things, just like him.
“Ohana…”
“Did you say something, dear?”
“Nothing… nothing at all.”
The movie ended, and Sara had to carry Brick and Butch to their shared bed. Boomer just followed a little, downcast. Even though he had loved the movie, a strange feeling took him after the ending. He wanted to ask Miss Bellum something, but sleep also made his mind a bit fuzzy.
The redhead placed the blond brothers in their favorite parts of the bed, covering them with the big blue, red, and green blanket. Butch snored loudly while Brick drooled a little in his dreams. Boomer settled on his side of the blanket, waiting for the lights to be turned off.
“Are you okay, dear? Didn’t you like the movie?”
“No, I liked it. Can I get a Stitch doll?”
“Of course you can. Study hard and get a good grade with Mrs. Keane, and I’ll give you the doll.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Pinky promise.”
Sara was about to leave the room, not before giving the boy a kiss on the forehead, but she was stopped by a noise that caught her attention — it was Brick clearing his throat. The boys were competitive about many things; Bellum knew this very well. So she stretched and gave a little kiss on the redhead’s forehead as well.
“Sleep with the angels.”
The room fell silent, except for Butch’s snores. They were used to it; they had slept together their whole lives. But while Brick plunged into his sleep, Boomer was restless, turning several times on his pillow. Scenes from the movie replayed in his head as if he were watching it again, and that previous feeling only intensified.
“Brick, are you awake?”
There was no response. The blond almost gave up until he saw that even facing the other way, his brother had started breathing differently after he called him.
“If you keep talking, I’ll be…”
“Are we a family?”
“Of course we are, idiot. We’re brothers.”
“So we’ll not be left behind or forgotten, right?”
The answer didn’t come immediately. Boomer thought his brother had gone back to sleep, but he saw him turn to look him in the eyes, the red meeting the blue.
“Yeah, we won’t. Remember: just us against the world.”
It was true. The boys had built a strong brotherhood. They hadn’t lived a dream life, because at the end of the day, no matter how much time passed, it was just them together, going through the tortuous paths the world had laid out for them.
“And Bellum?”
Brick didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. He had always warned his brothers not to get their hopes up. Adults had already abandoned them too many times for them to blindly trust anyone. But months passed, and neither Brick, Butch, nor Boomer knew exactly what the tall red-haired woman who always visited them, bringing food, toys, care, and company, wanted.
“Ask her tomorrow. Now go to sleep.”
Silence reigned in the room. Boomer wasn’t satisfied, but sleep no longer let his mind work at full power. His batteries were running out, and he needed to recharge.
"But still good..." said the blonde praticaly sleeping.
Far away, at Townsville’s inactive volcano, the machines powered on automatically as white boots walked into their old lair, the steps only stopping when the main computer activated and greeted the master of this entire place, the builder of all these machines.
"Welcome back, Mojo Jojo. How was prison?"
"Exceptionally bad, dear computer, but Mojo Jojo is back, for Mojo Jojo has paid everything owed to the Townsville municipal government, the city where Mojo Jojo will reign after defeating the… — he paused to clear his throat — POWERPUFF GIRLS. Now, computer, locate my boys, the sons of Mojo Jojo, Mojo Jojo need them for my next plan to succeed."
"The RowdyRuff Boys? Recent data does not indicate their presence in the lair or in the underworld."
"They’re not with HIM? The androgynous demon with whom I, Mojo Jojo, reluctantly share custody of Mojo Jojo’s children?"
"Mr. HIM relinquished custody of the boys the moment you were sentenced, Mr. Jojo. In his words: “I am too young demon and have a future to spend taking care of three brats.”
"Clever... so where are they now?"
"The RowdyRuff Boys, in the figure of Brick Jojo, your firstborn, turned themselves over to the municipal authorities of Townsville exactly 8 months, 16 days, and 23 hours ago. Their current location, along with their brothers, is the Townsville State Maximum Security Prison."
"What would lead Brick Jojo, Mojo Jojo’s favorite son and his successor in the path of evil, to surrender to those disgusting Powerpuff Girls?"
"No, sir. The RowdyRuff Boys surrendered to the Townsville city government. Documents indicate an agreement was made with the mayor, but I cannot disclose the details due to confidentiality."
"Hypothesize a reason."
"I can theorize that the reason is: after their imprisonment and the abandonment by the demon HIM, the boys wandered the city like nomads, without direction or support. The arrival of winter may have forced Brick to surrender, realizing he could not survive the harsh winter without help."
Mojo Jojo did not tremble or flinch. The news of his children’s abandonment only brought him one feeling: rage, rage at his son’s incompetence in not taking care of himself and surrendering to the forces of good.
"Computer, prepare the Mojo ship. I will retrieve Mojo Jojo’s children in the morning."