"Butch, are you alright? You don't look so good."

"Yeah, and you aren't acting like yourself."

Butch stared blankly at his brothers. It was true he wasn't acting like himself. He was normally hyper, joking, loving life. Lately, however, his disposition had decreased.

"I'm fine. I'm just feelin' kinda sick." Butch sighed as he hosited himself up on the kitchen counter.

"Well, get some rest, then. Mom's birthday party is next week, and we need you at your best."

Mom, huh? He thought. She may be your mom, but she ain't mine.

"Whatever." Butch said emotionlessly. He grabbed a newly baked brownie off a platter on the counter next to him. In fact, that was the reason the three brothers were in the kitchen to begin with.

"Don't eat them all, I'm still experimenting," Boomer warned. Butch just sat the untouched brownie back on its spot on the platter. Boomer noticed something in his brother's eyes that Brick apparently didn't.

"On second thought, have all you want. Just make sure to tell me how they taste." Boomer said light-heartedly. Butch just gave an unfeeling nod. Boomer's face sunk. What is wrong with him?

"Come on, Boom. We gotta start planning Mom's suprise." Brick said, heading out of the half kitchen door into the living room. Boomer lingered in the doorway, watching Butch's eyes on him. After a teeming silence, Boomer went over to Butch's spot on the counter and took a brownie off the plate. He forced it into Butch's hand.

"Just try one?" Boomer gave a knowing look. "Maybe you'll feel better after some sugar in your system."

It's the end of sugar rushes as you two know it, Butch thought.

"Just go, Brick needs you." Boomer was a little hurt at this, but understood his brother didn't want any company at the moment. He just gave one more pleading look for Butch to eat the brownie, and then slowly walked out. Butch stared at the little brown mass and reluctantly took a bite. It was so sweet that it enticed his taste buds and locked his desire for more. He enjoyed the rest of it, but as soon as the taste had left his mouth, the sugar dwindled and he resorted back to his previous state. He decided to entertain himself with thinking, something he rarely did before.

Yeah, go in there and make your little party for the schoolteacher. Call her mom. She's not my mom. I don't have any parents. We were abandoned together by the two jerks that made us. We promised we'd always stay together. Then that crap-faced Brick had to go suggest we'd try the kindergarten. They jump on the first chance they get to get adopted by the teacher. And now we're living with Ms. Keane, oh wait, I mean, "Mom".

He jumped down angrily. He took another brownie and paced around the kitchen, reliving his past in his mind.

Like it was our fault we wanted to drop out of the huge Good vs. Evil thing. The villians made us all look stupid. He took a bite. So we wanna go neutral. So what do they do? Throw us out like their crap that won't flush down the toliet. He took another bite. Now here we are, all of us sixteen and still no parents. Well, at least me. I can't believe them. I thought we were a team. He gulped down the rest. He had never figured out how Boomer became such a good cook, but it was working for him at the moment. He grabbed another one and walked to the half-door. He leaned on the corner of the edge, watching his brothers on the couch, working out details. He felt betrayed. Ever since the day they were resurrected, Butch had always felt a deeper bond with Boomer than Brick. Apparently, the bond was mutual. All their lives up to this point, Boomer and Butch had always been the twosome of the threesome. When they had decided to join the Girls and become superheros, it was Boomer who convinced Butch to go along with it. If it hadn't have been for Boomer, Butch wouldn't even have agreed to live with Ms. Keane. Now it seemed like Boomer was drifting away from him. That and the issue of their mother was only two of Butch's problems, however. He hated to reveal the biggest one even to himself, much less the blonde. He lifted the brownie up to his lips, but when the baked batter reached his mouth, he angrily snapped around and threw it full force into the trash can. The can rattled and spun in circles, eventually hitting the floor from the force of the throw. Butch watched in contempt contentment as the trash spilled out. Suddenly, a voice from behind him stopped him cold.

"Butch, what was that? Are you alright?" It was Brick's. Butch sped off in a dark green streak out the window. He panted with excitement. He bore his teeth in a demented grin as he watched his brothers come into the now-empty kitchen and discovered the knocked over trash can. He snickered to himself, finding enjoyment out of narrowly escaping what was to him a major scene. His snicker turned into the chuckle of the insane. He was side-splitting happy about the fact that he had knocked over the trash can and had fled without being seen. He didn't realize the absurdity of it. The raven-haired maniac flew up into the night sky, letting the cool air relax him and turn his spiky hair every which way. Soon his strange laughter dwindled into small happy mumbles, and finally the clear air sobered his hyperness.

I used to do that all the time? Be crazy? What's wrong with me?

He looked down below him in the suburbs. Across the street he saw the Girls' and the Professor's house. He suddenly had an urge to go see his girlfriend, Buttercup. Soon his heart screamed at him to go to either her or Boomer. He longed to be with someone close to him, no matter how strange he was. He just fought the desire. His mind go so desprate that it would tolerate being around Blossom, Brick's girlfriend, with whom Butch shared a mutual hate. His pride crushed the longing, and he went nearer to his house. When Ms. Keane had adopted them, she moved them across the street from the Girls. He was about to enter the house through the window to the room which he shared with his brothers when he stopped. The Professor! Maybe he can make me normal. He figured out what's wrong with me, didn't he? He shook his head. Like he'd want to see me. I'm stupid for even wanting to go over there. No one wants me over there, and apparently not over at my house either. Where do I go? He floated down to the kitchen window, his previous escape route, to see what had become of the scene. The trash was neatly picked up and the rest of the room was empty. The plate of brownies was gone, however. He floated further up away from the window to the one that led to the bedroom. He was surprised to see the brownie platter on his bunk bed. Brick got his own on one side, while Boomer took the bottom to the other and Butch slept on top. He climbed in the window, finding his teenage body more difficult to fit in then when he had been a kid. When his shoes hit the carpet, he started to his bed. He kicked off said sneakers and floated to the top. Boomer must have left these here for him. When he picked the platter up and sat it on his lap, a small note hidden underneath it revealed itself. He held it, recognizing the handwriting as Boomer's.

Even tho I know you're not sick, I hope you feel better.

Butch gave a smile and fingered a brownie. He sat it back down and placed the platter on Boomer's bed. He grabbed a piece from a notepad and wrote a reply.

Thanks. And these need more sugar.

He drew a winking face on the note and slid it under the brownie platter. In spite of Boomer's attempt to raise his spirits, Butch soon plunged back into his now-normal mood. He walked down the second floor's hall, hands in his pockets. He looked down at his socked feet as they pulled him foward. In his view he saw another pair of socked feet and he looked up to see the blonde.