Scott groaned as he trudged up the steps to the apartment. He was tired, and he just wanted to sleep. He hadn't slept for twenty hours and a few more. Hours. His thoughts came in clunky drafts, none complete or making much sense, much like his shuffling and swaying steps. He ran a hand over his mask, and to his displeasure, he found a small crack in the Victorian style dial. He yawned, rolling his shoulders. He was so, so tired…. He paused by the door, hand on the knob, frozen. Something was wrong. He leaned in, pressing his mask where his ears would be against the door. Yelling? What… who was that even? Sounded like Mike, was it his brother? Scott furrowed his eyebrows. Why was he here? Oh well, it doesn't matter now, does it? He unlocked the door, opened it, and was promptly slammed in the face. Stumbling backwards, he fumbled to catch what hit him. A mug? He blinked and recognized it as his "favorite" one. Was that coffee dripping off the table? He looked up through the now giant chasm in his mask at everyone in the kitchen and disastrous miniature dining room who had all fallen silent.

"Alright," he said, walking in, closing the door and putting the cup on the counter. He swept his gaze over all the people in the small kitchenette, easily hiding the tiredness in his voice with years of practice. "I'll be right back in a moment, and you all better have a good story for why there's an argument that broke my mask."

"Sorry," Mike mumbled, stepping out of Scott's way to the bathroom. He pointedly avoided looking at the critical studying golden eye visible in the crack of the broken mask. It softened, and a smile peeked through. Scott flicked the top of Mike's hat affectionately and continued on his way. Mike turned to Blake accusingly, then suddenly calmed. Ever since his emotions started feeling more emotive, he'd been extremely volatile. "I can't believe that I got mad over a cup of coffee. Sorry man."

"Well, we all still have to explain this s*** to Scott," Fritz grumbled, using a rag to clean up the mess of creamer and beans on the table. He glanced at Flug, who blankly sipped his coffee through a straw. "How did this happen, anyways?"

"I'll let them explain," the doctor replied, tilting his head toward the Schmits. "Estúpidos idiotas, derramando todo y haciéndolo peor de lo que realmente es."

"Hey!" Mike and Blake's heads snapped up. Dementia giggled, as did Jeremy. Blake looked at him, surprised. "You speak spanish?"

"It's my third language," he answered proudly, then blushed. "I'm not very good though."

"Yes, our Jeremy is full of secret talents," Fritz stated, then flashed an incredibly enchanting smile. "Like, did you know he's a painter, you should see his his works sometime."

"Stop it Fritz, you're embarrassing me," Jeremy whined, pulling up his turtleneck sweater to cover his red face. "And speak for yourself, robo nerd."

Fritz's smile vanished. A purple blur rushed into the room.

"I WAS ARISEN BY THE SOUND OF MOCKERY," Vincent yelled happily. "Are we making fun of Fritz's awful attempts at reprogramming random appliances?!"

The bathroom door clicked open behind him. Everyone stared at Scott, who had almost bumped into Purple.

"What're you all looking at?" Vin asked, confused, then turned around. His eyes widened when he saw Phone Guy, masked no more. In the corner of his eye, Vincent saw the broken mask in the trash. They stared at each other, Vincent a furious red and a blush creeping onto Scott's now exposed face. "Um… h-hey Scott. Long time no see?"

"Oh my God, you're impossible," Scott said, even as he tried to force himself not to smile. He winced, noticing the others were staring. D***, he had too many scars on his face… ugly ones, to top it off. It marred his appearance so badly- no, no, don't think about it. You're fine. You look fine. It's ok. Alright, now to get to the bottom of the argument. He sat down in a position that he was able to see everyone, scanning each of their faces. Blake was the guilty party here. Huh, he thought it would be Mike. "My voice sounds weird, but that's not important. Why did a cup get thrown in my face, Blake?"

"How'd you know it was me?" Black Hat blurted before he could stop himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Whoops."

"You're the only one that wouldn't look me in the eye," he focused on Fritz, who was about to speak. "Pun not intended."

Fritz closed his mouth.

"Well… I had woken up first," Blake began, still avoiding looking at Scott. "And I had one H*** of a hangover, so I wanted to make coffee, but I had no clue where I was. After a while, I just got up and figured out that this place isn't so big. I was already halfway through making coffee when I noticed some papers on the counter. I kind of… read them. Mike came in as I was reading a bill statement, and we sort of spiraled out of control, waking everyone else up. I accidentally threw that mug in your face because it was in my hand."

"Okay… let get this straight," Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose, briefly covering the wide scar that crossed it. "You were reading our bills, Mike came in and got mad at you, you two got into a fight, so you threw the mug… because you were holding it? Is that right?"

"Yeah," Blake murmured, then glanced at Mike. "I was mad because Mike never told me that he was in financial trouble. In retrospect, however, it's perfectly reasonable that he didn't. After all, I never even told you that I run a multi million dollar business."

"That still doesn't explain the coffee… is that coffee? spill," Scott cleared his throat, the criss crossed scars vibrating ever so slightly. It quickly removed attention from Black Hat, whom everyone was staring at. "Seriously, what the heck is that? Are those flakes of glitter in it? And is that macaroni?"

"My bad," Dementia giggled, but blushed under Phone Guy's scrutinizing gaze. "I wanted to prank Flug," she waved toward the bag headed doctor calmly sipping coffee out of a straw from the corner of the room, "But I accidentally bumped into Mike, but I didn't spill it. He did."

All eyes turned to Fritz, who flushed in embarrassment.

"Alright, alright, yes, I spilled it," he rolled his eyes, looking quite comical because of the magnifying lenses. "But it was because I didn't know it was a four year old princess's dream liquid. It tasted like laughing rainbows and the worst nightmares had a abomination child."

"Ew," Scott stated, grimacing and blunt, eye fixated on a soggy elbow macaroni that slid slimily off the table. He cringed, and rubbed his eyes, even going over the gaping socket where his left eye should've been, a habit left over from when it had been. "Can someoneplease clean that up?"

Fritz nodded mutely, then continued to wipe up the glittering monstrosity. The room fell silent, and the only sound was the wind rustling the trees outside.

"Scott?" Vincent said suddenly, breaking the silence. He was leaning forward, resting his head on his palm, staring at his open crush with half lidded eyes and a dopey smile. A red tinge crept onto Scott's cheeks. "Did anyone ever tell you how handsome you are?"

"W-what? Uh- Oh! Oh…" the usually red phone masked man stuttered, his dark skinned face a deep shade of red, almost matching the maroon color of his hair. Fritz and Mike exchanged quick glances. Scott bit his bottom lip where the tear was widest, then coughed lightly to clear his throat. "Um. You, uh, asked me that same question before… um, echm, the incident. I, I didn't think you'd still find my appearance…."

"Beautiful?" Vincent smiled, reaching over to tap on his still bandaged knuckles. "Amazing? Gorgeous? Just so… perfect?"

"I'm not perfect," he mumbled, pulling his hand away gently, then laughed suddenly. "No, I changed my mind. We're all imperfectly perfect, and that's perfect, you know?"

Scott grinned at his purple friend, taking his turn and tapping Vin's not bandaged knuckles briefly with a diliberate blink (which may have been a wink, you really couldn't tell). Vincent's smile faltered, and he blinked, trying to comprehend the anomaly of Scott… complimenting him? Scott; wonderful, stunning, perfectly imperfect Scott; telling him, a guilty, lying, accused childmurderer that he was perfect?

A knock on the door. Everyone looked up at it, with Scott being the industrious one and getting up to open it. A short young woman with premature grey streaks stood in the doorway, albeit a bit awkwardly, holding up a golden retriever mix, it's tongue hanging out happily, and floppy ears, well, being floppy. The little stump of a tail on the puppy began wagging wildly as the dog registered Scott.

"Gretchen! Ah, thank you for bring ButterScotch over, I was about to pick her up myself, actually," he laughed, showing no signs of his previous embarrassment and picking up ButterScotch from Gretchen's arms. "I hope she wasn't any trouble, was she?"

"Not at all! No, she was just a little angel!" she cooed, scratching the puppy behind her ears. "But I came to also teach you how to take care of her new paw, alright?"

Scott nodded and set ButterScotch down, and she playfully ran over to Vincent, licking his fingers. Jeremy too received excessive slobber, as did Mike, Fritz, Flug, Dementia, 5.0.5., and Black Hat. Blake noticed that her tail was shortened artificially and unprofessionally, that her right ear had a bit missing from the end, and her hind left paw was entirely missing, a prosthetic in its place. Gretchen left after a little bit, but quickly spoke with Scott before she did.

"I see she's helping with emotional support," she told Scott with a tired smile. "Last time I saw you, you were still wearing that mask. I gotta go, but good luck."

"Thanks," he replied sheepishly, waving goodbye. After he closed the door, he grinned as ButterScotch bounded over to him. He scooped her up and she excitedly licked his face. Vincent smiled wistfully as he gazed at the blissful scene.

"Ah, I missed you too, candy pupper. But look! You got a new foot! Wish I could get a new eye, but science has only gone so far! Haha!"

"Yeah, about that," Blake cut in quickly. "What happened to you two, anyways?"

Dead silence.

Even ButterScotch grew somber, but she nudged Scott with her nose, trying to cheer him up. He let a fleeting smile flick over his face, then sat down one of the wooden chairs.

"Well, I found ButterScotch at a rescue hospital," Scott began carefully, gently stroking the said puppy's fur. She yipped contentedly, then yawned, resting her head on her paws. "Then, I had just gotten out of extensive care. One of the doctors suggested I find a therapy animal, or an injured pet that I could heal alongside. So I went, with only half a heart and no faith that I'd find the perfect pet. But I saw her immediately, and I fell in love instantly. I asked about her, and was told her previous owner was a butcher that would test his new knives on her. Oh, ButterScotch was so scared… it took time, but we built trust, and I'm proud to say she's healed right next to me."

"But what happened to you?" Dementia pressed, eyes wide. "Like, you're scarred to Europe and back! What could scar so systematically anyways, scar snitches like you, Scott. Really, i expected better from you. Did you really think I wouldn't realize that you were on my case?! Did you, Scotty boy? Now you're gonna realize why people don't dig around me, and it's gonnahurt. Imagine fifty knives being stabbed at you from all angles, all at once. Actually, you don't have to imagine it, cause it's going to happen anyways! Springlock goes snap, Scott's heart line goes flat! Isn't that right, my little Phone Guy? Too bad whoever is gonna get those messages is gonna die before they can save you, or save themselves for that matter. Don't worry Scott, I'll make sure of it. Now, you sit tight there. It's going to be a long night, the longest last night you'll ever have. Sleep well. Dream your dream."

"NO!" Scott finally yelled, gasping, his voice snapping out of the tight constriction of his throat, and light suddenly flooded his vision. He was at home. His breathing was irregular and choppy. His cheeks were flushed and moist, tears still dripping down to the floor. His sight slowly became clear, and he was able to make out the relative shapes of his family. Vincent squeezed his hand gently with a sad smile. Scott knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he felt like he needed to ask it anyways. "What happened?"

"You were under PTS," Fritz sighed. Scott groaned, leaning his head back. "Maybe the second to worst one in a while."

"Everything hurts," he complained bitterly. "Scale of one to ten how bad was it?"

"Seven point five," Mike nodded glum like. "And it was a stealthy one. We didn't even realize until ButterScotch started barking wildly. Um, if you want to talk about it, we can."

"Not this one," he coughed, rubbing his left shoulder. "Too… worse."

"We're always here if you need us, Scott," Jeremy calmly said, looking him in the eye. "You need to remember that more."

Scott sighed, "I know."

"I'm sorry," Dementia apologized, "I didn't realize I'd trigger you. I myself know for a fact that PTSD is a one h*** of a b****." ButterScotch barked, making her giggle and scratch the pup's head. "No offense."

"Hey guys…" a new, tight voice said, the owner of it walking in a moment later. "Hey, guys, who the f*** are all these people?"

"Eggs!" the other security guards exclaimed in unison. As Scott wiped his face down, making it look like he never was crying (Flug silently wondered how long it had been since he perfected the skill), Mike stood up and embraced the newcomer. "This is my brother, Blake, and his team of villains, Dementia, Dr. Flug, and 5.0.5.. They were staying overnight. How were the past two months?"

"Bulls***," he replied, but his voice was much higher than it was before. "The house the government wanted me to get into was my Dad's neighbor, a bigot just like him. They teamed up against me."

"Oh no," Jeremy shook his head sadly. "That sucks, man. I wish he could just accept you for who you are. I'm sorry."

"And it's that time of month," Eggs groaned, sniffing and rubbing his eyes, upset. "He kept on calling me 'my girl', and kept saying, 'what kind of man are you?' and… it hurt a lot more than I thought it would."

"Aw, Eddie," Scott got up and gave the man a quick hug before heading into the kitchen. "I bet you want some chocola-"

"I want murder," Eggs growled, then collapsed into a chair.

"Who do I need to kill?" Vincent asked venomously, raising a knife he got from… somewhere. Flug was about to laugh, until he saw the serious look in the purple one's gaze. "I'll get 'em."

"No you won't," Fritz sternly told him, pulling the knife out of his grip. "Eggs, how're you feeling? Did you take it off by bed and exercise?"

"Before going to sleep yes, by exercising, no," he admitted. His friends looked disapproving and slightly worried. "Look, my job was exercise. My Dad needs to realize I am a male."

"But if you get hurt because of it, not wearing one doesn't make you a girl," Jeremy reminded him softly. "If your dad doesn't understand, we do, and Edward? You're the manliest man. Best boy. Got it?"

"I'm the manliest man, the best boy," he repeated, then smiled, but it was a sad grin, tears brimming in his eyes, then spilling over, and Dementia was surprised to see his five o'clock shadow smudging as the liquid ran through it. "Why don't I feel like it?"

"No, you're the best," Scott reaffirmed, returning from the kitchen and giving Eggs a chocolate bar and hugging him. In a flash, every one of the night guards were hugging Eggs, and 5.0.5. joined the group hug, dragging in Dementia and Flug. Blake rolled his eyes, but came into the hug anyways. "Who lifted two hundred pounds at his first time at the gym?"

"Me," Eggs sniffed, nibbling his chocolate bar.

"Who ate thirteen hot dogs in a row without throwing up?" Fritz asked.

"I did."

"Who managed to get a job in the all male section of the government?" was Jeremy's question.

"I got a job in an all male segment of the government," Eggs replied, looking a bit proud.

"Who won in a bar fight against a five hundred pound guy?" Mike smiled.

"I hit him over the head with a chair!"

"Who survived not only the night shift at the sister location, but also here?" Vincent questioned.

"I'm the survivor king!" Eggs laughed, tears ebbing away.

"Who passed so well I didn't realize you were trans?" Dementia added.

"I- I passed?!" Eggs was suddenly super excited. "Guys, guys, did you hear, I passed!"

"Of course you did," Scott grinned. "Best boy!"

"Manliest man!" Jeremy giggled. "You're more of a man than I am!"

"Dementia is more of a man than you," Vincent snarked, Mike sending him a death glare. He rolled his eyes and grinned. "What? It's true."

"I don't care," he shrugged. "At least I'm not like my sister."

"There's nothing wrong with your sister," Fritz blinked owlishly at Jeremy. "Unless I'm not aware of it."

The security guards all just looked at Fritz, none of them amused in the slightest.

"Okay. New topic of conversation," Blake announced hurriedly. All eyes turned towards him. "Who wants to go to the lake?"

"Sure," Dementia and Eggs said and shrugged at the same time. "Jinx! Double jinx! Triple jinx! Quadruple jinx! Penta jinx!-"

"While they continue their jinx standoff," Mike cleared his throat, stretching and getting up to go to their room. "I think I'll gather up my stuff to go."

"Me too!" Vincent chimed in, hopping up and practically bouncing after Mike, Fritz rolling his eyes (again!? Fritz, calm those orbs down or they'll roll right out of your sockets and drive down the highway to Shanghai and back!) and following anyways.

"You don't have to go in the water if you don't want to," Scott whispered to Jeremy, quieter than Eggs and Dementia's ongoing battle of the jinxes. "Remember, it's your choice."

The smaller man did not respond, so Scott awkwardly clapped him on the shoulder and got up to get his own stuff. He quickly made his way into the room, snatching a tee shirt and a pair of shorts as well as a change of clothing for himself as well as for Jeremy if he would make the decision to join them.

In the car, it was both oddly spacious as well as seemingly cluttered. It was practically empty, as yes, it was a fifteen seater limousine, all ten of them comfortably on the long bench (even with 5.0.5. taking up six of the spots), yet the conversation was bustling like a farmer's market on a busy sunday afternoon. The conversation was easily run mostly by Dementia and Mike, whose fiery personalities clashed brilliantly. Scott flashed Mike a warning glare, to which he responded by sticking out his tongue at him. Phone grinned, a devilish thing, and stuck his tongue out through the gap in his left cheek, successfully creeping everyone out. Blake stuck out his tongue, which was forked. Flug found this weird, but laughed anyways. Soon, they pulled up to the Sand Hollow Lake, and were led to the official Black Hat inc. boat, a medium sized thing, though Dr. Flug assured them it was much bigger than it appeared.

And it was. Moments after they were all aboard, it expanded outward while flattening, making the floor space twice the original size. Fritz looked shocked and massively impressed, and told the inventor so. Flug blushed with pride, the pink barely making it's way to the surface of his mask.

Soon they came to a nice patch of blue water, and Flug stopped the flattened boat. Most of them decided on an order for each of them to change in, as there only was one bathroom on the little ship. Scott shrugged, shucked off his sweater and shoes, stuffing his socks into them, and wrapping the shoes in the wool. He slipped into the water soundlessly, only causing small ripples. Jeremy watched him, mute, but felt a pang of wistful nostalgia in his chest. He quickly stamped it down, and settled for sitting cross legged on the warm wooden deck. His jeans heated up in the sun, and Mike jumped into the water, splashing in beside Scott. Dementia cannon balled in, followed by Blake and Flug, 5.0.5. rolling in with a plunk. Eggs, make up removed, gave a shout of joy and practically flew into the water. Vincent suddenly surfaced near Scott, attempting to scare him. Scott was not scared, and Jeremy laughed as he threw the purple man about four feet. Fritz, diving in, soaked Jeremy with the waves, and left him giggling and sputtering. They soon took to passing a ball, yelling things like "catch it!" and "IN YOUR FACE, VINCENT!" That was mostly shouted by Mike, even when not hitting Vincent.

Then, as per usual, just when things seemed perfect,filled with laughter and meaningless playful "anger", things sailed south. Fritz threw the ball a little too high, and it went over the deck of the little yacht. Jeremy sprang up to catch it, and as he did, he tripped over the rail, falling head over heels into the wooden floor, skull making a hollow thud as it smacked against the side of the rail, rolling painfully into the water, disoriented. He was suddenly twelve again. He blinked, and inhaled. He, he, he he couldn't breathe! He reached up as he breathlessly screamed, one hand dry, the other pulled downward into the abyss. He choked again, vision flickering. Fading. Darkening. Frightening. Strong arms quickly wrapped around him, pulling him up and out of the tight, cold, and pressuring water.

He coughed, liquid pouring from his lungs. He shook, his shoulders heaving and eyes shut tight. A towel wrapped around him, rubbing up and down, drying off the water and tears. The light hurt, the air stung, the tears ran wrathfully, and his head throbbed. Someone was hugging him tight, not saying anything or doing anything for that matter. Just whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…."

"About what," he finally managed to force past his unwilling lips, prying his eyes open to see Scott and Fritz, and Mike and Vincent, and everyone looking at him. He blushed, and realized Scott was the one hugging him. "Uh, Scott? You're breaking my ribs."

"Uh… sorry," he pulled away, flushed with a lingering embarrassment. He retreated into himself, his emotions vanishing from his face. "It's just… never mind. It doesn't matter. Sorry."

"You alright there, Jerm?" Fritz asked, concern etched in his expression. "You gave us quite the scare."

"I'm fine," he nodded, "just had a flashback. You know the one, when I was knocked off the the boat. Hitting my head probably set it off."

"Good thing Scott works well in these situations," Mike sighed, lowering his head, distaste on his face. "We're all f***ed up, aren't we?"

"That might be true," Blake mumbled, wincing as interdimensional screams rang against his ears. "It probably is."

"Definitely," Flug giggled nervously, rubbing his wrists. "We're most likely the most f***ed up people ever."

"Whaddya mean 'most likely'," Dementia asked rhetorically, over dramatizing the bunny ears. "We're the absolutely most f***ed up people on the face of this earth."

"And that's perfect," Vincent echoed. "After all," he glanced, a sideways flick towards Scott, a smile dancing on his lips. "We're all perfect. Perfectly imperfect."