Flug began choking on his soda, 5.0.5. pounding on his back to help, stars gleaming in Dementia's eyes as her pizza slice hung in her hand limply, forgotten. Fritz threw his hands in the air, and yelled "Nope!" continuously while leaving the restaurant. Jeremey, still wearing his bunny ears, gasped audibly, hands going to his mouth. Vincent and Scott stopped having whatever style conversation they had been having (Vincent picked up then put down Scott's ringing phone). Black Hat was frozen firm in place, chest rising and falling irregularly. Mike stalked forward, walking around his brother until the two were directly across from each other, with the security guard peering into the eyes of the super villain. Mike tilted his head, his whole body an embodiment of anger.

"Cat got your tongue, Blake?" he snarled, eye twitching, grin dangerous. "I'm not thinking very straight right now anyways, after all, bear got my brain, didn't he? You were there when it happened, weren't you?"

"Mike…" Black Hat, or apparently, Blake, struggled to swallow. "What…? Why…? How? Oh, no… you're not still mad at me, are you?" A nervous laugh escaped his throat. "Right? It… it was just a prank, you know, just a little joke…?"

"SHUT THE H*** UP!" Mike barked, glaring at the slightly taller man with pure raging fury. He exhaled heavily, eyebrows forming sharp 'v's. "I spent seven years in a hospital with my brain cells trying to figure out what happened, with me barely being able to wrap my head around it, or anything for that matter! And when I so called 'recovered', I kept finding myself gravitating to this d***ed place! The only good thing that happened to me nearly ever, especially from this situation, was my friends, who were there for me," he punctuated his next remark with a jab to Black Hat's chest, "when you WEREN'T!"

"Look, Mikey," he soothed, trying to get a word across, not at all noticing the furiously angered tinge that spread on Mike's coworkers' cheeks, on Jeremy's, Scott's, and Vincent's, all of them mad on their friend's behalf, how dare this interloper talk to Mike like that, like he was his friend!? Did he hold him tight when he wept, crying because he was, take his shifts when he broke down, despite the trauma, comfort him during his nightmares, forcing theirs away in the deepest pits of their minds?! No, he did not! "I'm sorry. What happened here was my fault, but can't you just forgive and forget? It was literally was twenty years ago! And you healed, right, didn't you? Everything is fine , see? Fate just brought us back together after we went our separate ways!"

"Everything is fine? Twenty years ago?! I HEALED?! OUR SEPARATE WAYS?! FATE?! " Mike roared, suddenly much, much bigger than he seemed a moment ago, towering over Black Hat, who cowered beneath the lion of emotion. Scott and Vincent quickly ushered everyone out of the crammed pizzeria, giving them all raincheck slips, apologizing for the inconvenience, slamming off the open sign. They didn't want to risk Mike losing his job. Black Hat, who hadn't seen his brother since he was thirteen, never met this angry, forceful, bitter and powerful version of his meek, intimidated, and sorrowful once seven year old brother. "FATE is when I get out of the hospital, shaking in fear that you'd be home, but apparently you left while I was still healing, because you didn't want to go to school! FATE is when Dad was killed in the line of Duty, and his fifteen year old son has to comfort his mother, alone! FATE is when I had to take care of Mom while she was losing her mind from worry and sadness! FATE is when on your eighteenth birthday, your mom kills herself leaving you a note that you can take care of yourself, dying thinking that I'll be fine! I WASN'T! But, that is FATE! This… this meeting," he slowly shook his head, slowly turning away from his brother, "isn't fate. It's chance. Nothing more. A gamble on the universe."

Mike turned away, his whole body trembling. Vincent came up to him with a hug, glaring at Blake. Mike sighed into the gently touch before shrugging out of his friend's embrace. Jeremy rushed over to him, putting his hands on his shoulders, a pleading look on his expression.

"Whoa, Mike, calm down a moment," he essentially begged. Mike guiltily looked away. "Can't you two talk it out? Like… like brothers? Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? For me?"

"God d*** it, Jeremy," Mike glowered, glaring at his smaller friend with fondness. He truly wanted to say no, he wanted to say no so badly, but what would that do to Jeremy? And Mike, in the long run? He groaned. "What do you want us to do? Because unless I'm told, I'm not going to do anything at all with HIM."

"How 'bout a club night or two?" Vincent suggested, not noticing Scott flinch beside him. "Something late and out of work. A dance club maybe would be best."

"If you're going to any sort of club," Scott interjected suddenly. "Then you'd better go tonight, since I've got the 'shift', and the last place I'd like to go to is a dance club. Bad things happen to me at clubs."

"Ha!" Fritz exclaimed, striding in from the door. "What bad thing could happen at any kind of club? What makes you say that Scottie Boy?"

Scott suddenly seemed uncomfortable, holding the back of his neck, looking at his shoes pointedly, a light blush spread over his cheeks, and mumbling something about things going wrong when you least expect them to or want them to. Vincent glanced at him and came to his crush's rescue.

"Anything can happen," he said quickly. "Wasn't there an anti ( s )-worker's shooting at a bar just about two weeks ago? That was unexpected, especially because of the shooters. I think that they were the girls' bosses or really can't tell."

"I guess that you're right," Mike replied with a shrug, although skepticism was oozing from Fritz's aura. Jeremy looked out the window for a moment, eye caught by a butterfly or something. Scott deflated with relief, noticed only by Vincent who felt his heart flutter for doing something right for once. Flug, Dementia, and 5.0.5., who had all remained silent throughout the whole ordeal, all looked to Black Hat in anticipation. "Anyone else have something to say?"

"There's a nice dance and bar club I know," Flug meekly said. "It's called 'The Rouge Scarf'. I go there if I ever have the time." He quickly glanced at his boss. "Which isn't very often, if I'm being completely honest with you."

"Yeah, I've been there once or twice," Dementia added, then giggled. "I think that their Piña Coladas were spiked though."

"It is a nice defuse place," Fritz agreed with a nod. "I've gone there a few times myself."

"Alright," Mike sighed, then scowled towards his older brother. "Fine. Tonight at the Rouge Scarf. I don't care if you all come or don't come, but if you," he pointed with angered aggression toward Black Hat, "don't," he jammed his finger into Blake's chest, causing him to flinch back, "I swear, honest to G-d, that I will never, ever speak, acknowledge, or listen to you EVER again."

And he left without another word, making the room seem very, very, extraordinarily cold, as though the only source of warmth was Mike's overwhelming rage. Black Hat forlornly looked at the general area his brother stood, eyes flicking to the stage, at the d***ing brown singing bear, that even as it smiled and sang, seemed to seep hatred from his golden brown eyes. After a moment, Dr. Flug came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He lowered his head tiredly, and they walked out of the pizzeria together, Dementia following quietly for once, with 5.0.5. making a last minute glance at the animatronics on the stage. Jeremy quickly dashed past the villainous group, Fritz huffing behind him in tow, to get to Mike and mother hen him. It ended with just Scott and Vincent, who together went into the kitchen for a miniature lunch-dinner. The hours ticked away, Vincent leaning against Scott in one of the booths, talking about the future and how much he'd love Scott to be in the future together with him, as the phone masked man sat reading Agatha Christie, secretly listening and appreciating the kind words of the purple man.

Soon it was dark. D*** very dark, actually, nearly eleven thirty-eight. Scott closed his novel with a sigh, and Purple got up slowly, extending a hand to help his coworker up. He gratefully took it, and Vin's stomach tied into a knot with flurries as their hands brushed together, even though the taller man's were covered in bandages. It made him picture Scott's beautiful maroon red hair he always hid under a mask, his amazing golden brown eyes that he used to get lost in. His heart was pounding. He and Scott exchanged a glance, a meaningful farewell. He forced himself to the exit, heart feeling as though it may burst out of him, while Scott made his way to the back office, his heart slowly sinking with dread for the night. Vincent, one foot out the door and hand on the bar, sighed and cursed himself, looking back at Phone Guy.

"F*** me," he muttered, hand leaving the door. He dashed around to face Scott and wrapped an arm around him, using the other to swiftly type in the access pass on his mask, lifting it. He knew that Scott's lips were torn, but he didn't care as he gently, more gently that he'd been in his life, kissed him on one of the scars on his cheek, right next to his lips. He moved closer to his ear whispering against it, "Good luck."

Blushing furiously like a schoolgirl, Vincent ran out, too quickly to notice the shudder that ran though Scott. The tall dark skinned man touched a hand to his cheek, before blushing and readjusting his phone mask and making his way to the back. He sighed as he sat down, starting up the generator he bought after… the incident and sealed the doors shut. He swiveled the chair and glanced at the tablet, it was Thursday… they'd be crazy, but it didn't matter. He'd be fine. His eye suddenly rested on the phone. A smile flitted across his covered face. Vincent's words flashed in his mind, and he huffed a quick chuckle and scooted to it, hitting "rec".

"Hello, hello? Vincent wanted me to record him something for tonight so I guess I'll get to doing that now…"