SPN/DA Crossover Fic: Defective (Wellspring 'Verse, One-Shot)
Title: Defective
Author: scourgeofeurope
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Timeline: Wellspring 'Verse, directly following Chapter 15
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam, Ben, Alec
Summary: Ben's a freak.
Author's Notes: So, I really made an attempt to write Chapter 16, which this was totally supposed to be, but then my muse ran amuck in my brain and decided that no, this wasn't going to be Chapter 16, but an angsty h/c interlude between Chapters 15 and 16. I was just like okay...stop. Get back on track. But it just kept going. And when something keeps going like that, I tend to like it when its all well and finished, sooo....hopefully you'll like it, too. (That A/N totally wasn't necessary, but once again...it just kept going.)
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
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Oatmeal is warm and delicious, and the apple cinnamon kind is especially to die for. Ben sticks a heaping spoonful into his mouth and his eyelids slide shut as the heat and the flavor soak into his tongue. He swallows slowly, feels it hit and nourish his stomach in its goodness and he opens his eyes, sees Sam and Dean and their vaguely amused expressions concentrating on him from across the diner booth.
“What?” Ben is defensive. Alec’s next to him, snickering over his waffles a la mode.
Sam looks startled, like he’s surprised Ben took that tone, like he doesn’t know what to say and he looks to Dean, whose mouth is everywhere. Dean’s face is like an abstract painting when the man’s trying to decide if he should smile or laugh - suddenly you can’t tell why his mouth’s suddenly in his eyes, or why he looks hungry with the way he’s running his tongue over his teeth and trying to force his lips down.
“Dude, I’ve never seen a kid enjoy oatmeal that much before.”
“M’like it,” Ben replies tersely. “It’s delicious.”
“Looks it,” Dean agrees. He quickly dips a previously unused spoon into Ben’s oatmeal and despite the boy’s half-hearted protests, shoves it in his mouth. He swallows too quickly. Ben can tell. Oatmeal is a thing to be savored.
“You have to savor it,” he says when Dean, looking less than satisfied, starts rolling his tongue around like he’s trying to understand what’s been left on his tastebuds. He’s doubly offended when Dean reaches a fork out to attack Alec’s food with distinct zest. “Daddy.”
Dean freezes, his fork poised over a mound of syrup-covered ice cream. Ben’s not sure if it was the name or the indignation branded into the name, but they’re in public and Dean is Daddy in public, so he did the right thing. It wasn’t like yesterday when they finally got to the motel and Ben was tired and sad and just a little bitchy and everyone was so quiet and Ben politely asked if they couldn’t just watch TV for a bit before bed, Daddy? Dean froze then, too, and Ben was thinking about taking it back right before feeling the big hand on his head and the affirmative, “Sure thing, kid.”
Ben’s been holding his breath for some time now, and he’s just realizing it when Dean finally stabs the fork into the waffle and replies, somewhat mockingly, “Benny.” And the boy’s breath comes out in a whoosh as the man vigorously starts sawing at the waffle with the blunt utensil to get a piece for himself.
“Daddy.” Alec feels the need to join in, too. Probably because that’s Alec’s waffle and the other boy has become pretty territorial about his food.
“Kitten,” Dean returns through a mouthful of waffle.
“Uncle Sam.”
Ben cocks his head at Sam, knowing full well that Alec’s doing the same thing because, well, what a curious thing to do, right? Ben clears his throat before hesitantly asking, “Uncle Sam, why did you say your own name?”
Sam’s about to reply, but Alec cuts in. “Yeah, and why are you the personification of America and its government, anyhow?” Ben whirls a head around just in time to see his twin’s eyes narrow. “We don’t like you.”
Dean fights a laugh and starts choking on the waffle. Sam rolls his eyes and beats his brother’s back as Alec and Ben look on in open-mouthed amusement.
“Why can’t I ever catch a break?” the tall man grumbles and Alec reaches across the table to lay a consoling pat on the man’s ginormous hand.
“I love you, Uncle Sam.”
“You only love me because I let you have that heart attack for breakfast,” Sam replies, eyeing the waffles and melting ice cream with disdain. “You should be having oatmeal like your brother.”
“Daddy said it was amazing that this was on the menu,” Alec argues. “Couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. Besides, oatmeal is gross.”
“Ben likes it,” Sam counters.
“Ben’s a freak.”
“Hey.”
The word’s a gruff duet of unmistakable warning escaping the larger set of brothers and Alec flinches. Ben flinches, too. He can’t help it. They keep telling him its okay even when they sound upset, that it’ll always be okay, but it doesn’t sound okay. Not right now. Not when Sam and Dean sound like Alec’s done something bad.
“It’s okay,” Ben says quickly, because he’s still aware that he’s a freak. He’s a defective freak and there’s no reason not to state facts.
“It’s not okay,” Sam snaps and Ben recoils, wedges himself back deep into the plastic casing of his seat. Sam’s face softens almost instantly, and he reaches a long arm across the table, lets it rest there with his hand hanging over the edge, fingers almost touching Ben but not. He waits patiently and Ben knows what he’s waiting for, and after a moment he resurfaces from the plastic, tiny hand first, slowly descending on Sam’s index, running over the knuckles, and finally stopping on the thick wrist which his small fist attempts to curl around. “You’re not a freak,” Sam says gently, and Ben wants to believe him.
Alec’s quiet. Usually he’s arguing at this point or making some kind of witty observation to deviate away from the fact that he just got scolded, but he’s just quiet, gnawing on his lip and sticking his knife in his waffle and twirling it around in a dull sort of contemplation.
Dean’s swiping a few fingers over his left eye like he’s tired, and he heaves a sigh like he doesn’t want to say what he’s saying when he says, “Alec. Apologize to your brother, kid.”
Alec’s not feeling sorry. Ben can tell. Alec’s feeling sad and he’s not admitting it because he’s Alec and Ben has to nurture this emotional repression out of him. That can happen. Sam said so on that day when Ben first tasted ice cream.
“Alec,” Sam prods.
“Leave ‘im alone.”
Mouths fall open. Ben suddenly feels like a spectacle, the way Sam and Dean are staring at him like he’s grown about five trillion heads. Alec turns to him slowly, blinking in surprise and says, “M’sor-”
“You’re not,” Ben cuts him off. “You’re not sorry.”
Alec blinks again, gets over it quickly and bobs his head in affirmation. “If I’m a freak, then you’re a freak.”
“You’re not a freak, either,” Sam tells him. “Nobody’s a-”
“You’re a freak,” Alec interjects and Sam’s mouth shuts closed and goes thin and he’s about to start making naughty furniture threats, Ben can tell, but then Alec says, “Dea- Dad said. When you got me out of the hospital...He said that he knew that I was a freak and it was okay, because he’s a freak and you’re especially a freak and it’s okay to be a freak. So why isn’t Ben a freak, too?”
Alec doesn’t want to cry, so he’s not. Ben can tell because the knife is shaking in his twin’s hand. Dean wordlessly gets out of his side of the booth and pulls Alec up and out and the two of them disappear into the restroom for a good long while.
Ben stares down into his unfinished oatmeal. “We’re defective,” he reminds Sam, because they are. Because Sam said so. Because Sam hugged him and said so and it was okay that day, to be defective.
“We are,” Sam agrees.
“We’re defective freaks,” Ben clarifies and Sam cringes.
“Benny, no-”
“It’s what we are. You said. Dean said.”
Sam starts saying something, starts trying to take those words back, but he stops himself and Ben stares into his bowl and pushes his oatmeal around with his spoon.
“Freak isn’t a nice word,” Sam finally says. “Dean shouldn’t have used it. Not around Alec.”
“Defective isn’t a nice word, either.” Ben’s abrupt. He doesn’t want to hurt Sam, but facts are facts. “Defective implies wrongness. I was supposed to be the perfect soldier but m’wrong somehow. You said you were wrong, too. You said we were all a little wrong.”
“We are.”
“Defective means we’re subnormal.”
“No-”
“It does. In intelligence or behavior. Our behavior’s subnormal. Dean and Alec steal and swear and I....” It hurts. Everything inside of him is twisting into tight knots, and it hurts. “I took-” Ben’s spoon is shaking in his hand. “I offered something that wasn’t mine to someone who wasn’t real.” He sucks in his breath, wills it not to rattle through his mouth and down his throat, tries to be subtle about it. He fails. Sam’s reaching out again, but it isn’t enough and the tall man’s leaving his side of the booth and entering Ben’s, throwing a long arm over the back of the seat, but Ben doesn’t lean into him. Not this time. “And you.”
“And me?”
“You...I think you like us.”
“Benny.” It’s one word, one childish nickname, but Ben hears the hurt and the disappointment and it’s like that one time Sam and Dean took them to the beach. Ben’s name out of Sam’s mouth is like the waves coming at the shore, crashing into sand and shells and various ages and species of feet, consuming everything within its reach. Ben drowns in it, pushes his oatmeal away.
“M’sorry.”
“I thought we went through this already.”
They did. They went through this already, after Alec stole the bell from that gigantic store. Ben remembers it. The Walmart. He thought at the time that it would eat them alive.
“We did.”
Sam swallows. Ben hears him swallow, feels a nose in his hair, feels warm breath against his scalp as Sam asks in low tones what he’s doing wrong.
“Nothing. You’re not doing anything wrong,” Ben tells him. Sam’s trying so hard to get it right. It’s like penmanship. Ben’s fingers ache with the effort it takes for Sam to say the right thing, to react in the right way, but the messy scrawl is improving at a snail’s pace. “Sometimes you still look at us like we’re books.”
Alec and Ben have always been interesting subjects of study.
“I...Ben?” Sam’s confused. Ben buries himself into the hunter’s side.
“Sometimes...you still look at us like you can learn us. Like we’re a formula and if you memorize us, and complete all the steps correctly, we’ll turn out okay. It’s...I don’t think...I don’t think we work like that, Uncle Sam. They...” They looked at him, at all of them, like that at Manticore. Formulas. Equations. Things that could be calculated and solved.
And Sam’s a mind reader. “Oh. God. Benny, dude, I don’t mean to...I didn’t realize-”
“You don’t always. Just...sometimes.” Sam doesn’t mean anything by it. Ben knows Sam doesn’t mean anything by it, but he’s always been a little afraid of miscalculation. He reaches up and pulls Sam’s arm off the back of the seat, wraps it around himself, feels the steady weight tighten on its own volition. “S’okay. I look at things wrong sometimes, too.” All the time. He looked at stuff wrong all the goddamn time. Until very recently.
And Sam’s face is in Ben’s hair again, moving against his head, forming and uttering the word, “Defective.”
“We’re defective freaks,” Ben agrees.
“And it’s okay.”
“It’s awesome.” Alec’s back, climbing into the booth and propping his elbows up on the table. Dean drops in beside him and leans back with a lazy smirk, hand ghosting over Alec’s head. “We can join the circus.”
Dean snorts. “Dude, I already told you. We’re too handsome for the circus.”
“I don’t care. M’wanna be a lion tamer.”
“I’ll tame you.”
“‘S’impossible,” Alec retorts, teeth noticeably biting into his cheek to stop the smile. “You can’t tame a free spirit.”
Ben tries not to notice how red Alec’s eyes are, or how there’s a flush and sheen to his twin’s cheeks, because Alec wouldn’t want him to notice these things. Alec wouldn’t want Sam to notice these things, either, but Sam does, and there’s a hand knocking away Dean’s hand to muss Alec’s hair.
Alec bats at the intruder, little hands flailing in the air. Ben stifles a giggle against Sam’s chest as his brother demands to know what in the fucking fuck is going on here, anyway? “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat my head like public domain, thank you very much,” he informs Sam, but it’s a lie. Sam’s hand trails down to cup at Alec’s cheek for just a second and Alec leans into it. If Sam and Dean are the public, then Alec is public domain. Alec is a liar. Alec is defective.
“S’all cold and mushy.” Dean’s poking at the melted ice cream and waffles with a fork. “Why’d you let it get like this, kitten?”
“Didn’t. Uncle Sam did.”
“Yeah?” Alec nods his head vigorously. Dean grins with his tongue between his teeth, aims twinkling green eyes in Sam’s direction. “Sammy, you’re the best scapegoat ever. Did I ever tell you that?”
Sam groans and glares. Ben giggles, though, and the arm tightens around him even more. Dean shoves some cold, mushy waffle into his mouth and talks while he’s eating. They sit there, the four of them in that booth, and don’t talk about anything in particular. Conversation is without significance this morning. They are what they are: freaks and thieves and liars and imperfect soldiers ambling along the ill-mannered road to self-acceptance.
Author: scourgeofeurope
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Timeline: Wellspring 'Verse, directly following Chapter 15
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam, Ben, Alec
Summary: Ben's a freak.
Author's Notes: So, I really made an attempt to write Chapter 16, which this was totally supposed to be, but then my muse ran amuck in my brain and decided that no, this wasn't going to be Chapter 16, but an angsty h/c interlude between Chapters 15 and 16. I was just like okay...stop. Get back on track. But it just kept going. And when something keeps going like that, I tend to like it when its all well and finished, sooo....hopefully you'll like it, too. (That A/N totally wasn't necessary, but once again...it just kept going.)
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
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Oatmeal is warm and delicious, and the apple cinnamon kind is especially to die for. Ben sticks a heaping spoonful into his mouth and his eyelids slide shut as the heat and the flavor soak into his tongue. He swallows slowly, feels it hit and nourish his stomach in its goodness and he opens his eyes, sees Sam and Dean and their vaguely amused expressions concentrating on him from across the diner booth.
“What?” Ben is defensive. Alec’s next to him, snickering over his waffles a la mode.
Sam looks startled, like he’s surprised Ben took that tone, like he doesn’t know what to say and he looks to Dean, whose mouth is everywhere. Dean’s face is like an abstract painting when the man’s trying to decide if he should smile or laugh - suddenly you can’t tell why his mouth’s suddenly in his eyes, or why he looks hungry with the way he’s running his tongue over his teeth and trying to force his lips down.
“Dude, I’ve never seen a kid enjoy oatmeal that much before.”
“M’like it,” Ben replies tersely. “It’s delicious.”
“Looks it,” Dean agrees. He quickly dips a previously unused spoon into Ben’s oatmeal and despite the boy’s half-hearted protests, shoves it in his mouth. He swallows too quickly. Ben can tell. Oatmeal is a thing to be savored.
“You have to savor it,” he says when Dean, looking less than satisfied, starts rolling his tongue around like he’s trying to understand what’s been left on his tastebuds. He’s doubly offended when Dean reaches a fork out to attack Alec’s food with distinct zest. “Daddy.”
Dean freezes, his fork poised over a mound of syrup-covered ice cream. Ben’s not sure if it was the name or the indignation branded into the name, but they’re in public and Dean is Daddy in public, so he did the right thing. It wasn’t like yesterday when they finally got to the motel and Ben was tired and sad and just a little bitchy and everyone was so quiet and Ben politely asked if they couldn’t just watch TV for a bit before bed, Daddy? Dean froze then, too, and Ben was thinking about taking it back right before feeling the big hand on his head and the affirmative, “Sure thing, kid.”
Ben’s been holding his breath for some time now, and he’s just realizing it when Dean finally stabs the fork into the waffle and replies, somewhat mockingly, “Benny.” And the boy’s breath comes out in a whoosh as the man vigorously starts sawing at the waffle with the blunt utensil to get a piece for himself.
“Daddy.” Alec feels the need to join in, too. Probably because that’s Alec’s waffle and the other boy has become pretty territorial about his food.
“Kitten,” Dean returns through a mouthful of waffle.
“Uncle Sam.”
Ben cocks his head at Sam, knowing full well that Alec’s doing the same thing because, well, what a curious thing to do, right? Ben clears his throat before hesitantly asking, “Uncle Sam, why did you say your own name?”
Sam’s about to reply, but Alec cuts in. “Yeah, and why are you the personification of America and its government, anyhow?” Ben whirls a head around just in time to see his twin’s eyes narrow. “We don’t like you.”
Dean fights a laugh and starts choking on the waffle. Sam rolls his eyes and beats his brother’s back as Alec and Ben look on in open-mouthed amusement.
“Why can’t I ever catch a break?” the tall man grumbles and Alec reaches across the table to lay a consoling pat on the man’s ginormous hand.
“I love you, Uncle Sam.”
“You only love me because I let you have that heart attack for breakfast,” Sam replies, eyeing the waffles and melting ice cream with disdain. “You should be having oatmeal like your brother.”
“Daddy said it was amazing that this was on the menu,” Alec argues. “Couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. Besides, oatmeal is gross.”
“Ben likes it,” Sam counters.
“Ben’s a freak.”
“Hey.”
The word’s a gruff duet of unmistakable warning escaping the larger set of brothers and Alec flinches. Ben flinches, too. He can’t help it. They keep telling him its okay even when they sound upset, that it’ll always be okay, but it doesn’t sound okay. Not right now. Not when Sam and Dean sound like Alec’s done something bad.
“It’s okay,” Ben says quickly, because he’s still aware that he’s a freak. He’s a defective freak and there’s no reason not to state facts.
“It’s not okay,” Sam snaps and Ben recoils, wedges himself back deep into the plastic casing of his seat. Sam’s face softens almost instantly, and he reaches a long arm across the table, lets it rest there with his hand hanging over the edge, fingers almost touching Ben but not. He waits patiently and Ben knows what he’s waiting for, and after a moment he resurfaces from the plastic, tiny hand first, slowly descending on Sam’s index, running over the knuckles, and finally stopping on the thick wrist which his small fist attempts to curl around. “You’re not a freak,” Sam says gently, and Ben wants to believe him.
Alec’s quiet. Usually he’s arguing at this point or making some kind of witty observation to deviate away from the fact that he just got scolded, but he’s just quiet, gnawing on his lip and sticking his knife in his waffle and twirling it around in a dull sort of contemplation.
Dean’s swiping a few fingers over his left eye like he’s tired, and he heaves a sigh like he doesn’t want to say what he’s saying when he says, “Alec. Apologize to your brother, kid.”
Alec’s not feeling sorry. Ben can tell. Alec’s feeling sad and he’s not admitting it because he’s Alec and Ben has to nurture this emotional repression out of him. That can happen. Sam said so on that day when Ben first tasted ice cream.
“Alec,” Sam prods.
“Leave ‘im alone.”
Mouths fall open. Ben suddenly feels like a spectacle, the way Sam and Dean are staring at him like he’s grown about five trillion heads. Alec turns to him slowly, blinking in surprise and says, “M’sor-”
“You’re not,” Ben cuts him off. “You’re not sorry.”
Alec blinks again, gets over it quickly and bobs his head in affirmation. “If I’m a freak, then you’re a freak.”
“You’re not a freak, either,” Sam tells him. “Nobody’s a-”
“You’re a freak,” Alec interjects and Sam’s mouth shuts closed and goes thin and he’s about to start making naughty furniture threats, Ben can tell, but then Alec says, “Dea- Dad said. When you got me out of the hospital...He said that he knew that I was a freak and it was okay, because he’s a freak and you’re especially a freak and it’s okay to be a freak. So why isn’t Ben a freak, too?”
Alec doesn’t want to cry, so he’s not. Ben can tell because the knife is shaking in his twin’s hand. Dean wordlessly gets out of his side of the booth and pulls Alec up and out and the two of them disappear into the restroom for a good long while.
Ben stares down into his unfinished oatmeal. “We’re defective,” he reminds Sam, because they are. Because Sam said so. Because Sam hugged him and said so and it was okay that day, to be defective.
“We are,” Sam agrees.
“We’re defective freaks,” Ben clarifies and Sam cringes.
“Benny, no-”
“It’s what we are. You said. Dean said.”
Sam starts saying something, starts trying to take those words back, but he stops himself and Ben stares into his bowl and pushes his oatmeal around with his spoon.
“Freak isn’t a nice word,” Sam finally says. “Dean shouldn’t have used it. Not around Alec.”
“Defective isn’t a nice word, either.” Ben’s abrupt. He doesn’t want to hurt Sam, but facts are facts. “Defective implies wrongness. I was supposed to be the perfect soldier but m’wrong somehow. You said you were wrong, too. You said we were all a little wrong.”
“We are.”
“Defective means we’re subnormal.”
“No-”
“It does. In intelligence or behavior. Our behavior’s subnormal. Dean and Alec steal and swear and I....” It hurts. Everything inside of him is twisting into tight knots, and it hurts. “I took-” Ben’s spoon is shaking in his hand. “I offered something that wasn’t mine to someone who wasn’t real.” He sucks in his breath, wills it not to rattle through his mouth and down his throat, tries to be subtle about it. He fails. Sam’s reaching out again, but it isn’t enough and the tall man’s leaving his side of the booth and entering Ben’s, throwing a long arm over the back of the seat, but Ben doesn’t lean into him. Not this time. “And you.”
“And me?”
“You...I think you like us.”
“Benny.” It’s one word, one childish nickname, but Ben hears the hurt and the disappointment and it’s like that one time Sam and Dean took them to the beach. Ben’s name out of Sam’s mouth is like the waves coming at the shore, crashing into sand and shells and various ages and species of feet, consuming everything within its reach. Ben drowns in it, pushes his oatmeal away.
“M’sorry.”
“I thought we went through this already.”
They did. They went through this already, after Alec stole the bell from that gigantic store. Ben remembers it. The Walmart. He thought at the time that it would eat them alive.
“We did.”
Sam swallows. Ben hears him swallow, feels a nose in his hair, feels warm breath against his scalp as Sam asks in low tones what he’s doing wrong.
“Nothing. You’re not doing anything wrong,” Ben tells him. Sam’s trying so hard to get it right. It’s like penmanship. Ben’s fingers ache with the effort it takes for Sam to say the right thing, to react in the right way, but the messy scrawl is improving at a snail’s pace. “Sometimes you still look at us like we’re books.”
Alec and Ben have always been interesting subjects of study.
“I...Ben?” Sam’s confused. Ben buries himself into the hunter’s side.
“Sometimes...you still look at us like you can learn us. Like we’re a formula and if you memorize us, and complete all the steps correctly, we’ll turn out okay. It’s...I don’t think...I don’t think we work like that, Uncle Sam. They...” They looked at him, at all of them, like that at Manticore. Formulas. Equations. Things that could be calculated and solved.
And Sam’s a mind reader. “Oh. God. Benny, dude, I don’t mean to...I didn’t realize-”
“You don’t always. Just...sometimes.” Sam doesn’t mean anything by it. Ben knows Sam doesn’t mean anything by it, but he’s always been a little afraid of miscalculation. He reaches up and pulls Sam’s arm off the back of the seat, wraps it around himself, feels the steady weight tighten on its own volition. “S’okay. I look at things wrong sometimes, too.” All the time. He looked at stuff wrong all the goddamn time. Until very recently.
And Sam’s face is in Ben’s hair again, moving against his head, forming and uttering the word, “Defective.”
“We’re defective freaks,” Ben agrees.
“And it’s okay.”
“It’s awesome.” Alec’s back, climbing into the booth and propping his elbows up on the table. Dean drops in beside him and leans back with a lazy smirk, hand ghosting over Alec’s head. “We can join the circus.”
Dean snorts. “Dude, I already told you. We’re too handsome for the circus.”
“I don’t care. M’wanna be a lion tamer.”
“I’ll tame you.”
“‘S’impossible,” Alec retorts, teeth noticeably biting into his cheek to stop the smile. “You can’t tame a free spirit.”
Ben tries not to notice how red Alec’s eyes are, or how there’s a flush and sheen to his twin’s cheeks, because Alec wouldn’t want him to notice these things. Alec wouldn’t want Sam to notice these things, either, but Sam does, and there’s a hand knocking away Dean’s hand to muss Alec’s hair.
Alec bats at the intruder, little hands flailing in the air. Ben stifles a giggle against Sam’s chest as his brother demands to know what in the fucking fuck is going on here, anyway? “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat my head like public domain, thank you very much,” he informs Sam, but it’s a lie. Sam’s hand trails down to cup at Alec’s cheek for just a second and Alec leans into it. If Sam and Dean are the public, then Alec is public domain. Alec is a liar. Alec is defective.
“S’all cold and mushy.” Dean’s poking at the melted ice cream and waffles with a fork. “Why’d you let it get like this, kitten?”
“Didn’t. Uncle Sam did.”
“Yeah?” Alec nods his head vigorously. Dean grins with his tongue between his teeth, aims twinkling green eyes in Sam’s direction. “Sammy, you’re the best scapegoat ever. Did I ever tell you that?”
Sam groans and glares. Ben giggles, though, and the arm tightens around him even more. Dean shoves some cold, mushy waffle into his mouth and talks while he’s eating. They sit there, the four of them in that booth, and don’t talk about anything in particular. Conversation is without significance this morning. They are what they are: freaks and thieves and liars and imperfect soldiers ambling along the ill-mannered road to self-acceptance.