Amateur Psychiatry
In the twenty minutes since you stopped to get food (like actually went in and bought shit, instead of the drive-through this time. There were two guys having a fistfight by the mic to order; you figured this would be a hell of a lot simpler aaaand you've lost the original sentence here, great)
Anyway, it's been twenty minutes and probably close to twenty miles since you pulled the car out of the parking lot, and not only has Dave not touched the food you set on the center console, he hasn't even looked up from his phone. From the glances you keep sneaking at him between actually watching the road and feeding sweet Neet scraps of lettuce from your burger, the attention he's paying to whatever he's doing isn't quite a good thing.
That assumption gets even more likely when the kid finally drops his phone in his lap, making a wordless sound that manages to convey a kind of unbelievable amount of frustration. The crow answers that with a weird caw that pitches up at the end, but when she goes to hop onto his shoulder Dave leans the other way, ducking his head and hunching down against the window.
Ooh, that's not good. "You okay?"
"Fuck you."
So no. Actually that was a really stupid question. Way to go, Wade. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Fuck. You." This time the words are accompanied by a raised middle finger; Neet immediately headbutts the hand it's attached to. (You've never actually seen a bird do something like that before. Weird.) He still doesn't look at you.
"Do you want me to pull over so you can get out and sucker punch me?"
"...what the fuck?" Oh hey, you got Dave to look at you. Also you've definitely confused him enough for that to be the dominant expression on his face. Shit, you should probably be watching the road, not your kid.
The kid. Slip of the tongue. Even though you didn't say anything.
Ah, fuck. Focus, Wade. What were you doing...ah yes, confusing Dave with the offer of sanctioned violence. "Hey, I'm running out of ideas here? You're fucked up over something, maybe you're pissed; I feel like hitting things helps with that. Sometimes."
"Oh my god." Is he rolling his eyes behind those shades? Probably. "No. I'm not doing that shit, dumbass, I'm not..."
"...you're not him." Oh. Shit. "Right? That's where you're going with that?"
This time when you look over at Dave, he looks back at you for a full three seconds, before huffing and looking down at the crow in his lap. "Watch the fucking road."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm not planning on killing us both." That's probably not the point he's trying to make, but it's got to hurt less if you let him think it is. "What happened, though?"
Dave just shrugs and leans away again, fingers working into the ruff of feathers at the base of Neet's neck like he's petting a cat. The assumption that he's not going to answer seems pretty damn reasonable, but after a minute or so he does.
"Dirk's a mutant. Like...he fuckin' cloned himself or something, right? The new guy...his name's Hal." He mumbles something you honestly can't even decipher under his breath, like he's testing out words before he says them. "I didn't fucking know, dude. I mean—look, I know the fucking difference between how Roxy talks around people she just met 'n people she's been around awhile; she knows Hal. They all do."
"And that fucks you up."
"I'm not fucked up."
"Well, since we've royally fucked up your entire life in the last day or so, I'm going to say that that's a problem, Dave." (You may be smiling. You should probably stop doing that before he looks over at you and thinks that you're making fun of him. Fucking inappropriate emotional responses.)
"Fuck you." Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift, taking his hand off the crow's back and tucking both hands under his elbows, minimizing himself as much as he possibly can. "Look, I know Dirk, alright? I think the first thing I remember is being like...four years old and hanging onto his teddy bear, watchin' Bro show him how to sew up this lil' shirt for it."
"Teddy bears wear shirts?"
"Dirk's did—Bro had some scraps of this specialty trans pride fabric he ordered to make something for D's birthday, 'n Dirk wanted his bear to be just like D. He was five, it made sense then."
Okay, you're not taking your eyes off the road for right now, but you're pretty sure Dave's actually looking at you again, which is good. You think. "Eh, with the extra info it makes sense now."
"Yeah, maybe. But like...I know Dirk, I know Rose and Rox maybe not as well as I know him but better than anybody else...and then there's Hal."
"Who you don't know."
"I feel like I should. Talking to him, it almost feels like talking to Dirk when he's about to crash off a caffeine high, right? Except...not. And every-fucking-body else is used to this shit, like it's fuckin' normal, and it's not fuckin' normal!"
That last comes out loud enough that Neet caws in answer to him. Dave flinches at the harsh sound, like he forgot she was here at all. If he had anything else to say, he's not going to say it now.
Damn. Now you actually have to figure out what the right thing to say is. This is why you do not and should not be left in charge of kids.
(Except you are in charge of this specific kid, and you have less of a problem with it than you strictly should.)
"It's not normal," you say finally, mostly because agreeing with him is the easiest way to go. Also because it's true. "Dude, we're mutants. Normal applies to literally nothing at this point."
He snorts, unfolding himself enough to start petting Neet again. "I'm so fucking glad you didn't use the washing machine metaphor."
"It's a useless setting, that's why. Either it shreds your delicates or leaves bloodstains in everything."
"That kinda makes it sound like you're washing lingerie and the shit you wore when you murdered somebody."
"Not usually at the same time." That does remind you of something else important, though. "We need to stop somewhere and buy you warmer clothes before we get too much further north."
"I have warm shit in my bag."
"You've never been in snow, have you?"
"It snows in Houston." Oh, that's defensive. Wow. "Sometimes."
"That barely counts, and this'll be colder. Just trust me here, Dave."
The kid's laugh takes you by surprise. From how fast he silences himself, it surprises him too.
"I kinda wish I didn't trust you," he says, after maybe half a minute. You're not sure how the hell you can answer that, and for once in your life you take the halfway intelligent course of action, and don't answer at all.