Become What You Know

Tarra knocks on the door. When it finally opens (after a three minute wait) she looks up into a cherubic face and grins. Because that is the tallest twelve year old she's ever seen, and he's freaking adorable.

"Hi," she says, "Is your dad home?"

And the cute little twelve year old looks down at her, annoyed, and says in a deep voice, "No. My dad doesn't live here."

And oh, hey, because that's a really deep voice. And yeah, she must have said that out loud, because now the twelve year old is looking a little past pissed.

"Yeah, imagine that," he says, monotone, "Since I hit puberty six years ago."

"It's the haircut," some one snickers from further in the apartment, and the not so twelve year old kid says, "Shut up, Brendon."

And okay, yeah, so maybe Tarra should have known better than to cast stones, since she's all of four foot eleven and looks like she's a very busty fifteen year old. And it's not like she can even begin to start on Frank, who's the biggest five year old she's ever seen. (There was an incident on the way when they stopped at McDonalds. She's never seen an adult throw a fit over a toy in the big kids meal.) She shakes her head at her thoughts and grins over at Frank before turning back to Ryan.

"So," she starts over, "I'm looking for Ryan, Spencer and Brendon."

"Are you bill collectors?" the boy asks in that same monotone, and she shakes her head, "Salesmen, girl scouts, with the loan shark down the street, or a Jehova's witness?"

"Don't forget Mormons," Brendon shouts again, "We're currently not accepting social calls from Mormons, either."

"Um, no," Frank supplies, "We've been sent here on a holy mission."

"Sorta," Tarra adds hastily, seeing Ryan tense to close the door, "It's hard to explain. Can we come in?"

Frank uses his good breeding to shoulder his way through the doorway without waiting for an answer. And yeah, this might maybe be a bad idea, because, come on, obviously if they're being sent back with them they have some kind of ability.

"Who are you?" a kid playing Guitar Hero stares over at them both. They just shrug at him and he goes back to his game.

"We're different," Frank begins, because there's no real way to start a conversation with 'hey, so I'm a freak and I hear you are too'.

"There's this Cafe," Tarra supplies, and yeah, they really need to work on their delivery of the subject, because this is junior high debate team all over again.

Brendon's singing under his breath to the music on the game and Tarra just...stops. She's staring at him, wide-eyed and Frank is giving her this weird look. Brendon's not paying any attention, just keeps hitting the right buttons, his singing going up in volume. Tarra takes a step forward and she's got her face buried in his neck before she can stop herself. Instantly there's this feeling of rightrightright.

Brendon goes stiff and nearly drops the guitar. He jumps away.And Tarra, well, she might cry. She can feel her face scrunching up, and the tears are welling, and she feels utterly lost since she's not touching Brendon anymore. She's just standing there now, looking at the kid, with tears on her face, and he sighs and looks over at Ryan.

Ryan shrugs, "You were singing, B."

"I didn't mean to," Brendon sounds sad, and yeah, good, cause that's how Tarra still feels. She sniffles.

"What did you do to Tarra?" Frank asks, and his voice sounds tight, angry. Tarra can suddenly feel all three of them in her head. Its weird, because there's another signature some where close by, in another room. It must be the third boy, and oh, hey, her head is clearing up. She wipes at her eyes.

"I'm alright," she says, stepping away from Brendon and next to Frank again, her hand on his shoulder. Because lets face it, Frank could totally kick Brendon's ass in a fair fight.

"It wouldn't be a fair fight," Ryan says, as if he's read her mind, rolling his eyes.

"Some times," Brendon says, "When I sing people listen to me. They..."

"He's a siren," Ryan huffs, looking at them like he's going to kill them for making him admit it, and suddenly the third kid is in the room with them.

Tarra and Frank share a look.

___________________________

Ray pulls another pan from the oven. The cafe hasn't been closed a day since it opened, and Ray admires that Gerard is keeping the place running even as he plans his next move. The cafe is crawling with more mutants that it ever has before at one time. They are filing in as quickly as Gerard is calling them.

Next to Ray a tall blonde mountain is standing, his arms crossed over his chest. Bob Bryar is intimidating at the best of times, and mother fucking scary at the worst. Ray kinda really loves the dude. They'd been good friends when Bob had worked for the Way brothers a few years back. He'd just discovered his ability and needed some place safe he could stay until he had control.

Bob lifted an eyebrow at the bread sitting on the table, "Pent up agression?"

"We needed fresh bread."

"Worried about Mikey."

"Busy with the brownies right now."

"This have something to do with that piece of ass waiting the tables?"

Ray bristled, shooting a glare at Bob. Bob grinned, as he turned from gold to a pleased torquoise color.

"She's seventeen, man," Ray said and Bob rolled his eyes again.

"Fooling yourself if you think that makes a difference."

"Shut up, Bryar," Ray punches his ball of dough and Bob snickers. He plays with his lip ring before pining his friend with a gaze.

"Who is she?" Bob asks and Ray pauses. Because that's a really good fucking question.

"Her name's Celeste," Ray says, frowning into his bread, "She's seventeen and a mimic. And her emotions are all over the place. All the time."

"And you want to hold her close and smooth out all the prickly black and mauve colors that swirl around her. "

"Dude," Ray starts, and the door to the kitchen opens and Pete strolls in.

He sits on the counter and swings his legs, "What are we talking about?"

"Ray's rather endearing crush on the waitress," Bob says matter-of-factly.

"Ooh," Pete grins, "Tell her she completes you. Girls love that."

"Maybe she'll suck your..." Bob adds helpfully, while Pete attempts to poke at Ray's bread. Ray slaps his hands away.

"I'm not talking about this," Ray says, yet again, and the two snort.

The back door opens and they turn to see two short guys standing there awkwardly. The first one has cinnamon colored hair hidden under a trucker hat. His eyes are hidden behind glasses and his sneakers are totally awesome. The sweater vest he's wearing, yeah, not so much. The second guy is in jeans and a tshirt, his brown hair looks like it hasn't been combed, and he's wearing flip flops. They all stare at each other. Finally Pete stops looking the new comers over and opens his mouth.

"Are you serious with that shit?"

"Um, what?" Hat kid says, and Pete grins huge.

"That outfit. You serious with that shit?"

Hat guy looks down at his sweater vest, pulls at it with his fingers, and then up at Pete, "Its comfortable."

"I'm sure it is," Pete waves his hand airly, and the guy looks ready to punch him.

"Chill Patrick," his friend says, "He's just fucking with you."

Ray shakes his head and directs the new comers to Gerard. Pete jumps down and offers to show them. Patrick does not look happy. Him and Bob are alone again, and Ray just sighs and puts the bread in a pan, covering it with a clean towel because he's not ready to put it in the oven yet. He's not ready to do a lot of things yet.

________________________________

Mikey taps his fingers on the stainless steel table for the 847,565,834th time. He's got a cup of cold coffee sitting in front of him, and he's more than willing to admit that yes, this was a very bad idea. Also, he's pretty sure if they don't let him call Gerard soon his brother is going to meltdown, and god know what will happen then.

Probably something that will be a lot harder to cover up than Mikey taking all that money from ATMs when he was younger.

Agent Anderson has been going in and out of the room for hours now, and Mikey is just waiting for her to come back again, so they can argue a little more over why he was in the NSA's database. She's pretty sure he's a part of Bert's team. Mikey's pretty sure she has a grudge towards men.

If she weren't a girl he'd totally punch her.

He picks at the edge of the cup and thinks about leaving. Just standing up and walking out of the building. It would be really easy. As far as he's seen all the door in the building lock electronically, and when Agent Anderson isn't in the room with him he's free to use his ability. But he's curious about McCracken and he wants to find out more about what the government knows about mutants.

Agent Anderson comes back in and the increasingly annoying radio silence in his head returns. He frowns a little. She unbuttons her jacket and sits, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand.

"What do you know about Bert McCracken?" she asks, for the hundreth time and Mikey sighs.

"Only what I read in his file. Big time criminal. And you guys can't pin anything on him."

"We're building a case," Nicole says stiffly, frowning at Mikey. Mikey makes a face back.

"Yeah, a case built on circumstancial evidence," Mikey said wrly, "The only evidence you have will be dismissed in court, and you know it."

"I want to know every thing you know!" Nicole commanded, pushing back to stand up.

Mikey snorts, "That again. I keep telling you, I don't know anything. But tell me something. Do you know that you're a mutant?"

"Ex-cuse me?" Nicole chokes, and Mikey tries really hard not to smirk, because Agent Anderson seems like someone who'd punch him in the throat.

"A mutant. A freak. Some one with superpowers? Just like Bert McCracken."

"Shit," Nicole says, staring at Mikey.

__________________________

Celeste wipes another table down, centering her gaze on Gabe and William. They seemed really close, their heads pressed together in one of the corners. Gabe was busy stealing William's danish when he wasn't looking, and William was drinking Gabe's coffee. She was kinda referring to them as the wonder twins in her head because they were both tall and really good looking. The closest Celeste had come to that kind of relationship was with a telepath named Nell.

Celeste tipped the dishes on another table into her blue tub and pushed through the tables and into the back. Ray and Bob were glaring at each other playfully, the radio playing Metallica in the background.

"Hey Celeste," Ray said pushing a plate with a sandwich and a bag of chips at her, "Can you take this to Gerard?"

"I. Yeah, okay," she said, wiping her hands off and grabbing the stuff.

She knocked before pushing into the back room, where Gerard had been hiding since the others had begun arriving.

"Ray sent lunch," she said, setting the plate down in front of him. He nodded and waved her away, and she sighed, “I know, okay. I know. But could you please just stop? Please?”

Gerard looked at her considering, “You asked to stay. Why didn’t you tell us that you needed help?”

“What would I say, Gerard? Would you tell Mikey you were trading sexual favors for a place to stay? That half the time I’m either starving or freaking about controlling my ability? That I’m fucking scared that one day you and Mikey are going to wake up and realize that I’m not anything to you, and you don’t owe me anything? Please don’t think about me badly, please. I don’t think I could handle it if you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said looking away from her, down at the sandwich, “I’m sorry-“

He meant to say “that I’m being a dick” but the door was already closing behind her. She stormed through the café and into the kitchen, upset. She stopped short when she saw Ray and Bob still in the kitchen.

“Bob, can you give us a minute?” Ray asked, looking over at his blonde friend. Bob nodded and headed for the door behind her. His shoulder brushed hers and her power spiked.

She burst into flames in the middle of the kitchen.

The sprinklers went off and the patrons in the front started screaming. The sounds of the café evacuating echoed. Suddenly everything went still. All the noises stopped out front and the water from the sprinklers was frozen in small balls midair.

“Calm down,” Bob said softly, next to her. He wasn’t touching her, and she was grateful. She was terrified, and still on fire when the rest of the group busted through the kitchen door. Gerard stared at her wide-eyed.

Pete took one look at her and crowed, “Holy shit, that’s awesome!”

Patrick punched him in the shoulder. Pete rubbed at his arm, giving Patrick big eyes.

Ray stepped forward, swiped his hand through the air in front of her, changing the panic to calm and she closed her eyes and focused on cutting the fire off. When she opened them again, she was smoldering. The remains of her clothes were falling off in burnt pieces and she was shaking.

Pete shrugged out of his hoodie and wrapped it around her shoulders without touching her. She zipped it, trying to pull it down enough to cover her thighs. Her legs gave out under her and she landed in a pile at their feet.

“Your power sucks,” she said, finally, looking up at Bob.

“You get used to it,” Bob shrugged, “When you can control it you don’t burn yourself or your clothes.”

“I hate this,” Celeste said, sounding more tired than anyone her age ever should.

__________________

“No,” Ryan said, “We aren’t interested.”

After Frank and Tarra had finished their story the three put their heads together in the corner of the room and discussed it. There was a lot of flailing on Brendon’s part. Spencer and Ryan were more collected. When they came back to the couch Brendon was pouting.

“Come on, Ryan!” Brendon said, “It’ll be an adventure.”

“No,” Ryan said again, and Brendon stuck his bottom lip out.

“I’ll sing,” Brendon warned.

“I’ll punch you in the throat,” Spencer warned back with a cross look on his face.

“Fine,” Brendon flailed again, “But I’m gonna go. You guys can stay and hide here. I’m gonna be a superhero.”

He stuck his chest out and put his hands on his hips. Spencer punched him on the right side of his chest. Brendon flailed and fell over, landing on the floor at their feet. Ryan snickered. He and Spencer shared a look before looking back at Frank.

“We’ll come. But I’m not getting shot for anyone else,” Ryan said.

“Great, pack quickly!” Brendon jumped to his feet, “That means one pair of shoes, Spencer!” He shot over his shoulder as he ran into his room.

Spencer still managed to pack three pairs of shoes. (That was after Ryan made him put three others back.)