"Dad. Make him stop, he's ruining my appetite," Cole moaned, while picking through his stir fry.

Connor just continued to stare down at the table, his tears splattering where his plate would have been if he could eat. Another sob escaped his mouth. He had been doing this consistently since dinner began. Every time he thought about the passport currently in Hank's jacket pocket, and how hard it would be to say goodbye, his stress level raised a little. It felt more like a death warrant than a chance at freedom. He heard the settling of Hank's silverware as the man let out a weary sigh.

"Connor," Hank said gently. Connor looked up when he felt Hank's hand on his shoulder. "Come on, it's gonna be okay," he said, offering him a sympathetic smile.

"No, it won't," Connor spat bitterly, jerking his shoulder away. Normally he would relish any physical contact Hank would give him, but now it only served to make him angrier.

He didn't like feeling angry. Whenever he felt angry in the hospital, he had to keep it all inside, so as not to alert anyone to his deviancy. Now that he wasn't forced to hide this feeling, he was unsure of what to do with it. Hank, Cole, and the majority of the doctors typically yelled and said hurtful things when they were mad.

"How would you feel if you lost Cole?" Connor thought making Hank feel the same grief he did would make him feel better, but instead, he felt his thirium pump misfire at the sight of the pain on not only Hank's face, but Cole's as well. The two Andersons just stared at one another for a moment without a single word. He could only imagine they were thinking about what would have happened if Connor had not been available that night, or if they got to him too late, or Cole hadn't been wearing his seat belt or... NO, he couldn't let the dark thoughts take him now. This was his last chance. His final time with the closest thing he'd ever be able to call family. He couldn't let it get... fucked up? Was that the right term? Well, if he was going to pretend to be human, then he'd need to get used to talking like one. The long uncomfortable silence was broken when Hank turned to console Connor and Cole skewered his last bite of chicken.

"Hey, come on, you're not losing us," Hank said, reassuringly nodding his head. "We can come visit you as soon as all this dies down." Connor's stress level dropped significantly at the statement. Perhaps he was being too nihilistic about the situation. True, he was leaving, but not because he wasn't wanted, and Cole had already offered that they could play games every night. He tried to calculate the probability of the deviant's demonstration creating significant change allowing him to return, but there were too many unknown factors.

"You promise?" He reached out his hand to rest on top of Hank's.

"...Yeah, of course I promise." Hank seemed to hesitate, but when he turned his hand over to cup his own, Connor felt a sense of safety and comfort.

"Tsk," Cole tutted. They both looked over to the boy who had his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. He stared down at his food, pushing his snow peas off to the side.

"You got something to say, Cole?" Hank said, sounding a little irritated.

"Yeah, actually. Will you buy me the new Rampage game?" Cole answered with a smile and a cheerful voice that Connor could tell was fabricated. Hank untwined their hands so he could rub at his forehead.

"Bud, how many times do we have to go over this? I'm not buying you any M rated games."

"But Connor said that you said you would buy me any game I ever wanted." Hank looked over at Connor with his eyebrows lowered and a pronounced wrinkling in his forehead. Connor was getting better at recognizing expressions. He was almost certain this was confusion.

"It's true Hank, you did say that." Hank's head tilted to the side minutely. Connor could never understand how humans could function with such a limited memory. How could Hank not remember his promise, it was only five years ago. "When he was in post-op, remember?"

"Oh, right. Well," Hank rubbed at the back of his neck. "I can't keep that promise but..."

"See. Told ya." Cole exclaimed spitefully while shooting a glare at Connor.

"Bud, come on," Hank pleaded. "I know sometimes I mess up, but I'm doing my best here, and I always keep the important promises." Cole looked back down at his food then muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Hank snarled.

"I said, oh yeah, just like you promised you were gonna stop drinking," Cole yelled, still not looking up from his dinner. Hank's mouth dropped open, and his face flushed bright red. Connor was unsure what Cole meant by this. He hadn't detected any alcohol in Hank's bloodstream at all since he had arrived.

"That—that's not," Hank babbled. The man's expression changed into something, but before Connor even had time to check his diagram, he realized it was anger by the tone and volume of his voice. "Have you been in my closet again?" Cole ignored the question as he continued to push his vegetables around aimlessly. "Young man, do we need to have another talk about privacy because you—BZZ..."

Cole slammed his fork on the table and started yelling back. "Privacy, yeah right. You're lying to me again just like—BZZ..."

"BZZ."

Conner threw his hands up to cover his ears, but it did nothing. His stress had reached a hazardous level, and his systems were trying to compensate by attempting to block out the external factors. The static buzzing from his audio processors made it feel as if his head was going to split open. This had only happened to him once before. As part of Dr. Burn's reparations for his repeated drug offenses, the surgeon was ordered to stay sober under close surveillance. This, in turn, made him an extraordinarily spiteful man.

One night, no less than a month into his deviancy, they were tasked with saving a young pregnant woman. They managed to save the baby, but the mother had lost too much blood at the initial accident and never made it off their table. This enraged the doctor, and he took that frustration out on Connor. He screamed at the android, telling him it was his fault, that he was useless and that he should be melted down for scrap. It took every ounce of restraint Connor had not to punch him in his fucking throat or to scream back at him and tell him how it was his own arrogance that cost the patient her life. Once Connor's stress had reached that unsafe level and his audio processors cut out, he simply switched over to the music streaming site he favored until the doctor grew tired of yelling. He would have done this now, but he had already used his daily limit this morning.

Instead, he just had to sit there with a sound worse than a thousand coding alarms in his head. The two Andersons showed no sign of backing down. He watched as Hank's face grew redder as the man pointed down the hall most likely telling his son to go to his room again. Cole rose from his chair only to stay there to continue their shouting match. When Hank stood as well a series of warning and nonsense objectives appeared on his HUD almost completely obscuring his vision.

WARNING SENSORY OVERLOAD.

The stress... Was too much... he had to release it... had to make it all stop.

Connor quickly stood up almost knocking his chair over. He slammed both his hands on the table, causing the glasses and flatware to clatter. "SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU, SHUT UP," he yelled, looking back and forth between the two, who finally stopped fighting. "ALL I WANT IS ONE LAST NICE DINNER TOGETHER. SO JUST SHUT THE HELL UP FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTES AND PRETEND TO BE A HAPPY FAMILY." Hank's expression was one of absolute shock and fear.

"Okay. Okay, Connor," Hank soothed, timidly putting his hands up. "Okay, just... calm down, alright?" he slowly returned to his seat. "See, everything's fine." Connor looked over to Cole who was still glowering at him while refusing to sit down.

"You can't tell me what to do," the boy croaked in a hoarse voice.

"Cole," Connor spoke firmly. "All I'm asking for is ten minutes. Then you can spend the rest of your life as a miserable brat for all I care." Cole's eyes widened at his words.

"You can't... I'm not..." The boy defeatedly sank back into his seat. "You're the brat," he mumbled, scooping up his snow peas with the last of his rice. After they all sat back down everyone was completely silent for the rest of the meal.

When Hank finished his last bite and set his fork down, Connor quickly grabbed his dishes and brought them over to the sink. He had started washing the dishes when he heard Hank's chair scrape across the floor. "Let's go Connor," Hank said.

"But, I still didn't make dessert," he said trying to mask the fear in his voice.

"Connor! now," Hank ordered resolutely. Connor swallowed another sob. He somberly followed Hank toward the front door but stopped to look back at Cole who was still sitting at the table staring down at his mostly empty plate.

"Goodbye, Cole," he said softly. Cole didn't respond or even look up. "I hope you win your art contest. "He really meant it. He wanted everyone to see how talented and creative he was, especially Cole himself. The boy clenched his hands into fists then stood up and ran off to his room. The door didn't quite slam, but it was enough to make him flinch.

Hank retrieved his jacket from the closet as Connor said his final goodbye. "Oh Sumo. I'll miss you most of all," he cried, kneeling down to bury his face into the thick coat of the dog. Sumo let out a high pitched whine in response.

Hank put on his jacket then patted his right pocket. His eyebrows furrowed as he patted the other side. He sighed deeply. "Alright Connor, where are they?" he groaned.

Connor stood up from the floor and attempted to brush the fur off his shirt. The question was a bit vague. "Where's what, Hank?"

"Don't pull that shit with me," he hollered. "Where's the passport and bus pass?"

Connor felt his head tilt at the question. "In your pocket." He didn't even need to access his long term memory banks to remember that. After Hank agreed to let him stay for dinner, he returned them to his jacket pocket and hung it up right there. He didn't think human memory was this bad. Perhaps he'd recommend that Hank receive a CT and MRI as soon as possible. He hated to think that Hank was showing early signs of dementia.

"Connor, I know you don't want to go, but this isn't gonna change anything. Where did you put them?" Hank pointed at him, visibly growing more and more frustrated.

"Hank I swear, I didn't do anything," Connor said, raising his open hands to his chest, but, why? Why did he do this? This was a defensive action. Like he was afraid Hank would hit him or something. Sure, plenty of angry humans had hit him before, but he never thought Hank would do the same, not even for a second.

Hank buried his face in his hands and growled in irritation. "Okay, look, Connor, I know you don't have a concept of money so let me try and explain it to you. That was all my money. As in, money Cole and I need to eat and live in this house, so you tell me what you did with them right now or—"

"What!" Cole yelled from his room. Connor heard the door rocket open followed by the boy's rapid footfalls as he came bursting into the living room with his Sketch pad still in hand. "What do you mean that was all our money?"

"Cole, I told you, it's my job to worry about that," Hank reminded his son before turning back to Connor.

"That's bullshit!" Cole shouted, throwing his sketchpad on the floor. "This is my life too, I deserve to know what's going on."

Connor tried to tell Hank that he had no knowledge as to the disappearance of the passport, but Cole loudly spoke over him. "What are we gonna do? Am I going to need to get a job?" the boy whined. Now even Sumo was chiming in with low growls and yips as if he too was voicing his concerns for the state of his family.

Connor needed Hank to know it wasn't his fault. He had to raise the volume of his voice several times to try and be heard over the racket. He tried to point out the illogic nature of the act, but Hank didn't appear to be listening. He had shut his eyes tight and was running his hand through his hair. "Are we going to move? We're not going to be homeless, are we?" Cole questioned, but Hank refused to acknowledge him. "Dad! Dad stop ignoring me!" Cole grabbed at his father's sleeve to try and get his attention.

Hank jerked his arm away and roared: "COLE, SHUT THE FUCK UP."

The whole room fell silent in response. Cole took a step back. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide. Connor didn't need to check his diagram to know this was shock, because he could feel his own face doing the exact same thing. "Hey bud, I—I didn't mean that," Hank stammered. "You know I didn't mean that right? I was just—"

The boy didn't yell, he just stated simply, "I fucking hate you."

This sparked something in Connor. A kind of anger he had never felt before. "Cole, that's enough." He snapped. "I won't stand to hear you talk to your father like that anymore."

"Oh yeah," Cole replied in a mocking tone, "and what would you know about how to talk to your father? You don't even have one."

"Cole, apologize right now," Hank ordered, but Connor put his hand up to silence him.

If this is how Cole wanted it, then this was how it was going to be. If Cole was going to push, then Connor would just push right back.

"No, he's right Hank, I don't have a father, but if you had adopted me instead of him, I would be a much better son." Hank's expression changed into one of pure shock, which Connor expected given the severity of the declaration he just made. Cole, however, appeared to be confused. His eyes were narrowed at Connor, and his head was cocked. Apparently, he needed examples as to why he'd be the superior son, and Connor was more than happy to give that to him. "I would be more appreciative and I would never—-"

"CONNOR!" Hank roared at a deafening volume. Connor was afraid that he had made Hank angry again, but when he looked back at the man he appeared... frightened? His heart rate and breathing had become erratic, and his mouth was agape and quivering.

"What do you mean instead of him?" Cole questioned. "I'm not adopted." The boy let out a nervous chuckle. "Right Dad?" Another silence smothered them, and only the sounds of passing cars on the snow-slick streets could be heard. "Dad?"