LOG; once upon a year gone by; GASTON + HOWARD
Gaston and Howard, reunion.
+ Gaston's mysterious growth spurt.
He stepped into the empty Mason residence, closing the door behind him. After what had felt like so long, he had finally come back home, but to him it isn't the same, can't be the same, when he should be dead, his uncle is dead, and he's not sure of who's left that will care.
It's alright, Gaston rationalized. He had never let himself depend on anyone completely, for anything.
The lights glow dimmer than he remembers, and there's nothing in the refrigerator. Instead of going up to his room or checking the messages on the machine, he simply stood in front of the few photographs Howard had hung up on the wall after he had made Monica and Fran move away. Wondering if he should contact the woman who had taken him in for a bit until he had given himself up, Gaston stared blankly ahead. It was too quiet, especially without the voices he used to be able to listen to before.
It all feels like a pleasant dream, one Howard doesn't remember starting. When he felt the soft sheets against his hand his eyes quickly snapped open and he found himself in a familiar place-- his bedroom. He didn't know why he looked right away to his side; Monica wasn't supposed to be there.
This was a dream, right?
He can't be in his house-- then that meant he had never--
Howard got up slowly, the silence making him tense. The house was supposed to be empty, he shouldn't have been here. He should be six feet under, if there was a body to bury (which he was sure there was). On top of that, he didn't think if he was alive (he kept insisting he was not and he was dreaming in death) he would be in Paris still.
But his train of thought was interrupted by a sound downstairs and Howard quickly moved against the wall but once again was stopped. His arm was still the same, even when he focused on his powers. Nothing was happening.
Not sparing any time he grabbed the letter opener from the small table and proceeded to the source of noise. Nobody should have been in the home, meaning it could be...
Gaston hadn't thought anyone would be home, for obvious reasons, and the slight shuffling made him tense up immediately. Would the White Order still want anything with him?
He didn't make any sudden movements, though, and he turned his head slowly to see familiar blond and a face he'd come to associate with family.
Howard was going to demand what the stranger was doing in his house when they turned around and he faltered, his glare quickly disappearing and replaced by shock.
And maybe some relief.
"Gas...ton?" he dropped the letter opener and it clanged on the floor.
He was alive-- he looked fine--
Why did he look older?
No, it didn't matter, well it did but his nephew was in one piece before him and Howard didn't want this to be a dream and prayed it was real.
An expression of shock passed over Gaston's face as well before he narrowed his eyes and stepped back, hands balled into fists at his sides.
"...."
He didn't know how to react or how to feel at all. The weeks following Howard's death had been hellish. If Gaston had been distant and mistrusting before, he was flat-out paranoid now.. yet this didn't seem like an illusion. The hardness of his expression softened almost imperceptibly and he fought the urge to ignore this Howard, who he was now seeing eye-to-eye to.
"....You're back."
Those words hit Howard hard and heavy. He truly did die... but why was he--
White Order had won.
Howard was caught between running outside to see if the world was still in one piece and trying to get closer to Gaston, which somehow felt impossible based on the strange look on his nephew's face.
"Yeah, I..." Howard stumbled on his words, "I guess."
He stepped forward to Gaston but was careful not to move too quickly.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." No, things weren't fine, not when both of them had been murdered for this cause.
"I'm fine," he repeated. "You should call Aunt Monica."
It felt strange, all of it did, and he didn't want to be here any longer. Gaston didn't have anywhere else to go but the feeling that made his chest feel tight wouldn't go away. Fresh air would probably help. So he turned to leave, eyes still dry but that feeling in his chest getting worse.
Howard jumped quickly and grabbed Gaston, pulling him against his chest tightly. Even if he looked older it would never change the fact he was Howard's little nephew.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
He was shaking. This would have been a bit embarrassing under different circumstances but Howard could care less at the moment.
"I wasn't there for you." His eyes stung.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, stiff as Howard embraced him. The tears still weren't coming -- maybe if it had been anyone else, he would have been crying, but Gaston simply wasn't able to.
Slowly he raised an arm to give his uncle an awkward sort of embrace, searching desperately for a response he could give him, but finding none.
Howard just held onto him tighter, as if he was going to lose him again.
"You don't need to be sorry," Gaston finally managed, voice low and quiet.
There was no way to change the past, after all.
"Well, I am." Howard said, looking up.
If he had just been a little stronger or faster, maybe he could have prevented any of this.
It doesn't matter anyway, he thought. But Gaston felt that it would have been the wrong thing to say, so he stayed silent, meeting Howard's gaze levelly.
He released Gaston slowly, rubbing his forehead a bit.
"We should get something to eat," he said.
He wasn't sure where to start but food was always essential, he thought.
Gaston nodded.
Even if you didn't know where to start, you needed to, somewhere.
+ Gaston's mysterious growth spurt.
He stepped into the empty Mason residence, closing the door behind him. After what had felt like so long, he had finally come back home, but to him it isn't the same, can't be the same, when he should be dead, his uncle is dead, and he's not sure of who's left that will care.
It's alright, Gaston rationalized. He had never let himself depend on anyone completely, for anything.
The lights glow dimmer than he remembers, and there's nothing in the refrigerator. Instead of going up to his room or checking the messages on the machine, he simply stood in front of the few photographs Howard had hung up on the wall after he had made Monica and Fran move away. Wondering if he should contact the woman who had taken him in for a bit until he had given himself up, Gaston stared blankly ahead. It was too quiet, especially without the voices he used to be able to listen to before.
It all feels like a pleasant dream, one Howard doesn't remember starting. When he felt the soft sheets against his hand his eyes quickly snapped open and he found himself in a familiar place-- his bedroom. He didn't know why he looked right away to his side; Monica wasn't supposed to be there.
This was a dream, right?
He can't be in his house-- then that meant he had never--
Howard got up slowly, the silence making him tense. The house was supposed to be empty, he shouldn't have been here. He should be six feet under, if there was a body to bury (which he was sure there was). On top of that, he didn't think if he was alive (he kept insisting he was not and he was dreaming in death) he would be in Paris still.
But his train of thought was interrupted by a sound downstairs and Howard quickly moved against the wall but once again was stopped. His arm was still the same, even when he focused on his powers. Nothing was happening.
Not sparing any time he grabbed the letter opener from the small table and proceeded to the source of noise. Nobody should have been in the home, meaning it could be...
Gaston hadn't thought anyone would be home, for obvious reasons, and the slight shuffling made him tense up immediately. Would the White Order still want anything with him?
He didn't make any sudden movements, though, and he turned his head slowly to see familiar blond and a face he'd come to associate with family.
Howard was going to demand what the stranger was doing in his house when they turned around and he faltered, his glare quickly disappearing and replaced by shock.
And maybe some relief.
"Gas...ton?" he dropped the letter opener and it clanged on the floor.
He was alive-- he looked fine--
Why did he look older?
No, it didn't matter, well it did but his nephew was in one piece before him and Howard didn't want this to be a dream and prayed it was real.
An expression of shock passed over Gaston's face as well before he narrowed his eyes and stepped back, hands balled into fists at his sides.
"...."
He didn't know how to react or how to feel at all. The weeks following Howard's death had been hellish. If Gaston had been distant and mistrusting before, he was flat-out paranoid now.. yet this didn't seem like an illusion. The hardness of his expression softened almost imperceptibly and he fought the urge to ignore this Howard, who he was now seeing eye-to-eye to.
"....You're back."
Those words hit Howard hard and heavy. He truly did die... but why was he--
White Order had won.
Howard was caught between running outside to see if the world was still in one piece and trying to get closer to Gaston, which somehow felt impossible based on the strange look on his nephew's face.
"Yeah, I..." Howard stumbled on his words, "I guess."
He stepped forward to Gaston but was careful not to move too quickly.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." No, things weren't fine, not when both of them had been murdered for this cause.
"I'm fine," he repeated. "You should call Aunt Monica."
It felt strange, all of it did, and he didn't want to be here any longer. Gaston didn't have anywhere else to go but the feeling that made his chest feel tight wouldn't go away. Fresh air would probably help. So he turned to leave, eyes still dry but that feeling in his chest getting worse.
Howard jumped quickly and grabbed Gaston, pulling him against his chest tightly. Even if he looked older it would never change the fact he was Howard's little nephew.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
He was shaking. This would have been a bit embarrassing under different circumstances but Howard could care less at the moment.
"I wasn't there for you." His eyes stung.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, stiff as Howard embraced him. The tears still weren't coming -- maybe if it had been anyone else, he would have been crying, but Gaston simply wasn't able to.
Slowly he raised an arm to give his uncle an awkward sort of embrace, searching desperately for a response he could give him, but finding none.
Howard just held onto him tighter, as if he was going to lose him again.
"You don't need to be sorry," Gaston finally managed, voice low and quiet.
There was no way to change the past, after all.
"Well, I am." Howard said, looking up.
If he had just been a little stronger or faster, maybe he could have prevented any of this.
It doesn't matter anyway, he thought. But Gaston felt that it would have been the wrong thing to say, so he stayed silent, meeting Howard's gaze levelly.
He released Gaston slowly, rubbing his forehead a bit.
"We should get something to eat," he said.
He wasn't sure where to start but food was always essential, he thought.
Gaston nodded.
Even if you didn't know where to start, you needed to, somewhere.