itwasntmychoice (itwasntmychoice) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2014-09-20 22:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | colt richards, gunnar richards |
Who: Colton Richards and Gunnar Richards
When: Saturday morning
Where: Their parents house
What: talk and avoidance
Rating: PG, TW: reference to abuse, holocaust memories, trauma.
Colt made it a habit to stop by the house every Saturday morning. Dad was always at the gun range Saturday morning, hanging out with buddies then heading down to the bar for a drink or ten, so it meant he could visit his mom without having to deal with his father. The smell of bacon cooking hit him as he knocked on the door then walked in, his mom already had breakfast on the table. He had told her repeatedly she didn't need to, but she always just smiled and the next week breakfast was ready again. He kissed her cheek then sat down as she poured the coffee.
They chatted about how their respective weeks had gone. Nothing monumental, but he knew it meant a lot to her so they chatted. He hadn't told her about Scarlett not yet anyway. Mostly because he knew that would start the whole settle down and produce grandchildren for her talk and he didn't feel like dealing with it. Things with Scarlett were good..great, but they weren't exactly at that stage yet. Plus..she'd tell his dad. So, right off the bat that was a no.
When he could, Gunnar avoided his family home. It was a place filled with bad memories, and it was more difficult to remind himself that he was an adult now, in charge of his own emotions, when surrounded by so many memories of the times he'd struggled to not unleash them in a burst of power. The day he'd left had been the first day since Erik had shown up that he felt he could really breathe in without danger of the exhale coming out a scream. No one had seen him struggling, then; no one seemed to notice his avoidance, now. Not having to answer questions about it made up for that.
It wasn't possible to avoid all the time, though, not without drawing undue attention to the fact that he would rather not be there. When his father called and asked him (since he was in town for an entirely different reason and his father knew it) to drop by the house and pick up his spare gun to bring him at the range, Gunnar had only tried a couple of excuses before giving in. His grip on the steering wheel of his car grew tighter the closer he got to the house, though he made sure to keep his expression flat. Once he lost control of that, he wouldn't be regaining it any time soon. There was an unfamiliar car in the drive when he got there, but he assumed it was one of his mother's friends. He parked behind it and slid out of his car. In, and out, then he could be finished with this.
He knocked before he entered, but only as a formality. If he'd waited for her to actually open it and let him in, he'd be scolded and reminded that family could just walk in. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he hadn't truly been family for a long time. As he entered, he called out, "He apparently needs his other..." He stopped when he saw exactly who was sitting with his mother. For a moment, he nearly panicked, then he slammed down iron control on his emotions once more and finished his sentence. "...gun."
When he heard his brother's voice from the hall, Colt froze. They hadn't been in this same space together since Colt was eighteen and just like that memories flooded him and he only barely managed to avoid flinching away from his brother. It was hard to breathe, but he managed and set his cup of coffee down before it gave away the trembling of his hand. He swallowed hard and reminded himself he was no longer a child and finally looked over at his brother.
Part of him wanted to tell him to get out, part of him wanted to flee, but he saw the look on his mom's face and took another breath. "Hey. We were uh. Just. Just having breakfast."
Maybe it was his therapy with Scarlett, or the time reconnecting with Marla and his nieces and nephews, but part of him wanted that relationship with his brother. He wasn't sure even why he kept trying when Gunnar so clearly wanted nothing to do with him and every time he tried to half reach out, he got smacked down and later he'd be upset with himself for thinking anything would ever change with Gunnar. Maybe it was because he still had so many memories of when he was young and he'd idolized Gunnar and thought he was the most amazing person ever. He swallowed again and then before he could think any better the words slipped out. "You have time to join us?"
Their mother smiled and got up, immediately offering him a cup of coffee, "There's plenty. Pretty sure she still thinks we're teenagers." It was true, there was still a rather large amount of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.
Now, more than ever, Gunnar wanted to get out as quickly as he could. There was too much potential to go wrong, him and Colt sharing this particular space. Somewhere else... somewhere else, Gunnar didn't doubt that he could have kept himself together. Here, it was him, Colt, and the environment where everything he regretted had happened. He should have said 'no, thank you', fetched the gun, and gotten out of there before anything could go wrong.
Why, then, was he taking a seat and accepting the cup of coffee. "I've already eaten, thank you." He had an excuse to leave at any time. An escape route that would allow him to save face. He was still in control of the situation. That relaxed him enough to say, "I can stay for a few minutes." Their mother, at least, was there as a buffer. Hopefully, that would be enough.
Oh, this was going to end so badly.
Colt wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that Gunnar was staying. Maybe it meant something, but he didn't really want to hope for that. The eggs that had been so delicious one bite ago now tasted like ash and there was a part of him that was coiled and ready for his brother to strike out although he knew it would never happen in front of their mother.
"Pop left he house without all his guns," Colt asked his cup of coffee. "Didn't think he ever did that." The eggs stuck in his throat but he managed to get them down. He fell silent as their mother fussed over them.
"Yes." Gunnar was also examining his coffee cup intently. If he drank it with sugar, he might have busied his hands with pouring and stirring; it was going to be difficult enough to swallow without making it cloyingly sweet. "I suppose the one time he didn't was the time he actually needed them." So far, so good. Small, idle talk... it was a good distraction from all the words it was far too late to actually say to Colt.
He turned the cup on the table, the handle making circles around the stout base. "I'm not certain what he would have done, if I hadn't happened to be in town this morning." In town, and if he hadn't let that fact slip to his father, he could have avoided this situation entirely.
Colt wanted to point out that he would have come home and so in an odd way his brother saved him from a run in with their dad and he almost thanked him, but that would only upset Mom, even though she knew that Colt avoided his father as much as possible. "What were you in town for?" That was an innocuous enough question he hoped. It was hard to make small talk with his brother, too many unsaid things seemed to crowd out the words.
"Business." Gunnar didn't see the point in elaborating, so he didn't. Colt didn't care about what Gunnar did for work, especially the technical parts of it that were just paperwork. "Unfortunately, weekends off are a myth for some of us." It wasn't meant to imply anything. It really wasn't. Gunnar realized as soon as the words left his mouth that his tension had seeped into them, making something sharp and pointed out of what should have been small talk.
Colt tried not to take it as an insult. "I work weekends," he admitted trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "Well, Sundays at least, I started back with the Forest Service last month." He didn't remember if his brother even knew he'd gotten a job, but it seemed like a good time to tell him. His mother started clearing the table and Colt stood up. "Ma, you cooked. Let me do the dishes." He guided her to the table and squeezed her shoulders gently.
"I'm surprised." And there was Colt, always a mama's boy. Maybe Gunnar should have offered to help, too, but that would have meant putting down his coffee, and he wasn't sure he was quite capable, at the moment. "I wasn't aware you were looking for a job again." Of course, Colt did have to make money somehow. Gunnar was sure that, wherever he was staying, it wasn't free. Very little in the world was.
"That I'm working? Or that I went back to the Forest Service?" He was not so successful at keeping his defensiveness out this time, but his back was to Gunnar which kept this brother from seeing the hurt expression on his face. Did Gunnar really think that he was that fucking useless that he wouldn't have a job and that it was surprising for him to have one. Hadn't he pretty much been employed continuously since he was eighteen? Well other than when he'd lost his visor and couldn't open his eyes.
"Both, I suppose." Gunnar tried to keep his tone more mild, this time. "I'd have thought you needed more time to recover, after your ordeal. Though, I forgot..." And there was that twist of sharpness, bitterness, again. He couldn't prevent it. "Your miraculous return from the dead is far less recent for you than for me." In fact, there were still nights when he dreamed that it wasn't true, after all, and woke up confusing which was real. That, however, didn't need to be shared.
Colt sighed, "Gunnar, I told you I tried to contact you and I thought Pop had told you." He put the dishes into the dishwasher there was perhaps a bit more force in the way he was handling them than was really necessary. Why couldn't his brother ever just...give a shit about his feelings. He took a breath and blew it out. "I'm sorry," apologizes again for what feels like the hundredth time.
Gunnar knew. He knew that. It didn't exactly make up for how long it had stretched before anyone considered that maybe he didn't know - and that it had been his nephew who took the time to explain... the thought of Henry calmed him, a bit. For Henry, to keep him from being caught even more in the middle of this, he would try to keep the venom in. "Since I doubt this situation will happen again, I suppose it doesn't matter, now that it's over."
Colt shoved a lid on the anger putting it back in place, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his mother, but the condescension in his brother's voice tore at his heart. Why did he even bother? He took a slow breath."Thanks for breakfast, Ma." He kissed her cheek and went out onto the porch of their house seething. Colt gripped the rail of the porch until his knuckles were white. He had to stop. He had to stop reaching out to his brother. Nothing good ever came of it, his brother was never going to forgive him for being gay. Highly ironic now that he was involved with Scarlett.
...what the hell was that about? How were Gunnar's attempts to keep the peace somehow worse than his anger, something to be fled from? The metal racks in the oven rattled, and he shoved down on his feelings again, hard, as hard as he could. How was it that Colton could damage his control like nothing else? This festering thing between them seemed to destroy every bit of the stillness he had fought so hard to win for himself... why even try to be anything but what Colton expected? It was all he would see, anyway.
He pushed his mostly full cup of coffee out of the way and stood. He needed to get out of the kitchen, before he gave himself, his abilities, away (and why hide it, a voice that sounded not quite like Erik whispered, why hold on to something so much less than he could be). "Thank you for the coffee. I'll go and get the gun now." He knew where his father kept it; the same place he always had. Gunnar had thought about that gun cabinet often, when Erik first made his appearance. He unlocked it, muscle memory leading him to the right combination. There was the gun, right where it was supposed to be. Everything in its place, in his father's life. Just like Gunnar. Or Gunnar was just like him.
The gun had many metal parts. Gunnar could control it. Could make it jam, badly enough that it would injure the next person to use it. Could make it fire, without the trigger ever being pulled. He stared at the gun for a long moment, then carried it carefully through the house, murmuring a goodbye to his mother.
Colton was still on the porch when he left the house. "You don't have to run," Gunnar told him. He'd wiped all traces of emotion from his voice. He was back in control. "I have better places to be."
Colt turned when he looked over him the anger he expected was not there, what was there was a sorrow that was almost harder to bear. His gaze flicked to the gun in his hand then back to his face and for a moment the sorrow was joined by fear and his heart clenched tightly. He took a slow breath and let it out. "Why..Gunnar? Why do you hate me so much?" That wasn't what he meant to say, but that was what came out of his mouth. His hands were clenched into fists as he stood, facing him down. Maybe he was finally ready to let go and move past it, maybe he'd just lost his fucking mind.
There had been moments, in their past, when Gunnar could have said all the things that laid between them that Colton didn't know. Multiple moments, many of them that stood out in Gunnar's mind in perfect detail. Every time, he'd chosen to walk away, instead. This moment, on the porch of their family home with the question finally out in the open between them, it could be another. It could be the last chance, if Colton was finally putting the question into words. It would be easy. It was just words. Words couldn't pierce flesh, draw blood. Words...
"Is that what you think? I did tell myself I wouldn't argue with you today. Even when you're wrong."
Words could hurt worse than any weapon made of steel. It was too late for this to be his moment. Maybe it always had been. "Colton. Have a good day." He didn't stick around to hear any more, to see the look on his brother's face in reaction to his flippant response. He didn't even look at him as he got into his car and started the engine, tossing the gun carelessly into the passenger seat.
Staring at his brother, Colton felt as if he'd been punched as Gunnar just walked away. How could his brother just say he was wrong..when every fucking thing he said just proved that he was right? He heard his mother and closed his eyes, trying to push everything aside. He didn't want to hear her platitudes about how Gunnar loved him. Clearly he couldn't even stand being in the same room as him.
Colton went back into the house, "Be right back, Ma," he called out as he went into his old bedroom and flopped down on his bed, one arm over his eyes trying to get shit under control because he didn't trust himself to drive. His breathing was heavy and his heart racing. Sighing softly, he tried to remember how many times he'd been in this place with this hurt? Too many to count for sure.
He took a slow breath, telling himself it didn't matter any more. He was done trying to reach out to Gunnar. Like it or not, his brother was done with him ad he needed to stop holding onto the hope that he might one day get an explanation. That was all he wanted, was a why. Why had his brother suddenly turned on him. Colt has always thought it was that he was gay...but he beatings had never started again and he'd shared space with Colton and Steven, albeit not happily but without violence. Clearly he was never going to get a apology, he'd given up any thought of that years ago, but a reason was also apparently too much.
Looking up, he saw the hiding spot where he'd kept his journal hidden. A journal he'd almost forgotten that he'd kept. Colton reached up and took the journal out, as he flipped through it, a set of folded papers fell out. He didn't remember any loose papers. He picked the letters up and read them, hands shaking. He wasn't even aware of the tears at first, but by the time he finished reading them he was sobbing.