𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺 •𝒃𝒙𝒃•

A Past Better Left Buried |Laurent Gabriel|

AN: I'm going to warn you all real quick. There will be mentions of abuse later on. Various forms of abuse. Just a quick heads up. I do not condone any of this behaviour.

They said that a bad parent was a traumatised child, caught up in the fire of their own suffering, their thoughts more hurricane than poetry and soul, too lost in the past to be in the present.

Was that the reason for his behaviour?

It was not justifiable. In no situation were his actions correct, or acceptable.

Laurent Gabriel was in no way a crude man. No. All of his words and actions and states of being were polished to their most highest form—everything was at its highest peak of evolving, at the last stage. He was a man of many words, and he had his way with them unlike any other. A sharp tongue, sharp eyes, and a sickly fake smile, meant to charm the world, meant to manipulate everything and everyone that was too drawn to him, to his unbreakable facade.

He was not always like that.

Laurent Gabriel was not born—he was made.

And Bain Louis was destroyed in the process.

_

FRANCE: 40 YEARS AGO

Imagine a happy family, as happy as it could be.

A mother. A father. Two sons—twins. A little house, on a little hill, with the fields of countryside France in full view.

The father worked, and the mother was a housewife, too busy with her children to search for a job. They lived on a minimum wage, but it was enough for them.

After all, they had each other.

Until they didn't.

And all it took was a small accident to make it all fall down.

The breaks had stopped working, and there was no way to evade the oncoming truck, so they collided. It was strong enough of a crash to make the mother break through the windshield, for she was too busy trying to calm the bickering children in the back to fasten a seatbelt.

The father ended up in a much worse state than her. Unfortunately, the truck carried a heavy load of logs.

There was only one way this would turn out.

He blinked and it was lights out.

And Louis...Poor, poor Louis was forced to watch the log smash right into his brother. Right through his arms, raised up in self-defence, straight into his skull and into the backseat.

He'd sit there for three hours. That was how much time the fire department needed. They arrived first. The police and ambulance arrived two hours later, even though the accident happened on the highway, not even thirty minutes from town.

He'd sat there and stared at the remains of his family, unable to utter a single word from the shock.

When he was grabbed, his quirk manifested and his rescuers locked up in terror, too afraid to move a single muscle, too frightened to blink until their eyes stung.

There he was, bruised and bloody, soundlessly begging for help, yet nobody did anything. They didn't pull his brother's corpse out of the car, nor did they take his father.

And his mother was on the concrete with her head caved in.

Somewhere, in the corners of his undeveloped mind, he came to the realisation that life was not fair.
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.
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With no near family, Louis was thrown into the nearest orphanage.