A/N: I'm sorry, I'm being cruel to Vince – again. I must be sick, obviously. This'll just be a two part story though. I'm quite hungry, by the way, and reviews are very filling...

Dedicated to my wonderful little LJ family. You know who you are!

Disclaimer: La, la, la, not mine.

xxxx

When Howard arrived home to silence, he wasn't too worried. Bouncing happily up the stairs with a bag of shopping, he swung round the bannister into the living room, jumping slightly when he saw Vince sat on the sofa. That was odd. Vince was supposed to be out with his parents, or at least in with his parents. He'd been so excited about finally getting to meet them, that surely it wouldn't have been over with that quickly. Howard had never asked too many questions about Vince's family, and Vince himself hadn't even known that much about them. He'd been taken into care as a baby when his mother had given birth at seventeen and she and Vince's father couldn't afford to care for him. From then on, he'd been from foster home to foster home, only really getting close to Bryan Ferry, but even that hadn't lasted forever. It saddened Howard that Vince had never been adopted. He was in no doubt that he'd been a beautiful baby. Maybe adoptions hadn't been in demand so much in those days...

Vince was being uncharacteristically quiet.

"Vince?"

The smaller man didn't acknowledge him, just continued to stare straight ahead at a fixed point on the wall. Howard moved round the sofa, his eyes holding on Vince's face, which was worryingly pale and drawn. His hair was messed up, eyes watery and red, and there was dried blood on his... Fuck. Howard threw his bag down and knelt down in front of Vince, noticing, now he was closer, that he was trembling. He put a hand on Vince's knee, bringing him back to reality with a jump.

"Hey, little man."

"Howard." A whisper, so thin and broken that Howard's stomach twisted and churned like he'd just gone over a big drop on a roller-coaster. He was afraid to ask, but he didn't have much choice.

"What happened, Vince?"

Vince moved let his head drop slightly, his eyes blearily trying to focus on Howard's. His breathing was shallow and he looked very much like he was about to be sick.

"A-accident." His voice wobbled dangerously, teeth digging hard into his bottom lip to stop the unravelling he obviously so desperately needed.

Howard brought a hand up to Vince's face to brush his hair back, tucking the longer bits behind his ear. "It's okay. Take your time."

Vince swallowed heavily, tears silently spilling over the rims of his eyes and tracking down his face, leaving marks against the dirt and blood. "They're d-dead. I was in the shop and I heard this crash and t-the car... I ran out and the car... a-and there was glass everywhere and all the metal was twisted from where the other car had smashed into it," he whispered painfully, the fingers of one of his hands unconsciously digging into his wrist, the nails leaving imprints in the skin. Howard saw what he was doing and gently took hold of his hands to stop him from hurting himself. He felt light-headed and queasy, but Vince needed him and he couldn't let it show. He opened his mouth, and it took a few attempts before he could get any words out, his tongue sticking to the dryness inside.

"I – Jesus. Vince, I'm –"

"She spoke to me."

"What?"

"My mum. My dad, he was killed instantly. Oh, God, there was so much blood... And my mum – she was just layin' there, and she saw me and... she smiled. And I held her hand and tried to tell her it would be okay, and she told me she was so happy she got to see me. She was cryin', but she couldn't breathe properly and she squeezed my hand so tight and said she'd always loved me an' that she was sorry but she only wanted what was best for me. Her eyes were all out of focus and I wasn't sure if she could even see me anymore, but she told me she and dad were proud of me, an' I said I loved her, cos it's true. I know it sounds silly, but she's me mum and it just felt right. She tried to smile at me again, and then her eyes closed and... Oh..." Vince breathed in sharply then, as if someone had just punched him. He dropped forward, Howard catching him and holding him tight as sobs wracked through his body. He wanted to say something, anything, but he was so worried about saying the wrong thing that all he could do was rub Vince's back and stroke his hair. Vince's shoulders were heaving violently, his face buried against Howard's neck, hands clawing at his arms, fingers twisting and pulling at the material of his coat. "When I was at the hospital I met my brother and sister, and my sister screamed at m-me and said it was all my fault!" Vince sobbed, coughing as he tried to breathe, gasping in air like it was going out of fashion. "And she's right, cos if I had never replied to them they would still be here!"

Howard took hold of Vince's shoulders and pushed him gently but firmly backwards, just enough so he could look him in the face. "That is not true. Don't you ever think, for even a second, that any of this is your fault. She's angry and grieving and took it out on you, but it's not true, d'you hear me? She knows that, your brother knows that, and you must know that too. Vince, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry -"

'Howard?"

"Yeah, little man?"

"Do you think they'll let me go to the funeral?"

Howard nodded. "Of course. They couldn't stop you anyway, right?"

Vince took in a shuddering breath and looked down at his stained clothes. "I should have a shower. You won't go anywhere, will you?"

"I'll be right here." He gave Vince a reassuring squeeze and then let him go. It wasn't fair, he thought. Vince had been so ecstatic when his parents had found him, swapping numbers via letter and then spending hours on the phone, going through every detail of their lives. Then three weeks later they were finally ready to meet, and Vince's mum and dad had driven down from where they were now living in Oxford. Vince hadn't been quite sure what he was going to do when they arrived, so Howard had gone out that morning, ushering Naboo and Bollo out at the same time, to give Vince time to sort himself out and calm his nerves. He'd spent the whole day in a glorious mood, so happy that his friend was finally getting to meet his parents. He'd never even thought for a second that he'd return home later that evening to find that tragedy had intervened and cruelly ripped the day apart. And not just the day, but a family. A family ripped apart, all over again. Howard got up and wandered over to the kitchen. He flipped the kettle on, then switched it off two seconds later. He couldn't stomach tea right now, but needing something to do, he poured himself a glass of water, just to wet his dry mouth. He briefly wondered if he should make Vince something to eat, but he didn't want it to seem like he was fussing, but then he didn't want Vince to think he didn't care. Maybe he'd make him something simple and then put it in the fridge until he wanted it. A sandwich – that was simple enough. Howard took the bread from the cupboard along with a jar of peanut butter and some jam and placed them on the counter top while he got out a plate and knife. About halfway through spreading the jam on the bread, Howard sighed heavily and chucked the knife into the sink. Vince's parents had just been killed and here he was making him his favourite sandwich, as if it would magically make everything better. Howard chucked the half-made sandwich into the bin, placed the bread and jars back in the cupboard and abandoned the plate in the sink. God, he felt useless. His eyes watered as he thought about how Vince had had to watch his parents die, about how frightened he must have been. No one should ever have to see that, but Vince... he might do grown-up things and surround himself with glamour, but deep down he was vulnerable and sensitive, affected by years of being passed from one family to another. He never spoke about it, but Howard knew. It was why Vince was so ridiculously over the top, although, when he really thought about it, Howard wouldn't change him for the world, even if he did frequently annoy the hell out of him. He supposed, in a way, that he was Vince's family. No, not just him – Naboo and Bollo too. And he was proud of that, but Vince had been given the chance to find out where he'd come from, to get to know about all these people who shared his blood who he'd never known existed. Part of that, the most important part, had been snatched away in the blink of an eye. And it wasn't just Vince – he had siblings who'd also lost their mum and dad, maybe even aunts and uncles and grandparents, a whole... family. Howard really didn't understand life sometimes. He sat down in the battered leather armchair by the window, the water running in the bathroom the only sound disturbing the eerie peace of the flat, and stared out into night, the first snow of the winter just beginning to fall.

xxxx

Vince leant heavily against the shower wall, the hot water pounding down over his back and trickling down his legs. He stared down at the plug-hole and watched as the dirt was washed away, the water changing from murky to clear. The clothes he had been wearing lay in a crumpled heap near the door, and Vince had already decided that they were going to be thrown away. He could clean them, but the thought of wearing something that had once held the blood of his parents made him feel more than just a little sick. Those clothes would always be a reminder of what had happened – he couldn't just wash them and pretend they were all shiny and new. They held memories now, awful memories that would haunt him for life. Vince finished washing, the shower squeaking slightly as he turned it off. Steam enveloped him as he stepped onto the fluffy bath-mat, and for a moment, held in its embrace, he felt safe. It soon dispersed though, and upon catching his reflection in the mirror, reality came crashing back in the most unwelcome way. Everyone always thought Vince was lucky, that everything just fell into his lap. What on earth was lucky about this? His mum and dad had finally found him, and now he'd never be able to get to know them, never be able to spend a Christmas with them or... Vince swiped at his eyes and dried himself off as quickly as he could, not wanting to be alone any longer and desperate to get rid of his clothes so he didn't have to keep looking at them. When it came to it though, he couldn't touch them, and he felt an awful guilt at the fact that he would have to ask Howard to do it for him.

xxxx

Howard was so preoccupied with his thoughts as he stared out the window that he didn't realise Vince had entered the room until he was standing right in front of him. He looked up at the smaller man sympathetically, a little taken aback by his appearance. Vince's damp hair clung to his pale face, an old pair of jeans and a Stones t-shirt hanging from his slight frame, eyes tired, sunken against the dark circles underneath. Howard gave him a small smile.

"Hey."

Vince fidgeted a bit, his hands twisting the fabric of his tee. "Could you... Can you do something for me?"

Howard stood up and stepped towards him. "Anything."

"My clothes are on the bathroom floor, but I don't want to touch them. Can you throw them away for me?"

"Throw them away?"

"Yeah. I don't -" he choked a bit then, and Howard put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I'll see to it."

Vince couldn't watch as Howard put the clothes in a bin bag and tied a knot in it. He listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he went to put the bag outside for the bin-men, heard the slight chatter of his teeth from the bitter coldness as he came back in, and then the running of the bathroom tap as he washed his hands. He felt the dip of the sofa as the bigger man sat down next to him, and the coolness of his skin as he took his hand. Vince looked up at him.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

Vince gave a Howard a closed-mouth smile. "Bring them back?"

Howard cast his gaze to the floor awkwardly and Vince shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

Howard tightened his grip on Vince's hand and brought his gaze back up to look at him. "Don't be."

"I-I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel. It's like I don't feel I have the right to grieve because I didn't really know them, like I'm being disrespectful to the rest of the family, who knew them all their lives. I'm just an outsider who suddenly appeared and -"

"Vince?"

"Yeah?"

"Of course you're allowed to grieve. It doesn't matter if you knew them five minutes or your whole life. They're your parents and you're their son and that gives you every right. None of this is your fault, and I don't want you feeling like you're not allowed to be sad. No one has the right to tell you how you can and can't feel, okay?"

Vince mulled this over silently for a few seconds. Howard was right – of course he was. "Howard? Can I have a hug?"

Instantly, Howard pulled him into his arms, Vince's head resting under his chin. He placed a chaste kiss against his drying hair and ran a hand through the ends of it, unconsciously separating the strands so they didn't knot. His other hand settled across Vince's back, rubbing small, comforting circles. Vince had his arms wrapped around Howard's waist, half sitting on his lap, the contact braking his resolve and making him cry again. Howard rocked him gently until he quietened, and a quick glance downwards told him that Vince had fallen asleep. Rather than move him, Howard leaned right back into the sofa, so Vince was laying against him, and stared up at the ceiling in thought.

He'd get Vince through this – he had too.