One for Sorrow, Two for Joy (Max)

Maxwell had decided that afternoon to take to the skies, mostly just to exercise his wings. He didn't transform often due to his, er, condition, but he didn't want to lose the ability to fly or transform quickly in case of an emergency. Normally, he'd fly once a week for a good hour to stretch out those muscles, but the day/night cycle didn't work properly here. At least, it didn't feel like it. Max had been in the city for a while now and though he'd found a store more than once that sold watches, none of them worked right. Even the analogue clocks had this weird habit of slowing down and then speeding up again.

Whatever, it made as much sense as anything else here.

Flying through the streets, Max sometimes saw people. He did see a few trying to go from one end to the other with his small bag clutched in both feet. A man in a suit, a short angry man, a monkey girl, a piebald woman, a fox, a nervous man in a tin hat, and now he was flying past someone else in the street. It took him a moment to realize it was his Dad, sweaterless and without the signs of aging Max knew, and he lost his balance. He fell a few feet and regained balance, coming back around to double check. That... was his Dad. No doubt about it. Without grey hair or smile lines, mind you, but that cheery demeanor, ponytail, and oddly shaped nose was undeniable.

Just when Max thought things would be different here, things started lining back up to be normal. Just 'yesterday', he had met someone less than friendly, again, but this time they had decided to take out their frustrations on him. It was something he was used to back home, but he had hoped to escape it here. But suddenly his Dad showed up as well and he briefly wondered if this was supposed to be some sort of punishment after life or something. He made his way into a nearby storefront and changed back. His Dad couldn't see the weird black goop that accompanied the transformation, he just couldn't.

As he pulled the compact from the sack, he grabbed a long sleeve shirt from the rack and pulled it over his head to cover his chest and arms first before worrying about modesty, though it was soon to follow with a simple pair of jeans in the smallest size. It... wasn't his style, but it would do. He checked his makeup in the handheld mirror (transformation always did weird things to it) and with the other supplies in his bag, he fixed up the worn areas, sealed it, and stood up straight. He took a deep breath before exiting the store as Gus' son.

No one else was with Dad, and that was odd. Not his Mom, not any of his four siblings, not even his uncle and Gus' brother were with him, and while that was certainly something he should've noticed before, he had only thought about it now when he saw Gus waving dramatically at him. It wasn't really like his Dad to be alone very often. He was a social bird. Well, social with birds who weren't Max, at least. Without much of a response, Max walked towards his father, and breathed deeply. Everything was weird. It was definitely real, all of it, but it didn't make any sense. Max didn't know what to expect out of this weird, younger looking, non-sweatered version of his Dad, but he didn't really expect it to turn out well. He looked like an idiot with a croissant just shoved in his mouth, though, so at least something was consistent. He briefly wondered if Dad had cooked, because he was quite hungry.

When he entered earshot, Max decided he wasn't going to wait to speak. He would, for once, take charge of the situation. "I wasn't expecting to see you here," was all he could think to say. He couldn't say he was happy to see Gus. He didn't know how he felt about it yet. As he got closer, it was more apparent that Gus was... different. Max didn't know what had happened to him, but he didn't know a lot about this, uh, place either. All he could do was stare.

Max knew quite a bit about his father. Or at least, he perceived a lot about his father. Max knew that he was the least favorite, to the point where he was often left behind. It didn't really bother him as much anymore, and he wasn't the type to want to go out where all the ignorant, noisy people were, anyway. Things went wrong a lot when it came to family outings when he was around. He'd given up trying to please his Dad a long time ago. But this? Do I know you? It was something Max didn't expect and while he could easily think of other reasons a weird looking version of his Dad wouldn't know who he was, logic seemed to vanish from him and left behind a lump in his throat.

Thankfully, Max was very practiced at shoving emotion to the side, and while he definitely looked disappointed, it only took a moment and an awkward cough to compose himself. He spoke before consciously deciding a conversation path, which was rare for him, but he was still fairly stressed at this point.

"Dad, Augustus," it was weird to call his dad by his name, but he had to make sure this was indeed his father, "I'm your son."

There was too much emotion in this for Max to be comfortable, and he didn't know what to do with it all. Max would think he'd be more okay with Gus denying/not remembering everyone in their family, but it just made him feel worse. Conflicting emotions were filling his mind and smothered rational thought at this point and it was overwhelming for the fifteen-year-old. As the knot grew in his stomach, he stayed outwardly calm, only expressing general concern in the face.

A small part of him didn't want to be stranded all alone in this weird little place, no matter how much he enjoyed solitude. A small part of him that he tried his best to ignore missed his family, especially his brother and his Mom. To see Dad there wasn't his first choice, certainly, but it was something. But all of that was instantly taken away from him, and the wave of disappointment surprised Max before it angered him. Dad at least had a (poor) reason to ignore Max, but to forget everyone else? Wendy was a great Mom, and a supportive wife who had been through a lot in life. She doesn't deserve to just be forgotten. His siblings, even Candy, he had to admit, didn't deserve to just be forgotten. Max wouldn't wish the situation on anyone. It really was a terrible feeling, and he hadn't quite learned how to deal with it yet, much less move past it. This was obviously a different Gus, but it was hard for Max to take that into consideration feeling so much at once.

"... My Mom, your wife's name is Wendy Wayland. She had a husband before you, a police officer, who died in the line of duty, and you arranged the funeral. You two became friends after, and eventually you got her pregnant. Shortly after, you got married and after twenty-one years, you're still together and have five kids. I'm the youngest." It was awkward to say. It was probably awkward to listen to. He knew it wasn't something Gus ever liked bringing up or hearing about. He didn't care right now.

I'm not your father. I couldn't be.

The words echoed a bit through his head before settling in the back of his throat. The single withered thought in the drought in Max's mind quietly uttered that this wasn't really his Dad. He was younger and wasn't wearing a sweater and didn't even answer to the name Augustus, really. It was just another dark skinned mortician with a funny nose. Another thought rudely interrupted, pointing out that a nose that unique would be impossible to find on someone who just happened to be a dark skinned mortician with the mannerisms of an airhead. They quibbled in the back of Max's mind with polite quietness and in the end he found himself at a loss for words.

So tears came instead. He didn't even notice them until he looked back up at Gus with blurred vision. Quickly, he patted his face dry with his sleeve and preserved the foundation of the makeup. He definitely didn't have time to seal it properly, but he had stolen (he guessed) quality product.

“I’m not crying,” he lied, in the childish way he hadn’t done in years. He was certain he had mastered reigning in his emotions, and the thought of his failure brought pressure back into his face. His makeup was completely ruined and underneath the muddled grey, patches of discolored skin were noticeable. Honestly he looked like a sad clown painting with some underlying and nonsensical political agenda.

For another long while he was silent, like he didn’t hear the question. He was actually quite hungry. (He was always hungry.) It was a good distraction. Just take it. This may or may not be Dad and there was really nothing he could do at this point except ask questions that neither of them had the answers to. Come on, there's nothing left to say. Just move on.

"Yes, I'm very hungry."

His father (or not father) actually being sensitive to his emotions was the opposite of what Max had ever experienced. The kind display became filed away in the "not my father" pile of evidence.

The sudden move was unexpected and while Max had done away with the healthy instinct to fight back, he did flinch at the sudden hand near his face. Just as he braced himself for a barrage of questions he was not keen on answering, his dad just... let it go. Truly amazing. He really must not know who Max is. He really must not think he has kids at all. Of the many, many things his dad was not good at, "lying" was up there with "facing his problems". Thankfully this meant he could safely ignore the question. He didn't care to recall the account, anyway.

Max was.... a little more wary about bakeries now. The lime green floor didn't exactly appeal to Max, but at least it wasn't pink and disgusting. The food looked significantly less sugary as well (Max wasn't one for sweets). At least, they looked like they included ingredients other than pure, cheap sugar. After having completely avoiding all of Gus' questions, he asked his own.

"Did you... bake any of these yourself?" He wondered if this Gus still baked at all. It would've been convenient. He would be able to eat a little more freely knowing where his food came from.