AN: I've just read the final chapter of PH. T.T Can't believe it ended. Still, guess that's what fanfiction is for... Set at the beginning of the series, after Oz and the others crash that Pandora meeting - just to remind you of how far we've come.
Rated T for some slightly disturbing imagery.
Cut
Oz acknowledged that Gil's little brother is kinda creepy.
He didn't admit this out loud, though, because he also acknowledged that he and Vincent are very much alike. They both wore masks, they both lied, they're both–
Alice's playtoys. She danced around them joyously, spinning on the heels of her bare feet in the middle of her room while Vince and Gil stood at the sidelines and watched. Jack had gone out minutes before to fetch some biscuits from the Mansion, since they'd run out.
„Maybe I'll even get Glen to come over and play with us for a while," he'd said with a smile and left „Be good now."
–not really there.
Sometimes, Oz felt like he knew Vincent from somewhere. Or he should know him, at least. The Vessalius chopped it up to family resemblance, though Gilbert and Vincent are like day and night – like Jack and Glen – and pushed the thought aside.
And kept smiling.
–and vowed, silently, in his little bunny mind „I'll protect these children. The poor, twisted creatures hidden in the guise of childish faces."
Alice. Alyss. Gilbert. Vincent.
(Lacie? Oswald? Jack?)
Still, he can't help the unpleasant shivers that crawl down his spine whenever he sees Vincent, his mismatched eyes, the perverted curve of his lips. There's something so very wrong, so very familiar about that smile.
Maybe he'd seen it in the mirror too many times.
Maybe he'd seen it in his nightmares, right before the sharp scissors dig into his head and rip out his eyes.
The two blonds don't cross paths too often and Oz found himself grateful. He knew, however, that he could not avoid the other forever.
They're at a Pandora meeting when Oz encountered Vincent again, who was standing by the window and looking cold and indifferent to the world around him. In his lap he held a mangled toy that just barely resembled a plush bunny.
Vincent was bored.
Vincent was angry.
Why did Jack leave him and Gil with that creepy girl? Did Jack love Alice more that him and Gil? Why did Jack go out of his way to please Alice's every whim? She got all the attention, all the food, all the toys and all of Jack.
Why? She didn't deserve any of it.
Vincent looked up, pools of crimson and gold boring into Oz's dull emeralds. They hold each other's stare for what feels like a hundred years.
Vincent was jealous.
Vincent was scared.
He wished Jack was here to save him.
When was Jack coming back, anyway? Why were all of Alice's toys so creepy? Why were they staring at him?
They're so horrible, but he's still so jealous. Alice was always everyone top priority. Not Gil. Not Vincent. Alice. Yet all she ever does is play with that stupid stuffed rabbit.
That greedy girl has never lost anything in her life – Vincent was about to change that.
The older man raised his hand in a half-wave and his expression is the parody of polite acknowledgement, almost mocking in the guise of the perfect gentleman he pretends to be.
Vincent's eyes were wide and wild like that of a madman as his scissors go
–snip, snip, snip–
In and out, in and out of Oz's cloth skin cotton flesh.
If he could have, the rabbit would have screamed. He would have yelled and screeched and begged for the boy to please, just stop – but he couldn't. He could do nothing as Vincent tore him limb from limb with small, calloused hands and hacked away at his remains like a man trying to fell a tree with a rusted axe.
Oz held back a cringe – for he imagined his face was the mirror of the Nightray's own – and smiled politely at the other blond.
The rabbit's head fell to the floor.
Alice screamed.
Vincent smiled back.
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