Oz.
Gilbert's eyes shot wide open and his body jerked forward in shock as soon as that one word – that one name – materialised in his groggy mind. But as soon as his back had straightened, he regretted his impulsive movement. A sharp, stinging pain erupted across his torso and he hissed in pain while clutching his sides.
A few seconds after doubling over, Gilbert collapsed back onto the bed while still clutching onto dear life. So much pain was he in that he had forgotten everything; the coming-of-age ceremony, why he was in pain in the first place and the reason why he had awoken in shock upon remembering his master. As the stinging pain slowly started to fade away, a vague thought came to him.
"Is this gash really that deep...?"
And then he remembered.
Everything.
It all came back to him within the blink of an eye. Stumbling upon the grave and the pocket watch, Oz's strange gift to him and his even stranger request, the figure cloaked in red... and suddenly regaining consciousness to his precious master, under attack by the fiendish Baskervilles.
The face of that man,
Oz picking up the ceremonial sword to attack that very man. To save a worthless boy's existence. That worthless boy stepping in between them, and then... And then...
…No...
Gilbert shot up, not even registering the jolts of pain whip across his body anymore.
No, it couldn't- he couldn't possibly… Not Oz…! Not-!
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
It just couldn't be true! There's no way it could possibly-!
"GILBERT!"
A firm hand on his shoulder abruptly cut Gilbert's cry short and he stared into the concerned eyes of Uncle Oscar. A pitiful whimper escaped the young boy's lips and tears slowly began to well in his eyes.
Those eyes... Emerald, just like his...
No, he shouldn't cry. Not when... When he could be wrong. Perhaps that man had the decency to do something because surely a father wouldn't cast his own son into the Abyss... Would he?
...A tear slid down his cheek, followed by another… and another…
Who was he kidding? If a man could tell his son to his face that he hated him, it was no different from killing him.
Uncle Oscar quickly pulled Gilbert into a gentle yet firm embrace, patting his head soothingly. Gilbert reciprocated almost immediately, wrapping his arm tightly around the young man's torso; desperately needing some sort of comfort, some sort of assurance that everything was alright, that Oz was... that he was...
"U-Unc-cle O-Oscar, is-"
"Shh Gilbert… shh," whispered Oscar, rubbing slow circles on the boy's back in an attempt to calm him down. He was crying so badly that he could barely form a coherent sentence. Somehow understanding this, Gilbert shut his eyes and invested all his focus into calming down so that he could expel the question nagging at him the minute he had regained consciousness.
"I'm so glad you're alive," chocked out Uncle Oscar after some time. The back of Gilbert's ear wet… The young servant had never once witnessed Uncle Oscar cry. "Gilbert... Oh, Gilbert...! We were all so worried..."
Gilbert didn't know why, but that statement made a fresh stream of tears flow down his cheeks. But this time his breathing was less irregular, just enough to speak.
"U-Uncle Oscar," he tried at last. When Uncle Oscar didn't respond nor budge, Gilbert carefully pried himself off the older man and tried again, adding a little urgency in his voice while gazing into those painfully green eyes once more.
"Uncle Oscar, wh-where's..." he swallowed, and voice almost a whisper, he said, "where's Oz...?"
Uncle Oscar's face creased with newfound pain. Gilbert did his best to ignore it and pressed on desperately.
"He's okay, right? H-he's safe... right?" asked Gilbert, voice quivering more with every word spoken.
Uncle Oscar lowered his head, his gaze downcast. Slowly, he closed his eyes, and shook his head.
Gilbert's heart stopped.
Uncle Oscar opened his eyes once more to gaze into Gilbert's glassy golden ones, and it took all his restraint not to break down before him. He already knew how dear Oz was to the small servant, and that the words he would speak next could possibly break the young boy.
And if that happened, someone had to be by his side lest he lost himself completely.
"I- I'm sorry, Gilbert. Oz is... Oz was... He was dragged into the Abyss. Oz is no longer with us."
Cold. Hot. Numbness. Excruciating pain. Shock. Hollowness.
So many polar-opposite emotions clashing within Gilbert in a maelstrom of emotions. He felt as though his brain was malfunctioning as his worst nightmare came true. A rush of adrenaline coursed to his veins and went straight to his head, making him feel dizzy and light-headed. His vision was blurry and starting to spin. And within seconds, he felt as though he was no longer in control of himself.
It was just too much. Too much to comprehend. Too much to bear.
Gilbert didn't notice when another agonising scream ripped from his throat, and if his previous cry had not been loud enough, this one would surely have been heard by the entire Estate. He didn't notice when Uncle Oscar tried to shake him out of it. He didn't notice when the older male finally gave up and pulled him in another embrace in a vain attempt to calm him down. He didn't notice when his throat started getting sore or when his voice finally cracked; when his screams just died, only to be replaced by sobs and whimpers and hiccups. He didn't notice the unbelievable amount of tears that simply wouldn't stop flowing out of his eyes, nor Uncle Oscar's slight trembling. He didn't notice the sharp pain caused by the sword slash or the fresh blood that started seeping through the bandages, blooming across his already stained white shirt and ruining Uncle Oscar's clean grey vest as well.
No, he noticed nothing but the uncountable raw emotions clawing at his heart, scarring it for many, many years to come. His mind could only focus on one thing and one thing only.
Oz, his precious master, his beloved best friend, his greatest and only companion, his saviour, his light, his life; the boy that had and always will mean everything to him...
Gone.