Raven, Abducted

Warning: mentions of past abuse including mild sexual abuse, some OOC, AU, mature content, tons of angst and fluff

Chapter II; Gilbert's Decision

This was embarrassing. Oz closed his eyes.

"Gilbert, I'm offering you a way out."

He braced himself for the immediate yes or no, more than halfway expecting him to pick up and leave from where he came from because actually taking him home seemed more like a dream than reality. But it didn't come, so he opened his eyes to investigate the delay.

Gilbert was openly staring, his gold eyes wide in a way that definitely didn't just make his pulse leap to his ears. Oz looked everywhere that wasn't at him, growing increasingly uneasy as the minutes passed and he just continued to stare, obviously speechless.

Eventually the blonde sighed, and the other sobered enough at the sound to ask, "Out as in..."

"...with me, yes."

Oz ignored the curious warmth gathering along his cheekbones.

"But I don't... I mean you don't..."

"...know you? And yes, you don't know me either. As far as you know, I'm just another psycho. Do you want to or not?" His tone was clipped, sharp.

The tension was killing him and he didn't know why. What this boy did with his life was not his concern. He was simply helping him because there were no other options that's all, it was not worth further investing anything of himself.

The boy struggled to understand; confusion apparent in the furrowing of a raven brow.

"Um... so you... want me to serve you...?" he asked quietly, as if speaking too loud might cause the opportunity to up and vanish.

Oz sent him a side glance. He just needed him to come with him in the short-term, it wasn't necessarily permanent; who said anything about serving him...?

A bit speechless, he responded vaguely, albeit in the most eloquent manner, "Well, I don't know, maybe... whatever, we'll see."

A 'no' might cause him to decline, but a 'yes' seemed too binding. And besides, he was simply caught off guard by the question. Of course it was a no. But would a no be admitting he was afraid of having a connection to this boy? So in that case...

...definitely a maybe.

A silence began to build between them again, but he wouldn't let it.

"So is that a no then?" He fixed his gaze to the light emitting from under the doorway.

"I will," came the trepid response.

What?

"I'll come with you."

Oz told himself his heart was only racing because he'd have to worry about how to escape with the bloodied, broken mess that was this boy. He glanced over and the boy's eyes locked onto his, searching for honesty, as if the blond had chosen to go through the trouble of hiding him in a closet, running the risk of damaging his own noble reputation, all to break his spirit and leave him to (probably) die. If not now, then eventually.

Obviously this boy didn't know him. He'd never put so much effort into anything just for his own entertainment. Especially not when the stakes were so high.

He pursed his lips before nodding, then made to stand. His joints popped in protest of having been stuck in one position for too long and he took care to straighten his spine. Looking down, he surveyed the gore on his shirt and began formulating a plan.

The red of the blood and the wine was soaked through his cravat down to his white button down shirt. But really, the two colors mixed surprisingly well, so well that no one was likely to notice the difference. Assuming policemen or servants were stationed outside, which was highly probable, he'd need to distract them somehow and buy them enough time to get the boy out. He sighed, trying in vain to hide his cravat further beneath his green suit coat. After a few defeated attempts, he looked down at the boy with his hands on his hips.

"Can you stand?"

Not that he was asking for reassurance that he was in fact, alive and would stay as such, but only because he needed to make sure they could make a speedy escape. Right. Maybe both. But the former only a little.

"I-I don't know," the boy said, guilt overriding his expression, as if he'd done something horribly wrong. It was irritating. Then he avoided his eyes and bit his lip, before bracing himself against a shelf and attempting to hoist himself up. It was rather pitiful, and the blond was torn between assisting him and protecting the boy's pride by allowing him to try on his own. So instead, he simply stood there awkwardly.

"Um...-"

"S-sorry, um... ugh, I need..." he said as he finally stood, wobbling a bit. If the hand over his mouth was any indication, the movement was obviously quite taxing. Moving quickly, Oz located a bucket and practically threw it (inwardly swearing in hopes that it wasn't too loud) on the ground in front of the boy and turned away as he emptied his stomach contents.

Oz had no experience with head wounds, especially ones that might've caused a... con-... -cussion? Was that the word? After this, he'd definitely need to crack open a medical textbook.

Unfortunately, and fortunately, the heaves quickly turned into dry heaves and then after a few minutes, he didn't hear anything else so he chanced a look behind him. The boy was covered in a thin layer of sweat and looked deathly pale, but then again, maybe he was always that pale. He looked up and mustered a small sheepish, apologetic tug of the lips that definitely didn't weigh on any heartstrings because he didn't have any to begin with and the sentiment itself was just silly.

"Uh... sorry. I'm okay now," he said, steadying himself with one hand as he stood up again. His eyes looked a little glassy.

"Stop apologizing," Oz muttered, and the boy just nodded, too tired or spaced out to respond. "Anyway, here's the plan."*

After explaining his plan, albeit not a foolproof one, he turned to grasp the doorknob and took a deep breath.

"Wait," he heard, and he stopped, surprised by the urgency in the weak voice.

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Don't... this is wrong. I should just go out there, y-you shouldn't be doing this for me. I don't have a reputation to withhold like you do. You can still leave. He'll come after me, you know. He might... ah, he might try to hurt you or something when he finds out-"

He grunted in irritation, and the boy paused to listen. "Do you know which family I come from?"

"N-no, why...?"

He didn't know why he was taking the time to explain this to him when he could easily just leave and execute the plan without his permission, but for some reason he wanted him to understand that they'd be escaping and he wouldn't fail. How would it be if this fell through and the boy had his first taste of freedom only to have it snatched at the last second? Even he, who considered himself detached from anyone and everything, couldn't let that happen. He was taking charge.

Suddenly life wasn't so boring. This was all kinds of exciting.

He turned back from the door and took a step closer so he wouldn't have to speak up.

"I'm a Vessalius. Your master, a Nightray?"

He watched the boy's eyes widen in realization and he nodded as confirmation.

Oz noticed that now when they were both standing their heights were actually comparable and it truly made the other seem like a genuine person, for him to only be maybe an inch shorter.

"You think I don't have protection?" he asked, meaning it to be a rhetorical question.

"I-I'm not implying-"

"It's fine," he dismissed. "Look, he won't find out, and if he does he'll have my guards and servants to go through. Or are you changing your mind?"

When the boy responded, his voice was quiet and he avoided his eyes, "So you really... want me?"

How could he be so timid and pathetic and yet so bloody forward all the time?

All he was doing was taking him to his mansion, not marrying him. This was so awkward; Oz was entirely out of his comfort zone right now, not to mention dirty, exhausted, and jumpy from nerves. He didn't have the energy to argue and they needed to hurry.

He took a deep breath through his nose and willed his face not to flush, "I guess... yeah. Are you convinced yet?"

He tugged on his suddenly too hot sleeves and when he looked up at the other male he had his matted hair covering his eyes, his face obviously red despite the dim lighting. His blush made Oz feel even more embarrassed and irritated. Deciding to take his silence as affirmative, he spun on his heel and rather than letting himself hesitate, exited the room without a second thought.

Gilbert stood behind in the deep shadows of the closet. He watched light engulf Oz as he left, then heard a slight thump as he closed the door and fell against it. The splitting pain in his skull kept giving him dizzy spells, and he felt like his body would never quite be whole again. Which, of course, was ridiculous, seeing as how he was alive and standing with an intact skull, right? He couldn't recall what exactly happened, but at this point he didn't even care. He'd been given enough to think about and he was overwhelmed. In fact, if not for the adrenaline and the disorienting pain, he was sure he'd be bawling. Or maybe he was in shock. He'd heard of it before, probably experienced it before, but right now nothing really made sense. He locked the door as instructed, then braced himself to wait.

His mind alternated from racing thoughts to blank numbness every few minutes. The whole situation was unreal; he still didn't know what suddenly inspired Oz to take him in. They hadn't even met, not really, except for the time they'd met in the hallway and he asked for his name. But since then, the noble hadn't even given him a second thought... or so he believed. This, this was maddening and terrifying and insane but it was exciting. He found he wouldn't even mind if Oz were just as cruel as his previous master, simply because it was him and not that monster. The logic didn't quite add up, but nothing did at the moment.

He felt selfish when he thought of how he jumped at the opportunity for a different life with barely a thought. He was obviously a disloyal servant, so why did Oz want him? He wasn't even good at his job. Just a useless boy who would've been less trouble had he died. But right now... no, he wanted to live more than he'd ever wanted anything.

If this plan worked...

He blinked when he saw droplets of water hit the floor and instinctively raised his fingertips to his lashes. Mind blanking, he momentarily forgot why he might be crying and swayed a little on his feet. He caught his balance on a shelf, leaning up against the frame.

The small sounds that must've been Oz interacting with someone in the hallway stopped minutes ago. Did that mean he'd lured someone away? He glossed over the details when he explained the plan, confidently declaring that he would lure any lurking servants or policemen away but not bothering to explain precisely how. But what if there were dozens swarming the mansion, and Oz was covered in blood and...

No, no, no. It would work! It had to, there were no other options, no other... he wouldn't, he couldn't go back!

Before he could stop it, his chest filled with icy anxiety and his breaths began leaving him in short pants. What if Oz decided to leave him here, what if he realized he was too much trouble, not worth it, that he didn't want him anymore? Or maybe he got taken into custody; maybe the plan failed and he was being interrogated. But no, that made no sense, if that were so then Gilbert would've been found by now since someone obviously saw the blond leave this room.

He'd addressed the issue of the broom closet, explaining that if it were a policeman, which they both sincerely hoped it would be, he would convince him it was a restroom. That would give him less of a reason to investigate.

But... it had been a long time and Oz still hadn't come back.

He was anxious, exhausted, dizzy, confused, and incredibly vulnerable. His hands shook as he imagined his master finding him here, maybe even finishing the job. A sob shook his body and he clutched his hair about his cheeks, which hung in dirtied, matted strands that were still slightly damp with... oh god, he was covered in blood. What could he do, alone in here? He couldn't escape by himself, not when he didn't know if someone were out there waiting for him to do just that.

He was scared and his every instinct was telling him to flee. In the worst case scenario, he'd be caught before he could even reach the outside, maybe even as soon as he opened the door. But what if he did manage it? He couldn't get very far in his current state, and he might not ever find Oz. Oz might come looking for him here, like he promised; damnit, he promised to knock on the wall twice as soon as the coast was clear!

But he didn't know anything about him. Oz didn't owe him anything. Maybe he should've asked for some kind of collateral, but he did nothing to deserve that. He didn't deserve to be saved, or to be given a second chance. It's possible that Oz just... slipped away.

No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't because Gilbert wouldn't know how to react to that.

He was pacing and wringing his hands, conflicted and terrified. What should he do?

What if Oz suddenly changed the plan and wanted him to meet him outside? But he'd been so adamant about him staying put since neither of them were confident he could make the walk by himself.

His master had a watch and he thought of how useful one could be in this present moment.

It felt like it had been ages since the noble left now. His heart was beginning to feel heavy with disappointment.

He stopped pacing, suddenly losing his fight. He wasn't coming.

Curling himself into a ball on the floor, he put his head between his knees. His mind went blank again, but the pain in his head and chest was all he could focus on. His eyelids drooped and it was all he could do not to fall asleep like he wanted to.