::::::::::On Absent Afternoons::::::::::

He was caught in staring session with every aspect of the room around him. His eyes floated from the small wood table in the middle of the kitchen to the empty shelves that lined the dull walls. Gilbert lingered at the door. The farmstead felt much smaller inside than it looked on the outside. Although it was clean and somewhat furnished, the lack of décor was discomforting and seemed more of a forced state of being, than a byproduct of "simple living."

His stomach was turning slightly. And it wasn't just the décor that had him stalled at the doorway. There was something else in the house with them; not someone, something. He was surprised and turned off by how quickly he noticed it.

Now, this is not to say that Gilbert was a believer in what some call the "supernatural". Ghouls and ghost were rubbish concepts to him – bullshit as some would say. But he was in fact a sensitive person and picked up on atmospheric shifts quite easily. Like the tense energy that was left behind after someone stormed out of a bitter argument. Or the dead staleness that would cling in the air after someone died. And this energy, whatever "this" was…he didn't like.

But it also baffled him. The energy was deathly, destructive, and deceptively heavy. Deceptive only because after the initial weight sunk in around you, you quickly realized it was sickeningly hollow. But the strangest part was that the energy lacked a source. There was no one in the house with them. No one was sending an angry glare at him from the corner of the room, and no one seemed to have recently left the home either.

"You can sit down,"

A shy voice said to him. He turned his eyes to Oz who looked at him briefly before busying himself again. He hadn't noticed it before, but now that they were in the shadowy house he saw how pale Oz was. His pretty green eyes seemed sunk in and dull- as if all his color was washed out upon entering the house. He looked tired and fragile. And his movements seemed laborious and inflexible.

…I wonder if he's in some kind of pain?

The boy's back was turned toward him as he reached around the counters and grabbed the things he needed to make tea. Gilbert chose to take a closer look at him. He noted how large the boy's clothes were, how his body drown in the ratty fabric. It wasn't regular thinness…he was underweight. And from what Gilbert could see of the naked shelves he had an idea as to why- but he wasn't too sure.

Maybe all the food is in the cabinets…it was only right to give the benefit of the doubt.

Right now, Oz was a ghostly beauty. He was insipid… like a person standing on the edge of a fainting spell.

"Is this the first time you've been in a house as small as this?" Oz asked lightly, back still turned as he hesitated to pick up a kettle off the stove.

Gilbert finally made a move to sit at the table. It took everything he had to keep himself from walking out - and taking Oz with him.

"No, I had a friend once. I used to go over his house a lot when we were kids."

The boy lit the stove and put the filled kettle on it, "Really? Are you still friends with him?"

"ah…no. He went missing a long time ago."

"…He was taken by the Voids?" Oz asked in a quiet voice. He turned his head slightly, meeting Gilbert's eyes with sad disbelief, Gilbert nodded in response.

"I'm sorry, Gil. I had no idea…I never thought…" the boy trailed off, so Gilbert picked up where he left off.

"- That wealthy people had commoners as friends?"

"Yeah…"

Gilbert gave a "no harm done" smile, "Its rare but it happens. He was the son of one of our maids. She would take him to the manor with her on weekends and I kept him company while she worked. My father didn't seem to mind and he let me go over his house too."

"I must have been about nine years old when I noticed that she wasn't coming to our house anymore. No one would tell me why when I asked, and then I over heard the adults talking. They said she had killed herself after a recent Black Morning we had. It didn't take much to figure out the rest…"

Oz had a far away look in his eyes, "What was his name?"

"…Kevin Regnard."

Oz walked toward the table, hand running through his hair cautiously, "Now I know why you seemed so worried about me earlier…"

"Yes, that was part of the reason."

After a moment or two of reflective silence, the blond spoke, "Hey, do you mind waiting around for a few minutes? I need to get cleaned up."

"Of course, take your time."

"Okay… I'll be right back then."

No sooner had Oz left to head back outside was Gilbert up and heading toward the cabinets. A good guest would mind their manners and mind their own business. But curiosity could be a breeder of rudeness and the sister of snooping. This home he was sitting in screamed deep poverty on so many levels. But to Gilbert, the only way to know that was to check the main areas.

With each cabinet he opened the only things he found were dust and a jar of old pickles. He shook his head at the discovery. What did they eat? There was no icebox so that already ruled out milk, meats, and cheeses, no canisters of dried berries, no fresh fruits, no canned goods. And the bread in the breadbox was so hard it could break a thick sheet of glass. Even the mint tea leaves in the container were home grown, which was fine… but…

Did they only eat vegetables? Perhaps they didn't eat meat. Then Gilbert retracted that possibility. He had watched Oz eat meat in the past…

With new concern, he moved on to the rooms toward the back of the house. When he got there two doors greeted him, one at the end of the small hall and one in front of him. Turning his attention to the door closest, he noticed something move. A moth was camouflaged into the wood, crawling slowly near the knob. He paid it no mind and proceeded to open the door.

By the time it was cracked open he stopped suddenly. He was unnerved, that feeling from earlier overtaking him. He shut the door abruptly.

"Um…is something wrong?"

Oz was standing off to the side looking a bit panicked. He had changed his clothes; a cream button-up, pressed khaki shorts, and soft black loafers. His hair was slightly wet and messy but it looked very good on him. And the few minutes he must have spent outside helped breath some life into his pale complexion. When Gilbert really thought about it though, he hated to think that Oz felt ashamed of his previous appearance. It didn't matter to Gilbert what clothes he was wearing.

"Sorry…I just, let my curiosity get the better of me."

Oz smiled softly, a blush waking up his cheeks, "Don't worry about it. Do you want to see it?"

Gilbert's mouth went dry, "This is your room?," he looked back at the door.

"Yeah,"

The raven was crestfallen. But he quickly forced himself into a state of denial. That feeling he felt through the house radiated from that room especially. But there had to be some kind of mistake.

Maybe Oz's secrecy was making him jumpy; maybe he was feeling something he created himself. Yes, that could be it, a type of self-fulfilling prophecy...by constantly suspecting that Oz was hiding something important, Gilbert was creating that negative energy. Going into the room was possibly going to feel like the most normal thing in the world. Or not…

"I'd love to see it."

The boy was on the verge of a big smile before it was sharply cut off. The screaming of the teakettle had Oz covering his ears and hammering his eyes closed. He stood frozen in place…mumbling something that Gilbert couldn't catch over the noise.

Concerned, he walked toward the blond reaching out to him, "Oz?"

"..orry.."

"Oz?"

When he touched his shoulder, the boy opened his eyes, "Sorry. I'm sorry…Gil. I really…hate that noise… Let's have some tea, then I'll show you around some more."

The blond looked completely shaken. Confused, Gilbert followed Oz back into the kitchen. He was pushing down his alarm at the boy's reaction, and also the realization that the further away he got from Oz's bedroom door, the better he felt.

Briskly, Oz silenced the kettle. And when a new quiet took over the room Gilbert sat back at the table. He decided to focus on the delicate way Oz poured the hot water and the tiny sound of the spoon clanking against the porcelain cup.

He spoke quietly as to not break the sudden tranquility, "Do you work in town everyday?"

"Most days. It's not so bad, though," he said while walking to the table and passing Gilbert his tea, "I like what I do and the customers seem satisfied with the food that I grow."

"What about school, do you miss it?"

The boy licked his pale lips briefly before he spoke, and Gilbert noted that he did that often. Thinking back, the action always appeared before a lie, "No, not really." Oz looked down and picked up his teacup, "I was the one who decided to quit going,"

Gilbert fought against the urge to demand the truth from him, knowing that Leo hinted off to a very different version of the story. But he kept his voice and questions non-threatening and casual, "Oh…when'd you decide that?"

Suddenly, the boy looked up at him with a deep, sharp, forestry stare, and Gilbert felt that he was pushing his luck with getting information, "I left school when I was nine," green eyes cut away, voice borderline bitter, "I was never good at it anyway."

"Really? Leo told me you were always at the top of the class," he couldn't help but push a little more. This was a unique day for them; a new step for them. And he could not pass up this opportunity.

Oz shifted uncomfortably; bringing his drink closer to his body. And if Gilbert could see he would have noticed the boy cross his ankles under the table, "Yeah… well, Leo likes to stretch the truth a lot too."

"Or maybe you're being too modest…"

Oz huffed loudly, it almost sounded sing-songish,"Ok. Enough about me…tell me about your family. What are they like?"

Oz was pushing back now, and Gilbert hadn't prepared for the time that the tables would turn, although he should have, "I guess they fall somewhere between normal and strange,"

The blond let out a genuine laugh; it sounded sweet and tickled Gilbert's ears, "What kind of answer is that?"

"That's the only way I can think to describe them."

"Ok…if you're sticking to that, in what way can they be strange?"

Gilbert clouded his answer in a sip of tea, "Everyone's…obsessed with the idea of being a Nightray. They take too much pride in it."

Oz mused on this for a moment, "I know people like that. Well, I don't know them know them exactly. But I heard people who talk for days about how their great great greaaaaaaaaat grandfather was this or that, and how their family name is famous and so on…it's not that strange."

"Hmn,"

Oz continued, "Is your brother like that too?"

All Gilbert heard in the question was the mention of his brother; every other word fell on deaf ears.

"Gil?" Oz questioned him again, concerned by Gilbert's sudden detachment.

"Huh?"

"Your brother? Is he like that too?"

Gilbert's eyes felt unfocused, "…Yeah," he cleared his throat, "What about your family, how would you describe them?"

It was clear that Oz didn't like the raven's evasiveness, but he still answered anyway.

"Small"

"How small?"

Oz yawned naturally; rubbing away at something he must have thought was on his face, "Umm…you probably guessed it already, but my mother passed away a long time ago."

Gilbert nodded empathetically, avoiding the words "I'm sorry" because he didn't know if the words would sound cheap and weightless coming from him, even though he really meant them. But Gilbert could relate completely, having lost his own mother to illness.

"I also have a little sister, but…my father sent her to a convent to study. I haven't seen her in three years."

Gilbert tried to keep the shock out of his eyes, he had no idea the boy wasn't an only child.

"He didn't want her to live a normal life?"

The boy hesitated, but didn't look like he was about to be dishonest. For that, Gilbert was grateful, "He didn't want to marry her off to someone who would stray from the faith."

The raven was deeply intrigued, "He's religious?"

After those words Gilbert didn't just see the change in Oz, he felt it. Green eyes went blank, and that paleness was coming back into his face. He gave a broken nod and Gilbert knew he struck a sensitive nerve, but he wasn't sure what that was. He took the boy's hands from across the table and warmed them with his own. Trying to get the color to flow back into him. But first, he couldn't bring himself to undermine the important, personal, and sad things that Oz was kind enough to share with him.

"You must miss them a lot..."

Life flickered back into those eyes, like the sun breaking through the trees of dead woodlands. Gilbert almost sighed in relief when the boy spoke.

"I do," he said, and then he brightened even more, "But my sister still writes to me sometimes. So it's good when I get to hear from her," he smiled and squeezed Gilbert's hands in reassurance. Gilbert returned a smile, removing some of the blond hair from that unreasonably pretty face.

"Are you ready to see my room?"

"Sure."

They both left the table making the short walk back to the room. The moth was still nestled on Oz's door and Gilbert caught the boy staring at it for a few seconds too long.

"Are you afraid of those?" he nodded toward the moth; ready to smash it if the boy said yes.

Oz laughed a little, "No. Its just…it's been hanging around for more than a week; I've kind of got use to it being here. But sometimes I forget about it and it surprises me," the boy turned the knob, inadvertently letting the flying thing into his room. It disappeared onto another wall becoming forgotten by them.

Upon entering the room Gilbert shut the door behind them and struggled to deny the fact that he had been right after all - that destructive hollow energy in the house was even stronger in Oz's room. He tried his best to ignore it.

:::::V:::::

"This is it," he announced, "I guess there's not much to see…" Oz walked over to his bed and sat down. "I used to share the room with Ada, but since she left it feels extra empty."

Green eyes looked back at Gilbert. The man seemed increasingly distracted and Oz wondered if he made a mistake bringing him into his room.

"Thanks for letting me come in here."

Oz sighed, "It's no problem. I wish there was more to look at."

Gilbert finally walked over to him. He kneeled down to check the boy's wounded knee.

"How is it feeling?"

"Better."

With his warm hands still around Oz's calf, the man looked up at him, gold eyes deep and pleading for something.

"Oz?"

"Hm?"

"Did you really decide to quit school…or did someone make you?"

:::::N:::::

The response he got was not the one he was looking for. Actually, it was not a response he even considered possible at that moment, but after a long silence he watched Oz tilt his head. And the next thing Gilbert felt was the warmest sweetest kiss being placed on his lips. Granted, the kiss was rather quick, but the heat in Gilbert's cheeks was as intense as it could ever be.

Gilbert looked away, blushing, flustered, and unfortunately wanting more.

"If you're trying to distract me, it's not working," he heard himself say, but it was a lie, and Oz knew that too.

"Are you sure?," the boy said in a mere whisper before touching his lips to Gilbert's again. When their lips met, Gilbert felt his mind clear out. His objectives erased, interrogation forgotten, and the odd energy in the room became a distant disturbing memory. He was consumed in this new touch they were sharing, deep, soft and a refreshing contrast to anything he had experienced previously.

He wondered if this was what innocence tasted like. If it was, was it always so honeyed? Was it normal for him to feel a rush of deprivation when their lips broke apart for air? And was he wrong to go back in for another taste.

He felt himself rising from the floor until they were eye level. When the boy looked at him, green eyes were shaded and swarming with a new want and curiosity. And it was then that Gilbert knew for sure that this angelic creature couldn't create an energy so hopeless and deathly. Gilbert loosely laced his fingers with Oz's. His need to deepen their next kiss was overriding his logic. Without thinking, he put one knee on the bed and began to slowly kiss the boy backward. At first, Gilbert believed he had succeeded in getting the boy to lie on the bed comfortably. But the moment the blond's back touch the bed he flinched and sat up. Instantly, guilt invaded the raven; he shouldn't have rushed him. He moved to sit beside the blond instead.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Oz's eyes widened, "You didn't…It's not that at all. I…," the blond looked away, hand unconsciously moving toward his back.

Gilbert quickly put two and two together, "Are you wounded?" If he was, it would explain his ridged movements that day.

The raven didn't miss when the tip of a small light pink tongue darted out and swiped over slightly pink lips – a lie was coming, "Yes, but it's nothing major."

"...Can I take a look at it," another hesitation arouse, Gilbert could tell that Oz was deeply considering his options. With a whispered Ok, Oz turned so his back was facing Gilbert, and then began to unbutton his shirt.

Then he removed the material. Looking at the sight before him Gilbert couldn't withhold his loud gasp even if he used all his will power to do so. He shook his head slowly as he listened to the explanation.

"It's a funny story, actually. I accidentally poured the wrong bucket over me when I was in the bath….I must have been really tired or something. I can be really absent minded about things sometimes."

Incomprehensible.

There was really no other word to describe it. The degree of damage to his back didn't make any sense at all. How could the boy even manage to sit up straight with the kind of pain he must be in? He doubted that sleeping came easy to him and Gilbert wasn't just saying that because of the dark circles that surrounded his forests like eyes.

There were open red burns that were once fluid filled blisters, but had obviously drained down to scald skin. There were peeling parts as well, starting from the middle of his shoulder blades all the way down his back, but it stopped abruptly near his waistline. Gilbert touched a healed portion gently, and the blond tensed at the touch. The story Oz told was possible but something was off about it, Gilbert couldn't put his finger on what the inconsistency was. But he knew one thing for sure…

"Why haven't you seen a doctor?"

The blond quickly re-buttoned his shirt and turned to Gilbert with a big smile.

He shrugged, "It's over a week old. It will heal fine on its own."

Gilbert's voice took on a scolding tone; "You've been suffering with this for a week? Did you tell your father?"

Oz bowed his head, "No…I don't want him to worry. I knew I'd be okay if I gave it some time to heal."

"Oz-" Gilbert fell quiet when he heard a sound come from somewhere in the house, possibly from the kitchen. Oz stiffened beside him, a look of horror clouding his gaze.

He spoke urgently, "Gil, I'm sorry, but you have to go now."

"Why?"

"My father's home."

"That's ok, I'd like to meet him."

"Next time, Ok. He… doesn't take well to strangers in the house," Oz stood up beginning to change his clothes. Modesty was tossed away as he pulled off crisp garments and replaced them with their rundown counter parts. Although they were different than the ones from earlier they were just as ruined. Gilbert was bewildered by this but made no comment; he stored the behavior away to be analyzed later.

"I wasn't expecting him to come home so early,"

"Even if I leave in secrete, won't he be suspicious of whose horse is out front?"

Gilbert watched the boy slap his hand against his forehead signaling that he completely forgot about the horse. Even though the boy was up and pacing by this point Gilbert could see that his hands were shaking. He got up and approached him. Gilbert took the boy's hands into his own and placed a long kiss atop each hand. The shaking began to subside as Gilbert said his next words.

"I promise I won't be rude to him…"

"I'm not worried about that."

"Then what is it?"

Te boy sighed deeply, "It's nothing. You're right. I'm sure he'll be pleased to meet you," he gave a weak smile, one that looked more defeated than confident. He watched Oz take a deep breath, and then he walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Gilbert followed him out, anticipating this meeting between him and the mysterious Mr. Vessalius. As they entered the kitchen Gilbert's first image of the man was distressing. An incomplete flashback hit him and he stopped walking. As with other times that such reminders came to him, it triggered a throbbing pang behind his eyes, a forgotten memory was trying to be remembered but his physical mind couldn't handle it.

Where have I seen him before…

The man stood from the table and Oz spoke, "Father…this is Gilb-Lord Nightray,"

"I know who he is," the man said smartly, he was nearly as tall as Gilbert and Oz only slightly resembled him. If Oz's eyes were lively green forest then his father's were murky swamps. Gilbert concluded that the boy got his beauty from his mother.

Gilbert forced his feet to move. He walked over and put a warm hand on Oz's shoulder while the other was outstretched for a handshake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vessalius."

The man returned the handshake with a firm grip, "May I ask why a noble would bother to visit my humble home today?" There was a damaging coldness about him -using polite words but deadpan tone to say them.

Trying to ignore the pain and stay on track, Gilbert prepared to respond to the question. He wouldn't say he was the best liar on the planet, but he was probably better than most. He attributed the ability to years of having to come up with quick explanations as to why Vincent was in the bathroom with him for so long, or why his lips seemed puffy and swollen by dinnertime.

"Your son was kind enough to retrieve my horse for me when it strayed away from the post in town. I offered to give him a ride home, and he was nice enough to offer me tea after my travel."

"How kind of you to bring him home," the man's voice and expression never changed. In fact, it was starting to sound like sarcasm. Gilbert noticed that the man did glance down at the hand that Gilbert had atop Oz's shoulder, but Gilbert refused to remove it.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble for you…"

Gilbert smiled stiffly, trying not to grimace in pain, "No, not at all. In fact, I cordially invited him to a dinner we're having this evening at the manor. I'd be honored if he could attend-"

The man put his hand up, "That reward is quite unnecessary. I raised him to help those in need if and when he could. We're humble folk, Lord Nightray. We need no elaborate thanks for such basic assistance."

"I insist,"

Perhaps it was the severe migraine that was tunneling sharp and dangerous behind his eyes, but Gilbert was losing patience and he need to get out of there with a favorable answer. Oz needed to see a doctor. And if it weren't for the pain he would have taken the boy with him at that moment. But he knew where this was going and he refused to let the boy see him in his upcoming disabled state.

"Very well, if it would please you that much."

"It would. Thank you. I'll come back later this evening to pick him up,"

"Did you give your thanks to this man?" the man was clearly addressing Oz, but his eyes never ventured to the boy. It was odd…

"I did," he said meekly. After that, Oz turned to Gilbert, "May I see you to your horse?"

Gilbert nodded and headed toward the door with him. He was in far too much pain to give the man another handshake. But he still tipped his hat in feigned respect. After all... he couldn't truly respect a man who didn't keep food in his house for his child.

"It was good meeting you, sir,"

The older Vessalius nodded back to him silently, before Gilbert opened the door and was out of there. Even though it had turned extremely cloudy, the daylight still irritated his now sensitive eyes; it stung badly. And as soon as he was at the horse he had to stand there and rest his head against the saddle. His vision was starting to double and blur out. He groaned in pain, forgetting Oz was beside him.

He felt Oz's hand on his back. His voice sounding far away and full of concern, "Gil…Are you alright? You look sick," A raindrop hit Gilbert's cheek and he wiped it away before he turned to the boy.

"I'm fine, it's just a headache," he rubbed the side of the boy's soft cheek lovingly, knowing that his eyes must have been red and blotchy by now.

"I'll come and get you in a few hours," he said before he forced his weakening body to climb onto the horse.

"Are you sure you're Ok? Do you want to come inside and rest?"

Gilbert forced another smile,"Thanks, But I'm ok. See you soon," Gilbert dashed off, perhaps going faster than he should. He knew the rain would not help his unsteady travel home.

:::::N:::::

How he made it home that day, he did not know. Luckily, the protesters were gone by the time he had collapsed at the gate - the rain must have driven them away. His clothes were drenched in rainwater and mud, and his horse stood next to him constantly shaking its head to get the raindrops off its face.

He curled up on the wet ground, covering his head with his hands. He hated that he was almost in tears from the pain, and in far too much agony to try and get in the house. Luckily, a guard had spotted him and carried him in.

The first one to see him like that was Liam. Even though he begged Liam not to, the man still ran to pull Vincent from his meeting. Gilbert was on the couch shivering in a ball when he heard Vincent's icy voice.

"The hell are you standing around for, hurry up and get his medicine," he hissed.

He heard footsteps scurrying, and another set coming toward the couch, "Brother, I'm going to bring you to your room,"

"No. I'm fine…I don't need you to help me," Gilbert snapped.

His brother ignored his stubbornness, helping the decrepit raven anyway. Vincent was slightly smaller than him, but he still lifted Gilbert from the couch and carried him to Gilbert's wing of the house. Finally, they entered Gilbert's bedroom. He placed his brother gently on the bed before he followed their usual routine.

Vincent quickly closed all the curtains to cut out the assaulting light in the room. Meanwhile, Gilbert struggled to remove his wet clothes and Vincent helped him dress in a pair of loose slacks and a new shirt.

He hated himself for needing his assistance. But ever since he was fourteen years old…ever since this "condition" started, the only one who he let take care of him was Vincent. The blond would give him his powered medicine by adding it to water. And then Gilbert would proceed to lay his head on the man's lap and let him trail his fingers through his black locks until the pain began to fade…finally pushing Gilbert into a deep dreamless sleep.

Somehow, they were still following this routine. Liam quietly came into the room, and Gilbert could faintly hear the sound of the medicine hitting the water. Vincent held his head up and forced him to drink the bitter mixture, and then the man moved to sit behind him; fingers exploring his hair tenderly. Gilbert was too defeated and drained to protest any longer.

"What kind of flashback did you have? What was it that you were trying to remember?" his brother asked, voice a bit nervous.

"I…saw someone familiar….Oz's father," Gilbert swallowed hard, still shaking and struggling to recall and speak at the same time, "I know his face. I just can't…I think he was in the courtyard with Glenn…gahaa."

"Hush now. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you to keep thinking about it. Just rest."

"I…I can't sleep for too long. I need to…"

Gilbert fought hard against the sleep that was approaching. He had things to do. He didn't have time for late afternoon naps. He needed to go back and pick up Oz. He needed to call a doctor to come over and treat the boy's burns, he needed to ask Liam to start cooking dinner so it would be ready by the time he brought the boy back with him….he needed…

:::::N:::::

For nearly ten years, this had been Vincent's way of making up for what happened.

If only his brother hadn't been eavesdropping that day…this could have all been avoided. There would have been no powdered medicine, no migraines, no memory lapse, and no repression.

No pain.

It wasn't right to blame it all on Gilbert, although it was mostly his fault. Sadly, Vincent had a small part in it too. He had been upset that day, and was nearly screaming at their father. He was negligent and Gilbert over heard…he heard too much. But it was Gilbert's mistake for listening.

And honestly, how could Vincent keep living if his dear brother continued to stare at him the same way he did that day. Gilbert left him with no choice.

"B-big brother…"

"Tell me it's a lie."

"First tell me what you heard?"

"It can't be true...it just can't be! You're all monsters, I hate you!"

"Brother -"

"Don't touch me, stay away from me!"

It was almost involuntary. He knew all of Gilbert's hiding spots. And even if he didn't his whimpers were too loud; Vincent would have found him regardless. It was Gilbert's fault for being a crybaby and being so damn obvious. Maybe he wouldn't have done it if his father's heavy walking cane wasn't so accessible – the man should have never left it out. And perhaps he would have changed his mind if Gilbert's back had not been turned as he wept in the corner of the bathtub behind the curtain.

"How could you do this to your own brother…"

"I did what was necessary. I won't let you try to corrupt him anymore."

In the end, he supposed it all worked out, at least for a little while. His father gave up on his plans for Gilbert. Glen didn't come over nearly as often, and stopped training Gilbert as his replacement. And Gilbert woke up three days later with fragmented memories…and love in his eyes again.

"Big Brother, you're awake!"

"Vincent? What happened?"

"You had me so worried. When you fell down the stairs I thought I would lose you. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

"…Was it really that bad of a fall?"

"It was terrible…"