Raoul stared blankly over the wreckage that was once his home. Gustave never appeared. He hadn't gotten out of the house in time. Raoul was completely alone now. Christine was dead, and now Gustave was too. It seemed everything in his life fell to ruins, and he lost everything close to him.

"Monsieur le Vicomte?"

He was shaken out of his thoughts. "Have you found him yet?"

The man shook his head. "No, we're still looking. Are you alright?"

"Keep looking," Raoul ordered, ignoring the question. He hadn't been able to give Christine a funeral, but he was going to make sure Gustave got one. It was the least he could do for the boy whose life he had ruined. But first, they needed something to bury.

Feeling numb, Raoul began to wander through the wreckage, looking for his son. He kicked aside some rubble absentmindedly, revealing a metal object under the ash. He leaned down and picked up his pistol. Raoul remembered buying it after he rescued Christine, or at least he thought he had rescued her. The thing was even still loaded in case the Phantom ever came after them. A lot of good it had done in the end.

Erik was on his way to get Gustave when something stopped him. He froze in front of a newspaper stand and stared at the headline with wide eyes. Fire at de Chagny Mansion.

He sprinted the rest of the way, desperate to make sure his son was safe. Erik was going to take Gustave back to Christine, no matter how hard Raoul tried to stop him. Even if he had to take his son back kicking and screaming, Erik wasn't going to allow him to stay here one minute more.

The sight before him forced Erik to a standstill. There was nothing left. All there was beyond a pile of ash and rubble was a few men scrounging though the pile for anything that was salvageable. One man who was standing alone away from the others caught his eye. Erik realized it was a soot covered Vicomte de Chagny.

"Where is Gustave?" Erik demanded, grabbing his shirt collar.

"What?" The Vicomte blinked. He seemed to be in shock. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here for my son, you stupid drunkard," he snarled. "Where is Gustave?" The Vicomte's lack of reaction infuriated Erik. He didn't care what sort of state Raoul was in. He wanted his son back. Erik shook him, trying to snap him out of his daze. "Gustave! Where is the boy?"

"We were wondering that too. You're more than welcome to join the search," Raoul said flatly, gesturing towards the charred ruins.

Raoul had said that too calmly. There was no emotion whatsoever. Either the Vicomte had truly lost his mind or he was lying. Erik yanked him forward. "I've had enough of this, you useless fop. Where. Is. My. Son?"

That got Raoul's attention. "Your son?" he snapped suddenly, shoving Erik backwards. "Where were you the nine months where Christine was sick and miserable? Where were you when she was up all night screaming in pain when she was giving birth? Where were you those months full of sleepless nights when Gustave was a baby? Where were you after she died? Where were you for twelve years? You might have been the one who got Christine pregnant, but Gustave was my son!"

Erik's heart stopped. Was. That wasn't the right tense. "Gustave," he repeated much more quietly. "Where is Gustave?"

The Vicomte looked dead inside. His eyes held nothing. Not the love for Christine and determination he had seen back at the opera house, or even the desperation and hatred he had seen on Coney. Erik realized he was looking into the soul of a man who had absolutely nothing. He had thought he once reached rock bottom, but looking at the Vicomte, Erik realized that his rival had fallen so much further emotionally than he ever had. "You're too late. I tried to find him but I couldn't. I thought that maybe he had already gotten out. And when I realized he hadn't, I tried to go back in for him, but by then, it was too late."

"No," Erik whispered. Gustave had been alive just last night, and Erik had chosen not to come then. "No!" He seized Raoul by his throat. "You let my son die, and so now I'm going to kill you!" But before he could squeeze, the Vicomte pulled out a pistol, pointing it at him.

"Don't think I won't," Raoul growled. "You're still a wanted man and a known murderer. I could pull this trigger and that would be that. It'd be so easy to say you started the fire, that you killed Gustave. I could say you came back to finish what you started over a decade ago and no one would question it."

He glanced at the men combing through the wreckage, but they were all out of earshot and none of them could be bothered to pay attention. Finally, Erik released him. His hands were trembling and tears burned his eyes. He couldn't believe it. His son couldn't be dead. Erik hadn't come across the Atlantic a second time just to find out his only child had died the night before. "My poor son," he moaned.

"You spent two days with him," the Vicomte snapped, tears in his eyes. "You didn't know him. You were a complete stranger. It was your fault his mother died. You have no right to mourn."

Erik could feel the anger and pain burn within him. He didn't care how much the Vicomte was hurting; it wasn't enough to satisfy him. "I might have only spent two days with my son, but you'll never ever meet your child."

"I don't have…" The color drained from Raoul's face and the gun dropped to the ground. "No…"

"Yes," Erik said with a nod. "Christine was pregnant when she was shot. But of course you would have known if you hadn't been in the middle of kidnapping my son."

Raoul was white and shaking. Erik couldn't tell if he was going to cry, get sick, or both. The Vicomte glanced at the pistol on the ground then back up at him. "Get out of here before I decide to blow your head off."

There was nothing left for Erik here. He was going to have to tell Christine that their son was dead, that he had missed saving him by mere hours. And he knew she would never forgive him. She had kept begging him and begging him to go after Gustave, and he hadn't out of concern for her, and this is what happened. And looking at his rival, Erik realized he didn't want him dead. Raoul would suffer much more alive than dead. "I doubt our paths will cross again."

"No they won't." Erik turned and started to walk away, but he barely reached the edge of the de Chagny property when he heard a bang. For a brief instant, he thought he had been shot, but when he realized there was no pain, he whirled back around. The Vicomte fell to the ground, the gun still in his hand, and his men came rushing over.

He took off, afraid of being noticed and accused of being involved. Erik kept running until his legs gave out. Looking up, he realized he was in the graveyard, at the foot of the Daae Mausoleum. It was then, and only then that Erik truly allowed himself to feel his loss. "Gustave," he sobbed. "My son. My poor son."

Erik wasn't sure how long he was there, but eventually he realized he needed to pull himself together. Christine. He was going to have to go back and tell Christine. She was going to be heartbroken; Erik had no idea how she was going to react to the terrible news. There was only one thing he knew for sure. His angel was never going to forgive him.

Gustave watched the trains as they came and went. The man at the counter said that he didn't have enough money to get to the sea. And Gustave knew if he couldn't afford a train ride, he certainly couldn't get on a boat all the way to New York. But he couldn't go back home. There wasn't a home to go back to. Father had to hate him for everything. He had to find another way to America.

"When's that train to Cherbourg leaving?" His attention shot up towards two men, station men from the looks of them. Cherbourg was a port. If he could get there, he had a shot at getting a ship to America.

"Any minute now." Gustave had to get on that train. But when he realized which one they were pointing at, Gustave saw it was a cargo train. Good, he thought. No need to worry about tickets.

Once the men were looking the other way, Gustave grabbed his things and jumped off the platform onto the tracks. He made his way over to the train and shoved open a boxcar door. It took all his strength to crack it open just enough to slip inside. No sooner than he was inside, he heard shouting. "I thought you checked all the doors! You missed one!" Gustave threw this things behind some crates and ducked behind them, afraid of being caught. However, the door simply slammed shut, and a few minutes later, the train lurched forwards, and he was on his way.