Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash.

Warning(s): homosexuality (that's what slash is people, but in later chapters though)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story Note: Not much action in this chapter. The next one is sooo much better. :o) Exciting!

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Imaginary Friends

Chapter 06 – Substitutes

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Last time:

Raoul and Erik are separated by some devious plot of the gypsy (it was a set-up! --). Raoul is back with his family and well Erik's future is uncertain.

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o.o flash forward 15 years o.o

Raoul returned home fatigued after meeting the managers to discuss his patronage of the opera house and what that patronage entailed and the powers he had. He had quite a few he did not think he would ever have to use. The subsequent introduction to the singers, dancers, and workers in the opera house had thankfully been uneventful. He heard both La Carlotta's and Piangi's singing, and hoped that it had indeed just been rehearsal.

He doubted it and headed directly for his study. He would be living in Paris with his brother since his sisters had already been married off. They lived with their husbands while the two bachelors were left to fend for themselves. Raoul did not mind. He and his brother got along well enough.

He was not surprised to see Philippe sitting behind his desk. Philippe placed down the paper he had been reading.

"How was the introduction?" Philippe asked a little too excited for Raoul's taste.

"A bit tedious, but the same as always," Raoul responded as he took a seat in front of the desk.

Philippe looked disappointed. "No opera ghost?"

Raoul grinned realizing why Philippe had been excited. "None whatsoever." He shook his head firmly, "Nothing while I was there at least."

"And the prima donna?"

Raoul knew his grimace answered the question, but he replied anyway, "Unfortunately, that rumour turned out to be true." He sighed. "I don't like to, but…"

"It seems rather inevitable that you'll have to become more involved than normally. You wouldn't want them to waste the money we've given them."

Holding his chin in his hand, Raoul stared blankly at the desk before him. "Will there even be anyone to replace her?"

"You'll have to find someone." Philippe paused trying to think of a solution to his brother's problem. "Is La Carlotta really that bad?"

He considered how to respond. "You know how I love music?"

Philippe nodded. "Ever since you were small. You became obsessed after…"

The continuation of the sentence remained unspoken but understood. Close to Raoul's fifth birthday, their parents died. Neither brother liked to speak of it because though much time had passed, it was only a little easier for them to speak of it. Honestly, Raoul did not remember much of his parents but glimpses of memories. He could not seem to remember anything fully before their funeral. He knew that he had probably blocked much of the memories intentionally, but sometimes he wished he could remember what his father and mother had been like. He had heard many stories, but it was not the same as remembering them himself.

Philippe always called that year cursed. The way he said it seemed to suggest that other things had happened, but Raoul could never think of anything else and had not bothered to ever ask him what he meant.

The first memory of his life that he had was a pair of caskets being lowered into the ground. It had not been a dark day either. Raoul remembered birds singing and the sun shining as he held onto his brother's and sister's hands. Philippe told him to not cry in front of others, but try as he might, he could not hold back the torrent of tears that came seeing the caskets and knowing his parents were inside. He had understood as much as a four year old could understand death. He knew that he would never see them again. Whenever he tried to remember anything before then, all he could conjure was an overwhelming feeling of loss.

When they died, he had felt so alone. His sisters had each other to go to for comfort, and while he should have had his brother, Philippe pulled into his own shell. He became so distant as he took on the responsibilities that their father once had. Raoul had no one to talk to in the large now somber estate. He knew that it had been in his loneliest moment as he sat in the middle of his big bed in the dark hiding from monsters that he created his own imaginary friend to comfort him. He had needed someone to protect him from monsters, and someone he could talk to. He wanted to hear reassurances and lullabies.

The memories before the funeral, the few fleeting ones that they were, had always been accompanied by music, a voice in his head. One voice he had identified as his mother's voice, and the other he had initially thought was his father's turned out not to be. Philippe had said that their mother sang to them constantly, but he had never heard his father sing a single note in his life. At the time, Raoul had believed him, but did not understand where the other, definitely male voice in his head came from.

So, when he created his imaginary friend, it was male and the voice now had a name, Erik.

"Raoul?"

"Um," Raoul blinked rapidly. "Sorry, I was trying to think of a good way to explain it."

"And?"

He quickly remembered what he had been about to say. "La Carlotta makes me wish I were deaf."

Philippe frowned. "Really. You will have to do something quickly then. I do not know why she has been allowed to remain."

"I don't know why either," Raoul wondered why he had randomly thought of his imaginary friend again. He never told anyone else about Erik afraid that they would make fun of him, but through his life, Erik was beside him - from protecting him from monsters to singing him to sleep. Honestly, it would be years before Raoul would stop relying on Erik for comfort, and even today, before he slept he would hear a melody that lulled him to sleep. It was a melody he was sure he had not created himself. Raoul cleared his throat, "I hate to get too involved though."

Philippe nodded but knew that his brother would do what was necessary to ensure the success of the Opera Populaire. He tried not to grin when he commented, "So, really no ghost?"

"Do you want to go find out for yourself?" Raoul asked with feigned exasperation, "Are you coming tonight?"

His brother sighed dramatically loud, "Unfortunately, no. I must leave Paris for a few days."

"What's so interesting about a haunted opera house anyway?" Raoul leaned back in the seat and crossed his legs.

"They say half of his face is missing. He wears an ivory white mask and kills whenever he wants and whoever he wants."

"Why do I want a murderous deformed…" Raoul stopped suddenly when he felt his mind falter over the words.

"Raoul? Are you okay?"

There was something he could almost remember. There was a memory at the very fringe of his mind lingering long enough for him to notice it. It was something he had to remember. "Yes, I am alright. It felt like two thoughts colliding in my head."

"Well," Philippe laughed, "that's quite a description."

Raoul laughed too. "Well, I was saying that it seems to be good fortune that rumour is false."

"So far…"

"Yes, so far. Why did we choose this opera house again?"

"Ha!" Philippe's outburst startled Raoul. "We did not choose anything. The choice was all yours. I do believe it had been right after you had heard the rumours of the opera ghost."

"Impulse then." Raoul concluded. He could not remember why he had wanted to be the patron of the Opera Populaire. Had there been a reason?

"Maybe subconsciously you're just as eager to see the opera ghost."

Skeptically, Raoul echoed, "Of course, subconsciously."

o.o.o

Erik paced in front of his organ. He should have been playing and composing, but he could not sit for very long and the melodies that had never failed him were suddenly silent. He spared a glance at the musical toy monkey from across the room. He should be celebrating since Christine secured her role in Hannibal just as he knew she could.

That joy was tainted with confusion though.

He had heard of the new patron before he had been introduced earlier. Of course, he had heard that the Vicomte de Chagny was the patron. He had even known that the Vicomte's first name was Raoul. Raoul. His heart had skipped a beat at the mere mention. He had not however believed that it could possibly be his Raoul. He could not believe that it was his Raoul.

Fifteen years. A long fifteen years had passed. Raoul could not be a Vicomte just yet. It was not completely uncommon to have young Vicomtes, but Erik's mind had created the perfect life for Raoul, and his parents did not die just yet.

Erik had tried to forget him. He had really tried to just leave that little brat behind with the carnival. It had taken him the entirety of the fifteen past years, but he had somehow managed to keep Raoul as a faint memory. He could now manage to not think of Raoul for an entire week. It was a vast improvement. But even though fifteen years had passed, it still sometimes felt as though it were just yesterday that he was being separated from him. He did not know why Raoul had affected his life as much as he did, but for some reason, everything managed to remind him of Raoul.

If he subconsciously thought about how old Raoul would be with each passing year or how his hair might have grown longer or his baby fat was lost, he could not control that. It was his subconscious.

With his resolve to forget Raoul in place, it was not hard to convince himself it was mere coincidence that a Vicomte named Raoul would be patron to the opera house, but then he had heard that the Comte's name was Philippe. That could not be coincidence. Still, Erik steadfastly ignored the odd equivalence in their names. He could somehow convince himself that it was not his Raoul.

Raoul was not the Vicomte. It was not until the Vicomte walked into the theatre and Erik found himself whispering out Raoul's name without a second thought that he admitted to himself that it was not coincidence. It was his Raoul.

Same hair colour though the sun had lightened his already light brown hair. Same smile though his face had slimmed. Same eyes. Same clear blue eyes. It should not have been easy but the mental image of the young brat he knew easily filled into this Vicomte.

Erik paused in his pacing long enough to scream loudly. He waited until the echoes died down before beginning to pace once more.

It did not matter if it were Raoul. It could not matter. He had Christine now. He would focus on her future. She was the only thing that mattered.

When Christine arrived at the opera house and came into his life, she had been so innocent. He knew he could talk to her. He knew he had the opportunity to be a part of her life. She had given him an opening. And he had been correct, she allowed him into her life when he had lost all hope of living in anything but solitude.

That fateful night fifteen years ago, the police had captured him and dragged Raoul away. Erik struggled in vain, as they lifted him up and dragged him over to the police station. He had been certain that he would be sent to prison. This had been a setup. He had known the moment that he had heard the gypsy's voice. He should have seen it sooner but the concept of freedom had been entirely too new for him and he had been negligent. He should have realized sooner that the gypsy had left the door unlocked purposefully.

Erik did not want to be imprisoned. He had less of a chance to escape. He could almost laugh at his thoughts. He had never thought of escape before and now it was the only thing that mattered. And, it only mattered because one person mattered. He found himself fixated on Raoul. Raoul had given him everything when he thought his life meant nothing. He had to be able to get to Raoul. He wanted, no needed, to see him again.

It had not taken long for the officers to be disgusted by his face so they found a sack he could wear. There were no eyeholes and it felt as though he were suffocating. He did not know how long they forced him to sit there, but he knew the exact moment that his master entered the police station.

"You found him," the gypsy said with false relief.

"Yes. The monster had the Comte's son with him."

"What? How?"

Erik wondered if the officers believed his master's horrible acting. Without proof though, Erik knew that they would rather place all the blame on him than the gypsy.

"He won't talk," an officer replied.

In truths, they had not let him talk. They had not given him an opportunity to. They had dragged him off the street and into the station then continued to place the sack over his head after calling him various unflattering names, some that Erik had heard before and surprisingly some he had not heard.

"Will he go to jail?" The gypsy pressed.

"We could try him in court, and a judge is liable to send him to jail." It was obvious that the officer was holding back some information. "We would rather we not have to deal with him though. We are willing to give you some extra appreciation if you take him off our hands. He actually did not commit any crime if the boy's story about monsters is true," the sarcasm dripped off his voice, "and the boy's the only witness."

Erik was glad that Raoul had not realized that someone else was behind his kidnapping. Raoul would have been in danger otherwise. At the mention of money, Erik knew that the gypsy would take him back. He felt almost relieved that his master was so greedy.

"You'd have to be quite appreciative."

With the exchange of money, Erik was taken back to his carriage and was told he would be put back to work. The carnival left the next day for Paris.

Erik waited for his chance to arrive. Then when it came, with no remorse, he killed the man he had considered his master and found shelter in the opera house with the help of a ballet rat.

He had not planned to stay very long – just long enough to evade anyone searching for him before he went off to find Raoul. When the investigation finally did die down, Erik realized that Raoul was not like him. He had a family and by now, almost a month later, Raoul would have forgotten all about him. Raoul was young and he had a life that was filled with new people and new places. How could the little brat possibly remember him? If anything with his deformity, Raoul would have probably purposely tried to forget him.

He could leave this new haven but what would he do then? Would he search for Raoul and forever live watching him from a distance? Surprisingly, the idea did not sound so terrible. He would be content to watch Raoul from a distance. He knew that if he were able to speak to him for even a moment, Raoul would accept him in his life. Raoul would treat him with the same kindness he had shown in that one day, but Erik knew he would just ruin his life.

So, Erik decided to do the first noble thing he had ever done in his life. He would forget all about Raoul and live in the opera house all alone. He would let Raoul go.

Yet he found that he could not. He could not forget Raoul no matter how much he tried. He had spent three years of solitude only contacting the Giry girl when he had to. He had built a home for himself and to combat the loneliness he felt he found himself drawing images of a life that was never meant to be his, designing traps to protect the life he did have, and something he found too much solace in, singing. He could not stop singing – singing songs he thought Raoul would have liked. After a while, Erik had been able to limit that occurrence of thinking of Raoul when he sang to every once in a while. It had been difficult. His mind had fixated on the only reason he was free, well as free as he could be. His mind had attached to the best and worst day of his life. He was obsessed with Raoul but still had enough restraint in himself to not ruin the brat's life.

Then, Christine had come. Moreover, she wanted the Angel of Music. He was no angel, but he lived and breathed music. He even had to admit that she had much potential. She was young and innocent. She was vulnerable but most importantly, she had reminded him of Raoul, and while he could not contact Raoul, he could contact Christine. He could speak to her, but after watching her for just a day, it was painfully obvious she was not Raoul. She was nothing like him, but he would help her and hope that one day, she could be something more than just a student.

Erik convinced himself that with Christine, he could get over his fixation on Raoul. He would be able to transfer the obsession to her, and outwardly, he had succeeded. He taught her how to sing. He nurtured her to be an incredible opera singer. He put everything he had into making her depend on him and making her into the star she could become.

Outwardly, he had succeeded in becoming obsessed with Christine. He had succeeded in fooling himself that Raoul was nothing but a memory, but his mere presence in the theatre had disturbed him greatly.

He had to focus though. Christine would be singing tonight and he would watch as she rose to fame. She should be old enough to realize that he was no angel, and he hoped that with all the years between them that she would be able to accept him as he was.

Concerning Raoul, he would do what he decided to do fifteen years ago. Since he had someone else in his life and he was clearly no longer obsessed with him, Erik would leave Raoul alone.

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End Chapter

Word count: 3,111

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

It's really bad when your own fanfictions give rise to more fanfiction ideas… it dilutes the actual canon of POTO (not like there's much canon in my works anyway), but I was thinking how great would it be if Erik did chase after Raoul after escaping! Oh, the potential. Maybe another day, another fic. I'm already screwing up canon with the plot I currently have in mind. Erik's not so psychopathic in this one. I figured if he were then I'd have to hurt Raoul again (because who else would Erik go psycho on but Raoul?) and I didn't want to hurt Raoul in this one (like I did in all the other ones). We all know Raoul's a little masochistic though. TT -- Raoul.

Chapter review: Erik's planning on leaving Raoul alone (like we believe that's going to happen!) and Raoul doesn't remember Erik (Come on, one day when you were four years old and then your parents die soon after; there's no way Raoul remembers Erik [at least not yet).

Thanks to you awesome reviewers!