I give up. I have no f***ing idea when this story will end. BUT THAT'S ALRIGHT! I really enjoy writing it! I hope you enjoy reading it!

"Herr Robel?"

The balding man turned away from the window at the voice of his comrade. "Is there news?" his voice remained the same as it had for nearly three months- flat, expressionless, and cold.

"They, er, f-found your son. You were c-correct about the Rilow b-boy-"

"Wheelan, you sound sound just like the wretched boy, stop your incessant stuttering. Where did they find him?"

"In a house f-full of runaways and d-delinquents. It was halfway between the artist's colony and the reformatory where they sent the G-gabor child, I'm told he was discovered there as well."

"Is that so? I suppose I should've expected that after-"

"You don't mean that, sir." Herr Wheelan said quietly from the corner.

Herr Robel whipped around to face him. "Excuse me?"

"This isn't some random v-village boy. He's your son. And yes, you're d-disappointed with him, but with all respect sir, I know deep down you still care about him, don't you?"

Ernst's father leaned close to Herr Wheelan, his voice changing to a vicious whisper. "That boy is no son of mine. I can't imagine where you're getting this idea that I would ever defend him after the atrocities he has committed, but believe me when I say he means nothing to me now. I meant to destroy him that day in the yard, and he's given me no reason to think twice about finishing the job." he paused a moment, seeming to hear something in the night outside. "It seems the carriages have returned. Now please, Franz, bring the filth in."

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Ernst realized where they were heading before Hanschen did. Even now, in the velvet darkness, he recognized the turns that led to what had once been his home. "Hanschen-" he whispered, "-they're taking us to him." The blonde boy felt his breath catch. If Herr Robel was as angry now as he had been four months ago, they may not make it out alive. The carriage jolted to a stop and nausea set in. He tasted blood where their captor had hit him and nearly lost conciousness. Ernst's voice asking him what they were going to do pulled him back into thinking straight.

"Deny everything?"

"We can't get away with that. They found us together, remember?"

"Damn..." he let his head fall onto his knees. "Look, we can figure something out, I know it."

"But what-" he was cut off as rough hands reached in and pulled them onto the street, pulling them toward the house. The first thing he noticed when they came inside was how bare the hallways were. It seemed his father had removed everything reminiscent of his son, meaning every painting, book and a good portion of the furniture was gone, leaving dust to settle in their places. He felt a brief twinge of sadness at this before a new wave of panic came over him at the sight of the thin, stone-faced man he had once called 'father'.

"Ernst." he seemed to spit the name, circling around the two like a hawk. "I honestly wonder how I raised such a piece of filth. How my own flesh and blood could be so utterly corrupted, so seduced by sin, so-"

"If you intend to stand there and hurl insults, sir, could you at least afford us a chair?" Hanschen muttered, just loud enough for him to hear the contempt in the word 'sir'. Herr Robel turned sharply to him, then to his comrade.

"Take them to the attic. And give him a chair, I'll be up shortly." Ernst whimpered as Hanschen was pulled away from him nad they were led upstairs. "You will remain here, boy." he added to a nearby servant. "You'll keep guard." With that he made a slight motion-just a small brush across the fabric of his coat-but it was enough to reveal to the servant the glint of a long, cruel blade before he walked away.

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The attic was cold and covered in dust that puffed up whenever they moved, but Ernst had to admit it wasn't the worst place they could've been kept. There was no furniture, but they'd used their jackets as pillows before and-his thoughts were interuppted when he caught sight of Hanschen's arm, which was still bleeding, albeit slowly. Without speaking he began to rip at the hem of his shirt, tearing off a thin strip of cloth and slowly tying it around the wound.

"You didn't need to do that."

"Didn't I?" he replied. "You brought me out of a near-coma, remember?"

"A coma caused by that son of a bitch downstairs-" Ernst cut him off with a kiss.

"I hate him too, but there's really no point in being angry. We're here, and I think it's best if we put that energy towards getting out."

Hanschen groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know, I know...but I'm coming up blank."

Suddenly the door opened and four more people were shoved inside. The first two were unrecognizable, but the second couple was clearly Melchior and Ilse, both of whom were still swearing like sailors over Herr Robel. "Crazy son of a bitch...has no fucking right...wouldn't know parenting if it shit on his face..."

"Melchi? Ilse?" Ernst called out.

"Ernst! Thank goodness, you're alive, we weren't sure what they'd done."

"Ilse, are you...bleeding?" Ernst ran a worried finger over her face, coming in contact with something warm and decidedly wet.

"Just a little. It's nothing." She reassured him, "Your dad was trying to intimidate us."

"And not doing a very good job, may I add." Melchior muttered from a corner. "A rabbit could've done better." Even Hanschen smirked at that. "The question now is how do we get the hell out of here? Because as much as I usually like to play the leader, I have absolutely no ideas. Maxim? Joel? Anything at all?"

The two that had also come in glanced at eachother before the one called Joel spoke. "There is one thing that might just work..."