Chapter Three: Distress and Comfort

The next morning…

Ozpin removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. A chair in a hospital room – no matter how well padded it might be – wasn't the most comfortable place to spend the night. A faint headache was beginning to form between his temples from the lack of sleep – not an unusual occurrence, given the number of careers he juggled on a daily basis, but working late into the night wasn't the same thing as sitting at the side of a hospital bed without any sleep at all.

Grading the remainder of the first-year essays hadn't taken long, and once that task had been completed, he had turned his attention to his scroll. He had several trusted agents in the field, so he had sent carefully worded messages, asking for updates on the enemy's movements. Since it was becoming more evident that Oscar wasn't from one of the four Academies or any of the primary combat schools, he was either from somewhere beyond the Kingdom or Salem had grown bold enough to abduct a child from within the safety of the walls of one of the Kingdoms. If the latter, then there would be some trace of him: a missing child report, a reported runaway… something useful.

Throughout the night, reports slowly trickled in from his agents. Everything seemed… well, normal. There were no unusual surges of Grimm activity, and nothing that would indicate that Salem was preparing to make a move to try to break the eternal stalemate they were locked in. She'd been quiet for almost eighty years – since the end of the Great War – and that alone was enough to make him suspicious since it was unlike her to remain passive for so long.

He replaced his glasses and rose to his feet, desperate to move around and get the blood flowing back to his arms and legs. His six foot-six-inch frame wasn't meant for a small room like this, and it was even more crowded with the bed that contained Oscar and all of the monitoring equipment crammed into it. A brisk walk around the hospital floor would help, but he didn't want to leave Oscar alone until they managed to locate his family. He'd prefer to have Oscar wake to someone familiar than have no one at all. Whatever Salem's motivation for attacking Oscar may have been, she wouldn't allow him to slip out of her hands so easily. The amount of danger the boy would be in would depend on if Salem had been able to sense Ozpin's presence during her attack.

Hours of waiting by the boy's bedside had given Ozpin plenty of time to study him more closely. He was definitely still a young teenager, given his short stature and the roundness of his cheeks – baby-faced, some would have said. As a counterpoint, however, there was a surprising amount of muscle on his arms for someone of his age. Freckles dotted his cheeks and were scattered up and down his arms where the skin was visible beneath the bandages and heavy bruising, and his skin was nicely tanned, most likely from long hours spent out in the sun. Ozpin recalled seeing hazel eyes beneath the bruises and cuts which marred the boy's face before he'd been whisked back to the treatment rooms, and the overall image was one of innocence, which made the sight of the injuries that had been done to him all the more upsetting.

Now that he'd been cleaned up, there was also some scarring around his neck that Ozpin hadn't previously noticed when he'd initially examined the boy in his office, but it didn't seem to be the type of scarring he would have gotten from a fight or a Grimm attack. The scars were relatively straight and isolated to one side of his throat, as well as being old, but they were still noticeable now that he'd been cleaned up and the bandages that had been there had been removed.

A moan from the boy drew his attention and he stopped pacing and moved back to the side of the bed. The boy's face was twisted in pain and his breathing was becoming labored and rapid as a result. Ozpin reached for the call bell and pressed it, his other hand resting on Oscar's forehead, hoping to soothe him until help could arrive.

Doctor Ashburn arrived within two minutes, a nurse in tow, and began checking the readings on the monitors. "He's starting to wake up."

"He seems to be in severe pain," Ozpin offered. "He had a few spells during the night, but they usually ended within a few moments."

"That's interesting, because his aura isn't stabilizing as quickly as we'd hoped it might," she replied, glancing at the monitor in question. "His wounds are so extensive, and he's somehow attempting to heal them subconsciously, which isn't doing him any favors." She looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to the nurse. "I need an aura suppressant – let's start with the minimum effective dose and monitor him every hour to see how he responds." She glanced back at Oscar, whose breathing was continuing to increase as his face continued to twist in pain. "Also, go ahead and increase his pain medication by two milligrams."

The nurse nodded and moved to the boy's IV, adjusting the drip controls, and noting his chart before she left the room to retrieve the aura suppressant.

"Is the aura suppressant really necessary?" Ozpin asked, skeptically.

Dr. Ashburn sighed. "His aura isn't stabilizing. Suppressing it will prevent him from using it and give it a chance to recover on its own."

"Aura healing takes a conscious effort for all but the most experienced Huntsmen and Huntresses," Ozpin argued. "He's a child. He's too young to have mastered the ability to direct his aura unconsciously or subconsciously."

"Then how do you explain the fact that he's draining his aura as quickly as he recovers it?" Ashburn asked.

Ozpin didn't have an answer to that question, because for a boy this young to have that level of ability… it was unheard of, and he'd seen hundreds – thousands – of students come through the Academies since they were founded eighty years ago. Surely that couldn't be enough of a reason for Salem to have taken an interest in Oscar… could it?

The nurse re-entered the room with a narrow syringe, gloves, and a sterile swab and handed the items to Doctor Ashburn. The doctor slipped the gloves on before swabbing the inside of Oscar's elbow and injecting him. "This is just a small dose – it'll wear off completely within twelve hours. He should be fully conscious by then, and that will be enough time for a good portion of his aura to recover naturally. Once he's awake, we can find out how skilled he is at aura healing."

Whether it was the larger dose of the pain medicine or the aura suppressant taking effect, Oscar's breathing suddenly evened out, becoming less labored, and his face relaxed as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

The doctor checked the rest of Oscar's wounds quickly and efficiently before shaking her head. "Who could do something like this to a child?"

"I wish I knew," Ozpin murmured.

"Well, at the moment he is looking at a long recovery, and it's likely that there will be some scarring, especially on his chest where that burn is. Once he's conscious and his aura has restored itself to a satisfactory level, we'll see if he can accelerate some of his own healing on some of the more severe wounds. He should wake up in less pain with the increase to the dosage we just gave him, but if he seems to be in extreme pain again, just call for a nurse."

Ozpin nodded silently, returning to his chair as the doctor left the room. The nurse moved around the room, taking care of a few more things before she left as well. He pulled his scroll out of his pocket.

Ozpin

I believe young Oscar may be waking up soon.

Glynda

That's good news. I've heard from the remaining schools – he's not one of their students.

Ozpin

I was beginning to think as much.

Glynda

I'm on my way. I'd like to meet this young man and find out what's going on.

He sent her the room number before closing his scroll and putting the device back in his jacket pocket. The boy represented a mystery – which usually didn't bode well for the people of Remnant. Yet, other than Salem's attack the day before, none of his agents could find anything indicating that she was preparing to make a move. The uncertainty was enough to stir anxiety within him. Salem could never be called predictable, but after so many millennia locked in a stalemate with her, there were some strategies that he had noticed she tended to employ more than others – sowing division amongst his allies being a favorite.

It was perhaps another hour before he heard Oscar's breathing increasing again. It wasn't as desperate or labored as it had been before, but it also wasn't the steady, even breathing of someone who was waking peacefully. He leaned closer to the bed and spoke quietly, hoping to calm the boy. "It's alright. Just take slow breaths. The pain will pass."

It didn't seem like the boy had heard him. His face was twisting again, and his breathing was becoming more rapid. Ozpin couldn't bear to see that look on the boy's face.

"Oscar."

The sound of his name seemed to give the boy something to focus on. He turned his head slightly, as if trying to pinpoint Ozpin's location based on his voice.

"Don't panic. You're going to be alright." He reached out and laid a hand on the boy's forehead. Still fevered, but much lower than it had been the day before. "Just take a slow breath."

He could see Oscar trying to follow his instructions, so he was at least partially aware of his surroundings. The fact that he was so responsive was encouraging. He inhaled slowly, deeply, before a wince crossed his face, but managed to breathe out just as slowly.

"Good. Again."

Glynda slipped into the room as he coaxed the boy through several more repetitions of the breathing exercise and stood near the door, watching the scene. Finally, the lines of pain eased from Oscar's features and the boy turned his head again. "Are you feeling better now? Do you think you can open your eyes?"

Brothers bless him, but the boy tried. He struggled for several seconds, but between the swelling on his face and the grime and grit crusted around his eyes, he failed. He attempted to raise his arm, to bring his hand up to rub them, but could only raise it a few inches before he whimpered in pain.

"Sssh… it's going to be okay," Ozpin said. "Here…" He removed his hand and stood again, crossing the room to the small bathroom. He took a washcloth and dampened it with warm water under the faucet before returning to the bedside. He placed the damp cloth over the boy's face, but he flinched, pulling in on himself in clear fear.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just a wet washcloth, to clean off the grit near your eyes." He lifted the cloth away and gave Oscar a chance to calm himself. Once the tension in Oscar's body had eased, Ozpin placed the wet cloth against the boy's cheek, giving him a chance to adjust to the warmth. After several seconds in which the boy didn't tense up again, he moved the cloth to Oscar's eyes again, gently wiping the grit and dirt away. He took special care with the boy's swollen left eye, not wanting to cause any more damage. "There you go. Try now."

"He's wak… up…"

He hurt.

"…seems… in pai… had a… spe… usually… moments…"

He could hear movement, but something was off about it. Someone was touching him, and he recoiled. Touch was bad. Touch hurt. Touch meant feeling all the breath being knocked out of him, of his chest feeling like it was going to explode…

"…aura… quic… hope… too exten…"

There was something cold on the skin of his inner elbow before there was a sharp prick. The cold sensation moved beneath the skin, rushing through him, pulling him back down into darkness, easing the pain in his head.

He drifted…

There was something missing…

I'm doing what I have to do to keep you safe.

Safe? Was he safe? Would he ever be safe again?

"So you'd just lock us away instead. You'd keep us like a pet. That isn't freedom, yet that was all you ever wanted when I saved you from that tower."

"Perhaps, but it will be safer for both of you."

Both? Why both? Who else was here with him?

He drifted again.

Darkness. Warm. Empty.

Why empty?

It shouldn't be empty.

Something was missing…

I'm so sorry, Oscar. This wasn't what I wanted for you.

Pain was building up again. It hurt. Breathing hurt more.

But… the air was different. Clean.

Where was the scent of ash and soot? The odor of decaying flesh? The coppery tang of his own blood and the sour smell of his own sweat?

His chest ached from the abuse he'd gone through. It took everything he had not to curl up tightly to try to protect himself but that only made it harder to breathe. The air was thick and heavy with the foul odors of ash, soot, and rot. He felt like he'd been choking on it forever and it made him miss the clean air of his aunt's farm, the smell of blooming flowers and growing crops.

He was warm, and lying on something… soft? That wasn't right either. The ground of his cell shouldn't be soft.

A metal-tipped boot slammed into his stomach, sending him flying through the air. His back impacted a protruding part of the wall first, sending a jolt of pain up his spine, before he crashed back down to the ground. All the air rushed out of his lungs, making it even harder to breathe.

"It's…right…low brea…"

The pain was increasing again, and his chest ached. Every breath pulled on his muscles, which only increased the pain he was feeling, and made his chest feel tight again. It was like something was sitting on him… he couldn't get a clear breath… his head was about to explode…

"Oscar."

A… voice. A voice he… knew? He latched onto that voice, trying to focus on it.

"Don't panic. You're going to be alright." Another hand, this one on his forehead, stroked through his hair. The touch was gentle, like his aunt's on the rare occasions when he was sick.

That… was familiar. Yes. He'd heard those instructions before. Don't panic.

"Just take a slow breath."

The voice was kind but firm. It was familiar. He inhaled, slowly, stopping at the point at which his chest began to burn with pain and slowly letting out the breath.

"Good. Again."

Another slow breath, another word of encouragement. His heart rate was beginning to slow, and the pain in his chest was beginning to fade. The pain in his head was also beginning to ebb, as long as he didn't move any more than breathing required of him. But something was still missing…

"Are you feeling better?" the voice asked after several minutes of this, the hand still resting on his hair. "Do you think you can open your eyes?"

Could he? He supposed it was worth a shot. He concentrated and managed to open them a sliver, but they felt crusted over and heavy, and an attempt to raise his arm and rub them only reignited the ache in his chest. He whimpered, wanting to curl in on himself, but his body wouldn't move that way.

"Sssh… it's going to be okay," the kind voice said. "Here…" the hand stopped stroking through his hair, and he heard the sound of someone moving. Footsteps – firm, but not heavy. The sound of… running water?

The footsteps were returning, moving closer.

Something warm and wet on his face, near his eyes.

The touch caused an ache around his left eye and he whimpered, jerking his head away and reigniting a stab of pain in his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the voice said again. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just a wet washcloth, to clean off the grit near your eyes."

He hesitated, then slowly turned his head back towards the voice, even though his head ached again at the motion.

Very gently the warm object touched his face, resting there for a moment to give him a chance to adjust to the sensation before moving up towards his eyes and bathing them. The grit weighing down his eyelids fell away under its ministrations. The hand took extra care around his left eye for some reason, but after several moments the cloth was moved away. "There you go. Try now."

This time he was able to open his eyes – well, mostly. His right eye flicked open, blinked several times to adjust to the low light in the room, before focusing… but his left eye only opened the slightest sliver. He struggled to open it more, but the eyelid just wouldn't move. His breathing sped up, his chest aching… until the hand settled back on his forehead again.

"It's alright. Don't panic. You have a rather spectacular black eye, so it may take some time before you can open it fully, but there wasn't any damage to the eye itself. Slow, deep breaths…"

He managed to slow his breathing, his right eye sliding closed while he regained control of himself before he opened it again. The strange, red flesh walls were gone. Instead he was in a warm, bright room with ivory-colored walls. Sunlight (actual sunlight!) was coming in through the window on the far side of the room. He was lying… in a bed? With an actual blanket on top of him and a pillow under his head?

Very, very carefully, he turned his head to the left, where the voice was coming from, wanting to see who the voice belonged to. His head speared with pain again, but already it was a bit less than it had been before.

It took a moment to focus with only one eye before he made out the face of a middle-aged man with tousled silver hair. Thin, dark-tinted lenses sat perched on his nose, but behind the frames were warm brown eyes. He had never seen this man before… but he was familiar?

"There you are," the man said, a small smile flickering over his face. "Good morning."

Oscar blinked again. "W-" he tried, his voice coming out as a strangled croak. "Wh-"

"Ah." The man placed the damp cloth on the tray near the foot of the bed and picked up a cup and pitcher. He poured a small amount of water into the cup before placing the pitcher back on the tray. He slid a hand beneath Oscar's shoulders, raising him up slightly and bringing the cup to his lips. "Slowly," the man cautioned.

The cool water was heavenly. Oscar couldn't remember the last time he'd had something to drink. It was tempting to try to gulp it down, but he didn't have the energy to move that quickly. He took several sips before the cup was pulled away and he was lowered back down.

He lay there, breathing slowly for a moment. He was so confused as to what was going on. The last thing he remembered was being in that cell with Hazel and Salem…

Had the others saved them? Had Oz been right? They'd chased after the Hound and somehow rescued him? If so, where were they? Where was he? This didn't look like Atlas or Mantle.

Oz?

There wasn't any answer from the old wizard, which was unusual. Oz had only ever been silent to his questions when he had been locked away in his self-imposed exile… but he had promised he would never lock himself away like that again.

Oz? What's going on?

Still no response… and Oscar suddenly realized that he couldn't even feel Oz's emotions through their bond. Even when Oz had been locked away, he had been able to tell that the wizard was still there, in his mind, Oscar just hadn't been able to reach him. But now… there was absolutely nothing.

You promised you wouldn't abandon me again!

He felt hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and choked back a sob. Why would Oz be quiet like this? Had Salem done something to him?

I'm so sorry, Oscar. Goodbye…

That couldn't be real, could it?

"Are you alright?" the man sitting beside the bed asked, and all of a sudden Oscar realized that his voice sounded familiar... but it couldn't be… could it?

"W-who a-are you?" he managed to get out past the growing lump in his throat.

"A proper introduction would seem to be in order," the man agreed. "Hello. I'm Professor Ozpin of Beacon Academy."

Ozpin wasn't sure what he expected from Oscar, but it wasn't to see tears welling up in his eyes. The boy looked… distraught.

"Oz?" he croaked, blinking rapidly so that the tears traced damp furrows down his cheeks. "Oz, no… no you didn't… you promised you…" His breathing was becoming harsh again as he vainly tried to choke back sobs.

Even if he had used the derivative of Ozpin's name the day before, he'd been delirious and in pain – and Ozpin was well-known in all four Kingdoms. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that the boy recognized him from a photo or an interview he may have done in the past. But the emotion didn't make sense, even taking the boy's condition into account. He'd never seen this boy before – he couldn't have promised him anything.

"Oscar, it's okay," Ozpin said, reaching a hand towards the boy. Oscar pulled back, however, cringing away from him in utter terror.

"This is a trick… you… no, this…" Oscar's breath was coming faster and ever more harshly. "I… no, I won't… nothing…"

"You're safe," Ozpin began. He reached just a little further to try and soothe the boy, but Oscar let out a wordless cry of denial. His cry quickly devolved into heaving gasps for breath as he strained the injuries to his chest.

The door opened and two nurses hurried in. Ozpin snatched his hand backward as one of them snapped, "What's happening?" The other nurse swiftly moved to boy's side.

"I'm not sure," Ozpin admitted worriedly. "I introduced myself to him and… he panicked."

"It's okay," the other nurse was trying to calm the boy, who was still desperately trying to catch his breath, which alternated between painful-sounding coughs and heaving gasps. He sounded as if he was on the verge of hyperventilating, but he continued to pull away, swatting ineffectually at the nurse.

Glynda moved to Ozpin's side and pulled him back, out of the way. The first nurse pulled out her scroll and made a call, and a few minutes later, Dr. Ashburn hurried back into the room, taking in the situation quickly. "He's going to end up tearing his lung again if we don't calm him down." She snapped an order to the first nurse, who hurried out of the room.

"What are you going to do?" Ozpin asked.

"We're going to sedate him. Between the panic and his wriggling, he has a good chance of reopening his wounds or creating new ones," Ashburn replied quickly.

"Sedation doesn't sound very good for him, either," Ozpin protested.

"Keeping him sedated isn't idea, but we need to keep him calm before he hurts himself."

It would also keep Ozpin from getting answers from Oscar – and if Salem actually was looking for the boy, it would put him in more danger. He looked back at the bed and the boy still struggling there. "Wait. Let me see if I can calm him down."

"We can't risk –"

Ozpin moved back to the bed and took a seat on the edge of it. "Oscar," he said firmly. "I need you to listen to me." He was acting on a supposition, based on the way the boy had responded to him earlier. "Don't panic. We won't hurt you." He reached out and pulled the boy upright, wrapping him in an embrace and pressing the boy's head to his own chest. "You're safe. She can't hurt you anymore. I won't let her."

Whether it was his touch, his words, or just the fact that the boy's manic energy was fading quickly, he could feel the boy's breathing beginning to slow. He kept one hand pressed to the back of his head, stroking his hair, and the other firmly, but gently, wrapped around his waist, trying not to put any pressure on his chest due to the broken ribs.

"Slow, deep breath," he urged, taking one himself and holding it for a moment before letting it out. He did it again and felt the boy trying to copy him. "That's it. Just breathe. You're safe. She will never hurt you again."

Finally, the boy's breathing calmed, and he sat shuddering in Ozpin's arms. "I – I can't…"

"Ssh…" Ozpin soothed him. "You're safe."

"Oz… why… why?" Oscar mumbled into his chest.

"I don't know why this happened to you, Oscar," Ozpin said softly, "but we're going to figure it out."