Chapter Text
Osmund Priest's cell was dark.
That was where he lived most days, tucked safely in the dark. The darkness was where he could not be harmed, so in a way it was like some sort of protector. He would have said guardian angel, but he didn't believe in such things. To do so would be to entertain the idea that there was a miracle out there that could save him. And as he would know, that wasn't happening.
Today was no different than any other day, but it is in fact today that we come upon. We cannot see it, but a small, underfed boy is hiding in blankets, hair like overgrown straw scratching at his eyes and those same pale eyes shut tight. He's telling himself a story, a grand tale of princes, magic and heroes feasts’. When the door starts to click - an indicator that it is opening - his eyes snap open.
“Cain, I swear, if I must come and drag you from the bed, you won’t get breakfast.” Agent Cjelli’s accented and overly annoyed voice filled the small room.
Breakfast?
“Sorry, 'course sir,” Osmund said quietly. He had taken the time to get dressed earlier, so when he stood he was ready to go. He had been left real, actual clothes today, which could only mean one thing.
A case.
With Cjelli.
Alone.
If any gods existed, Osmund prayed they'd have mercy on him.
“Be quick. Places to be.” Cjelli said, turning and heading back out the door, not bothering to see if Osmund was following. “There is something going on in the town not far from here, so that is where we are off to. Any questions?”
Osmund shook his head. Questions didn't seem like a good idea. As soon as he got within arms length Cjelli grabbed his arm, dragging him down a hall and away from the sound of footsteps. That happened, quite a bit when it came to actually leaving his room.
“Good. You will be in charge of locating the person, or persons and you will do so as quickly as possible. Is that understood?”
Oh, not again. osmund simply couldn't live up to the expectations Svlad had of his abilities. He couldn't force finding something.
“I can't-”
“You can. If you would simply do as I have instructed you, finding people would not be difficult. It is your resistance that hinders your connection to the universe.” Svlad said, sounding fairly exasperated.
“But-”
“The next thing out of your mouth had better be ‘yes, Agent Cjelli’, ‘I understand, Agent Cjelli’.”
“Yes sir.” Cjelli made a content sound as Osmund put his head down. “Sorry sir.”
“You always are now come-” Cjelli stumbled slightly, and odd frown crossing his face as he slowed. Osmund watched him for a moment, unsure if he was supposed to ask if he was alright, but Cjelli gave a shrug and continued down the hall, letting go of Osmund’s arm. “Come along, Cain.”
Osmund sighed. It was no use fighting him. It was better than Agent Brotzman.
Outside, the sky was dotted with clouds as it filled the greying sky. It fit the mood, he thought, very well. The car was so plain, it could have been replaced by anything else and no one would notice. Osmund stumbled being pushed into the car, his hands coming out just in time to save him from hitting his face.
“You’re absolutely inept.” Svlad huffed and rolled his eyes as he stalked in a tight circle to the other side. Osmund grabbed onto the leather to keep himself upright, nearly piercing into it with a grip so tight his knuckles were white.
“Why, am I in the front?”
“Because I said so. And what happen to those manners I taught you?” Svlad glared as he slid into the driver’s seat.
Manners. Osmund was too tired for this, truly. How could he be expected to pay attention when it was so bright and loud?
“You, said I’m not allowed in the front.”
“And now you are. Amazing how things change, isn’t it.”
Osmund frowned; Svlad seemed especially irritated today. “Not, real-”
“I don’t care, buckle up and be quiet.” Svlad said as he started the car and headed toward the road.The engine seemed incredibly loud, at least to Osmund. He covered his ears from it.
“Svlad-”
“Still don’t care.”
“But-”
Svlad slammed on the brakes sending Osmund, who had yet to actually buckle up, flying forward where he smacked his head on the dashboard.
“Look at what you’ve done. This all could have been avoided if you’d done as I told you.”
“I’m, sorry.” Osmund tried to wipe some blood from getting in his eyes, but now his hands were trembling. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m, sorry.”
“Sit back, buckle up, and be quiet.” Svlad said, punctuating the sentence with pauses and hard ‘t’s.
It still took Osmund a minute to do so; now he was devolving into a full blown panic attack. It was dumb, dumb, too dumb. He hadn’t been hit. He hadn’t been hit! There was no hitting. Was panic needed? The leather of the seat was warm under him, and he curled tight to try and calm himself.
It didn’t make it better; now he was being compressed.
Svlad started the car back up again and they continued out onto the road, driving in silence for a while. Osmund’s fear was pushed along by the cars and the lights, and it took all of ten minutes before he was covering his mouth to keep the sound of his breathing down.
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“There is clearly something wrong.” Svlad muttered.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t, want to bother you, sir.” Breathe. The world was crushing him.
“Well you've failed at that.”
Of course he had. That was so typical. Osmund bit down a cry and shuffled further away, neither of which seemed to make Svlad happy. If anything, it did the opposite.
Svlad huffed and pulled the car over, throwing it in park before turning to face Osmund.
“Explain to me what’s wrong.” He said.
“Nothin’.” Osmund’s answer came too quick. “Problem, breathin’. World ain’t good.”
“Right, well then just close your eyes.” Svlad suggested.
“Sir, please, I’m sor-”
“Osmund, just relax.” Svlad said.
“I ain’t mean to be rude sir, I ain’t, ain’t, wanna be in trouble.” Osmund covered his eyes with his hands, every muscle tense and waiting.
“It’s alright.” Svlad said, his voice getting oddly quiet. Osmund’s fingers held so tightly onto his face that he nearly caused new blood to pour over the dried trails.
Svlad gently placed his hands on the sides of Osmund’s arms. “Just breathe, alright?”
Osmund hesitated for a moment, not sure how long the intermission would last. He reached blindly out and laid against Svlad’s chest, his main goal to keep from hyperventilating. Surprisingly, Svlad didn’t push him away and held onto him gently.
“There is nothing out here that is going to hurt you. Just breathe.”
“Yes sir.”
“The world is not dangerous, it’s just sounds and lights.” Svlad continued.
But it was all so overwhelming compared to the dark. Osmund sat there, dreading when the moment would end and he would have to go back to walking on broken glass. Maybe Osmund had caught a lucky break, though.
“Can, can I eat, sir? It’s been, awhile.”
“What do you mean?”
“Agent Brotzman, says, I had to not eat since I messed, up, last time you took me off the base.”
“That was nearly two weeks ago.” Svlad said, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes- yes, sir, that happens, sometimes.” Osmund felt the urge to shrink away. Not that it would be hard. He didn’t exactly weigh very much. And Svlad, maybe for the first time, was taking in his weight, his scars, and his expression.
“Have you really not eaten?”
“It’s alright! I promise!” Osmund needed to fix this. “It ain’t that bad! I’m used to it. Please don’t go tellin’ him I told.”
“What other things does he tell you not to talk about?” Svlad asked, frowning.
“Nothing, sir, he, you’re supposed to know-”
“Osmund.” Svlad said. “What has been going on?”
His name. Osmund hadn’t heard it in years; legally, no one was supposed to call him anything but-
Maybe that was a lie too. Maybe Todd had lied to everyone.
“Not real good thin’s.”
“Alright.” Svlad said, frowning as he looked Osmund up and down. “Let’s just, find some food.”
Food? Did Svlad believe him? Did someone actually believe him?
Svlad didn’t drive right away. He was on his phone for a few minutes, texting away, before he took the wheel again. Osmund tried to wipe the dried blood away.
He needed food.
Svlad had just watched Osmund as he inhaled a whole meal, dessert, and three cookies at the diner across from a motel.
“Are, you still hungry?” Svlad asked as he slowly picked at his toast that he hadn’t managed to finish.
“No sir.” Osmund was always hungry.
“Well, just let me know if you change your mind.” Svlad said, glancing down at his phone.
“Why, ‘er we here, sir, if I can ask without casuin’ trouble.” Osmund’s voice was barely audible.
“We’re waiting.” Svlad said without looking up.
Waiting? Had he told Brotzman? Oh gosh, he probably had. Osmund mumbled the most polite apologies he could manage, and when Svlad looked up at him, he almost looked uncomfortable.
“What?” Svlad asked.
“I- I said, I’m sorry, sir, for bein’ a bother. I can stay outta the way, I promise. I can be less annoyin’.”
“You aren’t annoying me, Osmund.” Svlad said, glancing back down at his phone.
“Ya’ only use my name when I’m annoyin’ and ya’ want me to stop.”
“I would tell you if you were.” Svlad said. He looked out the window, frowning to himself.
“Yes sir.” Something was just off. Where was the anger? The annoyance?
“Far- the director and Murdoch will be here soon. In theory.” He said, looking back down at his phone.
“No.” Oh no. Osmund stared at Svlad with an unfiltered fear in his eyes. “No Murdoch will get hurt. No you can’t Brotzman will find out ya’ can’t.”
Murdoch was one of the head doctors, and the nicest man Osmund knew. If he was in trouble, ever, Osmund would probably think of calling for Ace Murdoch first. He was like a dad.
Almost.
“He isn’t going to get hurt, that’s silly.”
“This is my fault. I’m gonna get someone killed again.” Osmund went to rub his eyes, but Svlad was overcome by an extremely uncomfortable look.
“No one is going to die.” He rolled his eyes. “Probably.”
“Why do you care, if I can, sir? Brotzman ain’t that ba-”
“That needs to stop.” Svlad said, glancing up. “You and I both know that’s not true.”
“Sir-”
“Brotzman isn’t going to be dealing with you anymore.” Svlad said.
That got Osmund to shut up. Brotzman gone? That was unlikely, and something that Osmund had dreamed about too long for it to happen. Osmund crawled into the corner of the booth, and the reaction he got out of Svlad wasn't contentness, but annoyance.
“Whatever do you think you’re doing now?” Svlad sighed, abandoning his toast in favor of glaring at Osmund. Dammit, Osmund had known the moment would be over.
“Shufflin’, sir.”
“Perhaps you could manage to sit still, yes?”
“Yes sir.” Osmund lowered his gaze to the table, settling where he was three quarters into the booth.
“Good. Now come along.” Svlad said, tossing some money down onto the table and sliding out of the booth. Osmund frowned, only a little lost.
“I thought ya’ wanted me to sit sti-”
“Are you actually going to argue with me? Come along. I won’t ask again.” Svlad said, giving a look out of the corner of his eyes that could have frozen Hell. Osmund got up without another word, climbing over but trying to stay out of arm's reach. “We’re going to wait at the motel across the street.”
The motel across the street looked anything but comfortable, despite the Comfort Inn name. It was old and clearly run down. There was a teenager sat at the front desk who looked beyond bored and didn’t even bother to look at Svlad’s identification as she swiped his card for the room.
At least it had to be more comfortable than the base. Anything was better than that.
Probably.
Or maybe it wasn't much different, because as soon as the door closed the two of them in, the day just seemed to get worse. Which might have been Osmund overreacting. He could never tell anymore.
“Take a seat, they should be here soon.” Svlad muttered, taking a seat on on of the two beds as he slowly scrolled through his phone.
“Why?” Osmund blanched, trying to catch up with his words. “Ain't no- I meant yeah, yes, I meant-”
“Just shut up, and sit down.” Svlad snapped looking up at Osmund. “What was complicated about what I asked?”
“Nothing, sir, I will. Apologies. Agent, Svlad, Brotz- Cjelli, sorr-”
He had strayed too close. Svlad reached forward and grabbed tight to the top of Osmund’s arm, dragging him to the bed and pushing him backwards.
“Sit, down.”
Fuck. “Sir, sir.” Osmund’s hands were shaking again; Svlad hated that. “I'm sorry.”
“You’re incompetent.” Svlad huffed, turning his attention back to his phone, muttering something about Brotzman as he did.
“Please, I'm sorry-”
“This is how the next few hours are going to work.” Svlad said, tossing away his phone in annoyance. That was never a good sign. “You’re going to answer the director’s and the good doctor’s questions, you’re going to tell them everything about Agent Brotzman. Is that understood?”
“And you?”
In hindsight, Osmund would later decide that he would have been best keeping his mouth shut. Because Svlad didn't process the actual words in time for his reaction to be logical.
The slap stung, and most certainly left a visible mark on Osmund’s cheek based on Svlad’s slightly terrified look in his eyes as he processed what he’d just done.
“Just, answer their questions.” He muttered, pushing off the bed and slowly starting to pace.
“Yes, sir.” Osmund gave a quiet nod, his hand brushing lightly over his own cheek only to pull it away in sharp pain. He shuffled backwards on the bed, trying to get back out of Svlad’s grip.
Svlad glanced over at the motion and sighed, wandering over to the small mini fridge and producing a water bottle. He walked back over and held it out to Osmund.
Osmund flinched.
“Here. This will help with the pain.” Svlad said, trying to get the water bottle closer.
“Yes, sir.” Just take the water bottle and retreat somewhere.
“And, about, questions they might have about me. You should answer them as best you can, in whatever way you feel is best.” Svlad said, placing the bottle in Osmund’s lap after a moment of standing there. Svlad’s hand brushed against his shoulder, and Osmund bit so hard on his lip he could taste iron.
“Yes sir.”
“And I know you’ll do what’s best, right Osmund?” Svlad asked.
“Yes sir.” What Osmund wanted, in all honesty, was Murdoch.
Svlad, oddly enough, didn't seem happy with Osmund’s answers.
“Because you wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Obviously. But you don’t want to be responsible for hurting people, do you?”
“I don't think people who work at Blackwing are people, all that much, sir.” Maybe one of them was. “You all only do bad things, forgive me sayin’, please, hit me if ya’ gotta.”
“Now that’s just rude, Osmund.” Svald said, and his hand got close to Osmund’s face. But instead of a sting, he gently moved Osmund’s hair out of his eyes.
“I guess murderers are rude, sir.”
Svlad paused, an odd look crossing his face. Like he was having trouble determining what to say next.
“Quite.” He finally settled on.
“I'm sorry, sir.” Why was Osmund scared this time? “Si-”
“It’s fine.” Svlad said. “And you don’t have to call me that.”
“I'm gonna get tied up somewhere, sir.”
Svlad was seeming to like Osmund’s answers less and less.
“You won’t. I assure you.” Svlad huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wandered back toward the other bed.
Osmund wanted to hug him, he did. No one else had been permitted by Brotzman to actually give him much physical contact, if any. Which was something that Murdoch hadn't taken to liking, but he had to follow it. Though, now that Brotzman was supposedly gone, maybe that was broken. But it still stood that Svlad was the only one to ever really touch him, so it wasn't that Osmund was scared of him doing that, he was just scared of getting hit.
But there was nothing to do about it, because Svlad looked-
“Why do ya’ look scared, if I can ask, sir?”
“I don’t look scared, I look like I’m developing a migraine.” Svlad said, his eyes closed as he took a seat on the bed, carefully rubbing at his temples.
“Blackwing is evil, I think, sir.”
There was a flicker of a moment where it felt like the air itself was different; it almost tasted like bananas. A flicker where Svlad almost looked like he was going to say something. But the moment ended, and he mumbled something about not knowing anything about Blackwing.
Osmund went back to staring at the sheets.
Osmund knew the people they were waiting for had arrived by the slamming of a car door by a frantic sounding-
Doctor.
Svlad glanced toward the door, an odd look on his face. His headache had seemingly only gotten worse and now he looked almost, confused, at the knocking at the door. Nevertheless, he stood and pulled it open, being shoved aside by Murdoch as he nearly broke the door down.
Murdoch wasn't a tall man, but he wasn't all that shorter than Svlad. His hair was always done up in braids to keep them out of the way of his work, but now his hair was down, and his eyes found Osmund huddled on the bed in a matter of seconds.
“Oz.” Murdoch didn’t hurry over, he knew better than to rush forward, but he wasn’t slow about it either, making it to the bed in a matter of moments and taking a seat. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” No.
“Osmund.” Murdoch said, his voice lowering slightly. He always seemed to know when Osmund was lying. No matter what it was about. It was only due to his work contract and his obsessively busy schedule that no one had listened to his suspicions about Brotzman thus far.
But Murdoch was a good man.
“Please don't give me another handler. Please. I don't want someone worse.” It felt like something was breaking, and there were floodwaters waiting to be let loose. The director was in the doorway, but Osmund wasn't even looking her in the eye.
“No one is going to be worse. I promise.” Murdoch said quietly. He held his hand out for Osmund, watching closely.
“I'm sorry. Really. I'm fin-” Murdoch’s hand moved towards his face, and Osmund’s flinch was met with nothing more than the dull ache on his cheek being inflamed. Someone else was standing there too now, but Osmund still didn't pay attention.
“That looks like it hurts. I’m going to run and grab an ice pack from the car.” Murdoch said, patting Osmund’s leg as he stood and turned to look at the director who had walked over. He leaned in a little closer to her and muttered just loud enough for Osmund to hear. “That’s definitely new.”
“I noticed.” Her voice was cold, and her eyes hardened into a glare over at Svlad. “Buddy, hey, Osmund’s face is banged up. He fall down?”
“What happens if I say no?” Svlad asked, raising an eyebrow. He honestly didn’t look like he was doing all that well himself.
“I won't shoot you.” She kept glaring. “I'm here on claims you made about Osmund accusing Brotzman of abuse, but I think I have to expand that questioning a little. Did you hit him!?”
“I didn’t-” Svlad scrunched his eyes slightly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think that-”
“It would leave a mark.”
“Director, I understand the severity of-”
“You don't, Svlad. Your job is to help guide him, and Brotzman’s was to take care of him. So I'm going to ask Osmund about you, Brotzman, and then remove him from your care. You aren't fit to take fucking care of him. I have half a mind to pull his brother out of his medically-induced coma to kick your ass.”
What?
“What?” Osmund’s voice mirrored his thoughts. “Martin's dead.”
Svlad sighed as he sat down heavily in the chair, running his hand over his face as the director turned back to look at Osmund, a confused look on her face.
“Excuse me?” She asked.
“I killed him, miss.”
“And who told you that?” She asked, turning back to glare at Svlad.
“Brotzman and Cjelli, miss, that's why they picked out Cain for m-”
“What the actual fuck were you two thinking?” The director hissed. “You told him he murdered his brother?”
“Yes, well, that one was my idea. Not Todd’s.” Svlad mumbled, patting blinding for the pillow.
“Why would you admit- you know what, it literally doesn’t matter. Gun, badge, now.” She said, holding her hands out to Svlad.
Svlad mumbled something about the table, and Director Black pushed them to the far edge with something close to a growl. She stood there a moment before pulling out a tablet, and going to get closer to Osmund.
Martin wasn't dead.
Martin wasn't dead.
But what did that mean? Wasn't Martin the maniac who had tried to drown him? Surely he was the reason behind weird night terrors about the cold and the rain, two separate occurrences.
“Osmund, are you comfortable answering some questions or would you prefer to do this back at the base?”
“No, I don't wanna go back. Don't give me a new handler please.” And there was the panic. The director looked almost surprised as she took in the amount of sheer panic in his eyes.
“Osmund, it will be-”
There was a loud clap of thunder from outside and Svlad sat up straight like he had been shocked, a move Osmund had never actually seen him do.
“Please,” Osmund whispered. “The handlers are bad.”
“They all aren’t like Cjelli and Brotzman, I promise.” The director said, sighing as she took a seat on the bed in front of him.
“Can ya’ leave the light on please miss? I never see it. Brotzman keeps my light off.”
“For how long?” She asked, frowning slightly.
“As long as I'm in there, unless he comes in, which ain't good neither. I'm in there unless Cjelli takes me, miss.”
“You never leave the room?” She definitely didn’t look pleased, but unsurprised.
“I go to the hospital wing when I get too hurt.”
“And how hurt is too hurt?” The director asked.
“If somethin’ in my chest or belly or head breaks.”
“Right.” She sighed. A quick glance down at her tablet and she was starting to scroll. “So, you never leave the room and you suffer severe injuries. What's the longest you’ve gone without food?”
“Fourteen.” Osmund had had water, and he knew the number because he had counted. “He likes that number.”
“D-days?” She stuttered slightly as she looked up. “Fourteen days?”
“Yes miss.” That might have been a bad answer.
“Right.” The director set the tablet aside and stood up, turning to start pacing but paused as she watched Svlad - still sitting completely straight - watch the window. “Would you like to dispute any of this or are we going to have to wait for a lawyer?”
“I'm not sure he can read,” Svlad mumbled.
Now the director reeled back, and Osmund went completely red.
“You didn’t teach him to read!? How about you just tell me what you did do? That seems like an infinitely shorter list.”
“We don't do much reading. Running. A lot.” Svlad rubbed his face slowly. “Todd’s supposed to teach. Don't know. He makes me read things. Don't know the answer, sorry.”
“What is wrong with you?” She asked as the door clicked open and Murdoch reappeared, holding a bag and not an ice pack.
“I can too read,” Osmund tried to stand up for himself.
He was lying.
He could only just barely.
“I’m sorry, he doesn’t know how to read?” Murdoch asked, placing the bag down on the table next to Svlad who flinched.
“I can, I can.” Hide.
“Svlad.” The director huffed and snapped her fingers in Svlad’s face. “You need to tell me which parts if your job you actually did correctly.”
“It's not my job to teach him. He might be able to. I don’t know. None. I'm tired.” Svlad really did sound exhausted.
“Nope, you don’t get to not have answers.” The director said. “You and me, outside, now.”
“I can read.” Osmund was trying not to hyperventilate. “I can, that, that sign by the door. Says. Says. Shoes, are- arn- arnet- needed, at, hom. Home.”
“Osmund.” Murdoch said quietly as he walked over and knelt down next to him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to prove anything.”
“Don't take Svlad away. No one else touches me.”
“Excuse me!?” The director almost shouted as Murdoch’s head snapped to look over toward Svlad.
“What?” Oh gosh. Osmund knew he had fucked up, but he didn't know how or why. “No one- no one's ever- no one else’s ever hugged me or not hit me. No one else is allowed to touch me because of Brotzman’s rules.”
That seemed to calm Murdoch and the director, if only a little. Svlad just looked rather lost, glancing over toward Osmund like he was seeing him for the first time.
“I'm sorry.” Osmund tried to curl down, but, something was keeping him from doing so all of a sudden.
“It’s alright, Oz.” Murdoch said quietly. “How about we go sit in the car for a little bit. Does that sound okay?”
Murdoch.
Ace Murdoch was the only person to ever truly take care of Osmund, and maybe he was the inky person who Osmund couldn't ever see abandoning him. He was almost like a father, though Osmund would never admit it. But now he reached out, slowly, and through the timespan of a minute, he wrapped his arms around Murdoch.
He had never hugged him before. Murdoch was only permitted by Brotzman to touch him to do all that doctor shit.
It felt safe.
Murdoch wrapped his arms around Osmund and carefully lifted him off the bed and headed for the door. The director watched them go and then turned to face Svlad as the door closed.
There was a thunderstorm happening outside, but luckily the car was close and unlocked. Murdoch climbed in the back with Osmund and carefully set him down in the seat, still holding on tight.
“It’s all going to be okay, Oz.” He said quietly.
“I ain't wanna go back. Blackwing is bad. I ain't want the dark again.”
“You’re not going to get stuck in the dark, I promise.” He said. “We’re going to make sure that you get the care you need.”
“No one gets care there.”
“That’s, just not true.” Murdoch sighed. “There are people who care.”
“I wish there was more than one adult who was carin’.” Osmund whispered it like a secret.
“There is.” He said. “There are so many, and I wish you hadn’t been stuck with the two who didn’t.”
“I'm okay with just ya’ carin’. I-” But Osmund didn't finish his sentence, because it would have been a lie. “I'm scared.”
“I know, but it's going to be okay.” Murdoch said, frowning and glancing back toward the door of the motel room. “Do you mind waiting here for a minute? I’m just going to go check on-”
“Murdoch!” The Director's voice called out. “Can I please talk with you? I need to figure out how the fuck to arrest Todd.”
“I’ll be right back, alright?” Murdoch asked as he pushed the car door open.
And somehow, through bickering between Director Black and Murdoch, Osmund ended up back in the motel room. Svlad hadn’t moved much and was sitting slouched slightly in the chair. He glanced over as Osmund walked in, and odd look crossing his face before going back to staring at the wall.
Osmuns tried to ignore him, stay out of arm's length, and he curled up on a bed.
“I’m sorry we lied about your brother.” Svlad said after a moment, not looking over at Osmund.
“‘M fine, thank ya’.”
“I’m positive that’s not true.” Svlad said. “What he- we did, it wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”
“It's alright.”
“It, really isn’t.” Svlad muttered, shuffling slightly in his seat as he glanced over at Osmund, the usual annoyance replaced with something softer. Curiosity maybe? “You’re just a child, you didn’t deserve, any of it.”
“I do, sir.”
“No, you don’t.” Svlad sighed. “The only reason you think that is because I told you that. It’s not true.”
“It is.”
“Are you going to just disagree with everything I suggest? Because that seems just a little circular.” He said, raising an eyebrow.
“Sorry.” Osmund felt the flinch in his body.
“You don’t- it’s fine.” Svlad said, looking back toward the window. “Do you ever have moments where you're positive it’s real, but nothing feels real?”
That was, odd. Osmund dared to actually get a look at Svlad’s face, and he almost looked sad. Oz pushed slowly up on his palms, folding into himself as he got into a sitting position.
“A little, sir.”
“I’m sure that, everything is real, but, it doesn’t make sense. Does that make sense?” Svlad asked, scooting forward a little and leaning on his knees.
What?
“No- no, sir.” Dammit, Osmund was so stupid. He rubbed his face, taking in a painful breath. “I'm sorry sir.”
“It’s alright. Not like it’s your fault.” Svlad mumbled. “I just fear I may be in this alone, which, isn’t new, but, it is different than what has happened in recent years.”
“Sir, please.” Was Osmund seriously crying? “I ain't know what ya’ mean. I'm sorry.”
“Oh, um.” Svlad looked up, seemingly noticing Osmund’s emotional distress for the first time. He stood and walked forward, stopping next to the bed and unsure of what to do with his hands. “Come now, don’t cry. It’s, alright, really.”
“I'm sorry.” Don't cry. “I'm sorry. I'll stop. I'll stop.”
“That’s not- it-” Svlad sighed and sat down next to Osmund, carefully wrapping him in an awkward hug. “It’s alright, you just do whatever it is you need.”
That wasn't right at all. Something was wrong here, but Osmund needed the closeness, and he turned to curl into Svlad.
“Is there something I can do to help? Or, to make you feel better?” He asked quietly, still holding onto Osmund. Whatever was going on, Osmund wasn’t going to complain about it.
“No sir,” Osmund whispered.
“You really don’t have to call me that.” Svlad muttered quietly.
Osmund chose to ignore that.
“Do you think Murdoch likes me, sir?” Osmund wanted him to. Osmund wanted Murdoch to really care. Like a parent.
“It is my understanding that he seems to be rather fond of you.” Svlad said, nodding. “He’s rather kind, I should think.”
Osmund wasn't able to respond, because he flinched. He flinched from Svlad’s hand coming up to his face, his fingers brushing along fading bruises on his cheek from being hit. There were other bruises. On his neck and down his body. But those ones weren't from Svlad, and he wasn't focusing on all the others.
“I’m so sorry about this.” He said quietly. “I know what it’s like to not deserve the way you’re being treated. You deserve better.”
That was a lie. Osmund could almost be angry, but he was just exhausted.
“I deserve what I get, sir. It ain't that bad.”
“Osmund, you’re covered in bruises, you hadn’t eaten before this morning and you never leave that cell. This is nowhere near what anyone deserves.” Svlad said, pushing back a little. He didn’t sound like himself, he sounded almost hopeful, and happy, and so very upset at the way Osmund spent his existence.
“People I meet are destined not to be good. Ain't nobody was, sir, and that's fine.” Osmund pulled his shirt closer to try to hide the bruises on his neck, which at Svlad’s angle he simply hadn't noticed. They were the reason he hadn't eaten; an enraged Brotzman was never a good thing. “I'm fine. Ain't hu-”
“What happened to your neck?” Svlad frowned, watching Osmund try to pull the shirt higher to hide the bruises.
“Nothing sir.” Shit.
“Does nothing involve Brotzman?” Svlad asked, his frown deepening.
“No, sir…” But Osmund felt an awful twist in his gut; lying would get him into even more trouble. “Yes sir.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” Asking. That was a novel concept. Osmund actually looked back up, his head tipping a bit and revealing the handprints hidden usually by the shadows his head cast.
“Did, he choke you?” Svlad asked, frowning as he inspected the the marks.
“Just a little, sir.”
“Define a little.”
“I didn't pass out this time.”
“That is an awful way to measure how good or bad something is.” Svlad sighed. “I’m sure Farah will sort it out.”
Farah? Was that Director Black? Osmund curled into himself, trying to cover the bruises on his neck. He knew that, with this rain, the Director and Murdoch would want to check him for injuries. And while the neck was just a little bit of it, it was still bad. Very bad.
Svlad sighed, his hand brushing lightly on the bruises on Osmund’s neck.
“They’ll heal, and this sort of thing won’t happen again. I guarantee it.” He said quietly. “And that doctor will be sure to take excellent care of you.”
“I, like Ace, sir.” Where was he? Osmund felt a longing in his chest for safety, and that was what Murdoch was. “I'm sorry for sayin’.”
“That you like something? You don’t need to apologize, Osmund.” Svlad said, carefully unwrapping his arms from Osmund. “Would you like me to go and find him for you?”
“I'm, alright, sir.” Yes.
“Alright.” Svlad said, looking just a bit uncomfortable and like he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. “I just thought, because you like him, more than me. But. Alright.”
“I'm in trouble.” Svlad looked almost confused at the way Osmund was shrinking away, almost like something wasn't quite right.
“What? No, not at all, you haven’t done anything.” Svlad said, giving a small sigh. “I just, have, a headache, it’s nothing you’ve done.”
“Is your head alright there?”
“Yes. No. Maybe. I’m, not entirely sure.” He said. “It’s, it’s not important. I’m sure everything will make sense, eventually.”
“Do ya’ need help?”
“Um.” He glanced toward the door where Murdoch and the director’s voices could just barely be heard. “I think I might be in this one alone. But, I’m sure I can manage.”
“is it memory problems, sir?”
“I, suppose so.” Svlad said, turning back to face Osmund.
“I can help.” Maybe if he did, no one would slap him.
“Oh. Um, alright.” Svlad said. He was frowning just a little bit, but the usual indifference in his eyes wasn’t there.
That was alright.