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The Vessalius family got the ransom note not quite twenty four hours after the oldest son went missing. Xai Vessalius, the boy’s father, crumpled it up and threw it in his nearly-spotless steel wastebasket, where it was discovered seven hours later by his brother’s foster son, Gilbert Baskerville, who had been convinced by Xai that he needed to earn his keep in order to be allowed anywhere near Oz, and as such did his best to make himself as useful as possible: in this case, taking out Xai Vessalius’s trash, though he loathed the man with everything in him. After all, it had been over a day since he’d seen Oz, which was over a day longer than he liked to go without seeing Oz, and so Gilbert was convinced it was it was all his fault, and that Xai had banned Oz from seeing him again—a process that, more often than not, involved Oz being locked in his room until Oscar noticed and let him out, which could be anywhere from an hour or two or nearly a week, if Oscar was away on a business trip, because the only reason Oz Vessalius ever stayed away from Gilbert was if he was physically stopped.
Gilbert, who hated Oz’s father, had absolutely zero compunctions about reading through his mail, and so, when he noticed the singular letter alone in the wire mesh of the trash can, Gilbert snatched it as though it were something precious and scuttled away to his own room, unfolding the letter once he was certain the door was closed and locked.
In large, typewritten letters, clearly printed out from some sort of library computer, the note read: IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR SON ALIVE AGAIN, COME TO LEGNARD’S BRIDGE AT MIDNIGHT WITH $5000.
Gilbert froze. Xai Vessalius, who made it very clear incredibly often that he did not, in fact, ever want to see his son alive again, and would probably want nothing to do with his corpse, either, definitely would not have any intention or desire to pay even a penny to get Oz back. In fact, as Oz had told Gilbert the last time he was almost kidnapped, the kidnappers would probably need to pay Xai upwards of half a million dollars to take Oz back.
Gilbert, who did not have $5000 to his name—at least, not that he knew of or was capable of accessing, though Oscar had, in fact, put away an amount of money generally regarded as completely fucking insane in a trust fund for him—could not think of anything to do other than curl into a little ball on the floor and cry. Oz— his Oz, his very best and only friend in all the world, the most important person in his life—had been kidnapped, and he was going to die, and there was nothing at all that Gilbert could do about it.
He did not consider attempting to contact Oscar, who would be returning to the Vessalius home within a few hours. He did not consider trying to alert the superheroes: the B-Rabbits, the Raven, the Mad Hatter, Eques—the group of heroes known as Pandora. As big a fan Oz was of the running joke that the five heroes were the world’s evils, escaped from the box, hope lagging behind, Gilbert had never given much thought to them. Oz was his hero, and Oz’s uncle Oscar, and so Gilbert hadn’t ever had any need to consider a bunch of superpowered weirdos running about the city at all hours of the day and night, and so he didn’t even think that they might help him now.
Eventually, he moved to Oz’s bedroom and commenced his crying there for several hours until the window opened and a tall shape crawled through.
“Oz,” it hissed in a low voice.
Gilbert screamed, fell off Oz’s bed, and began sobbing with renewed vigor as the figure moved closer and picked Gilbert up with black-gloved hands, causing him to wail in terror.
“You,” said the superhero known as Raven, the newest member of Pandora, “are not Oz Vessalius.”
Gilbert merely sobbed harder.
“My, my~” came another voice, this one light and mocking, coming from a figure dressed in pastel blues and purples with a large top hat obscuring most of his head. “Is our sweet little Oz having a cute little homoerotic sleepover?”
Gilbert, who did not know the meaning of the word ‘homoerotic’ but did desperately wish he was having a sleepover with Oz instead of Oz being kidnapped, only cried harder.
“There’s nobody else in the room, Hatter,” Raven replied dryly. He shook Gilbert up and down slightly, like a magic eight ball that was giving him consistently useless answers. “Where is Oz Vessalius? We have business with him.”
“He’s been kidnapped and his father won’t pay the ransom!” Gilbert wailed.
“Kidnapped? Really ?” came a third voice, a girl’s, from the windows.
“Kidnapped my ass,” Raven muttered.
“Now, now, you two,” said Hatter, “there’s plenty of reason for someone else to have kidnapped darling little Oz…for example, ransom, or there were witnesses so Oz couldn’t escape…”
“A stunt, to see how much his family cares about him,” Raven added, seeming slightly mollified. “That does sound like the sort of thing he might pull…though I don’t know why …”
Gilbert screamed as though he was dying. “Oz wouldn’t!” he wailed. “He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t—he’s been kidnapped and he’s going to die !”
“Yeesh, you’re loud,” muttered the Mad Hatter. “I can just tell you’re going to grow into the most pathetic, useless adult possible, someone who’s going to get pulled out of scrapes by an actual child …”
“Two actual children,” said the girl in the window.
“You’re both awful,” said Raven, carefully placing Gilbert back down onto Oz’s bed. “Gilbert. Do you know who took Oz?”
Gilbert shook his head, still crying.
“Do you have the ransom note?” the girl in the window asked. She had gotten out of the window, now, and moved closer: she was dressed in a beautiful, old-fashioned gown, long skirt swaying in the wind coming in through the open window, black lace that looked as though it was purposefully ripped floating behind her.
Gilbert sniffled, producing it; Raven snatched it out of his hands.
“We’ll look into this,” the superhero promised gruffly, turning and heading back to the Mad Hatter and the girl in black lace—either one of the B-Rabbits or Eques, Gilbert wasn’t sure. The black lace around the girl grew, and blurred out the three figures, and Gilbert suddenly realized that she wasn’t in a full dress but rather a catsuit with shadows draped around her like lace—and then the three superheroes were gone.
The next morning, Sharon Rainsworth came over to do lessons with Oz.
Sharon, granddaughter of the mayor of the city, was exactly the nice sort of young lady boys in Oz’s position were expected to spend time with, and whenever she came over, she and Oz spent a good deal of time whispering with their heads together over some book or notebook or other written entirely in cipher. Gilbert was often jealous of their easy camaraderie, but Sharon came over maybe once a month, while Oz spent all day every day, usually, with Gilbert, so Gil’s jealousy didn’t often take wing.
Today, Sharon came directly into Oz’s bedroom without having to be shown in, and took a look around, eyes first flickering over Gilbert lying miserably on Oz’s bed before finally coming to rest on him.
“Good day, Gilbert,” the girl said, stepping further into the room. Sharon looked lovely as always, her blonde hair up in a high ponytail, wearing a floral patterned shirt with the sleeves off of her shoulders, pale blue skinny jeans, and pink ballet flats that she took off upon entering Oz’s bedroom, revealing pastel purple toenails. Gilbert immediately pissed himself off, imagining Oz’s reaction to the girl in front of him. He would probably be charmed, which was deeply unfortunate; Gilbert wanted Oz to be charmed by him, though that would likely never happen, seeing as the two boys lived together and therefore Oz saw Gilbert at his most embarrassing on the regular.
“Hello, Sharon,” Gilbert said glumly.
Sharon looked around the room once more, eyes bright and curious. “Where’s Oz?” she said. “Mr. Oscar said he was up here with you…”
“He’s been kidnapped,” said Gilbert miserably. “I found the ransom note in Xai Vessalius’s trash can. There’s nothing I can do…”
“You didn’t even tell Oscar?” Sharon said.
“Doesn’t he already know? The note was thrown away, Sharon!”
“He just told me that Oz was upstairs with you!” Sharon, frustrated, whirled around on her heel. “Come along, Gilbert. We’re telling Oscar—immediately!”
Gilbert followed obediently, half-terrified, half-glad to have orders to follow. They hurried down the great main staircase in the Vessalius mansion, around and through a few hallways, and through exactly one air duct—a shortcut discovered by Oz a few years back that Gilbert hadn’t been aware he’d shared with Sharon—to come to a stop outside of Oscar Vessalius’s office. His voice, furious, was coming through the door, though none of the words were audible.
“Oh…” Sharon said meekly, “he’s in a meeting…”
Gilbert, who cared far more about Oz’s safety than he did Oscar Vessalius’s job, pressed down on the door handle, which, being unlocked, swung open with far more force than he’d intended.
Oscar Vessalius was swearing roundly at his computer screen, using language that Gilbert had only ever heard before hurled at the younger brother whom he hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. Gilbert felt his face immediately grow hot, and he reached up to cover his ears only for Sharon to gasp and grab him by the wrist, leaning close to his ear.
“Look at the computer screen!” she hissed. “It’s—another ransom!”
Gilbert looked. On the screen, a couple masked figures—different in build from the ones who had visited Oz’s bedroom last night—were standing around a slight, blond figure bound to a chair. The figure was hanging limply in his bonds, face bruised, staring blankly down at the bloodied floor.
Oz.
Sharon’s hand clamped over Gilbert’s mouth before any sound could escape, and she squeezed tightly as he rapidly teared up again. On the screen, Oz wasn’t moving; as Oscar finished cursing, however, one of the masked men on the screen spoke.
“As you can see,” he said, “your nephew is still alive, for now, only because of the boss’s generosity after your complete and utter lack of response last night.” As if to punctuate his words, the man backhanded Oz sharply, coming back around to smack him again with the other half of his hand. Oz’s head shifted; he let out a low moan of pain, though nothing more.
“They’ve drugged him—!” Sharon murmured, directly against Gilbert’s ear. “So that’s how…”
“You bastards,” Oscar gritted out, “sent the ransom note to my brother. Of course you didn’t get a response—”
Oz, on the computer screen, flinched; this was the last straw for Gilbert, and he burst into tears again.
Sharon tugged him bodily out of the room, closing the door with a click. “Oscar knows,” she said, relieved, “and now I know more too, so—you ought to get something to drink, and I’ll contact Break.”
Gilbert sniffled pathetically, and allowed himself to get dragged down to the kitchen, empty at this time of day, where he was sat down with a tall glass of water with lemon and ordered to drink it while Sharon went upstairs to collect her shoes.
When she came back, Gilbert had managed to choke down half the glass before pushing it away and slumping face down on the table. Sharon patted his shoulder consolingly.
“Oz will be alright,” she said bracingly. “Oscar won’t let them do anything more to him, and I’m sure the superheroes will be on their way to rescue him any moment!”
“But how will they know where he is?” Gilbert moaned into the table.
“They’re very good at their jobs,” Sharon said, “especially Eques, so don’t worry.”
Gilbert worried anyway. He did his best not to cry any more, though, so Sharon refilled his glass, told him that she expected him to empty it three times over by the time Oz was rescued so that he wouldn’t be dehydrated, and rushed away. Gilbert did not wonder where she was going, choosing instead to gulp down a few more mouthfuls of lemon water and continued crying.
Since he was no longer sequestered away in Oz’s bedroom, though, Gilbert was not alone for long: soon enough, Ada, nearly nine and in the middle of a witchcraft phase, tugged a boy a couple of years older than her into the kitchen, chattering his ear off about blood sacrifices.
Ada was such a cute kid.
Gilbert’s head was pillowed in his arms, and he was sobbing, and so he didn’t actually see the boy enter. The boy saw him, though, and stopped short, as Ada hurried over and climbed up onto the stool next to him in order to poke him in a child’s imitation of her big brother’s initial manner of finding out why Gilbert was crying this time.
“Gilbert? Is everything okay?” she asked.
“...Gilbert?” said a voice Gil hadn’t heard in five years.
“Where’s Oz?” Ada finished, knowing full well that her brother would either be able to comfort Gilbert and calm him down or smack him so hard he forgot he was crying.
“He’s been kidnapped and they’re going to kill him !” Gilbert wailed.
Ada gasped, and burst into tears as well, before sliding off the stool and whirling back to her friend. “Vincent!” she said. “We need to find a, a squirrel, or something, we need to sacrifice it to curse the people who took my brother—”
“Vincent?!” Gilbert exclaimed between sobs, looking up and meeting eyes with his brother for the first time in half a decade.
“Curse?!” Vincent squawked, looking like he was about to die. “Gil!”
“Vincent!” Gilbert started sobbing harder, distantly surprised that he still had enough water for tears within him. The last time he’d seen his younger brother had been in barely-there flashes on consciousness, as Vincent dragged Gilbert’s broken body out of the destroyed Baskerville compound, before they’d been split up by CPS, claiming that no two Baskervilles would be allowed to go to the same family, not even allowed to hear if the other was okay.
Before being adopted by the Baskervilles, Gilbert had resented his brother, but that had lessened as they found a place to belong, and once that place was gone, Gilbert had no longer had a brother of any sort.
His reminiscencing was interrupted by an armful of younger brother, and Gilbert immediately clung back just as tightly, wailing into Vincent’s shoulder. He had lost his best friend—he had regained his brother—today was horrible and wonderful and horrible and just the worst rollercoaster of emotion Gilbert had ever been on.
Vincent was also crying, though not as much—he never had cried as much as Gilbert did—when the brothers were startled by an animal’s cry of pain.
Ada had, while they were distracted, gotten her hands on a wickedly sharp knife and a small mouse from one of the traps in the pantry—there had been an issue a few months prior with a supervillain who turned inanimate objects into mice and rats, and now it was rare to find a building without an infestation—and stabbed it over the countertop. She was currently drawing strange symbols in its blood while quietly chanting to herself in an unfamiliar language.
What a cute kid.
Gilbert found himself reassured that, though the world had fallen off its axis and everything was unraveling, Ada remained the same sweet, cute little girl she always had been.
Vincent let out a terrified, disgusted noise, and, on instinct, Gilbert stepped in front of his brother, shielding him from whatever danger was in the kitchen, though there wasn’t any to be found. There was just Gilbert, and Vincent, and Ada, who had looked up at Vincent’s squawk and was now smiling at them, though her eyes were still red from crying.
“Gil, I know you’re scared of blood, but—Vincent, come over here, I want to show you how this curse works, it’s so cool!”
Vincent did not move from his position behind Gilbert until Ada bounced over, hands full of dying, squirming mouse, and presented it to them. “Look,” she said, “you dip your fingers in the blood like so, and then—”
Vincent whimpered; Gilbert began to suspect that he might be uncomfortable, even though, despite the blood, this was all very interesting, and though the occult was, as Oz had told him on many occasions, girl stuff, he was still fascinated.
Ada demonstrated her curse—to melt the skin off the people who had taken Oz, one layer for every time he’d been hurt—and Gilbert oohed and aahed at appropriate intervals, though Vincent had a vise-like grip on his shoulders and seemed, just slightly, to be trembling—probably in appreciation of Oz’s excellent little sister.
“That’s really cool, Ada,” Gilbert breathed. “And—did it really work? Have the people who took Oz melted?”
“Eurgh,” said Vincent.
“No, of course not!” Ada said, horrified. “That would mean they hurt him really awfully…”
They had, but Gilbert wasn’t going to tell an eight year old that; he just sniffled pathetically as Ada began explaining in vivid and glorious detail the exact effects of the curse she had just placed. Vincent eventually slung his arms around Gil’s neck and rested his chin on his shoulder, once he realized that Ada had gotten going and wasn’t going to be stopping unless she absolutely had to.
This occurred about an hour and a half later. There was a great commotion near the front door that immediately made Gilbert think of Oz, and so he interrupted Ada’s explanation on the ways different types of incense could probably affect your spells in order to let her know that they might have maybe brought Oz home.
The three of them rushed into the foyer, Vincent sandwiched between Gilbert and Ada, because Gilbert was loathe to let his brother go and Ada wanted to walk—or, in this case, run—next to her best friend.
Oscar was thanking the superheroes, two of which were standing in the foyer, drenched with blood—the girl B-Rabbit especially, her black hair positively dripping with the stuff onto the long carpet, and her long red coat a rusty, textured brown. Raven had slightly less blood on him—or maybe it was better hidden by the black of his outfit. He was holding Oz like a child in his arms, Oz’s hair encrusted with dry blood and his face and arms a mess of bruises. He was curled up against Raven with absolute trust, however, and his eyes were open, which meant that he could be insisting upon being put down, but wasn’t. His head was resting on the crook of Raven’s neck, and though he seemed tired, he was also content, secure carried by the mysterious superhero.
“Oz!” Gilbert bawled, breaking away from Vincent and running towards where Oscar was still profusely thanking the superheroes. Oz half-raised his head from Raven’s shoulder, and then and only then did he begin making motions as though he wanted to get down.
Raven did not put him down. Instead, he crouched low to the ground, supporting Oz as Gilbert ran to him, sobbing. Oz slumped against Gilbert, eyes half-lidded, as Gilbert clutched him, crying with abandon—relieved tears, this time, but tears nonetheless. Oz’s arms limply encircled Gilbert, his hands closing weakly on the back of his shirt, and he murmured: “They melted, Gil. All the way right down to the bone. It was awful.”
Gilbert squeezed Oz tighter, thinking of Ada’s curse. It had worked, which was good—it had worked that well, which meant Oz had been really, seriously hurt, which was awful—
“At least they’re dead now,” Gilbert said fiercely, and, to his surprise, Raven looked at him with approval, and reached out and ruffled his hair.
“They are,” he said, “and we’ve already made sure that those who survived the…curse, was it?...that melted them will face justice, if not now then soon.”
Gilbert did not ask how Raven knew that it was a curse that had killed those men—it was probably obvious to a superhero like him—and just swallowed and nodded, pulling Oz closer to him. Raven surrendered Oz into Gilbert’s hands, and Oz melted against him, eyes fluttering shut as Raven pulled back and stood.
“The drugs should be out of his system within a few hours,” he said to Oscar.
“You ought to take him to a hospital anyway,” B-Rabbit added, hands fisted in her sleeves. “The kidnappers melted! Like chocolate! They were screaming and I didn’t even get to kill them !” She sounded offended by this fact, as though killing Oz’s kidnappers were her right and privilege, and she was miffed that it had been taken away.
Oz mumbled something into Gilbert’s shoulder about courts of law, and Alice Baskerville, and cannibalism, but he seemed slightly less lucid now than before.
Technically, Alice’s last name hadn’t come up, but the only Alice Oz ever spoke or thought of was that horrid girl, who was strangely precious to him and who could always be found with Oz when Gilbert wasn’t there, and who inserted herself when he was, too, which was terrible. Alice and Gil had fought back at the Baskervilles’, and Gilbert was half-convinced the only reason she hadn’t been adopted by the Vessalius family was that Oz didn’t yet want to drop Gil for her.
Luckily for Gilbert, though, she’d been adopted already by someone else and as such was unlikely to threaten his position at Oz’s side any more than her mere existence already did.
“...You should get him into a bed, at least,” said Raven after a moment, and made as though to pick Oz up again, but Oscar was faster, and soon Oz was nestled in his uncle’s arms, looking slightly less comfortable than he had in Raven’s, which was strange, but—Raven had been the one to rescue him from the kidnappers, so it made sense that Oz would feel more secure with him.
Oscar thanked him again, looking slightly uncomfortable when the superheroes did not turn and leave, though the reason for this became clear three minutes later, when Eques’s lacy black shadow misted itself around them and they vanished into thin air, B-Rabbit leaving behind a loud, “Hey, what the f—” as though, despite having been a superhero for around a year now, she was still unused to that method of travel.
Gilbert dogged Oscar’s footsteps as Oz was carried upstairs, grounded only by Vincent by his side and the fact that Gilbert could see dirty, bruised legs and tawny blonde hair—less bright than usual, caked in dirt and what Gilbert hoped to God wasn’t blood—the only thing grounding him.
Gilbert reached out and squeezed his brother’s hand tightly. Vincent squeezed back, and they padded after Oscar until he took Oz into the bathroom to clean him up, Ada close behind to help, and Gilbert sat on the ground and pressed himself against the door, as if that would get him any closer to Oz.
“So, Oz Vessalius, huh?” Vincent murmured in Gilbert’s ear. “Is he as crazy as Ada?”
“Ada isn’t crazy,” Gilbert said, confused and a little defensive. “And Oz is a genius. It’s okay if he’s a little weird.”
“You saw the animal sacrifice too, right?!”
“That’s normal little girl stuff, though?” Gilbert replied. “Plus, how is that any different than what you did to Alyss’s cat?”
“I didn’t sacrifice it, I stabbed its eyes out, there’s a difference!” Vincent whispered back. “She used black magic !”
“Which is normal little girl stuff?”
“No it isn’t!”
“Oz says it is,” Gilbert said stubbornly, “so it has to be true.”
“Wow,” said Vincent, “you really like Oz, don’t you.”
“He’s—my best friend.” More than that, really: Gilbert simply did not have the language to describe how incredibly important Oz was to him. He was everything and he was more, he was the single pillar upon which Gilbert’s mental stability rested and he took on the task with ease and with joy. Gilbert had been Oz’s only friend right up until last year, when Oz had met Alice and then Sharon and Break in quick succession, and Oz had assured him that Gilbert was still his favorite out of all of them. “He’s the whole entire world.”
“He’s that precious to you?” asked Vincent, squeezing his hands together.
Gilbert nodded. “When he feels better I’ll introduce you,” he said. “I bet you’ll like him a lot too.”
Vincent shrugged—Vincent did not like very many people, and Gilbert was already pleased as punch that he was best friends with Ada—and Gilbert did not push the matter, instead opting to sit quietly next to his brother until the bathroom door opened inwards and Gilbert fell backwards and banged his head on the floor, and Oz did not laugh at him because Oz was barely conscious, though now clean and with his wounds bandaged and in a fresh pair of pajamas, in his uncle’s arms.
Vincent helped Gilbert up, and they followed along with Ada as Oz was carried to his bed and tucked in.
“You’re safe now,” Oscar said softly to his nephew, brushing his wet hair aside and kissing his cheek. “It’s all alright.”
“‘nd Gil?” Oz mumbled. “Alice?”
“Alice isn’t here, but—”
Distantly, a door slammed open and a girl’s voice yelled Oz’s name. Vincent began faking vomiting, before hissing, “Really, Gil? Alice Baskerville. Really?”
“Oz likes her, not me,” Gilbert whispered back. “I think she can choke .”
“Oz has bad taste, then!”
“He does not!” Gilbert could not fathom Oz having one single fault. “There’s nothing wrong with Oz! Other than all the bruises and everything!”
Vincent rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue as Alice Baskerville burst into the room, clearly freshly scrubbed raw and looking quite unhappy about being clean. She and Gilbert immediately got into a fight about which of them got to sit in the chair next to Oz’s bed, a coveted position and well-worn fight whenever Alice came over when Oz was asleep, and one that, this time, was resolved by Oscar getting another chair, equal in all things to the first, for Alice to sit in. Vincent and Ada had already left at this point, Vincent laughing at Gilbert’s argument until Ada informed him that she wanted to teach him healing spells for Oz’s sake and pulled him enthusiastically out of the room.
“You weren’t able to do anything for Oz, when he was kidnapped,” Alice said, when they were alone.
“I know,” said Gilbert. He didn’t try to argue with her—she was right. Above everything, Gilbert was weak, and useless, and a coward.
“Why does he like you so much?”
“I don’t know.” Gilbert bit his lip. “I love him.”
“Me too,” said Alice.
The two of them sized each other up like enemies on a battlefield, and were silent, as Oz slept, a barrier between them and the beginning of their silent war.