Work Text:
For Oz Vessalius’s fifteenth birthday, he did not get a party or cake or presents, even though he knew his uncle had been preparing all three for months now. Instead, he got woken early in the morning by a man he did not recognize but placed after a few bleary moments as his father, and taken silently from the house down to his father’s nice car, and they drove off in silence. Oz shivered in the cold December air and fiddled with the cloth of his pajama pants, his toes curling and uncurling in the carpet on the car floor. His bed had been warm, and though he had never quite liked his birthday—you had to always be smiling, always be having fun, it was exhausting—he was looking forward to opening presents, to sitting warm against Gil on the big chair in Uncle Oscar’s living room and watching a movie at the end of the night, to strawberry cake and ice cream and then having a sleepover with Gil, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have another birthday for 365 more days.
All that probably wouldn’t happen now, though. The sun had begun to stain the horizon pink-purple, and even if they turned around right now, they wouldn’t make it home before Uncle Oscar usually began birthday celebrations—pancakes with candles and singing ‘Happy Birthday’ in your bedroom, right at eight, which was fun on Gil and Ada’s birthdays, but not really on Oz’s.
But that couldn’t happen now, and even if Oz had refused his father and stayed in bed, it probably wouldn’t have happened anyway, since Uncle Oscar definitely knew about this. How could he not? It had been his house that Oz had been taken out of. Uncle Oscar had even let Father in, probably—though Oz hadn’t realized that they were talking again.
Though maybe they weren’t. Uncle Oscar and Father hadn’t spoken since Father had abandoned Oz and Ada at Aunt Sara and the baby’s funeral, but Oz had been stupid enough to say to Uncle Oscar last month that he was more like a dad to Oz than Father was, and Uncle Oscar had just changed the subject—maybe that was why. Maybe Oz was being sent away because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.
But he hadn’t been told to pack anything, and hadn’t even been allowed to get dressed—so he couldn’t really have been kicked out, right? And—and Uncle Oscar hadn’t said anything—
But he hadn’t said anything. Not when Oz had figured out the best way to make I wish you were my dad and you really loved me as much as I pretend you do, as much as you loved your son who died sound just flippant enough that Uncle Oscar wouldn’t take it seriously enough to get upset at Oz, and not at any point in the last month, and not when he’d given Oz a goodnight kiss last night—but as the day wore on, silent and cold as ice, snow flurries landing on Oz’s window before melting to water droplets and rolling away, it became harder and harder to tell himself that it would be alright, he’d be home soon, he hadn’t hideously offended Uncle Oscar and he wasn’t being kicked out.
He wondered where his father lived, if he was being taken to stay with him or if he would be dumped on some other relative—Jack, maybe, Uncle Oscar and Father’s half-brother who came by every now and again for money and terrified Gil by his very presence, or maybe his grandparents, if they were still alive, or maybe just someone who owed Father a favor. He knew it wouldn’t be Lacie and Alice and Alyss again, because they would kill Father if he brought Oz back to them after going to so much effort to get him sent away the first time, barely a year before Ada was born. If Father could have abandoned Oz with them without incurring their wrath the first time, he would have; as it was, even Uncle Oscar had been furious when he’d found Oz and Ada sitting quietly all alone in the graveyard, Father already an hour and a half gone, but he’d brought them home anyway, held them close in what still felt like the warmest, safest hug in the world. Later, Oz had realized how lucky they were that Uncle Oscar had found them at all, that he’d gone back to the graves for a moment with his family and had found Oz and Ada. Ada had been two years old and fussy, and hadn’t realized they’d been abandoned—Oz had been nine and had already guessed that he was unwanted, but he hadn’t thought that Father didn’t love Ada either, and he’d been sure that Father would come back for her, at least.
But now—six years later—he’d come back for Oz and not Ada, was driving Oz away up into the mountains as the sun began to set. No birthday celebration, then—no presents. No strawberry cake or movie night, and definitely no sleepover with Gil.
No more Uncle Oscar, either. No more pretending that anyone other than Gil could ever love him. God, Oz was such an idiot.
He still said nothing, though, as the car drove through a wrought-iron gate to a large, old building, a sign by the roadside reading LUTWIDGE ACADEMY. Lutwidge—that was a surprise. All Oz really knew about it was that it was the prestigious boarding school that his uncle had attended as a child and that Gil’s adopted brother went there, and he’d never thought that he’d ever even be on the grounds—and yet Father was parking the car, unlocking the doors. Oz hesitated, hand hovering over his seatbelt buckle, and Father looked at him like he was something nasty stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and said, “Get out.”
Oz did so quickly, the cold of the icy concrete burning into his feet as he followed his father to the large entrance doors. They paused just outside of it, Father wrapped in a heavy coat, Oz shivering in pajamas and bare feet, and Father did not look at Oz as he spoke.
“You will not disgrace the family name,” he said. “You will not attempt to contact any of us. I have spoken with your uncle, and decided that this is the best course of action. You will remain at Lutwidge and, upon graduation, make your way into the workforce and the world without bothering this family anymore. If I’m lucky, you’ll die within a few months of graduating. No matter what, you are not to reach out to me or your sister, and you are most especially not to speak to or see or contact my brother in any way. Do you understand?”
Huh? What do you mean, Uncle Oscar? You’re more like a dad to me, anyway—and I don’t even really remember what Father looked like.
—and pancakes and movie nights and the warmest, safest hugs in the world—
Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me?
“I understand, Father. I won’t cause any trouble.”
“Good.”
Father opened the door and walked inside, and Oz followed, darting into the warm air, though he couldn’t quite say he was glad to be in out of the cold, because everything in him had suddenly become hollow and unmoored and he almost wished he was still out there, shivering, because at least he wouldn’t feel this damn lonely.
They went into an office, and spoke to the headmaster, a warm round man with a perpetual smile, who was strangely worried over the fact that Oz had come with nothing other than his pajamas, but that was settled quickly enough, because in less than five minutes, Father was gone, leaving Oz alone in the office with the headmaster of the school.
“...other students are still on break for the next week and a half, so you’ll have time to get settled in,” the headmaster was saying when Oz was finally able to force himself to focus on his words. “We can get you your uniforms tomorrow, and I’m sure that there’s spare toiletries that you can use until you get your own. Your enrollment was—sudden, so you won’t be in an ordinary dorm room for the coming semester, but luckily, one room has a few open beds because one of the students living there has some…behavioral issues, so you’ll be staying in there.”
“Alright,” Oz said. He thought about how Father had suggested that he die after graduation, and wondered if his new roommate’s ‘behavioral issues’ might help to expedite that.
But no—dying at Lutwidge would probably cause trouble for the family. Better to wait it out, graduate and then go find a ditch somewhere. The sooner the better, especially if it would make Uncle Oscar happier too—though, Oz thought, it would break Gilbert’s heart.
The world roared back into focus. If Oz died, it would break Gilbert’s heart. Gil was the only person in the world who loved Oz. Gil was his everything. He couldn’t hurt Gil, couldn’t just disappear on him and then die as soon as he got the opportunity. He would have to find Gil first—see how he was doing—see what he wanted—and then Oz could safely fulfill his father’s wishes, if Gil truly didn’t want him alive.
He followed the headmaster through the school, brain darting around now. Gil had a brother at Lutwidge—one year older than Oz, three years younger than Gilbert. Maybe Gil would come visit his brother and Oz could see him then. Gil had never let Oz meet any of his siblings before, other than Vincent, but he’d returned from the Nightray house bloodied and bruised more often than not, so Oz couldn’t say he was really a fan of any of Gilbert’s siblings, not even Vincent—though he could admit to himself that his dislike of Vincent was really more petty jealousy than anything else. It was clear who Gilbert preferred, though Vincent seemed to think otherwise, and the two of them had spent the past three years of their acquaintance alternately suicide-baiting each other or teaming up to destroy anyone who even looked at Gilbert the wrong way.
If Vincent showed up at Lutwidge, Oz didn’t think that he’d be able to get a message to Gilbert through him. It would be a lot more likely that Vincent twisted Oz’s words into something cruel and insulting—and judging by Gil’s physical condition whenever he visited home, so would his brother here. But maybe Gil would come and visit him anyway. He was really sweet like that. Oz didn’t deserve him.
“This will be your room,” said the headmaster, stopping in front of a door like all the other doors and giving Oz a key. “Your roommates are named Leo Baskerville and Elliot Nightray. Our dorms usually accommodate six students, so when the other Baskerville children are enrolled you might have another roommate or two.”
“Not three?” said Oz.
“There was a slight incident with the furniture,” the headmaster said sheepishly. “There are only five working beds in the room.”
“—I see,” said Oz, thinking of Gil coming in with a bloody broken nose, of Uncle Oscar sitting him down and carefully cleaning the blood away, pressing an ice gel pack to his nose and nearly begging him to start defending himself. Gil had nearly killed three guys who tried to mug Oz once a few years back—he’d shot them, and beat them into the pavement, and only let them go when the cops were called—but when it came to his adopted siblings, he never did anything to stop them abusing him. It killed Oz, the way Gilbert would just let himself be hit if it was by family, the way he was stronger than anyone else physically but only used that strength to protect Oz, as if Oz deserved that protection, that love.
Gilbert was the only person in all the world who loved Oz. Oz couldn’t let himself lose that love like he’d lost Uncle Oscar’s, and his father’s and mother’s before he even knew that was possible, and Alice’s and Alyss’s and Lacie’s when he hadn’t been able to protect the twins from—from—
Well, he didn’t remember what it was he’d done, or much of anything about them, really, outside of Alice’s crumpled, bleeding little body after she’d stabbed herself because of Oz, and Alyss’s screams upon finding her, and Lacie holding him in her lap and telling him he had to go away for a little bit, at least until the twins had recovered.
He had never been allowed back, and his head and heart ached like hell remembering even that little, and he was certain that Alice hadn’t survived anyway, so what was the point in remembering it at all?
The point was that Gilbert was the only person who loved Oz, the only person whose love Oz hadn’t lost, and Oz would do anything to keep that love, but right now the only contact he might have with Gil was through his abusive siblings—Elliot Nightray specifically, a name that Oz had never heard from Gilbert before, but one he had heard from Vincent. According to Vincent, Oz was not to ever speak to Elliot Nightray, because Elliot was noble and kind and intelligent, and all Oz would do was corrupt him.
But Oz and Elliot were roommates—and if the Nightray in Lutwidge was Elliot whom Vincent liked, then he probably didn’t actively hurt Gil. There wasn’t really any way to continue at the school without interacting with Elliot, and so Oz decided once and for all that Vincent was a dick and he didn’t have to do as he asked him to.
He said his goodbyes to the headmaster and then, when it was clear the man wouldn’t leave without making sure Oz had settled in comfortably, unlocked his room, stepped inside, said goodbye again, and closed and locked the door.
There were three bunk beds in the room, and a bathroom on one side and a living area on the other. One of the bunk beds was rather conspicuously missing its bottom bunk, and that area had been filled with bean bags, pillows, two blankets, and several books. Most of the beds were unmade, but one was filled with books, its messy covers barely visible underneath all of them, and the other made up neat as a pin. The other beds seemed to be in use as bookshelves as well, and Oz blinked around at them before making his way into the living area.
This was full of books as well, though here at least they were on shelves and not anywhere Oz could sleep. There was a couch and a couple of chairs, and six desks, two of which were clearly in use, though again one was far neater than the other, which was practically buried under a mountain of books.
Oz wondered if the sheer amount of books in the room meant that he’d get along with his roommates, or that he might be able to borrow textbooks from them when class started. It all depended, he supposed, on whether or not it was Elliot Nightray who had the ‘behavioral issues’—doubtful, from Vincent’s estimation of him—and how much he bought into the Vessalius-Nightray rivalry.
Oz himself had already decided his feelings on said rivalry: it meant absolutely nothing to him, outside of Vincent Nightray kissing him silly and then telling him how worthless he was before he could regain his breath, or him biting Vincent’s lip or tongue moments before and licking up his blood. After all, Gil was a Nightray and Oz adored Gil, and anyway, who cared about some dumb rivalry started by old men long dead? It was a distraction at best—though from what, Oz hadn’t been able to dig out yet—and a crude pastime at worst, and Oz had no intention of perpetuating it—hence the kissing of Vincent Nightray, whom he legitimately hated.
Maybe kissing Elliot Nightray would help with this too, though Oz didn’t really want to hate his roommate, and had trouble imagining any sort of kissing that didn’t leave him feeling wrung-out and anxious with hate trickling in at the edges. He couldn’t imagine kissing anyone he got along with, period, though he knew that once upon a time he had, when he was young and didn’t know about any of Gil’s siblings, and his world began and ended at the gates of Uncle Oscar’s mansion.
But once upon a time Oz had known and thought and felt a lot of things, none of which were true anymore, and so he walked around the edges of the common area and then back across to look at the bathroom—one shampoo, one conditioner, a bottle of soap half-empty, two toothbrushes and two toothpastes waiting for their owners to return from the break. Nothing that Oz could use for himself, but maybe tomorrow he could ask the headmaster for spares. For now, he carefully closed and locked the door behind him, removed his pajamas, folded them, and put them on the toilet, and then stepped into the shower, turning the water up as hot as possible, and borrowed the smallest amounts of his roommates’ shampoo to wash himself with. After this, he stayed under the hot water until his legs got too tired to support him, and then he sat down in the bathtub and hugged his knees to his chest and thought about how Uncle Oscar and Ada and Gil were probably having cake right now, and watching a movie, and having excellent fun, and how damn much he wished he could be with them.
He finally turned off the shower when the heat began leeching away, long after he was covered in burns, and then he sat in the tub until he was dry, and then, with Herculean effort, he put back on his pajamas, and, lobster-red, left the bathroom, steam billowing out behind him, and went over to the common area and lay down on the couch, closing his eyes.
It was hard not to think about the sleepover with Gil he’d thought he would have tonight, about curling close against him in bed and taking advantage advantage advantage of Gilbert’s selfless love for him. If he were at home now, he could have pressed warm against his Gil, and Gil would have waited until he thought Oz was asleep and then held him tight and told him I’ll always take care of you, you’ll never leave me.
But Oz had left Gil, and now the only thing holding him were his dirty pajamas, rubbing against his light burns from the hot water and chasing away even the thought of sleep, even though he squeezed his eyes shut tight and did his best to drift off.
He didn’t manage to fall asleep until long after midnight, and woke up some hours later to the sun shining in his eyes, his back and neck sore and his torso still aching from the burns from his shower. He had nothing to change into, though he was certain that his new roommates had left clothes behind while they were on break; still, though, he didn’t want to be rude, and anyway, if he ticked off Elliot Nightray, Gil might catch it.
But nobody would be able to tell if he read one of the many, many books strewn about the room, so he went and picked up the closest one and returned to the couch, curling up small in the corner of it and losing himself in the book, until he was blinking at the last page, and stood to return it and then wait for the headmaster to come by and bring him to go get his uniform.
This didn’t happen for another while—long enough for Oz to use the restroom and freshen up and then sit waiting on the couch for long enough to start eyeing another book—but when the knock came at his door, Oz stood, dropping his key into his pajama pocket, and went to go get his new things.
He was given a shirt and some sweatpants first, and then, after changing, shown down to the cafeteria, where he got some breakfast. Oz hadn’t realized how hungry he was before sitting down to eat, but after inhaling two servings of breakfast, he felt starkly better, more solid, more real.
“You have a good appetite,” said the headmaster.
“I—didn’t have anything to eat yesterday,” Oz admitted. “Father and I were driving all day, and he didn’t want to waste any money on feeding me—so. I was hungry.”
Something darkened in the headmaster’s eyes, the same sort of anger that had sunk into Uncle Oscar that day at Aunt Sara’s funeral. “The kitchens are still open during break, and you can go down to them any time to get something to eat,” he told Oz. “You don’t need to worry about going hungry here.”
“Oh!” said Oz. “I don’t usually go hungry—I mean, Uncle Oscar feeds us regularly and everything. I’m just—not welcome back home anymore, that’s all. You don’t need to worry.”
The headmaster did not look convinced, so Oz quickly stood from the table and left to go clear his plate; luckily for him, the headmaster did not bring it up again when Oz returned, and instead gave him a tour of the school and finished it off with Oz’s new uniform, toiletries, and school supplies, and then he was free to do as he pleased.
As Oz pleased meant putting his things away as unobtrusively as possible, and then heading down to the library to try and study up so that he would be prepared for class when it began again.
He spent the next couple of days doing the same, until he noticed a strange, waif-like girl following him around. Her hair was a blonde so pale it was nearly blue, and she wore blue silk and white lace and high boots that should not have been nearly as silent on the marble floors as they were. Oz tolerated this stalking for a few days more until he physically bumped into the girl when he was leaving his room one night to go study some more.
She turned to flee, but for once Oz was quick enough, and he grabbed her wrist before she could go.
“Wait!” he said. “Who are you? Why have you been following me?”
“Echo does not know what you are talking about,” said the girl. “Echo is going to bed.”
“The girls’ dorms are on the other side of the building, and you’ve been following me everywhere, ” Oz said. “Why?”
The girl stared at him like he was dog shit on the bottom of her perfect white leather boots, but Oz put on his most winning smile and did not let go of her wrist.
“Are you a student here?” he tried.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go home during break?”
“...Echo’s twin sister, Noise, did not require Echo’s presence, as her younger brother Vincent is staying with her,” said the girl—Echo, probably. “So Echo is remaining here. What about you? Echo has never seen you before.”
“Oh, I got kicked out of my house and sent here,” said Oz. “I’ll be starting school here, too, next break. My name is Oz, by the way—Oz Vessalius. You’re Echo, right?”
“Echo Baskerville,” she confirmed. “Why were you kicked out?”
“I—well, I mean, my father…”
Echo pinned him with a cool blue stare that somehow made Oz feel like any lie, in this situation, would be unwelcome and that making an enemy of the only other person in the school with him would probably be a horrible idea.
“I’m nothing,” Oz told her, letting go of her arm in the hopes that she would be gone before he finished speaking. “I’m just—a tool for my family to use. But I forgot that, and I started pretending that I could be more than just a—an empty doll, and so I stopped being useful enough, and I was sent away.”
Echo’s eyes widened, but no anger or pity found their way inside. “That is—the same,” she said. “Echo is the same.”
“Really?”
“No. Echo is a better doll, and has not been sent away. Echo was merely left behind.”
“Oh…” said Oz. “Lucky you.”
“Yes. It is always better when Noise isn’t around.” Echo turned to go, and added over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Oz Vessalius. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Echo-chan!” Oz called after her, grinning until she disappeared. He then went into his dorm room, locking the door behind him, and got ready for bed. He had claimed one of the blankets from an unused, book-covered bunk in the bedroom, and used it for the couch, still not quite ready to try his hand at claiming a bunk. His burns had mostly healed, though, so sleeping on the couch was nowhere near as uncomfortable as it had been on the first night, and he had begun to sleep past sunrise.
The next morning at breakfast, Echo was waiting in the seat behind Oz’s usual one, and she told him that he was late. He had apologized and told her about his couch situation, and she had demanded that she see the burns on his arms to make sure they really were healed.
They were, to Echo’s satisfaction, and she allowed him to roll down his sleeves and, blushing, returned to her breakfast. Oz got his own food and ate, somewhat off-balanced by the addition of the cute girl beside him when he had only recently gotten used to being alone, but it was a good sort of unbalance, unlike the type that had haunted him ever since Father had picked him up and brought him here. He wasn’t alone anymore—finally.
When breakfast ended, they went out to the gardens of the school. The wind was swirling snow off the trees and through the air, and it bit through Oz and Echo’s coats and pulled stands of blue-blonde hair out of Echo’s tight bun and whipped them with her bangs into her eyes. They walked through the snowy, barren garden, and talked about nothing at all, and for the first time, Oz felt that his new school and life might not be a wholly empty one.