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Learning that he was a dragon instead of a human had not been a fun experience for Oz. He had known he was different from other people for most of his life, but he had assumed that that was the result of being unwanted and unloved by anyone other than Gil for most of his childhood, and of not being able to interact with many people outside of his family. He’d never dreamed that he was a dragon, that he lived on a different timeframe from everyone he loved, that he’d spent the past century being shoved down in a human shape until he could impersonate a person passably well, and then, after his memory had been erased, he’d learned more about human impersonation, had struggled to fit into a shape that didn’t quite fit, and when he’d learned why—when he’d gotten all of his memories back, seen himself for what he really was—
When he had first hatched, he’d been Princess Lacie Baskerville’s pet dragon. He’d wound his way through her fingers and perched on her crown and nibbled on her hair, and he hadn’t even considered being anything other than what he was. When he was a little bit older, he’d curled in Alice’s crib, had been chewed on and had his wings pulled by the baby princess, and she’d clung to him in her sleep and when she got older, and all he had ever wanted was to see her smile, to stay with Alice and her twin sister and make sure that their lives were as happy as possible. All that time he had always fit perfectly into his own skin, and even when Jack had first put that terrible bridle on him and forced him to slaughter the Baskervilles he had still fit into it well, but the first time he was made to transform back into his dragon form after spending so long impersonating a human, it had felt—wrong. He had felt himself too small, a shameful thing the length of a castle wall, a monster whose only worth was to be slain by a hero and then his bones taken and used as weaponry.
Gilbert had stayed with him then, when he’d learned what he was and plunged Alice away to her sister where she would be safe. He had shot Oz first, of course—that was the best frame of action, when you learned your best friend and master was a monster—but he’d come back, and saved Oz from execution, and then he’d held him tightly and told him that it didn’t matter what species he was, Gilbert would stay with him and protect him anyway, and even if Oz hadn’t believed him when he said that, it had been nice to hear, it had been nice to be held. Oz hated himself for tricking Gilbert so thoroughly, but he hadn’t had the strength to push him away.
But Gil had changed his mind, now—now that he was stuck younger, now that he’d actually seen Oz in his original, draconic body. He had called Oz a monster. He had pled with Jack for help. He’d been kind after Jack had proven he only cared about Gilbert as a tool to control Oz, but—well—
Oz understood, really. It had been more of a shock when Gil and Alice and Uncle Oscar all still loved him after his species was revealed, and the fact that Gil had changed his mind, at least for when Oz was in dragon form really wasn’t too strange. He’d finally seen how much of a monster Oz really was, and he figured he should count himself lucky that Gil had conspired with him to escape at all.
This was why Oz dropped him off in the courtyard of Leo’s castle instead of bringing him along to transform back in Alice’s bedroom, and why, when he came along with Elliot as Oz was painstakingly forcing himself smaller and smaller, he’d sent him away. Alice had been glad to not have to face the fact that their Gil was, for now, gone; Oz just didn’t want Gil to have to force himself to spend more time with a creature he clearly hated. Maybe once Oz looked sufficiently human again his presence would be more than just tolerated—but he wouldn’t make Gilbert watch the transformation. According to Alice, it looked almost as painful as it really was, and Gil always used to hate seeing Oz in pain, though he hadn’t minded it while they were trapped together in the cave, and Oz was in the shape of a dragon. But when he was younger—the age he appeared now—the sight of blood had made him ill, and there was always quite a lot of blood involved when Oz forced himself into the shape of a human. It was hard work, and painful, but worth it to keep the people he loved from having to see how much of a monster he really was, because telling people was one thing, but letting them actually see him as he really was, leaving room for them to prove hypocrisy and come to hate him as Gilbert had, was too much for him now. It had been—it had all been so much, and Oz just wanted to curl in a ball and close his eyes and not move ever again, or at least until he’d stopped being such a hateful monster, but Gil had been thrown into a scary, decade-later world and he needed Oz’s help, and Alice would never let him just lay down and die.
So Oz continued jamming himself smaller and smaller to imitate a human again, and prepared to pretend he wasn’t a monster, until the day came that a proper hero killed him and maybe, just maybe, those he loved might deign to mourn him.