#echolas

wakefulness comes with a sudden jerk. eyes open and stare up into the darkness, temporarily disoriented. for a while the upper bedframe is all that is visible, all that can be processed, then the eyes shift focus and slowly the rest of the room is taken in. eventually a hand pushes aside the blanket ever so slightly so feet can shift and settle on the floor next to the bed. the mattress rises up when the weight is taken off.

eyes continue to wander, from one thing to the next, continuously exploring the room in the small shimmer of light coming through the curtains. they take in furniture, floor, ceilings, walls. never stopping, always wandering from this to the next and the next and the next.

it’s a sound from behind that stops the wandering, capturing the gaze longer as it settles on the boy stirring in the bed. but it is not a second waking that follows, instead the boy seems to be gripped in sudden terror, tossing and turning, the occasional sound slipping past delicate lips. the blanket slides down a little because of his movements, revealing arms and a chest that are somehow too thin.

it’s curiosity that moves feet. closer, until toes touch the side of the bed and a hand reaches out to gently touch the trembling frame with a single finger. a touch too soft to change anything about the night terrors that wreck the boy in the bed. but a touch that seems to verify something, because the feet move backwards again and the eyes shift from the boy around the room once more, only to return to the boy before long.

suddenly he wakes. announced with a start, a gasp and then the stilling of all movement and a pair of brown eyes opening to the morning twilight, chest heaving to catch its breath. for a moment nothing moves, then feet automatically step forward again and a hand is reached out once more. the mattress dips down when the weight is put on it, the hand comes to a rest on the head, fingers brushing through the dirty blond hair.

“it’s okay,” the voice says in a soft, soothing manner, a smile appearing on the face that speaks of warmth and reassurance. “it’s okay, you’re in a safe place.” somehow those words are spoken with absolute certainty. “no one can harm you here, nothing will happen here. you’re safe.”

there’s a pause, silence falling temporarily in the waking morning. then the hand moves down from the hair to gently cup the cheek and a gentle kiss is pressed against the boy’s forehead.

“you won’t be harmed anymore,” the voice says as the head pulls away again and the eyes take in the boy all over again, as if drinking in every detail. the smile widens then, the eyes softening with that simple expression change and a soft, almost content sigh leaving the lips.

he stands tall in the middle of viktor’s study, eyes fixed on a point right behind the master’s chair, shoulders straightened, chin up. viktor’s expression is the same as usual, but he knows there’s something simmering underneath the composure, something cold and dangerous as always. something he knows not to inquire about nor even hint at.

luckily for him, whatever viktor is holding inside of himself does not come to the surface while he’s present in the room, the anger or displease or whatever it is clearly not directed at him, so his skin is saved this time. as he is dismissed, he dips into a bow then walks out of room slowly. as the door closes behind him, he can hear the start of punishment for whoever messed up bad enough to tick viktor off like that.

for once he doesn’t stay where he is to listen in, but puts his feet in motion to head over to his room. it’s not hard to let the staff think he’s going to his room, to make them see him walk there, enter and lock the door. it’s a little harder to leave again mere moments later and cross the hallways without being spotted.

viktor’s been gone for an entire day, which in itself is nothing strange, but the thing is... he took one of the captives with him, they say, and said captive hasn’t been quite the same since their return. he’s not usually one to care about those things, but now his feet take him to the familiar hallway automatically, slowing down ever so slightly the closer he gets. when eventually he finds himself in front of the right door, he frowns at the lack of guards in front of the door. it serves his purpose better, he presumes, but it also means something that he’s not so sure of yet right now.

he pauses only a moment longer before opening the door and walking in. he’s not disguised, he’s not wrapped in tattered cloth and smudged with dirt. it’s a fact that will probably gain him viktor’s wrath if the man finds out, but even that doesn’t make him hesitate in the slightest. the door closes again behind him and his eyes fall on the young man near the cot.

the dirty blond hair is messy, the head doesn’t even tilt up towards him, the hands are merely reached out as if allowing him to tug the boy upwards like that. he frowns lightly, takes in the captive’s entire demeanour, and finds himself doing a double take at the difference between this expression and the bright, happy one he usually gets to see.

what he had thought might become his ending is saved from being so by ephraim’s complete and total disregard for him. the boy is merely waiting for orders, for whatever it is he should do next, and whether he’s the usual guard or another doesn’t even matter. whatever his plans with the young male are don’t matter either, clearly.

swallowing is suddenly harder than it used to be, as if something stuck in his throat blocking the way, and his gaze wavers for a split second as he is at a loss of what to do next. then he clears his throat, lowers his voice purposefully - to get to the tone he always uses for this rich, older seeming version of himself - and speaks a single word. “stand.”

he steps closer as the boy does as he’s told, using a few simple movements to check the younger male for injuries. when he finds none, he lets his gaze go over the small room, taking in the complete and total lack of comfort. a huff is pulled from him, after which he rolls his eyes and turns right back around to leave the place again. he locks the door properly in place again, then leaves it all behind.

it’s no place for him after all. not now. not in broad daylight. not when ephraim’s awake. but in the darkness of the night...

it’s a full five days later when echolas finally finds the time between everything he’s been ordered to do to walk back into the mansion. he gets the usual amount of food from the kitchen for a job well done, as well as a few raised noses over the way he wraps such well prepared food in his dirty clothes, but he doesn’t bother to care. it’s easier to sneak through the hallways without a visible assortment of food in hands, easier to escape detection when he’s the street rat who hangs around more often.

no one knows the turns he takes that eventually lead him to the more than familiar little room. no one knows the way he ensures no guards will reach them unexpectedly, to make sure no one will find him within the confines of the cell. he’s quick to slip inside the door once the coast is clear, surprised to find how lax security has become, as if viktor is more certain now of ephraim’s staying.

the door closes behind him as quietly as it opened, the assortment of food is put down on the cleanest piece of floor he can find and then his head his raised, eyes taking in the young man he hasn’t been able to visit in well over a week due to his responsibilities taking him everywhere but here. his expression automatically shifts into a wide smile, happiness radiating off of him in waves, gaze locking with ephraim’s and instantly softening.

he wakes one morning to the sunlight streaming in on his face, the warmth of it seeping into his skin, settling within his very bones, and his features relax automatically, corners of his lips curling upwards into a content smile. he almost turns over, a hand already reaching for the phantom shape of someone who has never been next to him, but catches himself right before moving, freezing in place instead.

when he opens his eyes, his expression shifts to something more normal, his eyes taking in his surroundings - his own bedroom in viktor’s mansion - before coming to a rest on the door. it’s still locked. no one has been in here. that’s good.

he gets out of bed and gets dressed for the day. from the second he steps outside of his room, he barks orders at the servants, sending them off to get punished for even the smallest of mistakes.

~

he stands in front viktor’s desk, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the older man. the orders are being given left and right, until eventually those dark pools of horror land on him and the lips form words that indicate what he is to do. the sound of horrors to be executed is immediate and he very nearly flinches as he imagines what is to come for the poor souls.

the tremble of his lips is quickly turned into a smirk of amusement, none of his shock at his own reaction visible on his features, nothing put out there for viktor to notice because that would be as much as signing his own death certificate. it’s only when he’s outside of the room with no one nearby to watch that the tremor starts in his hand, lasting all the way until he’s back in his hiding space and changes into the tatters of the street urchin.

he doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know what it signifies, and so he clenches his hands into fists until the tremor subsides. by the time he makes it to the city on foot - unseen by any of those in the mansion - he seems to have regained control, keen eyes catching every flicker of movement around himself, and the usual urge to wreak some havoc sitting comfortably in the pit of his stomach.

~

the smell of roasting meat wafts over to him from a nearby restaurant, causing him to be instantly reminded of ephraim. his eyes wander over to the specific place, expression slowly shifting to a fond smile. it takes him the better part of a minute to realise he’s standing in the middle of the street staring at a restaurant while smiling like a fool. even though he puts himself back into motion, the smile is hard to wipe from his features.

he doesn’t understand why.

~

he catches the boy’s shirt in his fingers as he tries to run off. dirty blond hair shifts with the movement, revealing dark brown eyes that look up at him with something akin to fear in them. his grip falters suddenly, strength leaving his hand and thereby allowing the boy to pull free. he stands motionless as the child scurries off, disappearing into this or the other of his secret pathways.

his heart aches suddenly with a sadness he doesn’t feel, a sympathy for the young boy that he has never learned to cultivate. in his stomach, something coils itself up into a ball and lays heavily where it lands. he stands forlornly in the middle of the alley for a moment, hands still curled around the air where the boy used to be.

suddenly there’s a wet feeling on his cheek, a drop of moisture having landed there. he tilts his head upwards, confused at the blue sky, then quickly shakes himself awake again. his gaze flickers over the spot the boy disappeared through, eyes narrowing lightly as his enhanced eyes take in the scene.

two minutes later he intercepts the boy halfway to freedom, fingers curling into the dirty blond hair this time and tugging hard. the shout of fear and anguish makes him smirk lightly, an expression that doesn’t leave his face all the way back to viktor’s mansion, where he lets said man come up with a good punishment.

~

there’s a small alcove near the room where the punishments are dealt. he stands there often, listening to the cries and shouts of those tortured. there’s a lot one can learn about a person by knowing how they scream, he thinks. a lot to be understood by seeing the way these human creatures are dragged back out, often unconscious or almost gone.

these days he doesn’t visit often anymore, though. these days the cries always seem to sound familiar. these days the heaviness in his chest grows bigger than he can bear and he finds himself walking a step faster as he walks through those hallways.

~

he wakes one morning from a good dream. one of those dreams that instantly make his day better and make sure that there is nothing he can’t handle, no matter how boring it gets. he stretches his body, sore from laying curled up on the straw bed he’s made for himself in the city streets, and contently stays there a little bit longer.

as always, his mind tries to grasp for the memories of the dream. usually there is one of those people he can’t stand being tortured, or one of viktor’s plans working out perfectly. sometimes he is rewarded with the opportunity to take a whip to one of the captives’ backs. very occasionally he is even allowed to take someone out. he likes dreams about those moments, likes the way they make him feel in the morning, the peace that comes after.

this time, he sees none of that, however. this time all he can remember is a certain captive’s face, a warm smile gracing the features, and a hand reaching out to touch his cheek with gentle fingers. a gesture of warmth, of kindness, of care.

he lays in his makeshift bed for a long time, staring up at nothing, lost in the memories of the dream.

when he finally rolls over and gets up, he spits at the floor in disgust, pulling his dagger out from its hiding place and setting out to find a target to use it on, just so he can forget about the pitiful state he seems to find himself in so much more often.

he stands in the hallway, looking at the way some guards drag ephraim from his cell to bring him to whatever task viktor has set out for him now. eyes narrowing slightly, he watches the way the cook moves. the injuries on his back have gotten quite a bit better since the second lashing, and somehow the cook has managed not to get a new set of lashes laid over them. which is probably for the best, considering one more of these punishments might have meant ephraim’s death more so than anything else.

he’s been making use of ephraim’s time of healing to pay the older male plenty of visits, always using the excuse of wanting to redress his wounds properly to be able to hang around, always making sure to play his role to perfection. it seems to be getting easier and easier with every time he slips inside to get ephraim to open up to him, the older male having seemingly accepted him entirely into his arms - perhaps even his heart?

it makes no sense to him, the way people do this, the way they let another come so close that they could just gut you and skin you whole. he doesn’t understand the workings of a brain to take a risk like that, to allow someone near the most vulnerable parts of oneself and trust them not to abuse the level of possibility. he would never trust another with his secrets, let alone his life. then again, in his case the one is very closely interlinked with the other. viktor is not to be underestimated, after all.

when the guards pull and shove ephraim along, he doesn’t realise his expression is set in a deep frown until they round the corner, and he suddenly becomes aware of the tension in his facial muscles. instantly relaxing them and smoothing out his features, he then proceeds to frown once more at the fact that he was frowning to begin with. a short backtracking tells him it is because of the harsh treatment the guards were giving the cook, pushing their hands right onto the still healing wounds and shoving him along.

closing his eyes temporarily, he takes in a deep breath, then slowly breathes it back out and opens his eyes once more. taking in the hallway around him, he calmly strides away. confident, certain steps take him through the hallways this time, his clothes for a change not dirty but clean and in one piece. his skin for once showing how unblemished it truly is, no sign of scars whatsoever, not even little nicks.

one of the maids catches his eyes as he passes by and she instantly looks away, too terrified of punishment to even stay in the same hallway as him so she scurries off at an even faster pace than before. they all know who he is, here, at least when he’s in the clean clothes. they all know the metallic blue eyes will catch every little mistake made and punishment will follow - sometimes immediately.

none of them look at him long enough to recognise him when he’s playing the snivelling, dirty street rat, coming to beg for scraps in the kitchen. none of them look at anyone long enough to remember them, because too many of the poor ones die too quickly, and most of these women cannot handle the reality of it.

he doesn’t blame them, of course. he just thinks they’re weak.

the door of his own quarters falls closed behind him and he flops down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. there is too little excitement in his life currently. no one for him to spy on who is not currently doing their job, nothing interesting to spy on within the walls of the mansions either. it’s been too long since a new prisoner came in aside from ephraim, and even his plentiful trips to meet with the cook are no longer giving him the vicious satisfaction they used to - because he knows it’s still way too long before he can reveal his true nature to the older boy.