sativa: (cm - fading footsteps)
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Title: Uncle Oscar
Inspired by: This Prompt from the PH Kink Meme
Characters/Pairing: Oz + Uncle Oscar
Rating: G
Word Count: 467
Warnings: n/a

Summary: Introspective fluff piece of Oz's relationship with Oscar.

Uncle Oscar


It took Oz a long time put two and two together. There had always been candy in the drawer of his desk in the library or tea that just magically appeared in the gardens while he played and hid from the maids. There were the new books in the library that always arrived just when he needed them, even if his real father never visited the estate. It was how bandages always appeared in his room after he had a bad fall from a tree or in how new shoes always appeared just before his old ones gave out

Of course, he always thought it was just the housekeeper taking pity on him, but once he met Oscar, it all fell into place. It was in the not so leading questions, the blatant smile as he questioned first this and that on his studies or if he preferred dark chocolate to white. It was in how enthusiastic Oscar was to find out if Oz had been reading the Holy Knight Series and wasn’t Edgar and Edwin wonderful?

Way to be subtle.

Yep.

But Oz played along and smiled and laughed and reenacted his favorite scenes. It wasn’t hard, not when Oscar actually sat there and played the villain to Oz’s knight. He loved him, a little, for that alone.

Of course, Oz tested him once, asking what was so special about stuffed animals and why would anyone want to carry one everywhere they went? It was in a book after all. One of those silly children’s books that Oz had long since outgrown despite behind only ten. After a lengthy argument, Oz went to bed that night and discovered his bed completely covered in teddy bears. He could hardly see the coverlet at all. He still kept one of them, hidden in the closet. Oz never wanted to admit that he slept with it sometimes, still, even after Gilbert was there to chase all the shadows away.

But, Oscar was always there, had always been there. He could barely remember it, but he knew there were hands that had held him gently as a child, had cooed and laughed at him with his mother. There were moments he could almost remember…

But that was what had taken Oz so long to figure out. It was always Uncle Oscar there, looking out for him; it was never the Duke, Oz’s real father. Funny how one brother was so close, and the other so far away. Perhaps that’s why Oz made a particular point to play with Ada every day, to read her books and pat her head when she was being cute or bad alike.

He wanted to be just like Uncle Oscar, not the cold man Oz could barely remember meeting.

It was always, simply, Uncle Oscar.
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