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Gilbert didn’t remember his parents. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if they hadn’t tossed him and his brother in the streets. If Vincent hadn’t had that red eye of his, or if they hadn’t cared. But they had, and it was no use thinking about it now, or thinking about all these times they’d almost died in the freezing nights, huddled together under a dirty piece of cloth to save warmth. Thinking about the shame and guilt when he’d almost left Vincent behind.
It was Jack who found them, saved them. Part of him was angry to owe his life to this man, and maybe long ago he had felt indebted, when Vincent was smiling and laughing, running around the Baskerville gardens, or when Glen had smiled too these few times, the softness in his eyes making Gil feel safer than ever before. But not anymore. It had all stopped with the cruelty and selfishness of an obsessed man whose kindness Gilbert had never questioned. And he lost a home, a family. And his memories.
He didn’t remember Sablier’s fall, even now. Nothing but a blinding pain in his back, and awaking on the Vessalius grounds. Gilbert became a servant once more, and had never been happier. Maybe it was not having to worry about Vincent’s safety first, in the bliss of oblivion, maybe it was something about Ada’s shyness, about Oscar’s habit of ruffling his hair. Maybe it was something about Oz and his pranks and laughs and terrible ideas and tireless smiles, about the warmth of his hand. But he had gone too, swallowed by the Abyss, and the pain of losing him was worst than the wound on Gil’s chest, the stab a ridiculous match of the one on his back. If there was such a thing as fate, it had probably been laughing at him back then.
He didn’t like thinking about how he had met Vincent then. How he had pushed him away. How he hadn’t quite remembered his own brother. But at that time, Gilbert hadn’t cared, driven by anger and obsession. He had used Vincent, and Vincent, smart and selfless Vincent, had let him. They had grown closer in the years, but never enough to feel close. What Gil knew of his brother was only what Vincent wanted him to, and he was well aware of that. There had been this space between them, now a ravine, and his brother was too far gone to reach out to him. But Gil had hope that he still could.
They may both have the Nightray’s surname, but their other « siblings » never felt like family. Ernest and Claude hated them, Fred despised them, Raymond and Bernice were anything but their parents, and Vanessa was polite and respectful enough to simply, mostly, ignore them. And then there was Elliot. Elliot who had completely disregarded his family’s words, who had talked to them, got angry at them, played with them and spent time with them when he could without being scolded. Elliot who had been brash and loud and honest, who had treated them as brothers without much of a second thought. He was the only reason Gil ever felt guilt for leaving the Nightray household. He missed him.
After the Headhunter’s first attacks, Gilbert had gone back to the Pandora headquarters. He already spent a lot of his time there, always had been, it was easy to burry himself into work and forget about all his problems for a little while. What he hadn’t expected was how close he had grown to a few of the association’s agents. The first time he met Break was not something he’d ever be able to forget, and meeting Sharon had been just as impressing, if less dramatic. He knew that behind the slave and scapegoat remarks, some Pandora members considered Gilbert as their protégé. And once they’d taken him under their wing, it wasn’t long before he got to meet Reim too. Behind all of their jabs, and the familiar weight of their teasing, they had been surprisingly protective of Gilbert. Some days, when he would show up with dark circles under his eyes, when he would be quieter than usual, he would usually find a cup of tea at his desk, with a few candies laying in his drawers, and less paperwork than he’d left the day before. Sometimes, when his nights were haunted by his memories or his lack thereof, Sharon would drag him in her own office and sit him down, talking about many things that didn’t matter much, rumours and gossips, and would stare him down until he drank his own cup of tea. And filled it again. She would keep him until she was satisfied, ignoring his protest, and when he’d leave, he couldn’t quite deny that his chest felt lighter and his headaches had subdued. On worth days, when the ghosts of his past followed him during daylight too, Reim would join him to fill paperwork, sometimes bringing a bit of cake or the brand of coffee he knew Gilbert liked. They would sit in silence but for the sound of their pens scratching paper, but his calm presence alone seemed to soothe the heavy air around them. And in his worst times, when he’d fumble into the headquarters barely awake and all but crumbling apart, a strong hand would catch his elbow, and Break would push him down a couch. He would stay in the room, often with a book in hand, and Gilbert would fall asleep knowing someone had his back. He wondered how many people knew this quiet side of the old man. When he woke up, depending on how bad he’d looked, he’d either find a Pandora jacket draped around his back, the pockets filled with candies, or the room filled with noise as the three of them bickered about who ate the pastry they‘d saved for him, and really Xerxes, you‘re not fooling anyone.
And then Oz came back, bringing Alice along. Gil had hated her, her arrogance and the way she never left his master, how she had claimed him and assured him an early death. She wasn’t even human, just another of these monsters, just another threat to Oz. He hated how vulnerable she looked sometimes, and how she was just a little girl. He hated how he grew used to her presence. And then the hatred faded, he accepted Alice, protected her, even began to like her. He secretly liked how pleased she’d look when he petted her hair, the solid weight in his back when she would pull at his coat. And if he started cooking more meat than before for the group, well, no one ever said anything about it. Gilbert had been already too shocked to react when she faded, but the relief he felt when seeing her face again, of seeing both her and Oz together by his side, the relief had been overwhelming. He had clung to them as much as he had been able to with his arm gone, and had stayed as close as he could.
Gilbert wouldn’t lose them again. He had already lost Elliot and Oscar, almost had lost Reim too, he was losing Vincent and probably Break, and Sharon, too. These people were his friends, his family, his odd little pack of siblings, and he would unleash hell for anyone who tried to harm them. He would protect them, as much as he could, and wouldn’t allow anyone to stand in his way. Even if it meant turning against who had once had been his family. Such was the will of Gilbert Nightray.