Thanks for the reviews and support! Every word motivates me to move the story along.

Like I've said last time, something major happens in this chapter. Rest assured- I had this planned from the very start, way back in 2011. I didn't just throw it in for the heck of it. I'd never do something like that with an issue like this.

Warning: There is material here that might make some of you uncomfortable. Nothing happens above a T level, but the implications will be obvious. There's noncon involved. So for those of you who don't wish to see it but still want to follow this story, I've labeled it XXX right before the part starts. When you reach XXX, you can skip right to my A/N.

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO

Raoul had hoped to catch Anuaka alone the following day, but fate seemed to have other plans. On the fair's last day, they were crowded to the brim and Raoul found himself putting on so many shows that his mouth began to ache. Several of the booths had already closed up, but Javert would never pass on an opportunity to make more riches.

The very last show of the day had been particularly painful. There had been a rude gentleman among the brutes, dressed sharply and speaking with an air that conveyed pure arrogance.

"This is a fraud's show!" he shouted.

Raoul and the Living Corpse had ignored the man's comments, but throughout the act, the bastard had been speaking. "If a man really is as troubled as that individual, he should consult an exorcist. And scientifically speaking, it's plausible for the source of his voices to come from elsewhere-"

"Why don't ye shut up?" Raoul mouthed, a scratchy voice coming to his aid. The crowd had laughed even harder.

By the time Erik presented his face, the mouthy fellow was shaking his head. Raoul paid an irrational amount of attention to this heckler- he didn't look like someone who frequented these shows for fun; he seemed to be here for the sole reason of agitating the performers!

"It's impossible to animate life after death! What I see is a mutation as a result of-"

Javert threw a rock at the man by then and the latter had fled, flustered, some of the audience clapping him on the back, others too busy laughing to notice.

"Good riddance!" Erik's lilies sang. Raoul could not help but agree.

Raoul didn't have the chance to clear up the issue with Anuaka the next day either. She had been surrounded by family, too busy preparing for travel to heed him. And Raoul's more bashful side told him it was for the best, though the issue hung unpleasantly at the front of his mind. The gypsies were packing at last, ready to move their horses and caravans by mid-afternoon.

The morning was filled with the sounds of shouting, bargaining, and the clitter clatter of pots and bowls. Everything was dismantled and bound. Clothes, barrels, wood, and the like disappeared. It was strange for the young man to observe. As a child, he had sometimes wondered what happened when these nomads took to the road. It was no magical process. It was technical and disappointingly mundane.

And as luck would have it, it was also rather tiring. Raoul found himself plagued with sweaty pits as he helped move the drawers and props into Javert's compartment, the man at his heels. Javert had a battered table that was heavier than Raoul thought. For his part, Erik had been tasked with collecting their personal supply of firewood. The boy was expected to take care of his own items.

Raoul suspected that the job he was currently handling belonged to Erik. Given the fact that Raoul was taller and significantly stronger, he could not fault Javert for delegating the task to him. That did not stop him from scowling every time the man looked his way.

Javert had two vans and the man claimed they were hard-earned. And yet to Raoul's disgust, the three of them would be in the same one, a single room attached to wheels, wooden and aged. The linked compartment seemed to be something else altogether, what with the curtain draped over its awkward shape.

Erik's belongings- his personal sacks, the bundle of blankets, the one bench, the lantern, and the small drawer- lay huddled in one corner. The rest of the compartment was filled with various pots and bowls, drawers and chests that Raoul had moved, Javert's table, spare lanterns, a set of chairs, and sack upon sack of Javert's belongings. The man apparently had a miniature closet as well.

There was just enough room left for the three of them to sleep outstretched. There was not much room for pacing. Raoul noted that none of the objects belonged to him. Despite his stay with the fair, he was still an outsider, one that simply did not belong. He held onto his few items- shirts that had once belonged to Anuaka's father, Javert's undersized coat, and the set of clothes that the former comte had arrived in- and dropped them with Erik's pile.

When Erik returned with an armful of wood, the caravan had started to move.

"Monsieur, you look ill," Erik remarked, back pressed against a sack, journal in hand. He may have been sketching in it, but Raoul did not care to find out.

"Do I?" Raoul said as the compartment was jolted yet again by rocky ground.

"Can't even handle this bit of movement," Javert said with a snicker, unscrewing his canteen. Raoul shot him a glare.

The floor rose as their compartment moved past another mound in the caravan's path. Raoul had borne with it for an hour and it was taking its toll. Even the most fickle of horses had never provided this uncomfortable a ride! He found himself yearning for the sophistication of a carriage. They were moving in a fashion far too similar to the motion of a bad wave.

He had been uncomfortable with it in the navy and he was uncomfortable with it now. With the next jolt, Raoul fell on all fours, retching the few contents of his stomach out. He stared in disbelief at the greenish puke, bits of vomit still dribbling down his chin. He expected Javert to roar with laughter.

Instead, the man kicked Raoul none too gently in the side. He doubled over as Javert cried out in rage, "You're cleaning that up, madman!"

With that, the shorter man returned to his spot, downing the remains of the canteen- Raoul was sure it was some form of alcohol, perhaps gin. Perhaps he needed a shot as well. Raoul lay moaning on the floor. He had forgotten the pains of motion sickness.

Erik knelt beside him, dabbing at the young man's chin with a rag. "Monsieur, the Madame taught me how to fix this."

"The Madame can go to hell," Raoul hissed. He needed to wash out his mouth- the remains of vomit still lingered.

Erik left for the other side of the shaky van and when he returned, the boy was holding up a vial for Raoul to sniff. It had a comforting aroma to it, a sort of mint that relaxed the man's nerves. "Monsieur, do you want a drink?"

"Plenty." With the boy's help, Raoul pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Don't touch my supply," Javert ordered, watching Raoul's pain with an infuriating amusement in his eyes.

When Erik returned with a wine sack of fresh water, Raoul took it gratefully. Seeing as there was no one to see him but Javert and Erik, the young man used the first bit of water to rinse his mouth. The contents spilled unceremoniously on the floor. The compartment would stink up and they would all suffer.

"Erik... h- how long before we stop?"

"We have until nightfall so that should be-"

"Three hours!" Javert called.

Raoul held his head in his hands, trying to bite back the urge to curse at the man. Erik was crawling beside him, trying his best to clean the vile mess with his dirtied rag. Raoul shut his eyes once more, trying to imagine himself in a carriage with Christine instead. And the streets would be smooth for the horses.

Raoul had swallowed his own bile two more times before the caravan finally found a decent path. When that time had come, he had requested a mirror from Erik. The boy scrambled to get him one while Javert snored beside them, his body odor more than apparent in their cramped area. Though that was nothing compared to what Raoul had done to the floor.

"Here, Monsieur."

"I really do look ill."

His eyes looked half-shut and his hair was disheveled. That, combined with his greenish pallor, made him look like one of the ghosts from their show.

The color had returned to Raoul's face by nightfall. If the mirror was to be believed, he didn't look like a dying man anymore. He just appeared a bit worse for wear. Though still nauseous, the young man was well enough to walk and talk as any healthy individual.

According to Erik, they would stop for the night and then pick up travel in the morning. They were following a path toward the Spanish border and though Raoul did not comment on the matter, he was not looking forward to leaving France. As if his predicament was not foreign enough as it was.

After the tents had been set up, Raoul had slipped away from Javert's company. The structure of the temporary camp was different than he remembered, but he suspected the overall arrangement of each group would be at the same distance from one another, their own ostracized tents notwithstanding. To his relief and anxiety, the young man found Anuaka leaving her friends by a fire.

She appeared unaffected from their last meetup. Raoul made sure there were no eyes on them when Anuaka approached. He crouched behind a set of bushes, waiting for the right moment. When she was within reach, he grabbed her wrist. She was about to yelp before she caught sight of his frantic face. With his free hand, Raoul pleaded with her to say nothing.

"Raoul?" she cried, "what do you want!?"

"Please, I had been trying to contact you since the day before. My dear friend, please hear me out," he begged, motioning for her to join him by the bushes.

She regarded him coldly before nodding. Raoul tried to express his gratitude but she would not deign to reply.

"We should walk ahead," she told him briskly.

When they were out of earshot from the camp, she leaned against a tree, arms crossed and face sullen. Raoul stood before her, unsure where to put his own hands. He settled for keeping them by his sides.

"What happened that night- I- I'm truly, truly sorry."

"You told me you were a comte," she said, water in her eyes, "maybe I wasn't good enough for you."

"Anuaka, no! You are more than good enough. Beautiful, strong, charming, practical. It has nothing to do with that," Raoul said. The guilt stung- once upon a time, he would have laughed at the idea of kissing a gypsy, let alone apologizing to one. But he was not so arrogant anymore. In the end, they were all people, were they not?

"I valued your friendship. Have you any idea how miserable I was in this camp?" he said, "you helped me through so much with your company and your kindness. I do love you, Anuaka, but in this manner."

He took her hands in his own. "But I love another. I have a wife awaiting my return and she has already taken my heart."

"But you've taken mine," she muttered. She looked so much like Christine in that moment, eyes downcast, vulnerable despite the strong stance.

"I'm sorry. It was never my intention. You were the first not to fear the mad man. You believed in me, you helped me... please, look at me, Anuaka, and say you'll forgive me. I couldn't bear it if you did not."

She said nothing. He wanted nothing more than to hug the poor girl then. But such an act would be far too cruel.

"No, I have no right to make demands. If you would forgive me? I understand if you don't. Take to hating me if it ebbs the pain. Just know that I had never wanted to ruin our friendship, I had never meant to deceive you, and that I shall never forget your kindness."

He expected no reply. Raoul made to turn away when Anuaka flung herself at him, arms wrapped around his neck. "I forgive you," she whispered into his ear. When they broke apart, it was with shy smiles on both their faces.

"Oh, Raoul," she said, "you were like a prince to me, from a fairy tale."

"I'm no prince, rest assured," he said. He knew that now.

"But your wife, how are you getting back to her? Javert has been so cruel to you. And you're always stuck with the living corpse. It must be so terrible, Raoul!"

Raoul sighed. He wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulder. "I'm still working on that problem. Javert is a terrible man and however much I disagree with him, he's still merely making a living. And it's not so terrible being with the living corpse- Erik is more human than one might think."

He paused to consider that. Had he just admitted to understanding Javert and Erik? Anuaka seemed surprised at the statements so Raoul added, "the boy is my friend. And in place of fear, I'd rather you hold sympathy."

"Raoul, you mean what you say? You've seen his acts for yourself. You know about the devil's voice- why, I've heard that he's an apprentice from hell itself."

Raoul only chuckled. "Now, if any of that were true, he wouldn't be with the lot of us, would he? Tell me, Anuaka, do you honestly believe all that from the bottom of your heart?"

"I... I guess not."

"Come, let's look at the sky, like we used to."

It was only after returning the tents and seeing Anuaka off that it dawned on Raoul. For the first time, he had defended Erik's reputation- that thought was surreal. He had befriended his worst rival and defended him despite no obligation to. And even more unsettling was the realization that he wouldn't mind doing it again.

But he was rather elated at having earned Anuaka's friendship once more. Raoul felt childishly eager to tell Erik the news. They had rehearsed the scene together after all- it was the reason why the words flowed so smoothly from the young man's mouth. Yes, he would have to let the boy know of his success in the matter. Now the guilt on his conscience was washed away.

But there was no one in Erik's tent when Raoul arrived. The lantern was lit at least. It sat on the mound of blankets that Raoul had planned to sleep on, and besides it, was a bowl of cold gruel. Save for a few of Erik's sacks, the tent was empty and Raoul admitted that he missed the bench, one of the larger items left in the compartment. Raoul sat and lifted his unappetizing dinner, but one had to eat and he was used to its taste by now.

What he almost failed to notice was the small note crinkled by the bowl. He lifted it and spread it out, the edges torn and jagged. The material was familiar- it was a page from the boy's journal. His handwriting was utterly atrocious. Raoul had to read the thing twice to understand what Erik was trying to tell him.

Monsieur, we saved this bowl for you. Javert's gone to exchange drinks. I might have seen the flower you need in the forest. You will know if I am correct or not when I return. I'll try to end the task before midnight. Erik-

Raoul ate his supper hastily. He couldn't help but feel a sense of expectation- this may be the final step to the Madame's heart. She would surely aid him if Erik was successful. Raoul supposed he would have to find some way to thank the boy if that were the case. But with the means he had now, he couldn't think of any method. He snorted at the idea of buying candy. He had no money and that seemed too dumb a payment to consider.

No, he shouldn't be thinking in terms of payment. Raoul, somehow, had won the boy's devotion.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed an object poking out of one of the sacks. Setting the bowl down, Raoul made his way towards it and pulled it out. It was Erik's crinkled journal. Would it be violating the boy's trust if he looked? But Raoul genuinely admired the child's work within it. Perhaps there would be some drawing inside of interest.

And if Erik's reaction would be anything like last time, the boy was not opposed to Raoul's attention.

He flipped it open, looking over the old sketches and notes once more. The beautiful woman came up a good few times. There was another, plainer woman, but both had been traced over with love. Erik had added a few new ones, most of various gypsies within the camp, doing their everyday routine. There was one of the Madame. Another of the night flowering herb. And then... a sketch of Raoul.

It was exquisitely detailed. It was as if he was staring into a mirror. There was a small smile on the picture's lips, barely there and yet so obvious. The eyes were bright and sad, a reflection of some innate sorrow. It lacked the look of an aristocrat, but Raoul admitted that without a doubt, Erik had made him beautiful.

He flipped the page. Erik had drawn more of his face. There was one where Raoul laughed, one where he frowned, one with his eyes flashing in anger, one with a playful smile, one with the look of a flustered man. Every expression that Raoul had shown him, Erik had attempted to duplicate. And the last page was the back of a young boy holding a scarf. His light hair blew in the wind and beside him was the outline of a girl. They were holding hands.

Raoul put the journal back where it belonged, not knowing quite what to feel. It seemed that in the boy's eyes, Raoul was worthy of this much attention and the story of Christine Daae was sacred.

If Erik valued Raoul so much, then why was he still stuck in this time? Raoul nervously rubbed his hands together. Something did not sit right with this. Had his influence been the very thing that resulted in this time loop? Or was something else happening that he couldn't understand? Oh, curse the Amazing Madame!

Judging by the amount of time that passed from his meeting with Anuaka, Raoul suspected it was nearing midnight. He needed to take his mind off the strange questions burrowing at him. Perhaps all he needed to do was await the flower, perhaps he was over-thinking the situation. Yes, that must have been it.

Curse it. I can't wait like this.

The young man set the journal back where it belonged. Nervous, he grabbed the lantern and left the tent, the flaps fluttering behind him. The temperature had dropped even more and Raoul wondered if he should return for the jacket. Then again, he didn't plan to stay out long- merely to see if the boy had come back.

There was little noise in the camp and even fewer people walking about. It was a rather lonely scene overall. The lantern bobbed with his movements. Raoul wandered in the direction of Javert's lit tent, planning to make a turn and head into the forest. The light of the lantern, however, fell on a crumpled object just as Raoul prepared to turn.

The young man approached it, bringing the light closer to make out its shape. It looked to be a flower of sorts, the petals purple and white, though it was hard to discern given its sorry state. Instinct told him to pocket it, lest the pathetic thing be crushed even more. There was always the possibility that he'd ruin it further, but Raoul saw no reason to let it be stepped on in the dark.

As Raoul bent to pick it up, the light fell on another object. He squinted- it was flatter, darker, almost- Raoul touched it. His head felt light. Trying to keep calm, he brought the lantern closer. There were several stains on the grass, uneven drops of crimson that traced a path ahead. Had there been a murder?

Against better judgement, Raoul followed the droplets. They led to a shattered bottle, bits of glass strewn in various places, red on their edges. Only then did he realize where this detective work had taken him. Javert's tent was only a few steps away, muffled noises(?) emitting from the inside.

His chest tightened- could the flower in his pocket be the herb? Did Erik not say Javert had gone to harvest more drinks? Raoul's mind put the pieces together, but staring at the glass and the blood, the young man refused to acknowledge such conclusions just yet. Perhaps the brute cut himself. But Javert's dubious character disconcerted him; for all he knew, the man could have gotten into a brawl with a gypsy and murdered the poor fellow.

Tensing, Raoul strained to hear the noises- they indeed existed. And he could not, in good conscience, ignore them.

XXX

He stormed towards the tent, heart racing, and smacked the flaps aside. Raoul stood at the entrance, mouth agape, the lantern still in his whitening knuckles.

He was met with the sight of Javert's behind, the trousers down, their owner kneeling and groaning over another figure. Raoul walked towards them, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Erik was lying below the man, letting out pained gasps, his mask pulled up to reveal a bleeding mouth, arms pinned to the ground by Javert's sweating hands. There was blood about the boy, pooling around one smashed leg and more leaking around his-

Raoul thought of nothing. He saw nothing in that instant. There was only a blinding sense of anger, rage.

He smashed the lantern over Javert's head, the glass breaking and falling, the flame inside bursting. The man fell with a lurch, landing on his side. Blood seeped onto the ground from his ruined scalp.

Raoul was left standing, willing his shaking limbs not to reach for the broken lantern and slam it over Javert's head again. Again and again until there was nothing left but a rotting broken skull. He could only hear two things, the pounding of the blood in his ears and the boy's whimpers.

(For those of you who skipped XXX: Raoul walked in on Javert raping an injured Erik. He then hit Javert in the head with the lantern, knocking him out. The chapter ends with our hero trying to quell his murderous impulses.)

Again, I apologize for the material in XXX. Thank you for reading this chapter and I hope that you'll be willing to continue reading, but if you don't, that's perfectly fine. I promise that things will take an uphill turn eventually. We've just reached the lowest pit. I really do plan on treating the issue with the sensitivity it deserves and it's not going to be an easy thing for Raoul (and definitely Erik) to deal with. This is also the last you'll see of Javert for a long, possibly indefinite time.

Next time: Raoul makes a snap decision. Erik is in very bad shape.