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❝   𝓐𝓾𝓰𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓗𝓪𝔂𝓭𝓮𝓷   ❞    
   

A few days after the kidnapping; drop of the Draven/August paper, pre-kidnapping paper

*details subject to change based on roleplay to come

----

Can we please get a break? Just one, small break? Tears burned in August's eyes as he stared at the paper, words and headlines swimming before him, his stomach having spiraled and hit rock-bottom mere seconds ago.

Just like him.

Just like his whole family.

Maybe it was pathetic, crying over a newspaper he knew wasn't true, but August was long past withholding his emotions, long past accepting the shit talk the rest of the nobles liked to dish out to his family, and right now, long past being so put-together.

Just upstairs, his sister was barely holding together, barely alive, barely conscious; Mama hadn't left her side in days, always messaging Selene when she could, Aunt Selene was a shell of herself, and Ivorii was furious. There had not been such a somber darkness encroaching on their family since when--well. Since hehad been arrested. August could not remember being so upset since that night he'd woken up to his sister's screams.

Until now.

Truly, once upon a time, maybe even a simple three days ago, this sort of headline wouldn't have pissed him off this much. But after everything with serpentine, it had him shaking in rage. He didn't manipulate people, August balked at the mere thought of ever doing that. He had known the Seaveys would try something, and it had him reeling with disgust that some waitress had offered some statement to the papers. And for what, did she get some service in return, wrecking peoples' lives? Oh, what did it matter?

Years ago, August would have seen this and been upset, sure, but he also wouldn't have questioned it--that was the way Voxthain worked: nobles like Draven would be seen as having a small, excusable "accident", whereas commoners like August were the villains. He would have just shrugged, stinging a little inside, and folded the paper up to hide under some books while Callie got furious on his behalf and went into a rage at Draven. But August had changed. Now, he understood why it was wrong, that he didn't deserve this.

Honestly, even now he knew in the back of his mind it was just a stupid article--anyone with a brain knew those papers were full of bullshit--but this just put him over the edge. People would think he was some cruel commoner trying to soil the high noble that was Draven Fucking Delacroix, they'd see him as cruel, an antagonist, when all August wanted was to protect people in a way he was both not protected, and in a way that his sister always had his back.

Until he almost lost her, and she--

August burst into a fresh round of tears, shoving the crumpled paper under a recipe book. In the wee early hours of the morning, the kitchen was quiet. The Haydens did not have a lot of staff, and it was fine because August absolutely adored making their meals. There was one elderly chef who loved Katarina almost like a granddaughter, who adored their family, but it was even too early for her, and August--he was alone. Alone in the empty room, the cool morning air brushing through the open window.

Alone to cry, to feel, his tears sticky on his cheeks and his chest cracked as he couldn't stop sobbing. Why couldn't people just leave his family alone? Why was Voxthain--and Asterath--so fucking twisted that they didn't care whose lives they torn apart? Unless you were the top nobles, or the gang that ruled it all, you were meaningless, you were nothing, and it hurt. That both cities were intrinsically so damaged that nobody cared about destroying another person's reputation--or their life.

Knees shaking, August sunk down against the island in the middle of the kitchen, his back knocking into the corner of the recipe book. He had been down here determined to make Caledonia's favorite breakfast, hoping she'd finally eat something, but that newspaper, that damn newspaper. He had the stack of the morning papers here, had gathered them on his way down, and he shouldn't have read it. Why did they even still subscribe to that garbage? In any case, he couldn't think now--waves of grief, of anger, of hurt, crashed over him like the waves down by the beach, so powerful they left him breathless and broken.

All he wanted was for people to lay off his family. His kind, compassionate, strong mother who did everything she could to keep the people safe. Who loved so much and so well. His determined aunt who he adored to no end; his sweet, reckless older sister and--oh, Cal. His strong, angry, hurt oldest sister who had been through way, way too much. August would never forgive himself for what their father had done to her, and knowing she was once again bedridden, tortured--that someone had done that to her--how any breakdowns had August had since his moms had come back with Cal, unconscious, bloody, and dying? How many times had he laid awake, or paced by her bed, just needing to stay there with her? And once again, a damn newspaper had brought him to the brink.

Would they ever be okay? Would his family ever be happy? Or were they doomed from the moment Mama decided to say fuck it to tradition? Was Cal screwed the moment she decided to not let people step on her, to fight back, to fight for the ones who needed help, to do the right thing even if it wound up with her in a lot of trouble? Was August? He didn't know.

But he knew he was heartsick. He was exhausted, and he--

"Oh, baby."

He gaped, his eyes jolting open, to find Mama standing before him. She looked like death, her pale skin almost white, minus the red rims around her eyes, the dark shadows dancing beneath signifying how little she had slept. He hadn't even heard her enter.

For a second, they stared at each other. Safety. She was home, she was safe, and she--no. She had no time for him, she--she slid right down onto the ground of the kitchen. "Hey. Hey," she whispered, and that was all it took. Something inside August broke again, and he let out a pathetic mewl and collapsed against her shoulder.

"I know," she whispered, her strong, familiar hands pulling him close, into a hug. The ends of her dark hair tickled against his cheek, but August didn't care, wrapping his arms around her, in turn, as he broke down into heaving sobs, leaving his head aching from the shed tears. Mama kissed his head, her own shoulders shaking as she, too, began to cry. "I know."

"I just want them to leave us alone," August choked out after a pathetically long bout of weeping into his mother's shoulder. "And--and I want--I want them to pay, I want--I want Callie to be happy--"

Mama's blue eyes had lost their luster, her hair limp as she shifted. "So do I," she whispered. "I just--I'm having such a hard time processing it all. For years, I've seen horrors. So many deaths, so much blood and tragedy. And yet, every single time something happens to Cala, I--is this some sort of fucking joke?"

August shook his head, burying against her. "She didn't--she doesn't deserve any of this."

"No," Mama whispered. "Not at all. I-I'm sorry, I just--seeing my daughter there--lying on that floor, I just--"

"I know," August whispered.

"And this can't be easy for you." Mama pushed some of August's hair behind his ear, lovingly cupping his chin. "You've done so well. I'm so sorry this happened, sweetheart. I'm proud of you. Except, well, we talked about it. Don't ever decide to be unresponsive to messages again, though I' sorry, too. We should have told Ivvy. What are you doing down here, love?"

"Thank you," was all he could get out. But oh, how his heart ached. He wished he could take each family member and keep them inside a protective bubble. Reaching up with one hand, August squeezed Mama's fingers.

But at the last part, he hesitated. The paper burned behind him like a brand, but that was adding another worry to Mama's list, it would make him feel even more like a burden he tried so hard to believe now he wasn't. You deserve to take up space, Cal had said so much. With the thought in his mind, August shakily reached up and yanked the condemning paper down. He knew very well another would come out, and he had to hope and pray nobody got wind of Cal's...situation. The Haydens couldn't take another hit.

Wordlessly, shame eating at August's face, his cheeks red, he handed the paper to Mama, then shifted away. For a horrible moment of silence, he simply tugged at the anklet looped around his right ankle, twisting the strings around his finger. He--

"Son of a bitch," she heard Mama hiss. "Auggie, I'm so fucking sorry."

Literally it is a joke. Would have been funny, had Callie not been dying upstairs. He ripped the paper from Mama and crumbed it together in both hands, the rough edges pressing into his skin. "I didn't manipulate him, Mama."

"I know." Taking a deep breath, Katarina smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "My son would never. August, you have the kindest heart, the most open capacity of love I have ever seen. I know you wouldn't, and I also say this because most of the people also know this is a piece of crap. You have never hurt another person."

"I have though." The confession slipped from him, and old one, and one on good days he could manage, but this week had been hell. "I-I let...him...hurt Callie because I was too stupid to know he was hurting her--"

"No, no, August." Tears welled in Mama's eyes, and she dropped her head, trembling hand over her face. "No. That was my fault. She is my responsibility, both of you were and are and what happened to you both was my fault and I am so sorry and now I failed her again, and I-I failed you, I failed Selene and Ivorii--"

"No." August didn't process his own tears until his lips burned with salt. "Mama, no. No."

But what was there to say? Nothing. Both were a mess, unravelled inside, just like Aunt Selene was. And it scared August shitless, how quickly their family had fallen and been hit again, so many times. Love was horrible in that way, he thought bitterly. The more you loved, the harder it hurt when things went south.

So he simply rested his head against her shoulder, both of them crying on the kitchen floor, the epitome of "uncivilized", if the damn Seaveys were going to have their say.

But at least about that, Mama's words stuck. Maybe it was true. Maybe most people understood August would never hurt a fly.

And yet.

And yet, he couldn't help it. It still hurt.

Just like every single other thing this week.

All he wanted was a happy family. But apparently, none of them were getting that ending. I hope you're happy, Delacroix. Seavey. Vyperion. Destroying lives. Enjoy your sick natures now, because I promise you, when she's strong enough again, she's coming for you.