Super Important A/N: So this has been something in my mind for a while. I know my stories have a darker tone, but I wanted to do something a bit more realistic. That being said, there is going to be some heavy stuff throughout this story.
Trigger Warnings: Bullying, Alcoholism, Child Abuse
The things discussed in this story is to add a sense of realism and emotions. That being said, the seriousness of these subjects are not to be taken lightly. There were be more trigger warnings as the story progresses. I do want to emphasize these are serious issues that a large number of people live with. These things should not be joked with. This is not an attempt to take away the seriousness of these topics.
Read at your own discretion.
Chapter 1: Reality
They say that happiness helps people achieve their goals. Joy drives people to succeed. Happiness drives people. Well, to be honest, I don't know anything about that.
Happiness is something strange to me. It's always in reach, it's always just in reach. The hope of achieving that happiness kept pushing me to go; it willed me forward. Well, to those who say that happiness drives people. I disagree, at least for me. For me, it wasn't happiness that got me here where I am. It wasn't hope. However, I found out that hope quickly dies when you are surrounded by nothing but pain and anger. It was the sheer determination to survive. Willpower drove me to keep on going on. Where did I get this determination and willpower you may be asking?
Hate. Anger. Sadness. For the weaker willed person, they may be broken by these emotions. To the strong-willed, though, it'll carry you far. It will propel you to succeed. But at what cost?
In one of my college classes, if I remember correctly, Minority Literature, Eldridge Cleaver, a famous African American essayist wrote: "The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less." That may be true, but what happens when people hate you? When you hate yourself? What does that do to yourself?
Can you ever come back from the ever deepening, ever darkening despair? It is just a forlorn hope, a hopeless climb up an insurmountable mountain, a desperate charge over into no man's land? Is pointless to reach for that beacon of hope to reach the land of happiness? Or is the darkness every consuming? I'm not one to say. All I know is that I am one of the lucky ones who managed to persevere. My story is that of a survivor. A veteran of an impossible oddity, still fighting the battles of my youth.
"Honeeey…. Wake up." which was accompanied by a gentle shake on the shoulder. "Time to get up."
Too early for this, he grumbled mentally protested. He had only gotten four hours of sleep. That tended to happen when his parents fought, which was at least once a month. It was clockwork; they would drink, they would get drunk, minor issues would escalate quickly, and Jaune wouldn't be able to get any sleep. He opened his eyes to be greeted with the smile of his mother.
How can you act like nothing's wrong? Everything is all wrong. Jaune got up as he watched his mother leave his room. He was thankful that his family had moved out, no wait for the bathroom. However, there were some definite drawbacks to having siblings with you. He looked at his arm. It was still black and blue from last night.
He entered the bathroom, turning on the showerhead. The room quickly became enveloped in a thick steam. Running his hand in the water, he decided to get in. The warm felt rather comfortable except for his bruised arm. Each droplet felt like a stinger as the warm water felt like hail. At least it wasn't as bad as last year. He thought to himself as he quickly scrubbed his hair with shampoo. When all was said and done, Jaune turned off the shower and quickly dried off. Wrapping himself in a towel, he made his way back into his room. He slipped on a white undershirt with a simple grey t-shirt over. He then put on black and red athletic shorts. He made sure the shirt covered up the bruises.
Making his way out into the living room, he noted that the dining room was eerily quiet. Usually, his dad was there reading the newspaper or watching the news. However, it was empty. His mom was in the kitchen making breakfast. Ahh, another key component to the 'events.' This was all a part of the ritual.
After every fight, his drunken father would leave home, ill-advised when intoxicated, but for some odd reason, the magical liquid happened to distort higher cognitive functions. He would always return home sometime in the late evening with flowers and apologize to both him and his mother.
However, his mother was not free of guilt. She too often didn't know when to let go of a subject especially with a drunk husband. It also didn't hope when his own mother was intoxicated, that usually made everything infinitely times worse. Often, she would pretend nothing happened, and as if to make a slight apology, and to absolve herself of any guilt, she would often make an outlandish breakfast. Something that Jaune hated.
"Breakfast is almost ready hun."
Jaune put on the face of an ever obedient, loving, and often forgetful son. "Thanks, Mom!" In reality, I really can't stand this shit anymore. After his mom had served him his plate, he ate in silence, as his mom cleaned the kitchen. After finishing his plate, he scraped the leftover in the trashcan, a relatively substantial amount. He deposited his plate in the sink and grabbed his bag. Usually, he would give his mom a hug, but not this time. He just opened the door, without turning to face his mom, said "Love you," as he headed out of the house, slamming the door shut. This too was all a part of the ritual; he wanted to know that he was upset if she cared or felt ashamed, she didn't let on.
First day of high school. It was nerve-wracking. However, it has been particularly bad with Jaune's little secret. He felt especially on edge now, trying to create the facade known as Jaune, the popular kid, not Jaune with abusive alcoholic parents.
He walked into the school, keeping to himself. The fewer people he introduced himself to, the fewer people would have the opportunity to find out the horrible, ugly, truth. The halls were filled with students of all grades running up and down the hall. Some scrambled to get to their next class as others clustered in large groups chatting, hooting and hollering. Friends met with one another, laughing and hugging.
He made it to his locker, quickly putting the combination to the lock pad. He managed to open it on the third try. He opened the locker, taking a slip of paper while depositing his book bag. On the paper had his class schedule
8:00-9:45: History: Mrs. Branwen
10:00-11:45: English: Mr. Port
12:00-12:45: Lunch B
1:00-2:45: Math: Mr. Oobleck
3:00-3:45: Band: Mr. Branwen.
He walked down the hall, avoiding the large groups. He walked down the stairs to the basement of the school where the class was. In the classroom, behind all the student desks, in the left corner was the teacher's desk. There sat a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. She wore a white shirt with black vest. Her black hair cascaded down her back, oddly wild and untamed, yet some general order. Her red eyes were scanning over a book she was reading. Jaune looked at the title. Carry Me Back, A History of the Domestic Slave Trade. Oh no… this is going to be a real boring class. He dreaded.
He entered the threshold of what he assumed to be a dreaded stereotypical history class. Her eyes shifted from the book to Jaune. He gulped. A look of a complete hardass looked over him. It quickly faded as she gave a friendly smile. "Good morning." She greeted casually. "May I get your name?"
"Jaune Arc." He replied watching the teacher.
"Alright, Jaune." She pulled a drawer from her desk, retrieving a large stack of papers. She moved over to the front of the classroom, grabbed a remote and turned on the projector. She pulled down the projector screen. "If you could get a syllabus that would be great. The first day, I don't care where people sit." Jaune nodded as he went over to grab the piece of paper.
He went over to further most desk far away from the teacher, in the back. He took his seat as he scanned the paper. Basic contact info, expectations, rules, course outline. The teacher went back to her desk, continuing to read her book. Jaune watched as students filed. A big fella walked in wearing a baseball jersey. His brown hair swept up, his blue eyes gave off the sense of smugness. He took a seat in front of Jaune.
"Sup. I'm Cardin." He held his hand out. Jaune took it "Jaune. Another boy sat beside him. He wore a dirty, oil stained shirt, his green mohawk being rather distracting. "That's Russel." The said boy extended his hand as Jaune shook it.
Jaune noted a girl in rather formal wear took a seat towards the front of the class. Her white theme and long white ponytail were rather too dazzling for Jaune this early in the morning.
*BING BING BING*
The teacher stood up, carrying a container of what looked like crumpled up paper Uhhhhhh…. What? "That was the bell to start right?" Jaune asked Cardin. He nodded, looking at the clock
"Yeah…."
Everyone in the room started to look around chatting with each other. Aren't teachers paid to teach us? Jaune thought to himself. And yet… his teacher just walked out of the room. The volume in the classroom increased as student gained a sense of freedom. No teacher meant time to goof off of course.
Minutes went by. Jaune looked at the clock; five minutes passed by. "So I don't think we're doing any-"
The door swung open with a loud *BANG!* The teacher walked into the room as everyone immediately shut their mouths. She slammed the container on the stool where the stack of paper was. Everyone eyes went wide. "Now that I have your attention." She scanned the room with her cold, calculating eyes. "If you're going to act up in my class, you might as well just leave. I'm not going to tolerate it, alright?" The room was silent.
"Am I understood?" Her voice rose as if she was a drill instructor. Everyone nodded. "I'm sorry" She cupped her ear. "What was that?"
"Yes!" Everyone shouted.
"Good, you may address me as Mrs. Branwen." She took a syllabus in her hand. "This your syllabus, here are the rules and guidelines for the class, I'm not wasting your time, and more importantly, my time going over this. You're all in 9th grade, I expect that you can read." Gosh this teacher was not joking around. Jaune blinked. She was legit downright terrifying.
She took a piece of what was a crumpled up piece of paper and tossed it in the trashcan by the door, a rather impressive shot. She took another piece of paper and tossed in there. Everyone watching, unsure of what to make of all of this. "So I went through this year's textbook," throws another ball of paper, "what a load of shit," Everyone gasped, she seemed not to care as she tossed another piece of paper, "so we're gonna ignore it."
By the time she was done, there was no more paper, just a very thin book.
She stood over her class"You've been lied to throughout your school career. You've been taught that our history was that beauty, of perfection. Everything we did was perfect, that we stood up for everything that was right and just in the world." she looked around the room, she paused, letting her word soak in. "That's all crap. I'm here to teach you the real history of the U.S., of the World. Throughout the semester, I want to keep an open mind, toss those silly misconceptions out the door. We're learning the history of how the worked back then." Jaune nodded slightly impressed. Maybe this won't be such a crappy class anyway. She tossed the book in the trashcan.
"We'll be starting with good old Christopher Columbus." She took out the remote and clicked it revealing a power point. "What do we know about the Italian?"
"He discovered the New World." A student answered.
Raven smirked. "Nope! The first people to discover North America were the Vikings. He also landed on Hispania, not North America. There's a difference."
"He was the first person to think that the world was round." Another suggest.
Raven chuckled. "Nope people knew the world was round at this time, just larger than what it was. Columbus thought that the earth was actually smaller than what it was."
"He was fair to the Indians." Another student added. Raven busted up laughing.
"Fair as in an egotistical genocidal religious maniac that butchered Native Americans and the Spaniards under his command, then yeah… you'd be right." She clicked the power point. "Oh we have a lot to talk about." Jaune leaned in, listening intently. This by far the best history class Jaune had been in.
The day dragged on. English…. Well… was boring compared to history. Lunch was a rather quiet affair. For the most part, Jaune sat by himself towards the end of the lunchroom, preferring to be alone. However, that changed when Cardin and Russell joined him.
Math was no better. It just dragged on. It didn't help the teacher move and spoke a thousand miles an hour. However, the day was almost over. Band.
A tall, lanky man sat on a stool. He had black hair fading to gray with old age, wearing an aluminum grey suit shirt half tucked in, and a red tie that looks a bit too well tied to have been by him, if his appearance is anything to go by. Jaune moved towards the back where he found a chair with his name written on a piece of paper. He was rather surprised to see that in the same row was Cardin, Russel, and - now that he finally could put a name to the white themed girl - Weiss.
"Alright. Now that everyone is in their seats, this is how things are going to be." He tapped the podium in front of him with his slender baton. "Those are going to be your assigned seats. You have three minutes after the bell rings to get situated, that should be plenty of enough time. Once I sit on this stool, I don't want a peep out of anyone's mouth. Talking will significantly lower your grade. Before we get started, I do have one announcement. If anyone is interested in joining Marching Band, we have an orientation after school."
He tapped his podium. "Let's begin with a few warm-ups." The back row that included Jaune, Cardin, Russel, and Weiss stood up and moved towards the back, towards the percussion equipment. Weiss, on xylophone, the others on snares. "Percussion, eight on a hand." He tapped the podium giving a good warm up beat.
The bell rang. Jaune made his way to his locker and quickly packed his bag. He made his way on the bus. He took his seat, letting out an exasperated sigh. It was difficult to keep up with the facade all day. It was hard to pretend to be normal. At least he could go home and be himself, for all the good it was.
However, he knew how it was going to be when he got home. Either both parents would be drunk, and he would keep to himself in his room, trying to avoid the anger of his father, praying that he was actually a happy alcoholic, or if a higher being was looking out for him, then only his mother would be smashed. Either way, Jaune grew accustomed to this, he grew accustomed to seeing his parents as a sorry excuse of human life.
On the bus, at least to he could relish being able to decompress with nothing nagging at him or him dealing with adult children. He would relish these small moments of peace and quiet. A shame how things could always be like this.
He made his way to the door. Each step felt like a mile. Each step felt as if he had transcended time. He climbed the steps and opened the door. The met with the familiar smell of booze in the house. An odor that brought only ill tidings. He turned to the living room to see his mom passed out on the recliner.
Jaune shook his head disgusted by the fact his mom was supposed to take care of him. Instead, Jaune looked after himself. He had to grow up quick without the help of his parents. Jaune rolled his eyes at the sight of his passed out mother. He made his way to the kitchen to see his dad cooking. "Hey Jaune, how was school?" He asked as if nothing happened last night.
"Good." He curtly responded, as he quickly made a sandwich. His father looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"You know I'm making hamburgers, your favorite." His tone almost apologetic. Food doesn't buy respect. Jaune thought through gritted teeth.
"I'm not that hungry. Thanks, though." Jaune turned to head back to his room.
"Son wait," Jaune turned around to look at his father. "I'm sorry, I swear it won't happen again. It's just-"
"It's fine." Lies, Lies, Lies, LIES, LIES! His mind blasted away. He quickly suppressed these thoughts. "You always say that…" He muttered to himself as he walked down the hallway to his room.
He closed the door and hopped on his computer, turning on Spotify. He shuffled his playlist. A guitar started to play. Greenday, specifically Boulevard of Broken Dream How Ironic. He listened to the song as he scrolled through Facebook.
Billie Armstrong starts off soft "I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street, on the boulevard of broken dreams
Yeah fitting, Jaune thought to himself as he sang to the song.
When the city sleeps, and I'm the only one and I walk alone
I walk alone, I walk alone
I walk alone, I walk alone
He saw his sisters all enjoying college or going to parties with their significant others. All happy, all content.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone
And here he was stuck in this hell hole. The only person he could ever rely on was himself now.
I'm walking down the line, that divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line of the edge, and where I walk alone
Read between the lines, what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs and know I'm still alive
And I walk alone
He got up from his desk, feeling a good numbness overtake him. He walked over to his bed singing
I walk alone, I walk alone
I walk alone, I walk alone
He collapsed on his bed, looking up the ceiling.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone
I walk alone, I walk alone
Nothing. Emptiness. His eyes started well up as he sang the last verse.
I walk this empty street
On the boulevard of broken dreams
When the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone
Tears ran down his cheek.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone
A/N
Hey guys! So this is a story as you can tell, it's very different from all of my stuff. All I can say is that you may love it, you may hate it. It's going to be written though.
So there will be a great many characters in this as the story progresses. There will ships. Ships are promised.
Characters may not follow RWBY canon!
Before anyone gets on my case about the history. I graduated with a degree in History Education and am currently enrolled a Master's Degree in Applied History... so I can say I've done my research lol. The point is to illustrate that in most schools, history isn't taught to the fullest extent, we tend to paint a perfect picture, ignoring soem of the uglier facts. I'm not trying to start anything, I'm just expressing my viewpoint.
Greenday's: Boulevard of Broken Dreams? Pretty fitting I would say...
Full cast so far: Jaune Arc, Weiss Schnee, Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen, Taiyang Xiao-Long, Summer Rose, Ruby Rose, Yang Xiao-Long, Pyrrha Nikos, Blake Belladona, Scarlet David, Sun Wukong, Neptune Vesilias, Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, Cardin Winchester, Russel Thrush (More give or take)
If you guys like the story, feel free to leave a follow, favorite, pm, or review. It really helps out! Tell me what you think, I know it's just the beginning to tell me if you had any reactions, thoughts, opinions, questions. All that kind of stuff. I love to hear from all of ya!
Thank you
-Lordxsauron