A/N: In response to my own lyric challenge. You can see the bottom of my profile for details.

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to August Rush.

Rating: PG to PG-13 for thematic elements

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship

Summary: *Lyric Challenge* August Rush goes behind Wizard's back and tries to help Arthur and the rest of Wizard's street musicians feel the music speak to them like it does to him. Things go smoothly, until Wizard finds out.

It's Gonna Be Alright

Chapter 1

August Rush sat on the park bench, strumming absently on his guitar. It was a new one. His father had bought it for him. He remembered his reaction with a slight smile. The dark wood had gleamed, the strings taut and shining. They sang as he ran his fingers up and down their thin bodies, each strand shivering in response to his touch as if anxious to start creating music. The neck was slender and firm, the body just the right size for him. He had thrown his arms around Louis's waist in an enthusiastic hug.

"It's perfect," he had said, happiness bubbling in his stomach like a fizzy soda.

Louis had beamed back at him, glad he was able to put a smile on the boy's face. He had been strangely solemn the past couple of weeks. Several months had passed since the night of the concert and Louis and Lyla had found each other and their son. At first August had been ecstatic, always grinning in their presence, wanting to go everywhere and do everything with them. They played music together, music August wrote. The notes had flowed from his fingers like water onto fresh new earth, concertos and rhapsodies springing up like roses and sunflowers.

But suddenly the inspiration seemed to leave August. No music came from his room. He stopped begging for them to play together. A permanent frown creased his forehead. Neither Lyla nor Louis could figure out what was wrong. The only thing they could agree on was that it started right after they had taken a walk together in Central Park. August had gone missing for a few minutes and the two adults had gone frantic looking for him. They had finally found him, staring after a black boy with a guitar and a man in a cowboy hat.

As soon as they got home, the music seemed to have left August. Nothing could inspire him to even hum. Louis tried to get a rhythm back in his son by tapping things in the boy's presence. Forks against plate, fingers against thigh, drumsticks against the doorframe. August appreciated the effort, and told his father such. But he said the music was waiting for something. He could not say what. He seemed to always be listening though. In the silence he was waiting as well, waiting for the music to speak to him.

In a final act of desperation, Louis went out and bought the new instrument. A rush of relief flowed over him as he watched August hesitantly pluck at the strings. Lyla watched from the doorway in breathless anticipation. But nothing else happened. Instead, August had raised his eyes and asked one question.

"May I go into the park and play?"

Lyla and Louis had been surprised to say the least. After what had happened in the park, they had steered clear of it. But now, with August watching them expectantly, his soulful eyes watching their faces with a scrutiny they had long gotten used to.

"I-I suppose so," Lyla had stammered, her dark blue eyes looking at him questioningly.

"Do ya want me to go with ya?" Louis asked, concern evident in his eyes.

He had not responded to Lyla's look, only smiled faintly and shook his head to Louis's question. "No, thank you," he was all he said before walking out the door without a look back.

And now he was sitting on the park bench, his fingers exploring the strings of the guitar with expert precision. To passers-by it was obvious the young boy was waiting for someone. Finally he spotted that someone. Moving around the guitar so that it rested on his back, August stood and made his way over to the black boy strumming a beat up guitar that August did not recognize until he got closer.

"Hello Arthur."

"So it's you again," the black boy said flatly, not looking too pleased to see August.

"Yes, it's me again," August said calmly.

"Are you here to take my spot? Cuz if you try, you're gonna havta fight me for it. I ain't moving." Arthur was watching warily, as if not sure if he should trust August, which August thought strange, but that was why he was here.

"No," August said. "I'm here to play with you."

"Huh?" Arthur blinked.

"I heard Wizard yelling at you in the park a couple weeks ago. He said you were playing badly." August's frank look was making Arthur uncomfortable. The black boy shifted back and forth on his feet, squinting up at the sky. "So I came to play with you. I thought that maybe you'd get more money that way. So Wizard wouldn't be mad."

"He ain't gonna believe I raked up all that dough on my own, no way." Arthur frowned down at August as if the other boy was crazy.

"Tell him an angel helped. He can't argue with God," August said matter-a-factly, climbing up on the platform to stand beside Arthur, swinging his guitar around.

Arthur's eyes bugged when he saw the instrument. "Man! Where'd you get a beauty like that?"

"My dad."

Arthur's excited expression disappeared instantly, his jaw tightening. He fiddled with his guitar for a moment, tuning it. August mimicked his gestures, making sure he was on the same key as Arthur. Without another look at August, Arthur picked at the strings a few times before he started playing, loudly and energetically. August listened carefully for a few seconds, waiting for the music to tell him what to play. Then the right harmony came to him and he started playing as well, keeping up with Arthur and expanding the piece so that it was a different one altogether, something grander and more complex than one would expect in a pair of park players. Arthur had to struggle to keep his frown as person after person would drop change into the guitar box.

Glancing over at August, Arthur marveled at the grin on the other boy's face. He played music because he loved it. Arthur played because he had to, and he felt the difference keenly. Jealousy suddenly burned within him. He played faster and faster, trying to trip August up. But the boy was just too good. He kept up and even added some flair at the end. Arthur stopped playing.

August looked startled. "Why did you stop?" he asked, breathless from the invigorating rush playing music always gave him. "It was really good!"

"With you maybe," Arthur muttered under his breath, looking down at the piles of bills and coins that had built up in the case. There was more in there than he had made in weeks. As much as Arthur was glad to have money, he was angry and suddenly could not stand to be around August. He jumped down from his perch, closing up the case so he could carry it to a new location.

August frowned, confused. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned for his friend.

"Nothing," Arthur said. "I'm just going to find another spot." He picked up the case and turned away.

"I'll come with you!" August eagerly hopped off the platform and hurried after Arthur.

"No." Arthur stopped and turned slightly, frowning sidelong at August's flushed face. The envy grew stronger, feeding the green monster deep in Arthur's stomach. The boy in front of him had such a passion for music, he got flushed and breathless in its presence! It was like the music was his lover or something. The way he got instruments to respond to him, as though they were the slaves and he were the master, Arthur got frustrated just thinking about it. If only he had that gift, that talent. If only he were as good as August Rush . . . then all his troubles would go away. They had for August at least.

"Go home to your dad. I bet he'd love to hear you play." The bitterness was sharp in Arthur's voice.

Understanding seemed to dawn on August and his expression fell. "Are you mad at me?"

"No. Yes. I dunno." Arthur shrugged. "Look, I really need to get this back to Wizard. I'll catch up with you later, okay?" He had to struggle to keep his voice calm, and it ended up coming out sad. That surprised him and yet it seemed fitting. Arthur did not like being jealous of August. The two had become fairly close over their time spent with Wizard. They had shared the same room, the same instrument, the same cold nights, the same lack of food, clothes, and parents. Those things gave them something in common. They had both been servants of Wizard, the man every child in his theater hated yet respected.

But now everything was different. August was with a family now. He had his own room, his own instrument, his own food and clothes. They had nothing in common anymore. Except maybe their hatred for Wizard.

"Can't you tell me what's wrong? I want to help if I can," August said, looking at Arthur so earnestly that the other boy could not help but sigh and break down his barriers somewhat.

"Look kid, I'm not mad at you okay? It's just . . . since you left, things have kinda been tough. I mean, I ain't regretting helping you escape, you needed to get out. But the rest of us . . . Wizard lost his best kid that day, and he made sure we knew it too." Arthur pointed to a small scar on his cheek. "I didn't get that skateboarding."

August's eyes were wide, but he did not look surprised. In fact, he nodded slowly as if he had expected to hear something like that. This made Arthur even angrier.

"But hey, I ain't complaining," he said sharply. "I ain't got a family like you, sure. Whatever. Who needs parents anyway? I got all I want right here." He tapped the guitar lightly. It was a lie, but who said August needed to know that?

August nodded again. "The music helps," he said sympathetically. "It takes you away for a little while. Makes you feel safe."

"Yeah," Arthur said, suddenly studying August carefully. The other boy got a tender look in his eyes when he mentioned the music. "Something like that. But hey, I ain't no August Rush. So no matter what I think of the music, Wizard always demands more. Better. He wants you back, August. Real bad. Said you were his favorite. His best. His little Mozart. His little prodigy. He goes looking for you some nights. I think he might be thinking of a kidnapping deal." Arthur felt some satisfaction on seeing the blood fade from August's face, but then felt a guilty weight settle in his chest.

"But hey, like, I wouldn't squeal on you. No way is he knowing I ran into you here. I've got your back." He slapped August's back companionably.

"Thanks Arthur, you're a real good friend." August smiled.

Arthur felt the weight grow heavier. August was so innocent! It was like he placed himself in this bubble where the music was the only thing he heard. Even though he had been through some real rough times with Wizard and not finding his folks for the longest time, he still remained so naïve too the cruel world. He shrugged and turned away.

"Yeah well, that's great and all, but it doesn't solve my problem. I can't go back to Wizard with all this money, August. He'll just want more and you won't be around."

"Sure I will," August said, digging into his pocket. He slipped a piece of paper into Arthur's hand. "That's my number," he said with a small grin. "Whenever you go to play, call me and I'll be here to help."

Arthur shook his head but pocketed the number. "Won't work. Wizard will eventually want to see me play. I mean, he'll probably ask for a demonstration today! No way I'm getting out of this mess. The music doesn't come to me like it does to you." He frowned.

"The music is all around you," August said with his never ending confidence. "All you have to do is listen."

"Hmph. Easy for you to say Mr. Mozart." Arthur snorted. "Not all of us are child prodigies. I mean, I thought I was pretty good for a kid my age. But then you come along and blow us out of the water. And now it's like we all suck and you were the only good one around."

"I can teach you," August said, desperate to find a way that his friend would not get in trouble with Wizard. The man was frightening enough on his good days.

Always the optimist, Arthur thought dismally. A dose of reality might be good for this kid. More so than what he got before at least. Since that seemed to have not done anything.

Without thinking much more about it, Arthur blurted out, "Come teach all of us."

August started. "But Wizard –"

"I'll call you when he's out. Man, we could use a musician like you. You could teach us all that stuff you learned at that Julie-place."

"Julliard," August corrected automatically, but his eyes were shining. It was obvious he liked the idea. He could really help the other kids this way. He could teach them to become so good at their instruments that Wizard would have no reason to keep looking for him. The man would be content with his brood and they wouldn't have to worry about Wizard getting angry at them. And then maybe . . . their own family would hear the music and find them, just like Lyla and Louis found him.

"Okay. I'll do it," August said with a smile.

"That's my man!" Arthur said, grinning in return. "I'll call you." He moved off deeper into the park, waving behind him at August.

August adjusted his guitar over his shoulder and waved back, happy he was finally going to be able to help his friends.

August did not tell his parents about Arthur's idea. He did not want them to worry about him, going down to Wizard's place all by himself. They would without doubt try to stop him, and he could not let Arthur and the others down. So when Arthur began calling in the afternoons, August made some excuse to leave and hurried down to Wizard's theater house. Lyla had insisted on homeschooling August, so he made sure he always completed his homework before leaving. He had night classes at Julliard, and he always set his watch to go off thirty minutes before he had to be there. Then he would tell his new students to keep practicing and race home in order for Lyla to walk him to his classes. She would ask where he had been, but August would evasively say, "Oh, somewhere" and leave it at that. If Lyla was suspicious, she did not say anything.

And the children were getting better, August could see the improvement. After a few weeks of lessons, he stopped seeing so many bruises. Arthur said that Wizard wondered only briefly about the change before deciding to believe it was just them practicing harder. August could not keep the smile off his face as he went through, step by step, the different ways to listen to the music that was around them.

Some of the kids struggled with listening. They would want to toot their horns or bang on their drums, not having the patience to just sit and wait for the music to speak to them. Others, like Arthur, responded well to the instruction and learned, slowly but surely, to hear the music in the air, in the subway, in the phone lines, in the passing cars.

"You'll be as good as me one day," August told Arthur one day.

Arthur had grinned, trying hard not to look as excited as he felt. "Naw, ain't none of us ever gonna be as good as August Rush."

"You're already getting better. Just keep practicing."

Three months passed. Louis and Lyla still had no idea where their son went when he left in the afternoons. When Lyla prodded him about it, he finally said, "I'm helping people. The way Julliard helped me." Neither of them new what August was talking about, but he seemed like his old self again, so they did not question him any further.

But then one day, he did not come home.