A/N: This started due to a Reddit comment thread where someone asked to see a version of Leonie's B Support with Byleth where she gets the chewing out she deserves. I answered the call for that fanfic and churned out this mess you see below. Please note that this is Chapter 1 of 2, maybe 3 (that can change if I decide to rework other supports, not that many in 3 Houses beyond this one really need it.)
I don't know if it was the half flask of backwoods booze, downed while curled up in bed, the grief that I was trying to drown out with it, or the guilt of my resentment that led there, but the day after Captain Jeralt's death, I found myself outside his son's, my professor's, room, with the beginning of an apology heavy in my mind. The previous night's storm had let up for the most part, leaving behind a faint, misting drizzle that cooled my skin.
What in the Saints are you doing here, Leonie, I asked myself as I gathered my courage to knock on the door. You're probably the last person he wants to see, the blathering idiot who can't help but bring up his father every other sentence, and you know that. You are only going to fuck this up, and then you'll be stuck with Alois as your only brother apprentice for the rest of your life.
For better or for worse, I was spared the burden of knocking when Byleth opened the door. Except for a red patchiness to his cheeks and a more solemn air than usual, he seemed exactly the same as always.
"Hey, Professor," I said awkwardly, unprepared to talk with him despite standing outside his door for half an hour.
"Got a minute?" I continued, cringing inwardly at how unnatural and stiff I sounded, even though I had rehearsed this exchange in my head for most of the morning.
Byleth's expression became blanker than usual, but then, for a brief moment, I thought I saw something flicker on and off in his face, a ghost of an emotion, killed by Byleth's trademark detachment.
"Of course. Come on in," he said, stepping out of the doorway so I could enter.
Unlike Professor Hanneman's well-furnished study, or Professor Manuela's well-stocked infirmary, Byleth's room was as sparse as a student's, with the only distinguishing features being the white carpeting of Knight of Seiros rather than the red, gold, or blue of a student's house and the bulletin board, magically linked to the other's around campus so that he could see and prepare to meet students' needs while getting ready for the day.
Byleth motioned towards a wooden seat near a small table, which I gladly sat in while he stood near the now closed door.
"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I didn't mean to lose my temper I was rude to you. I should have known better," I started, almost unable to look him in the eye, yet forcing myself to. He deserved an apology like this, deserved this attempt to clear the air between them, to have someone who wasn't as odd as Rhea, as annoying as Alois, or as heartbroken as Jeralt's mercenaries, who were currently making a valiant attempt to rid the town of the evil of alcohol, there for him to talk about his father with.
"It's all right," he said in his usual monotone; it didn't quite lack inflection, but rather had inflection without emotion. His voice went high and low in the right places to sound natural, but beyond that, there was little, if any, depth to it.
Normally, I could deal with that, even though the way Byleth reacted to things, or rather didn't react to things, frightened me a bit, and was nothing like the intentional detachment his father had. Where I could tell that Jeralt kept himself at a distance to prevent his line of work from destroying him, Byleth almost felt like a piece of art, or perhaps a puppet, a something we tried to attach emotions to rather than a someone who could let us know what he was feeling. But that was ok, as despite all of that, there was still something comforting about his presence. Being around him was like being huddled up near a fire on a snowy winter day; despite the biting cold all around, you felt as warm as the hottest summer day.
Today, though, today… it was all I could do not to smack him. Jeralt was dead, I'm a wreck and wanted nothing more to check on him, apologize to him, and comfort him, and here he is, sure, more solemn, a bit teary eyed, but otherwise… fine. Normal, or as normal as he could be.
"I thought you might say that. In that way, you're just like Captain Jeralt. You accept other people. You don't let petty details get under your skin," I said gingerly. It took everything I had to prevent his father's name from becoming an acid barb, but somehow I managed to keep my rage hidden, masking it with concern.
I shifted in my seat, feigning discomfort to hide the deep, steadying breaths I was taking to calm myself. Maybe this is the only way he knows how to express himself, I told myself. When Jeralt told me to, in the event of his death, be as loyal to his son as I was to him, he did tell me Byleth was a bit… muted, but I never expected… this.
"How did you know my father?" Byleth asked, interrupting my reverie as he took the other seat.
"Well, when I was a kid, I kind of latched on to him. I've been calling myself his apprentice ever since. He spent some time in the village I grew up in," I sighed, rage soothed by childhood memories flickering through my mind. One person, I noticed for the first time, was conspicuously absent from them, however.
"Actually, you weren't with him back then. Why not?" I asked, suddenly curious.
Byleth's face assumed the passive, nearly thoughtful look that was the closest thing he had to emotion.
"I don't remember," he said simply after a few moments.
"Huh. Maybe he left you with a relative or something," I offered weakly, remembering from what Jeralt told me that he had no living relatives, or at least none that he was aware of, anyway. Perhaps he had been with the mercenaries and I didn't notice? I did only have eyes for Jeralt back then, and if he was actively trying to hide his son from prying eyes, I never would have paid the slightest attention to him.
I shrugged, then continued.
"Anyway, back then, Jeralt's job was to deal with poachers—well, they were bandits—but we called them poachers. Nobody in the village could stand up to them. But your dad?" I could feel a strange flurry of emotions, gratitude, frustration, and joy, mixing deep within my chest. "Your dad, he took them on like it was nothing. I was so impressed! All I could think was how amazing mercenaries were. I'd lived in that tiny village my whole life, so to me, Captain Jeralt was nothing short of a legend."
More than a legend, a hero even. Without him… I would be nothing.
"So I went right up to him, and I told him I was going to be his apprentice. He didn't stick around long after that, but he did teach me a lot while he was with us. Tactics, strategy, training routines—it was all so new and exciting! So after he left, I kept at it. Kept training. Just like he taught me," I finished, finding it harder and harder to keep my emotions in check as I spoke. Jeralt had done so much for me, more than he realized, and I had worked myself nearly to death to get to the point I was at now, yet… Professor Byleth could, barely trying, master everything his father had to offer, merely because he had more time with him, more attention, more care.
"I'm glad you got to see him again," Byleth replied
"Me too. I always planned to meet him again-" I wish we'd never parted "once I became a top-tier mercenary… But I'm just glad I got to see him. To thank him properly and all. I've spent my whole life working to become a great mercenary like your father."
"There were so many times when I wanted to ask his advice, but I couldn't. I just had to make do. That's how I've made it this far. Just hard work, all on my own." I smiled, but the years of loneliness rose in my throat, scorching the backs of my smiling teeth, until those dark thoughts won out and my grin burned away.
"But then you come along... And it's like you don't appreciate Captain Jeralt at all, or how lucky you were to have him around your whole life!" The accusation, born of my deepest insecurities, flew out before I could stop it, though, to be honest, I'm not sure if I really wanted to. How could he sit here and seemingly not feel anything, anything at all, after his father's death! How could his father, who meant so much to so many, mean so little to him?! What would it take to get him to feel anything?
"Ugh!" I snorted, disgust creeping into my voice. "I thought that things would change now, but this… it still really bothers me! You might be his kid, but I'm still his best apprentice! Got it?!"
My yelled words briefly echoed around us, then the room fell silent, Byleth's face as blank as ever. Immediately, I knew I had crossed another line, this one far more serious than the first. Then, his father was alive, and I was feeling competitive and jealous, and the possibility of forgiveness was present. Now… in those echoes, I didn't hear a competitive girl, I heard an ungrateful bitch, one who came out of some ill founded need to govern a man's relationship with his father, to make sure he loved him enough as I thought he should have. Yet, the anger within me refused to die, fed by my deeply held suspicion that Byleth didn't truly feel anything after all, that even those brief glimpses of emotion we occasionally got were, if not for show, then ungainly attempts by a sociopath to imitate human emotion. I sat there, unyielding, daring him to respond, almost hoping he would show some, any emotion and prove me wrong.
"Last night, when my father died, was the first time I cried in a long time, perhaps ever," Byleth said quietly. The hint of desperation in his voice sent a shiver down my spine and snuffed out my anger, leaving empty ashes in its place. He sounded lost, scared, and here I was… tormenting him. I opened my mouth to speak, to try and make any of this right, but he cut me off.
"I held him as he died, and all I could manage to do was shed a few tears. These red marks on my cheeks," Byleth pointed, "are not from me crying, but from me trying to cry more, to feel more. I hate how filtered my emotions feel, hate that I can't even bring myself to cry now, to feel anything more than generally sad about my father dying in arms!"
Byleth's voice slowly rose in volume as he spoke, until by the end he was shouting, the first time I've ever heard him yell outside of battle. He stood up, knocking over his chair in the process, his face contorting into his first ever attempt at a scowl.
"But now… now, I'm angry. How dare you Leonie. How dare you come to me, today of all days, and tell me how I didn't appreciate him. He's the only person I've ever felt love for, the only person to, up till now, care about me. Of course I appreciate him. I'm scared, Leonie, terrified of how I am going to live my life without him. He meant everything to me, was one of the only things in my life, and now he's gone." He slammed his fist down on the table, shaking a few books off it. Any trace of hurt was now gone from his face; in its place was a cruel, uncaring gaze, different from the indifferent expression Byleth wore when cutting people down on the battlefield. This was Rhea's expression when passing judgement, the look that said that you were nothing more than an insect, less than an insect, that you were defiling Fódlan by merely living.
"You were never his squire, or even his apprentice. You were a poor village girl he pitied enough to teach a few things, nothing more," Byleth continued, the new, Rhea-esque gleam in his eyes keeping my gaze trapped despite the tears streaming down my face. "Meeting him might have changed your life, but for him, it was Tuesday. Whatever love you felt from him was an illusion, nothing more."
At that, something inside of me broke. I had been able to sit through most of that, watch as someone who, despite my annoyance at his lack of emotion and jealousy of his family, imploded due to me, due to the things I said, due to my own inability to leave well enough alone and put my psychodrama aside. It hurt to see this, hurt something deep inside within me and spawned a dragon, festering with guilt and self-loathing, inside of me, but I could take it. I would cry, and my self hatred would grow ever larger, and I would try and fail to make to make this right again, starting the cycle anew, but I could survive.
That though… that was everything I've ever feared about myself, every teenage insecurity, every time I trained till it hurt not for the training, but for the hurt, to give myself the pain I deserved for being a useless drain on my entire village and a sorry excuse for a daughter, and every time I considered walking away from those I was with, disappearing into the wild, and seeing how long I could last before I died, balled up into a few biting comments. If there was a light within all of us, as Seteth occasionally preached, … that caused the light in me to go out.
A/N: And that's a wrap for chapter one. A bit of an abrupt ending, but I am tired and wanted to get the main part of what I promised out tonight. Reviews are welcome, especially on whether Byleth's sociopathy is working or not.
Also, it is good to be back. If you look at my account, you'll see how long it has been since I've last posted, and I have to say... I missed this feeling.
Finally, I should have chapter two up sometime over the next few days. I have it half written, but decided to cut it off here for now as, again, tired and currently suffering through an infected wisdom tooth. Not fun.