Newspaper headlines are at the BOTTOM of this chapter instead of the top. This likely won't be something that continues, but I wanted them to be about this chapter, and they'd have been way too spoiler-heavy at the top here.
Also, the second half of this chapter is going to be written very strangely. You'll see what I mean. It's intentional of course, and you'll likely figure out what it's all about, but just warning you now in advance.
Cover Art: GWBrex
Chapter 21
It was the semi-finals when Jaune was back on his feet and allowed to attend. Allowed might have been the wrong way to put it since it implied he wanted to go back. He'd have just as happily stayed in his hospital room with the Arc-Ops and his parents to visit. That was never going to last. Days later, he was out again and on his way back to Amity.
Somehow – Vine suspected a bribed doctor – the paparazzi and the media had cottoned onto the fact and were stalking the outside of the hospital as he was escorted out and into a car. The legitimate media shouted questions and kept mostly behind the lines, but several people in jackets and coats rushed forward with flashing cameras, trying to dodge soldiers who wrestled them to the ground. One of them, a faunus, managed to get halfway to Jaune before a soldier launched themselves in a tackle and dragged him to the ground. There was a ruckus, a camera smashed, and suddenly everyone else was recording that instead of him, giving Jaune the chance to slip into the car and be swept away.
"Is it my imagination or have things got worse?" asked Jaune when they were inside. Camera lenses flashed wildly at the window, but it was tinted, so even when he could see all the people wildly clamouring outside, they probably couldn't get a good view of him. He wished it could be tinted from the inside as well. Those hungry faces, and his own reflected in camera lenses, made him uncomfortable.
"It's because everyone wants to know what you came down with," said Vine. "There are conspiracy theories going around that you were attacked. Or abused by us. Or that you did drugs and had an overdose."
Jaune stared at the man. "Those three things are totally different."
"Hasn't stopped the clamour for photo evidence."
"What do they know?"
"Nothing yet," said Elm. "General Ironwood wanted to respect your privacy-"
"Good!"
"-but that's leaving people to make up their own minds, not to mention doctors being bribed. The reputable newspapers and media are just saying no one is sure or evidence is conflicted, but there are a lot of sensational sources that are as good as entertaining every idea at once. They're just trying to milk views."
Jaune groaned. He couldn't believe people cared that much about him. Okay, he was famous, sure, but he didn't get why they cared so much about what went on in his personal life. "Are you saying I should tell them what happened?"
"It's completely up to you – and I'd speak to General Ironwood first. There are some who are saying it might be better to get the truth out there and stop people making up their own reasons, and that the longer we wait the worst it will get. He's refusing to make any decision on the matter without your input, though."
Again, good. Jaune would have been upset if they'd gone behind his back on this. He just couldn't believe it was that big a deal. People get put in the hospital all the time, but the second it's me it makes international news. What is wrong with people? He knew it would be just as big if a famous movie star went into rehab, and that he'd read plenty of articles about that himself but being on the other end of it put into reality just how bad it was. The rest of the ride was in silence, with even the radio turned off, until they reached a private airship that would take him up to Amity.
General Ironwood was waiting on board along with his parents. Juniper engulfed him in a hug and rocked him from side to side, as if she hadn't just been in his hospital room yesterday and had known he was okay. Jaune smiled awkwardly and hugged her back. "Where are the girls?"
"Exploring Mistral with bodyguards and security teams," said his father. He shrugged. "They were into the whole tournament thing for the first part but got bored after the doubles rounds. I think they were just excited for the spectacle and then realised it's not as exciting as they thought it would be. Shopping on a near-unlimited budget, though?" He snorted. "Well, that's another matter entirely."
It sounded like they were having fun. He was glad. Honestly, he'd been excited for the tournament too – and it wasn't bad by any means. It was just a little repetitive. The four-on-four rounds had been the most exciting just because eight people fighting at once had been a wild medley of combat and team tactics, which had started to dry up once the fights went further.
"Vine said you wanted to talk to me about the media and my medical reports."
His parents stopped smiling. So, too, did General Ironwood. "I'll make it brief." He strapped himself into one of the seats and Jaune another, as the aircraft took off. "There are two camps of thought on this. The first, and the more reasonable, is that we say it's no one's business but yours and ignore everything. We blank any media request for information."
"I like that one," said Jaune.
"I think everyone prefers that one on principle. The problem is that we don't live in a reasonable world where none of your business stops people pretending it's their business. People will instead see it as cagey and you wanting to avoid the issue, and they'll start imagining that's because it's a bigger issue then we're letting on. They'll do their usual no smoke without fire routine, all the while inventing the smoke, the fire and the one who started it, and coming up with a conclusion that none of us can predict."
Jaune groaned. "Why do they care!?"
"Jealousy, sensationalism, greed, bitterness, support – there are any number of reasons. The important thing to remember is that almost all the people who disparage you are doing so because they're jealous of what you have and think you don't deserve it. They're against you on principle – but they're not against you as a person. You shouldn't take any of what they say seriously, because they'd say it to anyone in your shoes. They just want to see the famous person crash and burn because they think you have it easy. Without ever once wearing your shoes or even considering what it's like."
Jaune's teeth were gritted. "And the other option?"
"Come out with the truth, release medical documents and take what comes on the chin." Ironwood sighed. "I don't like this option, I'll be clear, but then I've always found it very easy to ignore this kind of pressure. My Semblance literally lets me ignore it if I want to. This way, I know you're letting people into your private life, and I agree that they have no right to be in there, but at least they're not making up their own reasons. At least they're talking about real things."
"Personal things," said Nicholas. "Deeply personal things that my son deserves to not have plastered over the front page of every newspaper on Remnant."
"I agree. I completely agree. That is why I'm prepared to fight the nonsense and the headlines if he chooses to tell them it's none of their business." The General looked to Jaune as he said that, and Jaune fully believed the man would fight. The question was whether he wanted to fight as well. "The choice has to be yours, Jaune. You're the one who will be the subject of all of this. I've managed to hold everyone back from making what they believe to be the best choice for you."
"What choice do they think is best?"
"I think you should choose which you like without knowing that." said Ironwood. "Otherwise, you'll be swayed unreasonably. Just because something is objectively the best choice does not mean it should be chosen. You're the one who will have to face it, after all. The reality won't be objective."
Deal with people making up their own reasons as to why he was in the hospital or expose the fact he'd collapsed twice from stress, and that he might be suffering from depression and anxiety disorders. It was the latter two that burned the most, since he didn't want people knowing he had those kinds of issues. Even if he knew he shouldn't feel the way he did about them, and even if he'd have never criticised anyone for them, he still didn't want people to know he had problems.
But what things would they come up with if he got evasive?
They'll say I'm on drugs, thought Jaune, grimacing in distaste. That was the common angle for celebrities, wasn't it? Drugs, rehab and substance abuse. Most of it might even have been true, but that only made it worse here because they'd be even more likely to believe it. I don't want people to know I have issues, but I definitely don't want them thinking I'm some druggie.
And that wasn't even the only thing they could come up with.
"Tell them the truth." Jaune sighed. "Release my records."
"Are you sure?"
"Better to deal with questions and attention on something that's real. At least this way I can predict and prepare for it."
"They're going to be bastards about it," said Nicholas, partly to Ironwood but mostly to Jaune. "You realise that. Mental health is a very serious topic, but it's not one people are forgiving about. There are some who like to pretend it makes you less of a person, and others who will say you can't possibly be suffering for it because you're rich and have a perfect life."
"If they're going to hate me anyway then it doesn't matter what I say, does it? As long as you're okay with it…" He didn't have doubts, but… well… a part of him did worry. He needn't have because Nicholas snorted.
"Are you joking? I'm a huntsman, Jaune. I've seen things that…" He trailed off. "I've seen how people react to stress."
"One of the main reasons for retirement among huntsmen and huntresses are problems relating to mental health," chimed in Ironwood. "It comes from a career that often has you arriving too late to save people or seeing many more die even if you do arrive on time. Aura can keep your body going through terrible wounds, but it doesn't do much to close the wound left by your teammates perishing around you."
Hell. Jaune looked down, suddenly realising that his father had never mentioned nor introduced his own team to the family, despite assuredly having one. Or having had one. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think he'd actually been criticised or insulted by huntsmen specifically, though it was hard to tell. All the huntsmen he knew were supportive, but then they were also in Atlas, and so it was their job to. "Is it just the normal people who hate me?"
"They don't hate you. They hate…." Ironwood frowned. "They hate the idea of someone getting more than they do for what they believe to be less work. They hate the idea of someone lucking out, getting all the money and attention, when they believe they work hard enough already. They hate the idea of a spoiled, rich kid with a Semblance running around playing god."
"That's not me."
"I know. We all do. They believe it is – and they won't be told otherwise by us."
Jaune stilled. "Then what if I show them?" He licked his lips. "I might have an idea."
To his credit, General Ironwood did not dismiss it immediately. He leaned in. "Tell me."
/-/
PUSHED TO THE BRINK
By: Lisa Lavender
VDN
I'm shocked. Elated. Excited. It's a rare opportunity, and one I've been given next to no warning about. I'm anxious, despite having done this for years, and the thought brings its own share of nervous laughter as I'm escorted by armed soldiers, Specialists, the finest men and women Atlas has. The Arc-Ops, the loyal security detachment of the most famous Valean citizen on Remnant. One that, by all accounts, adore the young man. It's hard not to be reminded of that as I'm informed, in no uncertain terms, that there will be hell to pay if I push or upset him. Lieutenant Elm Ederne – "that's lieutenant to you, Lavender" – is a huge woman with a terrifying presence, and yet it's impossible not to see her eyes soften when I'm led through a door and into a room with the man that everyone is talking about.
Jaune Arc.
He is smaller in person than he appears on reports and in photos. Tall for his age, but thin and wiry, not yet fully fleshed out. He looks fragile as well, cheeks sunken and eyes tired. He stands to greet me, offers a hand and shakes it like a man twice his age might, but it's impossible to see him as anything but a teenager in the moment. He's nervous; I've seen it before, not common in the famous celebrities who know how to handle it, but in young children I've interviewed. I ask him what he wants to talk about. He tells me he wants the stories to stop, for people to stop making things up about him and know the truth. There's a desperation to it.
We sit. Talk. Or we try. He's nervous still and begs me to ask him a question. I've played the interviewer more times than I can count, but this is the first time someone has wanted me to ask them questions because they are tongue-tied. It's adorable.
It's also an opportunity. I'm frazzled, confused myself, and ask the first question on my mind – the question on the minds of everyone in Vale. "Why Atlas?" It's a bad question to lead with. I worry that the interview will end then and there. To my surprise, Jaune Arc answers.
"Atlas were just there at the right time."
"What do you mean?" I ask him.
The picture he paints is haunting. It is a story known from scant reports about his home village of Ansel, but one given much more weight when told in person. It is the story of a boy, not even a man, whose father is torn to shreds in front of him, and whose neighbours are slaughtered. It is the story of a boy who, through luck or fate, unlocks the ability to save their lives, and the story of a boy pushed into self-imposed slavery to make use of it.
"I felt like I had to use it at every moment," says Jaune Arc, his hands visibly shaking as he holds a glass of water against his chest. "Any moment I wasn't using my Semblance, people were dying. I slept in the hospital. I ate in the hospital. I didn't have a life. There are days that went by that I can't remember because I was too tired to think. I didn't go to school, I didn't go home, I didn't do anything but heal and sleep."
He breaks off for a moment to catch his breath, and I realise his voice has risen as he retells the story. It bothers him still, that much is clear. I wonder how much of that is the belief that he still should be locked to the hospital in such a way, drained like water from a tap whenever they need him, with no life of his own. I ask him what happened to change that, and he laughs. It is a broken sound.
"They killed him," he recounts. "They… I passed out, too tired to move, and Dr White tried to protect the doctors and nurses. He…" Jaune Arc's eyes close, and his entire body locks up. There's a hand on my shoulder – Lieutenant Ederne's – and she's dragging me away before he shouts out for her to stop. Not Ederne for him, only "Elm, please" and she releases me. Ederne is worried for him, pained herself. I feel like I'm intruding on something deeply personal. It's never bothered me as a journalist before but does here. This is no rich playboy or unscrupulous politician. It is a boy.
I offer him the chance to stop and continue later or stop entirely. I know my editor will have my head, but I can't not. Jaune Arc shakes his head, says he wants to "get this over with" and continues. The story is a sad but familiar one; the death of a man who did his best to help him, a short coma in his home as his broken body tries to recover, and a village driven to madness as the resurrection they had taken for granted was taken away from them. Only for one day, a mere twenty-four hours, and yet were it not for Atlas arriving, seeing the danger and setting up a military barricade around their home, the Arc family would have been stormed by angry villagers.
"It's happened before," he says, angry. "The first time they stormed through they… they trampled my mother. Killed her." He stammers, hiccups, and takes an angry drink. I'm frozen to my seat. "I brought her back, but if I hadn't had the aura…" He trails off. "One tried to kidnap my little sister as well. She was twelve. When I woke up and Atlas were there, General Ironwood told me he had protected my family. He told me Atlas could continue to protect them. I took the offer."
It is as simple as that. For the past year, Vale has struggled to understand what it did wrong to lose him, with blame thrown across all people. It makes too much sense to hear that Atlas won him solely by being there when he needed them. It's logical, sensible, and difficult to fault him for taking the offer when his family were at risk. We talk more about Atlas, about what they have done and how they have treated him, and his words turn – not for the first time – back to his family. Jaune Arc has seven siters, and listening to him talk about them, it's clear he loves them dearly.
"They have actual lives in Atlas," he says, growing more animated and more excited. "They go to schools that don't treat them different because of who I am. Amber – that's my little sister – has finally started to feel safe out in public. She says her bodyguard is her best friend." He pauses, then, and I can't help but wonder if it's because, like me, he thinks that last statement is so very sad. That a young girl's friend should not be someone her age, but someone she has to have to protect her. He continues with a pinched expression. "Their lives are better now."
"What about your life?" I ask him.
He assures me that his life is better as well, but it's in that distant and breezy way I've seen people do when they simply don't want to talk about it. When probed, he says that he actually has time to attend lessons now. An education is legally mandated across all the Kingdoms for a child his age, and yet his has been in limbo since his Semblance awakened. It's a troubling thought.
"At least the money is good," I joke. "Bought anything nice?"
He has bought off the mortgage on the house of his eldest sister, her wife and their child. He has bought a car for another of his sisters. He's bought some comics for himself, and food, but when I ask what he does with the many millions he says, "I don't really have the time to spend it. I come back from the hospitals too tired to move or think, and I have lessons and time with my family."
He works seven days a week in the hospitals. It's only two hours per day, but his aura is almost fully drained and he has never missed a day. He has, to this date, saved the lives of well over eight thousand people. When I ask him if he proud of that fact, he looks uncomfortable.
"There are an average 800 deaths per day in Atlas," he says. "I can only save eighteen people on each visit. Thirty-six a day."
It's a shocking thought. Not that he cannot do enough – he is only one man, and still more of a boy – but the fact he knows. It shows he's looked it up, which shows it bothers him, which shows that he expects that he should have a greater impact. "That's thirty-six people who can go back to their families," I say.
He smiles for me, but it's clear he's smiling for me and not because he's happy. "I guess," he says, in that way that tells me he doesn't mean it in the slightest. "But that doesn't help all the other people, does it? They're upset. They're angry."
"They would have died anyway if you weren't there," I point out. "You didn't make it any worse."
His response is chilling.
"That's not how they see it."
I'm alarmed, frightened, and ask what he means. He explains that he gives people hope, but that the hope can be even more painful than death. When people die, everyone knows that death is normal and it can't be helped, but his existence changes that. Parents, children and loved ones clamour for his time, for him to just come and save them, and they are heartbroken when he cannot.
"It makes it ten times worse," he says, "Because they KNOW there is hope. They know their mother, or son, or husband or their baby, could come back to life if I saw them, but I can only see so many people every day. And they didn't make the list."
"Do they blame you?" I ask him. I'm not sure I want the answer.
He smiles again. It's a fragile thing. "Who else are they supposed to blame?"
Death, I want to say, and yet I cannot. You can't blame death. It's a natural part of the universe. It is Jaune Arc's Semblance that is not natural; it is his Semblance that gives them hope and then takes it away. It's not his fault of course – he's trying his best – but when your best isn't good enough, it's easy for those who have lost their families to scream and rail, and hard to tell them they're being unreasonable.
The conversation turns naturally to his recent visit to the hospital. The rumours have been flying thick and fast as to the reasons why, but the truth, as always, is far simpler. He shows me his records. It's a mess. His physical health has rampant signs of little rest, exhaustion and wear on his bones. He works too much, the reports say, in stark contrast to the court of public opinion which argues he doesn't work enough. His aura is being drained and replenished too fast, scarring him irreversibly inside. Huntsmen learn to deal with this, but even the most powerful huntsmen like Qrow Branwen don't fully drain their aura twice a day, every single day. Jaune Arc will become a case study on what such arduous treatment does to the human body, and the initial results don't look good.
On top of that, the implications on his mental health don't look good. Anxiety and depression feature in the report, with the familiar acronym PTSD thrown in for good measure. I've read articles online asking how someone with such an entitled life could claim to such things. I find myself wondering now how hard their lives must be that they could suggest someone whose family has been hounded, and who has watched his parents both be killed in front of him, could be called entitled.
After having talked to him for only half an hour now, I can already see several cracks showing. Comments earlier come back to my mind; how he speaks of the fun his sisters have, the lives his sisters have, but not his own. How he is happy to talk about his girlfriend, Weiss Schnee, and how wonderful she is, but does not go into detail. He is wealthy beyond belief and yet hands almost all of it off to his family.
"They deserve it more than I do," he says. "Their lives have become hell because of me."
I point out their lives have become harder because of the people who would haunt them and hound them for his services, and that those things are not his fault. He looks troubled, eyes on the ground.
"Yeah, but that's only happening because of me…"
There's a crack from behind me. Lieutenant Ederne's fists are clenched tight and shaking. The stories of how close the Specialists are to him certainly seem true, and it's hard not to see how much she cares for him. Perhaps more than he cares for himself.
We talk some more about mental health in general. Jaune Arc is very sympathetic to it and says that people shouldn't be afraid to seek help if they feel pressured, but when I ask what help he has sought he clams up. I'm no stranger to interviewees talking themselves into corners, but it's usually a source of glee. It isn't here. All too many people who suffer from these conditions hide away from it and try to pretend it doesn't exist. The stigma exists today, even when it ought not to. Huntsmen and huntresses suicide rates are some of the highest on Remnant for this very reason, and no on would dare call them weak.
"I didn't want to cause any problems," Jaune says. "And I knew that if it got out, people would dig into it." He hunches up defensively. "I didn't want my life dragged around like this, and I knew – I know – people are going to twist it. They'll say my parents don't care enough, or that I'm being taken advantage of or that I'm making it up for sympathy." He bites his lip so hard it bleeds. It's hard to imagine any of this is made up. I ought to know, having made a living off of prying the truth out of people. "I thought I could handle it on my own. I thought I was handling it. I guess I wasn't… and then this happened… and now everyone knows and everyone will have an opinion."
The meteoric rise to fame and the front of everyone's attention has clearly not been a smooth or comfortable one for Jaune Arc, who admits that he "doesn't understand" why everyone is so interested in him. "People want my opinion on things I don't even know about," he says. "What do I know about the elections in one country, and why are my thoughts on celebrity drama important? I don't know anything about either. I don't get why people keep trying to push more into my life."
"They want to know more about you," I say.
"Then go volunteer in a hospital. I'm doing the best I can to the point that I'm falling to pieces, and all people tell me is that I'm lazy or entitled or spoilt. When they're not even trying to help people."
I ask him if he is going to slow down and take more time for himself and to recover, to which he tells me he is going to go back and see the therapist he has been ignoring in Atlas for several months. I notice he does not acknowledge my question, and I doubt he will slow down at all given what I've seen. He holds himself personally responsible for what is an impossible task, for no matter how many people he saves, more will die.
He's enjoyed his time in Mistral, however, and he says he is grateful for Atlas giving his family a proper chance at life. He's also thankful to General Ironwood, who does his best to look after him.
"Will you look after yourself?" I ask him. He flinches. "Are you still going to work at the hospitals twice a day even after all of this?"
Jaune Arc doesn't answer for the longest time, but when he does it causes a lump to rise in my throat. He looks up at me, haggard, exhausted, and defensive. I know the answer before he gives it, but he gives it anyway.
"I have to."
.
Jaune Arc opens up about his battle with mental health, wellbeing and confidence. Credits Atlas with saving him from impossible demands in Ansel
Atlas Times
.
Lisa Lavender Exclusive Interview "Pushed to the Brink" shows Jaune Arc's fight against entitled public who would demand everything
Vale Daily Tribune
.
Leonardo Lionheart says Jaune Arc has "more trauma than most huntsmen". Calls for public to give space after brave interview
The Mistral Review
.
Asturias hails "brave Arc" who opened up about his problems in shock interview and encourages him to take a holiday to Vacuo. "No work, no hospitals, only the calm desert and the finest hospitality."
Vacuo Today
.
Faunus reporter ASSAULTED in Mistral for daring to approach Jaune Arc; will Mistral uphold faunus rights and prosecute Atlas for their clear and discriminatory aggression?
Kuo Kuana Express
.
Yep. The Kuo Kuana express just blanked the whole thing and ignored anything it said.
If the story isn't going our way, we're not going to acknowledge it. I know I didn't go that "deep" into Jaune's feelings and hang-ups in the end interview there, but that's kind of the point. He isn't ready yet, and it's more about what Lisa noticed than what Jaune said.
Next Chapter: 17th November
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