Hazel started blocking out the world around him, bit by horrible bit.
It started out small. It was him choosing to skip work or refusing to pick up the phone because he didn't know how he was meant to talk about what had happened. He was sure that his boss had figured out what was going on, but still he kept on calling.
Hazel never found it in himself to answer. There were no words that could ever hope to explain the depths of sadness he was dwelling in. No way to explain that his only family he had left was dead and he couldn't do anything about it, or how he'd never felt so alone.
Four days in, an officer came knocking on Hazel's door for a wellness check.
Hazel had done his best to talk his way out of it, and when he was left alone the only thing that he wanted to do was the same thing that he'd been doing for days. He went back to bed because he didn't know what there was to do anymore.
Gretchen was gone and the people around him were expecting for him to carry on like he was fine, and everything was okay.
All Hazel could think about was how his sister had died, probably scared and in pain and afraid.
Alone.
He closed his eyes, and let the numbness wash over him again.
It was quickly becoming a crutch, Hazel realized when he found himself going numb so much more often than he ever should have. It was the only refuge that he could retreat into anymore, that overwhelming empty feeling.
It made Hazel realize that what Gretchen had used wasn't a semblance. It was something else entirely, something that he didn't want to have to contend with. Something else that he didn't even know how to describe anymore.
After two weeks, he made himself go to work again.
When he got there, Hazel went straight into the back room to try and carry on with his job as normal. He was allowed to be there for five hours before his boss came back to see him and talk.
"I'm surprised you're here." He said, watching as Hazel swept the floors in the stock room. He'd swept them five times that day already. He didn't know what else to do with himself. Every time he ran out of things to do, he swept. It was quickly becoming more of a habit than Hazel strictly liked. "Since you went silent for so long."
Hazel stopped where he was. He was going to have to talk about it. To act like anything was okay and carry on as such.
There was a pause. "Look, son—"
"Don't." Hazel growled back at the man.
"Okay." The man said. "Hazel. Just tell me what happened."
"My sister died." Hazel muttered. "She died on a training mission, there was a Huntsman there and she still died." His grip on the broom handled tightened a little too much, to the point where he could feel the wood trying to splinter under his hands.
It was rage that he hadn't known that he'd even had until right then. Anger and pain and everything all wrapped up into one thing. Realizing what he'd done, Hazel let the broom drop down to the floor in front of his feet. He didn't want to have to talk about what he was feeling at all and now that it had started it didn't feel like it was going to stop.
His boss seemed to consider drawing in close, offering comfort.
But he didn't.
Hazel turned away from him. "I just don't know what to do anymore."
"There's no easy answers for that." His boss said, taking a seat on one of the two chairs in the back room that were meant for the two of them. "Are you doing alright?"
"No." Hazel admitted, taking a seat himself. He folded his hands together in front of him, gripping onto himself a little too harshly. "She's gone."
There was a pause. "How old?"
"We're—" Hazel started and shook his head. He was older than her now.
He was older than his sister.
It wasn't by an hour or two anymore.
"We were twins."
"Oh." His boss said. "You think you're good to be here?"
"No." Hazel replied truthfully. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."
It was still true. It seemed like no matter how many times he said it, it was always going to be true.
"Look—" His boss looked Hazel straight in the eye, something which wasn't exactly easy to do given the height difference between the two of them. "You gave me one hell of a scare this last week. You can't just go dark on people like that." There was a pause. "I was the one that made the call to get you a wellness check."
Hazel was silent.
What was there to even say?
There was a pause. "Go home." His boss said, standing up. "Take a shower and try to rest. Eat an honest meal and don't let yourself wallow in this." He gave Hazel a distinctly pitying look. "I know that isn't exactly what you want to hear right now, but your sister wouldn't want you to do this."
Hazel nodded, empty and cold as he'd felt for days.
"I'm serious, Hazel." He said. "You're a good kid. This is going to be hard for a while. You can't drown in it."
And maybe that was true.
But that didn't change that the overwhelming thing that he felt was anger.
He left work after that.
For reasons that he didn't quite understand until he had already unboarded from the transport that was meant to take him home, Hazel found himself at Beacon.
His first thought immediately upon looking around there was that it was a horrible, wretched place. Everyone there was just carrying on with their lives like nothing was wrong and nothing had happened.
One of their own had died and none of them even seemed to so much as care.
For them to be able to carry on like everything was normal, there had to be something sick about them.
Gretchen was dead and these students dared to live their lives as though there was no changes, no loss of life, no bodies that wouldn't inhabit their dorms anymore.
He shoved his hands down into his pockets, and hanged his head as he made a beeline for the large building in the middle of the campus. He wanted to just get a chance to speak to Ozpin, to pick apart what had happened to his sister so that he could get a chance of sleeping again. He needed answers, and Hazel wasn't certain that he'd ever get them.
The least that he could do was try.
When he went in, Hazel could hear one of the students behind him calling his name— one of Gretchen's friends. He'd met the girl once, but doubted that he would have actually remembered her name.
It didn't feel like it mattered. Maybe it had, once. Not anymore.
Deep in his pockets, Hazel's hands curled into fists.
And once he was inside, Hazel began to ascend Beacon Tower in the hopes of getting a meeting with Ozpin.
He was pleasantly surprised to find that he'd arrived during Ozpin's open office hours, no doubt set aside for students instead of—
Well, him.
Hazel lingered outside the door for a moment too long, unsure of whether or not he should go in and try to confront the professor. He was too angry and too upset by everything to know that he'd be able to get what he needed out of it.
What happened if he didn't hear what he needed to and lost himself even more?
Or what happened if he was given a full truth, and it was a thousand times worse than he could have ever imagined? What if it was his sister being taken into the maw of some beast? Or her being killed by another person? What if it was bandits, like the ones that had taken their father?
What if there were no answers to be given at all?
It was a training mission, though. There had to be answers of some sort. There had been a professor on the mission.
Gretchen had said that it was Ozpin going with them.
There needed to be answers, and Hazel needed to hear them.
He pushed the door open.
Ozpin was there, behind a desk while he nursed a mug of something that was hot enough to have steam rising off of it. The professor lifted his head up, likely expecting to see some student and a look of genuine surprise settled over his expression at the sight of Hazel.
"Mister Rainart." He said, setting the mug down in front of him. "I have to admit to being surprised that you're here." There was a long pause. "You and your family have my greatest condolences."
"No family." Hazel growled back, taking a seat as it was offered to him. He balled his hands into fists as they rested on his knees. "Not anymore."
"Even still." Ozpin said. "I'm terribly sorry about your loss. I assume that's the reason for this visit?"
Hazel nodded slowly.
"Of course." Ozpin sighed. "Would you like to—"
"I want to know what happened." Hazel growled out. "Why my sister is gone."
"Mister Rainart—" Ozpin's expression sank into something deathly serious. "I understand your pain but I must advise you against this course of action for your own sake."
"I need to know." Hazel grit back, his fists tightening because he didn't know what else he was supposed to do. "Please."
Ozpin stared at him, something going on behind his eyes that Hazel couldn't quite— nor particularly cared to try to identify. He was upset. He wanted to know what had happened to his sister because he needed to be able to sleep at night again. That was all that there was to it.
Besides, a sick, twisted dark part of Hazel whispered in the back of his mind, it was too likely that Ozpin had dealt with dead students before. There was no way that Hazel was the first grieving family member to have gone to him seeking help or closure of something because it was the only thing that could be done at at that point.
No, Hazel told himself, Ozpin had to be used to it.
He needed for Ozpin to be used to it, to know the right ways to deal with things, the right words, the right comforts.
Hazel didn't even know what he was actually looking for, just that he needed it.
But the professor sighed. "Would you perhaps like something to drink?" He asked evenly. "I always have hot cocoa—"
"No." Hazel cut him off. "Just tell me."
"I'm afraid that it might not be wise." Ozpin said. "And if you would like I could refer you to a number of great therapists in the city. I understand that you think that you know what you're doing, and that you need this. I don't believe that is the case."
Hazel grit his teeth to the point where it almost became painful.
"I just want to know." He grumbled. "That's all."
Ozpin's expression sank. "Very well." He said, resigning himself to the truth. "Tell me what you want to know."
And so Hazel did.
And Hazel only regretted it because the answers that he got were so much more than he was actually able to handle.
He broke.