Chapter Text
Benoit Blanc had a habit of taking in strays. Philip always teased him about it, starting when they'd first met and Blanc would take in any orphaned creature he found, at least until a better home was found for it. He'd gone to North Carolina to solve a murder and was now headed back to New York with a teenage boy. August, the boy in question, was crushing himself into the farthest corner of the passenger seat. It had been an awfully quiet two hours.
"You alright, son?" Blanc asked, watching the kid out of the corner of his eye. God, he was thin. He looked unwell and exhausted.
"Yeah," August said.
He was stiller than usual. The kid was normally hyperactive as hell from what Blanc had seen, but now he wasn't even fidgeting and he had a sort of vacant look in his eye.
"It's perfectly fine for you to not be alright."
"I'm okay. Just tired."
"You've had a hell of a few weeks." Blanc stopped the car as they reached a red light. He reached over as if to brush some hair off of August's forehead, then stopped when August flinched a little.
"Sorry," August said. "Reflex."
"You've done nothing wrong, dear one," Blanc said gently. "I should've asked first."
"I was overreacting."
"I think you were reacting perfectly reasonably given past experiences. I won't try to touch you without asking again."
"Thank you," August said after a moment, his voice small.
"No need to thank me. You're safe. Even if you don't feel like you are."
Neither talked for a while. Slowly, August began to relax. He unfolded little by little until he was sitting cross-legged. The realization that his space wouldn't be invaded without warning seemed to have allowed him to settle in some. Blanc let the silence drag on a little longer.
"Is there any music you want to listen to? You're welcome to play whatever you'd like. You'll just have to plug your phone in. My car is too old for Bluetooth, I'm afraid."
August shot him a nervous glance. The kid was cagey about his interests, Blanc had found, like he was afraid he'd get in trouble for them. "I don't think you'd like what I listen to," August deflected.
"I can appreciate most music, even if it's not something I would go out of my way to listen to. Besides, I want to know what you like. I'm nosy."
August still seemed apprehensive, but took a breath and nodded. "Okay."
He picked a playlist and shuffled it. "This is my favorite band. Daisy Grenade."
A lull in conversation followed, filled with a high energy pop punk song that Blanc actually found quite enjoyable. "What's this song called?" Blanc asked.
"A Beautiful Woman Is A Weapon, I Guess That's Why They Call Her A Bombshell. Following the emo tradition of unnecessarily long song titles." August said.
"You misjudged me. I do like them."
August relaxed a little, a slight smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "They have this series of music videos that they did for this EP. It's almost like a short film. They have some really cool visual metaphors and storytelling. I also think this EP is their best work lyrically. I love them because they're sort of glittery but, like, in the way you see stars when someone punches you in the face."
Blanc was about to mention teasingly that this was the most he'd ever heard August say at once, but then opted not to. Tread carefully, Benoit, he told himself.
The next hour or so was mostly small talk, with August sometimes providing information about whatever song was on.
August yawned, hard. "Jesus, I'm tired."
"You should get some rest. I have to stop for gas in the next hour or two, do you want me to wake you up then?"
"Sure." Another yawn. August rested his head against the window, arms still wrapped around his knees. It wasn't long before the boy's breathing evened out. Blanc glanced at him and smiled softly. After an hour or so, he had to stop for gas. He called Philip while he waited for his car to fill up.
"Hello, love," came the warm, familiar British accent.
"Hey there, darlin'."
"Is everything alright?"
"Everything is just fine. Just thought I'd call and tell you we'll be home in about five hours."
"Good. How's August holding up?"
"Asleep, right now. I'm about to wake him up and see if he wants something to eat."
"Well, thank you for the check in."
"I wouldn't dream of omittin' it. I know how you worry," Blanc teased gently.
Philip laughed a little. "With you, I have every reason to."
Blanc rolled his eyes and smiled. "I'm done getting gas, so I'm letting you go now."
"Alright. I love you. See you soon."
"I love you too."
Blanc hung up and got back in the car. He pulled into a parking space and looked at August, still fast asleep in the passenger seat. "August?" He said. August stirred and opened his eyes.
"Hi," he said, yawning and unfurling from his tightly curled position.
"Would you like something to eat?"
"Um, sure. Some pretzels or something might be nice. Thank you."
"Anything to drink?"
"Just water, please."
Blanc nodded. "Pretzels and a water. I'll be back in a moment."
When Blanc came back, August opened his water and took a sip. "Are you in the habit of taking in troubled teens?" He asked. "Or am I, like, a one-off?"
Blanc laughed a little. "I wouldn't call you troubled."
"I feel troubled."
Blanc smiled a little. "But to answer your question, several people who have helped me on cases are part of my family now. There's Marta, who was a suspect in a murder case I solved, and Helen, who asked me to help solve the murder of her sister, Andi."
"Oh my god, is she the one who beat Miles Bron in court?"
"She is."
"Holy shit. Good for her. That guy was an asshole. I mean, all billionaires are assholes. There are no good billionaires. But him especially."
"I agree on both points. Anyways, Marta and Helen, and then there's Jud. He was also suspected of murder. He's a priest."
"Like... a Catholic priest?"
"Yes."
"Are you-" August started to ask.
"God, no," Blanc said, decisively. "Hadn't set foot in a church since I was eighteen before Jud's case. The head priest, Monsignor Wicks, was murdered. Jud was accused of the crime. He didn't do it, of course."
"My dad was Catholic. My mom was, like, 'non-denominational' but she leaned sort of Pentecostal."
"Are you...?"
August laughed outright. "No." He hesitated. "I practice witchcraft, but I'm not religious. And I personally feel like a lot of it really just boils down to the fact that humans find a lot of power and comfort in rituals and symbols. And then with, like, tarot, we use archetypes and stories to process our emotions and our wants. Not that I don't believe in the supernatural, I absolutely do, but I'm also sort of a skeptic about it."
Blanc smiled. "I think you and Jud would get along splendidly."
"I would get along well with a Catholic priest?"
"He's a very open-minded Catholic priest."
"Will he be weird about the fact that I'm. Y'know. Trans?"
"August, do you genuinely believe I would tell you that you would get along with someone who takes issue with a fundamental part of who you are?" Blanc asked the question with a note of humor.
"No, I guess not."
"Good."
"Tell me more about Marta and Helen."
"Marta is a nurse in Boston. Helen is a schoolteacher in Nashville. Marta visits more often, since Boston is fairly close, but we still see Helen fairly regularly. She comes up to visit whenever there's a break in her schedule. She lost all the family she had when Andi was killed, but now she has us. Marta is an exceptional Go player. Never let her challenge you to a match. She'll win."
"I don't know how to play Go, so I think pretty much anyone would win against me."
"Fair enough."
They were both quiet for a while. It was a moment before Blanc realized that August was crying.
"Oh, sweetheart-" Blanc started, reaching into the glovebox and pulling out some napkins. "Here," he said, handing them over.
"Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying."
"You've been under an immense amount of stress for... well, I'd say the past few weeks, but really it's been your whole life, hasn't it? And now that tension has broken. It's alright, sweet boy. It's alright." He wanted to reach out to August, but for one thing, he was driving, and for another, he wasn't sure if touch was welcome.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing. You're allowed to feel things."
"You must think I'm being childish."
Blanc shot him a look. "You are a child."
"I'm not a child. I'm sixteen."
"And what's the legal age of adulthood in this country?"
"Eighteen. But-"
"You're a very clever, very capable child who has been through more than most adults, but you are still a child. Even if you weren't, there is nothing immature about crying when you've experienced as much loss as you have."
August took a deep, shaky breath. He spoke after a few minutes. "I'm used to not feeling it. I want to go back to not feeling it."
Blanc sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I wish I was better with feelings. If there's something I'm supposed to say to fix things or help you, I don't know what it is. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I prefer your bluntness. I would rather you just say you don't know how to help me than say something useless and pretend it's a cure-all."
"Good to know."
August took a long sip of water. "I might go back to sleep."
"You might as well. We've got a good few hours left."
August curled up again. He was out in moments. Blanc felt a pang as he considered how exhausted the kid must be. "Sleep well," he said, softly. August didn't stir.