Chapter Text
It was an almost predictable outcome.
Escalus certainly wasn’t surprised when he heard the news. Just concerned. Tension had been boiling for far too long between both families, perhaps this bloodshed was genuinely inevitable. He wasn’t really certain. Nothing could be certain for a while. What moves would be made next? Could it be prevented? Floods of red were on the forecast after this storm of black mourning attire passed.
It would not be fun. Peace had never seemed like a further away dream.
Everything had collided into a seemingly cataclysmic doom and Verona was sure to suffer as a result; the picture she would be left in was not going to be pretty. The streets normally lay in a quiet tightness: delicate but manageable in the hot climate. Now the silence was bubbling into a fiery inferno, as cold blood stained the cobblestone, coagulated now, dark and patchy. It was quite possibly the morbid ink of history, this feud echoed back far —further than anyone alive could remember —yet this was, unbelievably, the first casualties recorded.
Now no-one knew how to react, how to respond. Two people were dead. That was the one solid fact. If Escalus wanted to prevent anymore he’d have to act, and utilise his power to fix this before hell’s petals bloomed: bloody and deadly.
How on earth to make this city better? He did not know. It was a monumental task. One that caused God or fate or whatever scorned above, to mock him, for it was stupid to believe a mere man could stand between such vile anger. Foolish.
All of them.
Everything.
A foolish hell they were trapped in.
Angels had long since left, replacing people with demons, their sharp blade like teeth being monumental in destruction. Either the two families crumble, or all of the upper-class of Verona. Worst of all, the city breaks under the pressure and the tension.
Escalus couldn't and wouldn't live with himself if his home, his glorious Verona, cracked and faded into obscurity under his reign.
Something had to be done. Just what? What could he do? There was no way to bring peace before and now that myth seemed further away, buried in the new graves.
Nothing.
If Escalus didn't try, the city would suffer; the people would suffer, but at least it'd be easy for a short while, albeit cruel. Then when revenge strikes for his callous attitude towards this then at least he can say he had a relaxing reign. Ignorance could be so easy. Just a small breath away…
It was his nephew who eventually broke him out of the dangerously spiralling thoughts of the future. The boy was young, 11 or 12 now (if Escalus had to estimate, in truth, he had entirely forgotten), however his green eyes pierced with such clinical knowledge as if he could predict what those far beyond him in years thought with the utmost accuracy. It was usually impressive, unfortunately though, it was a rather worrying ability when Escalus was contemplating whether or not to just let massacres slide, as if it were normal and fine, as if this city wasn't teetering on the cliff of doom. Mercutio's purple jumper tickled his Uncle as he half tackled, half hugged him.
“Uncle! Uncle!” The boy didn't speak with as much enthusiasm as normal. His voice’s joy weighed down no doubt by the grief he likely spent the day witnessing. A slight glint of unrelenting optimism was still present. Maybe love. “You'll never believe what I saw on the way back!”
Escalus ruffled Mercutio's curly hair, smiling fondly. “What was it?”
“Two magpies! Two! That means good things must be coming.”
Oh. That explained it. Suddenly, Escalus understood the weird chain of emotions irradiating from his nephew. It was hope. Not tentative, just blind, child-like longing for a better world. One in which murders weren't happening on street corners due to a feud started just outside of anyone's memory as to why. “That's wonderful, perhaps you should call your friends to let them know.”
“I already have.” He scowled slightly at the implication of not immediately letting his closest friends know every little detail about anything — no matter how superstitious.
A warm flutter sparked in Escalus’ heart. Thinking about being entirely ignorant to murder seemed such a far thought now, for doing that (or more accurately not doing anything) would put his own family directly in the firing range. Mercutio was so innocent. It'd break Escalus if anything bad ever happened to the boy.
“You seem,” Mercutio began, hesitantly. “Quiet?”
“I'm just tired.” (A lie). “You see, it's great. hard work ruling over our fair Verona. The city is so bustling with everything—”
“Including parties?”
“Yep, including parties.” Despite himself, Escalus nearly chuckled at how the childish brain saw the world so simply, a pink mirror of the grim blood he was likely becoming accustomed to. “And it takes all of the energy out of me sometimes. You'll one day have this problem as well, Mercutio, that's why you just do well in school, it's like practice. Sometimes it can seem so busy just existing, but that's why this job is special.”
“It doesn't sound very special. It sounds boring.”
That did it, a giggle slipped out of Escalus. “But it is, really it is, as it makes those quiet moments, the bits of peace and relaxation, all the kids brilliant.”
Mercutio thought for a moment, before smiling brilliantly. “Well then I'm going to give you some peace! I feel like I'm going to message the Montagues again!”
“Just don't disrupt them too much—” he called after the wild boy who was already running through the halls, not nearly paying attention.
That was the true miracle of Mercutio, his weird level of happiness no matter the situation.
Laid across his bed like a splayed fan, Mercutio typed eagerly.
Benvolio and Romeo could both be so miserable at times, it was down right tragic, which is why Mercutio had set himself the task of cheering them up. How hard could it possibly be? Only two people had died…
There was no response.
Silence.
The familial buzz of his phone's notifications refused to bleep at him, letting him know his dearest, most precious friends were still on the other side. God, he longed more than anything to be besides the two of them now. Wrapping them in the tightest cuddle known to man and whispering sweet promises of a better future; maybe they were lies, for he couldn't guarantee things get better, but it would work. What he would give to be lying with Benvolio staring at the stars, discussing the universe and their many theories about it.
The two Montague cousins weren't particularly the most cheerful bunch: Romeo, ever so romantic, was constantly being let down by unstoppable and pointless connections and Benvolio was too serious for his good. That boy didn't know when or maybe even how to be the child that he was, always fussing and worrying about the most, seemingly, trivial things. That instinct — or flaw would only be worse now. The frequent barrier between insanity and life that Benvolio often acted as for Mercutio was now a wall, closing off the dangerous world.
He decided to at least try and call the two, as he absent mindedly kicked his legs in the air, like someone reading the most engrossing book. It rang and rang and rang, with no response.
Back to silence.
Now Mercutio glared at his phone, running out of clear options. He wasn't particularly worried, or maybe he was, the mess of emotions were always too hard to differentiate for him. Whatever it was, an odd sense of foreboding or just plain boredom meeting and becoming an explosion of determination, Mercutio was determined to contact the pair. He tried again.
Nothing; nothing; nothing; nothing…
Oh?
A new silence entered his room. One of despair and grief that needed to be delicately disposed of and surgically replaced with euphoria. That could only mean one thing, someone had picked up.
“Mercutio?” The voice wasn't as hoarse as he expected, perhaps that was the byproduct of too much crying, there was nothing left to kill the vocal chords.
Everywhere at any time, Benvolio would be recognisable to Mercutio. “Hello my dearest Benvolio. How are things holding up for you?”
“The same as when you left, 30 minutes ago.” The other boy dead-panned. “And also when you called me, 20 minutes ago, and messaged me 10 minutes after that.”
There was no regret in spamming the poor boy that Mercutio felt. “Well, if things can change so quickly, I was wondering if so could your mood.”
There was an audible sigh from the other end of the call. Someone was clearly not invested. “Is there anything else, or can I go?”
“Well, we could just talk. What are you up to now?”
“Discussing housing arrangements with my Aunt and Uncle.” Factual, clinical, maybe even slightly detached. Mercutio could hear the way Benvolio was trying to act like this was just another book, however no matter how hard he tried this was not a happy ending. “I'm likely going to be staying with them, which means I'll be living closer to you, albeit not by much.”
“That's good! No, that's great!”
“I suppose, although not much will stop you from visiting anyway.”
“I'll be six feet under before I stop pestering you.” Maybe this was not the best possible time in the world to make any references about death, however it seemed as though Benvolio found it funny. A faint laugh could be heard, one that sounded like an ethereal chorus blessing Mercutio's ears.
It persisted, despite everything. “You better not die, or I'll have to kill you.” The obsolete threat sent them both further into a fit of giggles, before the noise drifted to something more serious. “Please don't. Like actually, don't die.”
A prayer.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
“You swear?”
“Yes, of course, Benvolio, I swear.”
Tears were now present on the other end. Quiet and almost imperceptible, but there. “Good, because I don't think I could handle losing you as well. Nothing feels real anymore.” His words were punctuated by the most tragic sob, the sound stabbing Mercutio, billions of angry knives breaking his heart at the prospect of his Benvolio being upset.
“As long as you live. I will make sure to walk on this earth besides you. That is a promise.” Mercutio was resolute.
“Thank you.” The tentative smile was audible.
“No problem.”
“Oh! Romeo just came in, he said hi.”
“Hi Romeo!” Perhaps if someone was analysing the conversation, they'd notice how there seemed to be a drop in enthusiasm from Mercutio when talking to Romeo.
“You know.” He began, slowly, as if picking the words like they were precious. “My parents would be grateful as well. You needn't care for me this much Mercutio, I don't know what or who I once pleased to find such a lucky friend.”
Friend? Friend. The word was as bad, if not worse, than the notion of grief. Why did it stab? So sharp. A cruel dagger, ripping Mercutio's soul. Vile, invisible tears. Ragged bloody. Why did Mercutio despise the word? To him it was inexplicable. “No problem.”
He hung up the phone without a second thought.
Broken, tearstained, and only God could say why.
Would God like why?
The Montague household was never particularly the most calm estate in Verona. However, this was worse than normal.
Much worse.
Death was a hard concept for a child to comprehend.
Let alone a child who watched the massacre of his parents, and felt their heavy weight crush him in a final cold, blue hug.
How does one even begin to explain to the child that, well, that's it?
That life can end so simply, and abruptly. All it takes is small levels of anger to erupt, and then all can be over.
Neither Lord nor Lady Montague had any method to tackle this. It was way beyond anything they'd had to deal with before. Maybe if it was Romeo who was traumatised, it'd be easier. Their own son, the one they raised and knew as clearly as the view of their garden. An explanation would be so easy. Alas, fate chose chaos and ruin, destroying the lively-hood of their nephew in one failed swoop.
That boy had seen things no-one of sound mind should be forced to understand. He'd physically had his world plucked from his very hands, as the universe mocked him, scarring him, destroying him.
Now, they had to watch a shattered picture of what was once a recognisable child, slowly clamber to humanity.
How? God knew. Although he seemed in ok spirits when chatting with his cousin.
“Romeo, you cannot play a guitar with your feet.” The exasperation rising from the hallways was at least a slight sense of normalcy.
“So…” Lady Montague began, before running out of sentences.
“We need to decide what to do with that boy.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps therapy will do him good?”
“Maybe.”
They both tried to keep the conversation hushed, as Romeo and Benvolio did whatever around them. Not wanting to let on what they were talking about, even if it was painfully obvious. “I could always book him in, and maybe Romeo as well, I'm not sure how well he's coping either behind all of the giggles.” Lord Montague admitted, his gaze missing his wife entirely, and more focused on the hordes of flowers now littering the table.
“That'd be good.”
“Can we book them in for a duo session?”
“I don't know.”
“Well perhaps we should find out. Really, it will be so beneficial to both of them I think, and you know how teenage boys can be. I doubt they'd ever properly open up to us.
His wife bit her tongue, holding back the point that neither child would open up, because Lord Montague wasn't particularly pleasant when it came to discussions of emotions. She opted for nodding, not trusting her mouth.
Romeo came crashing into the living room, eyes bright maybe from tears; maybe from an odd enthusiasm. His cousin was not far behind, Benvolio looked much more timid in person, almost like he longed to be a shadow. “Mamma! Papà! Can Benvolio and I sleep in the same room tonight?” Romeo's innocent eyes blinked as he spoke, as if he attempted to morph himself into something akin to a puppy.
Lady Montague thought that in theory that would be a great idea. The boys would really benefit from one another's company, unconscious or not, however in practice she wasn't as convinced. The mental side-effects of witnessing everything were yet to be known for Benvolio, and if he had nightmares, she wasn't certain how well Romeo would handle that. The maternal instincts inside of her screamed, it'd end quite badly. She was going to shake her head, gently letting the pair down, ready with a soft landing, but her husband beat her to it.
“Romeo, of course, that is a wonderful idea! You two can absolutely do that.”
She didn't want to seem like the bad guy. So she kept her mouth shut and when the boys turned away, she glared at her immature husband. Her quiet rage, a secret.
“Thanks.” Even when mourning and distraught, it was shocking how similar Benvolio's mannerisms were to her brother-in-law. The slight quirk of his mouth showed his genuine gratitude, painfully familiar.
There was a lingering silence. No one knew what to say. No one knew what to do.
Everything was destroyed.