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As soon as Call stepped off the bus home from the Magisterium, Alastair knew something was wrong. Call had given him a shaky smile despite the way he looked so painfully wrong to him.
He looked different, if not for his painfully outgrown haircut it was his thin body. Much, much thinner than he had been before he left.
Alastairs first thought was that the mages had done something to him, but his second, more rational thought was that Call had done something to himself. He wasn’t yet over the mages, but he was smart enough to know that they wouldn’t starve their precious makar.
Call gave him a hug and he returned it, wrapping his arms around his almost skeletal body. Alastair could feel his spine poking out from underneath his shirt and felt his shoulder blades with his hands. It took everything he had in himself to let him go, because that fear he had ever since the ice caved of Peru had returned.
Did he want Call anywhere he couldn’t see him?
————
The evidence that something was wrong kept stacking up throughout the summer. Alastair couldn’t help but worry, it was in his nature to worry about Call. He had spent 12 years doing nothing but worry about him. So he had some practice.
He shut himself out, spending more time in his room than outside, like he usually had. Call was always a hyperactive boy, running up and off the walls if he was cooped up too long. Now it seemed as if all the energy in his body was zapped out.
Meals together were strained, if they ever ate together at all. It was ingrained in Alastair’s code to shut himself into the garage whenever things got bad, he figured he passed it down to Call. But back to the meals, he hardly ate anything. Even if Alastair made his favorite, Call just took little bites or no bites at all, then excused himself and went off into his room.
Alastair knew he had to do something, but for some reason, the invisible wall that had loomed in between the two since the events of Calls Copper year had become so thick that Alastair wasn’t sure how to break it down.
He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure if he would allow himself to act on it.
Privacy was important in the Hunt house, but it was unbalanced. Either they had too much and the secrets ended up piling up, or they had too little and things that were better left unsaid were spoken.
So snooping through Calls room while he was on a walk with Havoc was warranted.
Alastair started with poking through his school bag on the floor, carefully examining its contents. Nothing stuck out to him, not one notebook or textbook seemed abnormal. He moved on.
But he wished he hadn’t.
Calls hiding spot quickly revealed itself to Alastair. His drawer next to his bed, which was always almost filled to the brim with Calls comic book nonsense was almost empty. Instead, it held a little notebook and— sickeningly enough— razor blades. Beside it was the worst thing of all, a bright bottle of pills. Full. They were sleeping pills.
It took all his willpower to not cry, his mind immediately thinking of what went under his nose for so long. Instead, he begun flipping through the notebook. Each word, each sentence, each page, nauseated Alastair more.
I feel like I’m better off dead at this this point. I think I’m holding everyone back. I think they would do good without me.
Alastair reread the words ‘better off dead’ more than he could count, it twisted his insides and shredded his heart. He tried to not stare at the pills, but it was involuntary. Irrefutable evidence was in front of him.
He flipped to the next page:
Im going to cry. I gained weight, atleast it looks like I did. I don’t know why this is bothering me so much.
He flipped to the next page:
People might be noticing. Someone said I was acting weird earlier, Tamara’s worried because I’m falling asleep in lectures, Aaron looks like he’s trying to bite his tongue whenever I skip a meal. I know he notices when I do, for some reason it makes it all the more satisfying when I go days without eating.
He flipped to the next page:
He yanked up my sleeves. Aaron. He started screaming at me. I think he might’ve cried, Im not sure. But I made him and Tamara promise to not tell Rufus, that I could get better myself. What a joke.
He stopped himself from reading more.
The words blurred together on the paper, he regretted flipping through the notebook. It was all largely the same, Call venting about his problems, saying he wanted to die, saying he didn’t deserve to eat, saying he was going to do it. It was all largely painful to read.
Alastair heard the front door slam, and shakily rose to his feet. He clutched the notebook, the pills, and the razors, and as quickly as his trembling legs allowed him, made his way to where Call was standing in the kitchen.
He saw as Calls expression quickly turned into horror as he stared at what Alastair had in his hands. Calls eyes were locked onto the notebook.
”Did you read that?” His voice was shaky.
Alastair set it down on the counter, then placed the blades beside it. He kept the pills in his hand, like he was afraid if he set them down Call might actually use them. He couldn’t dare meet his sons eyes, or else he might cry. Could it be true? Could it all have gone right under his nose? Could he have been right there and not noticed what was in front of him?
“You did. Didn’t you?” Calls voice went high at the end.
Alastair rubbed the stubble on his chin, carefully picking his next words, “Why?” Is all he could manage.
”Why?”
“Yes. Why?” He paused, “Why did you do all this to yourself?”
He finally looked up at Call, who had his hand clamped over his mouth as he stared blankly at the notebook. Finally, it had all made sense. And Alastair felt stupid. So, so stupid. The baggy clothes, the long sleeves, the repulsion to food. All of it made sense.
Maybe he had figured it out earlier, but didn’t want to believe it. Who would want to believe their own son starved themself? Cut themself? Wanted to kill themself?
“I don’t know.” His voice was quiet, “I guess I just woke up one day and decided enough was enough. That I took up too much space and I was a waste.”
”You’re not—“
Calls eyes had finally unlocked itself from the notebook and stared into Alastair’s, “I don’t care what you say! I’m an evil overlord reincarnated and I have this stupid limp and people hate me and—“ He gasped for breath and his whole body was shaking, “I don’t deserve to live.”
To hear him say it was what made Alastair wrap his arms around Call so tight that his brittle bones might snap.
”No. No. Call you’re my only son, you’re my only family left. You mean so much to me, and think about how much you mean to Aaron and Tamara.” He eyed the pill bottle in his hand, “I love you, Call. I don’t care if Constantine’s soul is inside you because you’re my son and I will love you no matter what.” Alastair heard him start sobbing into his shoulder, “You’re going to keep living, you have to. You’re going to wake up every morning and remember you have people out there that love you. You’re going to start loving yourself. Say you understand.” When Call didn’t respond, he repeated himself, “Say it.”
“But I don’t.” His words were hardly more than a whisper. “Please let me go.”
Alastair reluctantly ceased his grip on Call, but he didn’t step farther away than the two feet in front of him.
“I’ll help you then. I will help you understand,” He said, the tears from his eyes escaping slowly.
“Dad.” Call murmured out and slumped against the wall, “Dad.”
————
He had no doubt the whole Magisterium heard Alastair as he bursted into the Infirmary, seething with rage.
The call had came in no earlier than three in the morning, a somber Master Rufus telling him that Aaron had found Alastairs son, Callum William Hunt, slumped against the wall of his own bedroom, covered in his own blood, and half dead with a suicide note at his side.
Road laws were ignored as was the well being of the car he cherished as he sped his way to Luray.
“You.” Alastair said in between gritted teeth, he pointed at Rufus and stalked up to him, “I trusted you to keep him safe. Where is he? Is he even still alive? Why? Why, William?”
“Your son is alive, his vitals are stable, he will recover swiftly.” Rufus said. He looked almost twenty years older than he did last time Alastair saw him, “I didn’t know.” He said softly. “I didn’t know.” Rufus repeated.
Alastair didn’t know whether or not to burst out sobbing or start throwing punches at him. All he knew was rage and sadness, an ember inside him that laid dormant since the death of Sarah had sparked again and a flame roared for Callum.
“It’s our fault.” Someone said beside Master Rufus. He hadn’t noticed Tamara or Aaron, but they were there.
“No—“
”It is.” Tamara said, “We knew he was hurting himself. It was our duty to help him and tell you. But we promised to not tell anyone. We just didn’t know he would—“ Her voiced choked out.
Suddenly, Alastair’s rage subsided and it was all sadness. He stared at them, Tamara had obviously been sobbing and looked worse for wear. But Aaron, he had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he was staring off into space with red rimmed eyes. He could’ve walked into his own counterweights death scene.
Alastair knew the flurry of emotions he felt when he saw Sarah’s lifeless body. And he was older then, wiser than Aaron was. He was only a kid.
“I know it seemed like you were doing the right thing,” He said softly, “But we can’t change what you chose to do, or rather didn’t do.” Alastair brushed past Rufus and sat down next to Aaron. “I knew too. I should’ve told Rufus too. But we can’t change that, all we can change is how we help Call in the future so this never happens again.”
“We should’ve known— I should’ve known.” Aaron’s voice came out wobbly and oddly high. “I’m his counterweight. We’re supposed to be in sync with eachother. But he— his—“ He saw the tears well up in his eyes, “I thought he was dead.” He said quietly.
“But he’s not.” Alastair said, only beginning to imagine what it would’ve felt like to see his almost lifeless body, “He’s not.”
”We all agree that we should’ve done something different.” Master Rufus baritone voice filled the quietness of the room, “Alastair is right, he isn’t dead. We will know how to spot the signs next time, and this will never happen again.” At that, he left the room, looking exhausted. Alastair couldn’t blame him.
Aaron rubbed at his eyes, stopping whatever tears were going to fall. The Rajavi girl sniffled and brought her knees to her chest. They were both in pajamas. Alastair began rubbing Aaron’s back methodically, like he used to when the bullying got bad for Call and he’d come home crying. Which was rare and few and far between.
”When— when he told us about everything, instead of comforting him, I yelled at him,” Aaron shakily exhaled, “Why did I?” His voice was choked, “I made him do it—“
”No.” Something inside Alastair broke, “Absolutely not. Now quiet.”
He couldn’t bear to hear anymore, instead settling with his imagination taking him to the last time he saw Call. Waving to him as he got onto the bus. But now, all they could do was wait now.
————
And after seven grueling hours, Call had finally woken up. And after a full days worth of worrying, he was finally allowed to see his son.
Call was propped up in a hospital bed and his arms were bandaged up like a mummy, he looked exhausted and sad. Just pure sadness etched onto his face.
When he saw him, his lips moved to say something, “I’m sorry” But Alastair didn’t let them. He just shushed his son and caressed his head, sitting down onto the bed beside him.
His son was alive, and that was all that mattered to him in that very moment.