"Speaking"

'Thoughts'

Something else

Something more

2 years later

Jaune

He wakes with a sharp, agonized gasp when fire erupts in the right side of his chest, burning like hot iron against his flesh and twisting his stomach into tight little knots until it manifests itself as a low keening whine that he tries and fails to bury behind his teeth.

With an air of resignation he reaches out from underneath the suddenly suffocating warmth of the comforter with his left hand, allowing a momentary shudder at the chill before blindly groping about for the syringe on his nightstand. Only stopping with a groan that's half-pain half-relief when he feels cold plastic brush against stiff, numb digits, gripping it tight between his first three fingers and pulling it clumsily in front of his face.

Less than two weeks in and already it's becoming somewhat routine. Remove the cap and place it on his nightstand, three light taps at the tip of the needle with his fingernail, slight compression of the plunger to check for air bubbles.

Resist the urge to let them stay.

It's hard to feel anything but a vague sense of depression as his hands clumsily limp their way through the motions, because this is his life now, has been his life for the past week and will–presumably–continue to be a part of it for years to come.

Jaune throws his weight forward and hauls himself to a sitting position, before loosely flicking his left wrist back towards his chest and watching as his sleeve slides down to reveal his vein. Gritting his teeth he presses the tip of the needle against his arm, letting out a sharp hiss as it pierces skin. With a deep calming breath Jaune pushes down on the plunger; dropping the syringe by his side a moment later as he doubles over desperately clutching at his wrist with fire running through his veins. His vision blurs, goes a stark, blinding white as his aura fluctuates. Rapidly rising and falling enough times to make his head swim before finally settling as cold steel beneath his skin.

With a pained sigh of relief he slumps back against his pillow with bile rising in his throat and sweat beginning to seep and soak into his collar.

All in all, not the worst one this week.

With one shaking hand Jaune reaches back to his nightstand loosely gripping his scroll and pulling it close, taking extra care not to drop the damn thing because otherwise he's screwed.

He clears his throat and tries to ignore how the saliva sticks to the back like drying cement, clumsily running sweat steeped fingers over his scroll as he dials her number.

It takes a while, because for all his admittedly half-hearted efforts he still hasn't managed to fully memorize her number. Not to mention with his aura in a temporarily sedated state it's now almost impossible to ignore the somehow aching numbness that seems to have permanently taken up shop in his left hand.

He manages it eventually though, sinking even further into his pillow with sweat running down his brow in small rivers as the dial tone echoes throughout the room.

A short click announces her answer when she picks up, "Jaune?" She asks immediately, "Are you alright?"

His reply comes slowly, starting out as several deep gasping breaths as his lungs seize and jump painfully in his chest, "I'm-I'm fine." He finally manages to gasp, only to backpedal when the words finally manage to penetrate the soupy fog of his thoughts, "Ok wait, I'm not fine. Just took the dosage." He swallows again, feeling a strangely iron like taste at the back of his throat for what seems like the hundredth time this week. "Can you please come help me?"

There's a pause long enough where Jaune honestly can't help but wonder if she heard him or not, before a heavy series of thuds emanating from outside his bedroom door alert him to her ascent. He can't help but sigh, only for it to turn into a wince his head throbs painfully from the exertion.

In hindsight he probably should have been more specific, 'Really need to work on that.' He thinks with a laugh, only for his thoughts to be broken a knock at his door, tapped out in a hurried beat that if nothing else tells him the–admittedly nice–fact that yes, she is actually worried about him.

"Jaune." Jane calls through the door, before apparently deciding that privacy can go fuck itself as she turns the handle and storms inside, only stopping to lightly kick it closed behind herself.

To her credit she's at his side in an instant, lightly twirling the now empty syringe between the fingers of her left hand as she helps lift him into a sitting position with her right. There's a small hollow thunk from the trashcan in the corner of the room and it takes Jaune a moment to realize that she's no longer holding the syringe, "Nice shot." He can't help but snark, before Jane pulling the back of his shirt up to his shoulders shuts him up.

There's a moment where all is still, and the only things Jaune's really aware of are the sound of blood roaring in his ears, and Jane's icy hand against his comparatively feverish skin. Light blooms at his back a few seconds later, and he can't help but let out a sigh of content as Jane sets to work.

"Tore some muscles below your left shoulder." She says, speech slight stilted as she stares at the spot beneath her hand with intense concentration. "How'd you manage to do that?"

Jaune's breath stills muscles drawing tight against his skin; and that just completely gave it away didn't it? He chooses to take her removing her hand as a yes.

"I could just not heal you."

Jaune doesn't reply, instead opting to continue staring blankly at the door.

"That includes your lung."

At least that actually manages to get a reaction out of him, his features crumpling into a pained grimace as he turns a glare back over his left shoulder, "Not my lung." He mutters, voice dark as he turns his gaze towards the mattress, "You know that."

Jane turns her gaze towards the dark patchwork bruising spread across Jaune's upper torso, each discoloration varying shades of purples, browns, and yellows. "Yeah." She mutters quietly, "I do."

Jaune heaves a heavy sigh that makes his shoulders shake with the force, "I...tried to do push-ups yesterday." He mutters, gaze softer but still pointedly turned down towards the mattress. "I know I shouldn't. But-" He trails off, clenching his hands into fists in his lap and hissing in pain through gritted teeth, "I can't just sit here. I don't know why, but I just can't."

His breaths are starting to come fast, leaving in harsh heavy breaths that make his lungs ache with the force, and it's stupid that this of all things would set him off but he's been on a hair trigger for days and he just can't stop.

Jane's hand abruptly slides a foot up his back, and Jaune somehow, miraculously, stops. The very beginnings of sobs slowly trail off in favor of tensing all the muscles up and down his spine. "Wh-what are you doing?" He asks, voice still shaking yet unburdened by the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

Jane lays her other hand against Jaune's left shoulder squeezing the muscle beneath her fingertips as she sets to work on his old wounds. "Everything seems to be okay." She says, slowly moving her hand in a circle around the right side of his back, "I'm not gonna torture you with too many details, but both walls and the three lobes seen in good shape."

"You're sure?" Jaune asks, sadness momentarily set aside in favor of the anxiety bubbling up in his chest.

"Yeah. I'm sure." Jane says, not yet lowering her hand as she brings it about in one more circle around his back, "It doesn't hurt or anything, does it?"

Jaune hesitates for a moment, and Jane is starting to get the feeling this will be like pulling teeth, "Yeah." He says, making her blink in surprise as he continues, "Not all the time, but if I breathe too deeply or get out of breath. Then yeah, it hurts."

Jane's brow furrows as she processes this new information, mentally combing through various medical knowledge until she speaks, "We'll have to get you on an I.V regimen then." Her nose crinkles in a sneer, "Syringe delivery must be wearing off too fast, it should be good for at least a day."

Jaune manages to give her an awkward attempt at a smirk over his left shoulder, "Well, it isn't."

"But, you'll have to use the syringes while we're still out here."

"Why?"

"Best we can do out here. The nearest medical supplier is in Vale, and you'll be out there in a couple days." She says, continuing when she feels Jaune's muscles still tense against her hand. "Relax. I'll make some calls once we get in range of the tower, but that's the best I can do."

"Ok." Jaune says, voice quiet and still tinged with sadness, but his muscles slowly unknot into a semi-relaxed position. "Thank you."

"No problem." Jane replies, her hand finally coming to a stop at a specific spot on his back, and even though he's been expecting it the entire time he can't help but Jaune stiffen once more. His shoulders pulling forward as his left hand clumsily grips at the blanket in his lap, "The scarring still hasn't gone away." She says, gently running her hand over the 2 inch wide patch of gnarled skin so as not to make him even worse, "I thought I gave you some stuff to help with that."

Slowly Jaune unclenches his hand, dragging it upward and pulling against his ring and pinky finger with his left hand, feeling Jane cringe behind him when they straighten with a quiet crick before dropping back down to his lap, "You did." He mutters quietly, "Musta used half of the bottle last night." He shrugs, feels the muscles in his chest and back twinge with the movement, and it shouldn't hurt so much but it does, "I guess it didn't work." He breathes deep, notes the now absent seizing in his right lung.

"I hate this." He adds.

Jane slides her hand out from beneath his shirt, lays a hand against his shoulder before pulling him into her embrace, "I'm sorry." She says, voice heavy with something that sounds like guilt. Jaune breathes in deeply, feels her hair brushing across his face and in front of his eyes, her collarbone digging into his cheek, "I don't know what to do." Jane says, "We're gonna have to leave soon."

Her voice–a low alto that he honestly hasn't noticed before–reverberates through his chest in a way that burns and soothes at the same time, and it's stupid so very very stupid and wrong and she shouldn't be the one apologizing. There's a sob welling up in his throat, choked and buried behind clenched teeth and stinging eyes, and it seems they weren't stopped so much as delayed.

So he hugs her back. Awkwardly lifting his right arm and curling it up and over her right shoulder while his left hand curls into something vaguely resembling a fist in his lap that aches with pins and needles when broken tendons and shredded nerves shift in a morbid dance beneath his skin.

"I'm sorry too."

Later, when the tears on his face have dried into his skin, and the ache in his hand has been replaced by a comfortable twinge in his side. Jane lets go, her face flushed with embarrassment and a sudden rush of self-consciousness that only a fifteen year old girl can ever hope to truly match, "Uh, sorry." She mutters, flicking at the right pocket of her jeans with her nails, "I kinda got a bit carried away there."

Jaune stares, watching as she twitches and fidgets with the hem of her jeans as she waits for a response, and it feels...wrong in some weird kind of way. Second guesses and awkward conversational fumbling have always been more his area at the best of times, and it's just entirely too fucking weird seeing Jane do it.

"Ya know." He snarks, momentarily regaining a bit of his lost courage, "Most people would take being hugged back as a sign of acceptance; did you miss the memo or something?" He lightly raps his knuckles against her side, feels stiff fingers reset with a silent creak, "You're fine."

He can't help but feel a strange kind of satisfaction when her eyes light up, almost instinctively reaching out her hand towards his head, "Jerk." She mutters fondly, before lightly knocking the back of her hand against his forehead.

Only to lower it with a suddenly stricken expression a moment later, curling her hand in towards her chest and pressing the bones of her knuckles against her sternum hard enough that Jaune's certain it will leave a mark.

Oh great, "Relax." He parrots, rolling his eyes in a deliberate attempt to play it off, "C'mon, it's not like I'm made of glass."

"I know." Jane replies, nervously running a hand through her hair and letting it fall in front of her eyes in stray unkempt strands, "I know you're okay, I really do." She hesitates, teases the bracelet around her wrist with her fingers, "But that doesn't make it easier. Everytime I look at you it's hard not to think of-" she stops, averts her eyes as the metal figures around her wrist jingle louder than before, "Well, you know."

"Yeah, I do." Jaune says, slowly reaching his left hand over his chest, squeezing down hard against broken gnarled skin. "It still hurts." He says, only to continue when Jane raises her hand once more, "N-No, we went over this, I already told you everything. And you did a good job it's just-" He squeezes harder, awkwardly wrapping his fingers up in his shirt as he pulls the fabric away from his chest, "It's hard to sleep, everytime I close my eyes it just...hurts."

The sharp stab of steel shifting beneath his skin, bark scratching at the palm of his hand and freshly damp morning grass slowly staining his jeans with dew. A flash of light, a roar of thunder that leaves his ears trembling and ringing in recoil as the smell of smoke and blood fills his lungs.

It not surprising that it's hard to sleep sometimes.

Jane opens her mouth to speak, before closing it with a quiet pop of her lips. Seemingly thinking of something as a small bit of light returns to her eyes, reaching down and unfastening the pouch at her hip, digging through it's contents in awkward silence until she finds what she wants.

"Uh, here." Jane says, reaching out and laying something soft in his right hand, before closing it into a fist around the fabric. "I-uh, I noticed you were staring at your hands a few days ago. So I uh-" She stops, turning her gaze off to the left with suddenly rosy cheeks, "I made these for you."

Jaune unfurls his hand to look down at the pitch black fabric, giving a surprised blink when he finally notices their shape, "You made me gloves." He says, momentarily dumbstruck before snapping back to reality under the weight of Jane's anxious gazing out the corner of her eye. Clumsily gripping the bottom of one with his left hand, holding it in place as he slides it over his right hand. It's soft, very soft, and Jane must have measured his hands or something because when he curls it into a fist the fabric pulls taut over his skin, not restricting his movement in the slightest. "Can you help me with the other one?" He asks, quickly burying the bitter taste of shame that comes with it.

Jane blinks, before leaning forward and clutching the glove between two fingers, "No problem." She says quickly, placing her hand on the side and rolling it forward like a sock, "Sorry, wasn't really thinking."

Jaune lifts his left hand and tries and fails to ignore the sight of the two jagged lines spanning his fourth and fifth fingers from knuckle to fingertip, the once bright angry red having faded to a slightly fleshy pink. It's impossible not to think of the what if's; what if he hadn't stumbled, what if he'd managed to dodge, what if he'd managed to block the incoming stab, what if they hadn't even gone out into the woods in the first place?

Jaune isn't an idiot, and torturing himself with the what if's and what might have beens isn't healthy. But it's...hard to not think about it, when the house is dark and his sisters say their goodnights, before Jane in particular retires to the room on the other side of his wall. Leaving him to curl up in bed with the low light of a lamp shining in his face as he stares down at his hands, feeling the phantom burn of steel and a cold wind whispering it's way through his chest.

He hasn't slept with the lights off for the past two weeks, and it's the most pathetic feeling to be afraid of the dark at fifteen, yet every time he tries the entire night consists of him jumping at shadows and ignoring the whispers of a dead man and the bastards that killed him.

His thoughts are broken by fabric sliding across his skin, catching slightly against his skin before Jane forces it over with a silent curse, "There." She says, leaning back with a satisfied grin, "How do they feel?"

Jaune tugs at the end of the left glove, before clasping the fingers at the end and pushing inward making it settle into a fist with a creak. "Pretty good actually." He says with a grin, "Thank you."

Jane blushes with embarrassment, reaching back to rub at the nape of her neck, "You're welcome." She says.

"Aww." Somebody suddenly snarks across the room, their voice dark and dry with something that to Jaune's ears sounds vaguely like contempt, "Am I interrupting something?"

Jaune doesn't think. Just lets his instincts take over, the muscles in his legs curling in and undulating as he leaps out of bed with his right hand already halfway to his waist. Only to stumble when his feet touch the floor, his legs giving out the instant he actually has to support his own weight, his right hand blindly groping about his waist as he falls. Feeling a massive wave of confusion when he only feels the soft, slightly scratchy cotton of his pajamas beneath his fingertips. 'Oh, right.' He thinks, watching the carpet rapidly rising up to meet his face his face, 'Damn.'

In the end it's Jane who catches him, although just barely. Grabbing at the edge of his shirt as he falls pulling hard and no doubt irreversibly stretching the fabric. His left shoulder hits the floor hard a moment later, and even though it's carpet Jaune has to bite back curses as the impact rattles throughout his chest with agonizing effect, "Sorry!" She says, quickly hooking an arm under his right and laying her hand against his chest, "Are you okay?"

"Peachy." Jaune replies through gritted teeth, curling his right hand up in his shirt and biting back a scream, "Do me a favor." He says, voice suspiciously high and tight like he's been hit somewhere else instead, "Add sudden muscle weakness to the list of side effects."

"Got it." Jane says, before pulling hard on his shoulder and slowly helping him stagger back to his feet. "Think you can stand on your own?" She asks, sliding a hand down to the middle of his back, "Or are you gonna face plant the second I let go?"

If he's honest with himself the odds are at about a 60/40 chance towards him collapsing, but he's never really been one for taking the wisest decisions anyway. So Jaune swallows another groan when the fire in his lung flares bright once more, "Probably fine." He decides.

"Okay." Jane says, slowly releasing her grip on his arm and back and slowly stepping away with her hands still raised, ready to catch him again just in case.

Jaune stumbles slightly a moment later, but thankfully his training kicks in before Jane has time to react. He turns on his heel and just barely manages to slam his forearm against the wall before he hits the ground. "I'm fine." He manages to wheeze before Jane grabs at him again, choking back bile when it starts to claw its way up his throat, 'Shit. Gotta get her out of here.' "Just go eat breakfast or something." He says, words coming fast in an attempt to drown out any potential protests. "I'll be down in a little while."

Jane blinks at the sudden shift of topics, "Uh, what?" She says, looking across the room to the man stood silently at the window, "Are you sure about that?"

Jaune breathes out through his nose, nearly gags when bile rises in his throat once more, "Yeah, it's fine." He says, blindly waving towards the door with his left hand, "Have fun."

"...Ok." Jane says, one eyebrow raised high as she slowly strides her way over to the bedroom door, "See you in a while then." The door closes behind her with a soft click as she makes her way downstairs.

"Now kid." The man at the window says, stepping forward with hands lazily slumped into his pockets, "Let's get down to; hey!" He yells as Jaune suddenly rushes towards him, digging an elbow into his side and shoving him out of the way as he makes an apparent beeline for the window.

The man groans from his place on the floor, reaching up to rub at his now aching ribs, "What the hell was that for?" He asks, glaring at Jaune, only to pause when the sound of…'Oh god is that liquid?' splattering across the ground hits his ears.

"You're vomiting aren't you?" He asks, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "Ya know, not that I enjoy getting puked on. But you could have asked me to move." He pushes himself back up to a standing position before lightly stomping his foot against the carpet, "I mean, I do have legs, and they're kinda useful for the whole 'getting out of the way' thing."

Jaune groans, leaning his head back into gargle, "Fuck you Qrow." Before another retch wracks his body and he leans back out the window with a long drawn out groan.

"Eloquent as always." Qrow says, his voice low and dark enough to keep Jaune from hearing. He lazily walks his way over to the window, awkwardly reaching up and hesitantly laying a hand across Jaune's left shoulder blade, "Come on kid." He says, gently rubbing his hand in circles like Raven used to do when he was sick as a kid.

And pointedly ignoring the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Tai ranting about him spending more time with some kid than his own flesh and blood.

Qrow can't help but grimace at that thought, his throat burning hot and dry with a sudden need for a bottle. 'I need to make some calls once this is all over.' He decides, absently continuing to rub small circles into Jaune's shoulder. 'Besides, need to see how Ruby's doing with her scythe.'

"Ugh." Jaune groans miserably, swallowing back bile with a loud gulp as he pushes himself back up with his hands, "I'm-I'm okay. Can you back up; kinda don't want to smell this."

Qrow backs up a step rubbing at the back of his neck with a slightly embarrassed flush that is thankfully at least mostly covered by the scruffy excuse for facial hair across his face. Raven had used to nag him about shaving when they were younger, always using the same old line that was basically something about him looking more like a dog than a crow. 'And look how that turned out.'

"Yeah, sorry." He says, "Got distracted there; you feeling any better?"

Jaune's reply comes in the form of a rather deadpan stare, which is probably fair enough considering Qrow had known the answer before the words had even been out of his mouth. With a gaunt expression only made worse by deep purple bruises under both of his eyes, and a t-shirt and jeans that are more or less hanging off of his frame Jaune looks absolutely awful. "Not really." He replies, trying to sound annoyed but coming across as exhausted instead.

'Come on kid, you need to eat.' Qrow thinks. What he says is, "Yeah, figured." Before reaching out and pointing at the collar of his shirt with one finger, taking extra care to keep it at least an inch away from actually touching it, "You might wanna change, got some of it on your shirt."

Jaune just growls under his breath, slowly making his way around Qrow and over to his dresser at the other side of the room, clumsily pulling the hem of his shirt up and over his head and blinding throwing it back over his shoulder for Qrow to catch. "Burn that, please?" He asks as he pulls open the second drawer and starts rummaging around for a new shirt.

"Sure." Qrow drawls, before slowly stepping his way back towards the window and dropping the shirt outside. He withdraws a small vial from his back pocket, pulling the cork and pouring a very

tiny amount down with it, then immediately replaces the cap when the smell of burning fabric reaches his nostrils.

"So!" Jaune says, making him jump and slam his elbow against the window with surprise turning on his heel to face Jaune, now clad in a black t-shirt and currently struggling with pulling a blue hoodie over his head. "What did you wanna talk about?"

'Oh yeah.' Qrow thinks, coughs into his hand to buy himself a little bit of time, and tries not to slump even further when the weight at the back of his belt becomes especially noticeable. "I uh, I went back to the clearing...and I found this."

He reaches back behind his cloak undoing the latch on his belt and hooking two fingers underneath the hard ceramic ridge. With a heavy sigh Qrow brings it forward, feeling a torrent of guilt flood his throat when Jaune's eyes go wide.

"How did you know about that?" Jaune asks, stepping back on suddenly unsteady legs until his back collides hard against his dresser, "I didn't tell anybody about that."

It's grey and shaped like a macabre version of something one would wear at a masquerade, it's structure tapering off on both sides into a point that extends just past where a person's nose would be. With four slits across the faceplate meant to act as eyeholes and mostly blank features it's an actually more than decent approximation of what a Nevermore would look like.

"You mentioned one of the attackers had a tail." Qrow says, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of pity and regret that makes Jaune's stomach twist itself into a painful knot, "I just put the pieces together." He moves his hand back beneath his cloak, sliding the mask back into place with an audible click, "Honestly I was kinda hoping it was just a weird coincidence. Guess we weren't that lucky."

Jaune takes one cautious step forward, making sure to keep his right arm braced back against the dresser while he regains his footing. Taking extra care to flex what muscles that he can in his left, and trying to not make its slow crawl towards the door handle too obvious. "Do you know what they wanted with us?" He asks, his throat suddenly bone-dry, "I'm not stupid. I know what the White Fang is, but why did they target us specifically?"

"Not sure you wanna know the answer to that one." Qrow says, only to heave a heavy sigh at Jaune's insistent glare in response, "Okay okay, uh fuck, how do I put this?" Qrow says, nervously running a hand through salt and pepper hair as he gathers his thoughts.

There's a beat of silence where all Jaune can hear is the sound of blood roaring in his ears, only made worse when it's compounded by the sound of his heart punching out a sledgehammer beat against his ribs.

"It might have been your dad's fault." Qrow finally says, before cringing at how horrendously awful an idea it is to start that way, "Just-Just let me explain." He says, crossing back over to Jaune's bed in three long strides before slumping down with a creak as the mattress compresses beneath him.

The dryness in his throat is back with a vengeance. What was once a slight sense of want at the middle of his tongue now grown into a scrabbling desperation that settles into his teeth until he almost wants to bite something to make the ache subside.

Qrow reaches behind his cloak, withdrawing a worn metal flask from his belt and reaching up to unscrew the cap with deceptively steady fingers. There's a short rush of shame that threatens to block his throat and strangle the breath from his lungs. He swallows it with a sip of whisky, tells himself the burning in his chest that makes him cough into his hand is because of the liquor.

In the end he almost manages to convince himself.

"Your family has a long and documented history of supporting faunus rights." He finally starts, watching as Jaune manages to settle himself back into a somewhat calm demeanor, slowly sliding down his dresser until he's sat with his back against it. "And when I say long, I mean long. You could probably find papers dating back to the very beginning of the faunus rights movement in your attic."

He forces a chuckle up from his throat, searching about for something to lighten the mood "Or at least you can if Elias bothered to keep track of the copies." He says with an almost nostalgic smirk, "I've known him for more than twenty years, and if there's one thing I can say for sure; it's that Elias Arc was god awful at hanging onto things."

"His wedding ring." Jaune retorts quietly, before shifting uncomfortably when Qrow turns a suddenly sharp eye back in his direction.

"What?" Qrow asks, voice incredulous.

"His wedding ring." Jaune repeats, before hesitantly reaching up to pull out the drawer above his head. Curling his right hand up and over the rim before withdrawing it with something tightly clutched in its palm, "I know it's a cliche or whatever; but I really don't think I've ever seen him without it."

Qrow visibly winces from his spot on the bed, "Your mom really did a number on him, huh?"

Jaune just shrugs, "I guess." He says quietly, before gently unfurling his hand to stare down at the faded golden band that had adorned his father's hand for twenty-six years, "She did a number on all of us."

For the first time that morning the silence that falls over them is a comfortable one. Built upon an air of nostalgia and the painful twinge of grief and regret. Qrow just leans back against the bed and stares up at the ceiling when he hears Jaune sniffle to his left. There's still work to be done, but the least he can do is spare him an audience.

Qrow looks back down once the sniffling tapers off, waiting until he hears the drawer slide closed before actually turning his head to the left. "You okay?" He asks, only barely managing to stop himself from face palming when his brain catches up.

Thankfully Jaune just nods, reaching up and running his sleeve across his eyes as he sniffles once more, "Yeah." He says quietly, "Still kind of a wreck; might be more of one in five minutes. But for now...for now I'm good."

"Good." Qrow says, giving a Jaune a half-smirk that has him leaning back against the dresser in comfort. "Like I was saying, your family used to be pretty involved in faunus rights. But the thing is, your family officially withdrew their support about 28 years ago. No more money, no more speeches, rallies, nothing. All of it stopped."

"And I think there might be some people in the White Fang who didn't like that."

Jaune seems to visibly deflate, slouching just a bit lower and curling his knees up to his chest, "I don't know why you're asking me." Jaune says quietly, staring down at the floor between his knees with a near absent gaze, "I don't know anything about that." He says, only to backpedal at Qrow's questioning stare. "Crocea told me about the various wars she'd been through, but aside from the occasional reference she never actually mentioned anything about Faunus rights."

"We'll come back to this in a minute. Because this is the one part that I have trouble believing." Qrow interjects, "And even though I'm sure she'll swear up and down that she didn't; Jane told me about your supposed semblance. And frankly; I find the entire idea in itself to be a little bit hard to believe." Qrow says, gently clapping one palm against his knee and giving Jaune a look that he hopes can convey his doubt and guilt for doubting him at the same time.

"Ok." Jaune says blankly, slowly straightening against his dresser, scrabbling at the wood with his fingers until he finally manages to catch a hold. Pulling himself up and onto his feet in one smooth motion that would almost be impressive if it weren't for the way that his trembling legs make the foundation of the illusion just as unsteady. "What can I do to prove it to you?"

Qrow blinks, "Wait, what?"

Jaune just nods, reaching out and leaning his left arm against the dresser to keep himself standing. "You need answers." He wheezes, as several drops of sweat start to bead up and run down his forehead, "And I might-let me say that again, might. Have some of them." He straightens, slowly limping his way over to his bed on legs made of jelly. Before throwing himself backwards on to the mattress as blood roars in his ears.

Jaune closes his eyes, takes a deep breath as he prods at his aura. It's a strange sensation to say the least; and in fairness, he's only just recently awakened it so that's to be expected.

But Jane has always described hers as a sort of rush, feeling like liquid pulsing throughout her entire being and a thrum of heat pooling in her chest. And yet at the moment his own seems more like gel, slightly cold and sluggish. 'Must be the drugs.' Jaune thinks with a grimace, before clumsily pushing beneath the surface.

A wave of numbing cold forms a stranglehold over his limbs, liquid steel stutters and struggles through his veins and rises beneath his skin. He drags a hand across his sternum, presses hard against it with the heel of his palm when his lung seizes. Constricting the flow of oxygen and making his entire body ache like somebody's taken a sledgehammer to it.

It collapses into an actually usable state a moment later, leaving Jaune to pull his hoodie even closer around his skin in a fruitless attempt to restore some of his body heat. Breathing out with several quick rapid breaths that he's almost certain are visible in the air.

It's only then that he notices Qrow leaned over him, one hand shoved against his wrist while the other is crammed halfway up his shirt. And all things considered; this is about the most awkward thing that's happened this year. "Qrow." Jaune wheezes, voice weak and what he hopes comes across as foreboding, "If you don't remove your hand right now." His voice tapers off only to be replaced by a glower that conveys his point just as well as an actual death threat.

Thankfully Qrow looks equally as mortified, springing away from him and onto his feet with words already tumbling out of his mouth, "Now hold on! If you actually think-Are you really so-" Only to stop when the realization hits that yes, that is exactly what it looked like he was doing.

"I was checking your pulse." He finally grinds out through tightly gritted teeth, swallowing a not insignificant amount of anger at Jaune's accusation. Even if it did look like that, he can't just accuse him of something like...that if just ridiculous. "Kid, you looked like you were having a heart attack or some shit; okay?"

Jaune goes still. Raises his left hand from his sternum and haphazardly jams the first two fingers against the side of his neck while the other presses hard against his right pectoral muscle, "Are you serious?" He asks, voice quiet, blue eyes wide and afraid.

Qrow swallows, raises a hand and runs it roughly through his hair. "I don't-I don't know." He finally says, suddenly uncertain when put on the line. "I'm not a doctor, ya know? But it definitely looked like it."

Jaune closes his eyes, focuses on the agony in his chest and the nauseating taste of fear lapping at the back of his throat. 'Don't freak out. Don't freak out.' "Just go get your scythe." He finally says, feeling a strange kind of satisfaction at the baffled look on Qrow's face.

"Are you stupid or something?" Qrow asks, voice dark and full of a sudden anger that has Jaune nearly reeling with surprise. He hadn't accounted for this, honestly hadn't thought that his own well being would elicit this type of reaction from somebody he's known for less than a week at most.

Which is really bad, because the numbness is coming back. Joined by the nearly deafening sound of his heartbeat reverberating in his ears like a great bell. The world blurs, coalescing into a twisted kaleidoscope of light and sound and greys and blues. A sharp pain starts up in his chest and it's suddenly much harder to breathe.

Her voice is in his head again; so faint and yet at the same time the loudest sound he's ever heard in his entire life.

'Don't freak out. Don't freak out.'

Run.

He's on the other side of the room now. Sat in a corner with his knees pulled hard against his chest and the edge of the room against his back. He's always thought that it was such a cliche when people would do this; would huddle up in the corner like a sniveling child and stare off into nothing, but it makes so much sense now. The corner is safe, secure. A place where everything is in his range of sight and nothing can come at him from behind.

He's proven wrong when a hand grips at his shoulder, scrapes across his scar when its grip loosens and lowers from his struggling, and he bats it away with a strangled scream tearing its way out of his throat. Jaune kicks out with his leg, feels it twist and sink into something solid, and even in his weak and panic addled state there's a sick rush of satisfaction when he feels a wet pop and a hard crack as they disconnect.

For Jaune there is no separation of consciousness anymore, no emotional and rational disconnect in his mind. It's all light and sound, pain and tears and the ever looming sense that he's going to die.

There's a sharp stinging sensation from the crook of his right arm, the mind numbing agony of metal scraping against bone. Something darts forward and takes a firm hold of his wrist, and the metal pierces his skin once more.

"Is he out?" Qrow asks, cautiously stood a few feet back with the heel of his palm pressed tightly against his side, quietly hissing through his teeth.

Jean is the one who answers, gently releasing her grip around Jaune's right hand and pressing her hands against her knees as she hauls herself up from the balls of her feet. "Yeah." She says, looking down at Jaune's now slack face as Jane sets to work on sterilizing the injection site, "He's out."

Jane lays her hand over the puncture in his arm, closes her eyes and breathes out slowly through her nose. A warm white light emanates from her hand, making Qrow take a half step back with an arm over his eyes, "Give a guy some warning will ya?"

Jean snorts to his right, "Yeah, sure." She says with a sardonic expression, "Need anything else? A pillow, some flowers?"

"Jean." Jane interrupts, effectively killing the conversation as said girl turns her gaze back to her younger siblings.

"Yeah?"

Jane heaves a sigh, removing her hand from his arm and wiping a few stray drops of sweat from her brow before she speaks, "Help me get him back into bed; we need to get out of here fast."

"So we're doing the regular thing again?"

"Regular?" Qrow asks, back now pressed up against the opposite wall, his cloak removed from his back and wrapped around his chest on the inside of his suit jacket. "You mean this has happened before?"

Jane gives her sister a look, heaving a dramatic sigh before replying, "Uh, yeah. This...is the third time since dad's death." Her face takes on a stricken expression as Jean steps forward to continue.

"I was supposed to talk to him about it tomorrow." Jean turns her gaze back over her shoulder towards Jaune, lazily sliding hands into her pocket and failing to look casual when it takes three attempts due to her shaking hands, "I'll do it when he wakes up."

Qrow silently processes this new information, before finally deciding that this is too damned early in the day for stuff like this. "So." He starts, taking a few long steps and crouching down to snag his flask off the floor, "How'd you manage to pull that off?" He should probably feel bad when Jane visibly flinches, while Jean slouches slightly and reaches back to scratch at her shoulder with an entirely awkward expression.

Instead he undoes the cap on the worn metal flask, taking a long swig and savoring the fire that blossoms like roses in his chest.

Detached has always been more of his style anyway.

"Propofol." Jane finally answers, looking so pale that Qrow is honestly starting to wonder if she's going to have a breakdown too. "It uh, it's a sedative that usually makes it to where the subject doesn't remember about five minutes before the injection."

If there's any answer he had been expecting, that is most certainly not one of them. Qrow reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, anger sparking up into a fire inside his chest and the 'detached' attitude dies a very painful death, "Look. I'm not the greatest guy; so in the interest of not be a hypocrite, for just a minute. I'm going to ignore how incredibly immoral this is!" Both girls flinch when his voice suddenly spikes in volume, echoing like a siren throughout the large room.

Qrow takes a breath, has another deep swig of whiskey, 'Don't flip out. Don't flip out.' His friend is dead and two of his kids have been sedating the other and he will not flip out. "Just-just explain. Please; preferably before I actually lose my mind."

Apparently today's goal is to give him a heart attack, because Jean abruptly pulls down the front of her shirt, revealing pale white skin that immediately has Qrow averting his gaze. Because while he may be a shameless flirt; there are lines, and his friends kids crosses basically every single one of them all at once.

"Not like that you drunk!" Jean snaps, while Qrow just barely manages to see her staring up at the ceiling with flushed cheeks out the corner of his eye, "Just look."

Qrow lowers his gaze and almost immediately spots the long jagged white line that starts at her collarbone, before continuing onward down and below her bra and chest. "How the hell did that happen?"

Jean doesn't reply, in favor of turning back towards Jaune's crumpled form. Crouching down on the balls of her feet and gently hooking her arm under the backs of his legs, while wrapping the back of his shirt around her other in a tight knot. With a grunt she pushes off the floor with her feet, straightening almost instantly, barely managing to catch herself from tumbling backwards with Jaune still tightly held in her grip.

"I'm fine." She manages to say before the others reach out to catch her, "He's just-" She trips over her words, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping at the hook, "Lighter than I thought he would be." She finally manages to sputter.

Jean takes several slow measured steps towards the bed; muscles and tendons unnaturally tense for fear of dropping her brother. Or worse, having him wake up and attack her in a foggy haze of sedatives and fear.

Thankfully the world must decide to grant her this small mercy. Because Jean easily settles him back atop the mattress, making sure to leave his side once she's checked his breathing. Because again, probably not a good idea for a traumatized fifteen year old to wake up with someone looming over him like a goddamn phantom.

"Okay. Let's get out of here." Jane says, quickly shoving Qrow out the door, with Jean lazily slinking out the door behind him. The door closes and they're all stood out in the hallway, with Qrow leaned up against the opposite door and Jean stood to her right against the wall.

"Okay." Qrow starts, eyes still dark and something flickering beneath the wine-red surface that makes her think of a rushing, crushing black and blood dripping off a knife. "Talk. No bullshit, or lies. Just. Talk." Qrow says, punctuating his words with an angry almost snarl spread across his face.

Jean straightens, hands sliding out of her pockets and lazily tapping against the wall as she replies, "When he woke up. After dad was-" The beat falters almost immediately, and Jean shoves her hands back down by her side with a frustrated scowl, "He freaked out when he woke up." She says, looking directly across into Qrow's eyes without fear, "Started yelling about dad and just kept asking me where he was, if he was hurt."

There's a low loud bang! directly to Jane's right, making her jolt in surprise, "Was everybody okay." Jean says, forcing the words through tightly gritted teeth. There's a twist, a shift in the wall at her back. And Jean harshly jerks her foot forward, not caring for the small white bits of plaster that come with it, each chunk hanging in the air like snowflakes before finally settling onto the floor.

Her little brother nearly dies, and the first thing he asks is if everybody else is okay.

'Goddammit.'

Another scowl works its way onto her face, muscles draw taut and relax seemingly at random under her shirt while her shoulders rise high and tight on her frame. For a moment Jane is genuinely starting to worry about the future of her bedroom walls.

Only for Jean to breathe out her anger a moment later, the rush of air resembling a Grimm's snarl as it leaves her lungs. "Everything is so fucked."

Qrow just stands still, arms crossed over his still aching chest like a sentry, silently passing judgement upon them for their actions.

Once Jean has finally managed to bring her anger back down to manageable levels, She tilts her head down towards her scar before pulling back to meet Qrow's eyes. "If you're still wondering about that; his sword was next to him when he woke up. I don't know why any of us thought that was a good idea, call it a lack of sleep or some shit, all I know is that it shouldn't have been there."

She stops, listening carefully through the door for any signs that her outburst might have woke Jaune up, before continuing when there's only silence, "When he started panicking I leaned over him, tried to put my hands on his shoulders." Qrow snorts with noticeable disdain and she brushes it off with an almost embarrassed huff, "Yeah, I know."

"Okay." Qrow says slowly, feeling the words twist and contort in his mouth before he's even uttered them, "So he had a panic attack when he woke up, and slashed you when you tried to help." He settles back with another glare when a new question comes into his mind, and honestly for their sakes he'd better like the answer. "Did you sedate him then?"

"I was bleeding all over him." Jean says, her words carrying an air of annoyance that is immediately quelled when Qrow turns his gaze back in her direction, "Of course we did, it was just making him worse."

Qrow accepts that with a nod, before pushing off the wall with his palm, taking a few tender steps to his right with one hand still jammed up against his makeshift bindings, "Ok." He says, easily turning back on his heel to face them once more, "Why did you sedate him a second time?"

Jane blinks, slowly turning her head to meet his eyes with a bemused expression splayed across her face, at least until her bangs fall down and cover it, "Yeah, no." Qrow says, giving a smirk that if he's honest, should probably get him punched. "Neither of you are getting off the hook; not until I get all the info I need."

"And if we don't?" Jane asks slowly. Curiosity overriding self-preservation.

If anything Qrow's smirk just grows wider. A nearly imperceptible chill descends over the hallway, and Jane is very suddenly regretting the decision to leave her daggers downstairs, "We both know you don't actually want me to answer that."

To her credit Jean shrugs off his thinly veiled threats with ease, the only indication that she's even bothered to muster up the energy to care being a minute twitch in her hands that has her clenching and unclenching them at her side. She works her jaw back and forth, lips slowly parting to utter her reply.

Jane interrupts her, quickly knocking a hand against her wrist as she shoots her a look that could roughly be translated as, 'Sarcasm isn't a good idea right now.'

She ignores Jean's falsely wounded look in favor of turning back towards Qrow and swallowing down her own apprehension, "The second time we had to sedate him when he-" Her words break off suddenly, her fingers curling up into fists as she takes a deep breath that reverberates through her chest like a gong.

"Turned the sword on himself." Jean answers for her, an intensely uncomfortable expression plainly displayed on her features. They've never gotten along; still might not even with the recent series of tragedies. But she'd like to think that even at her worst, the idea of Jaune harming himself would turn her stomach as much as it does now.

If it were any other time, she'd probably feel proud at Qrow's reaction. Now, watching as he's stood with a thunderstruck look and his already pale skin a half-shade paler; all she can feel is nauseous.

Any further discussion is cut, somewhat mercifully, short when the sound of a bed creaking echoes out from Jaune's bedroom door.

"Drugs must already be wearing off." Qrow mutters under his breath, heaving a heavy sigh as he turns the door handle. Only to stop with a

curse when a sudden thought comes to him. "Hey." He says, hesitantly turning back towards the two sisters, every movement betraying his apprehension with what he's about to say.

"Can you bring my scythe up here for me?" He asks, reaching up to rub at the nape of his neck with one hand, breathing out some of his visible agitation with a short, quick breath, "The kid wanted to see it." Muscles tighten, and the doorknob creaks under the force of his suddenly white-knuckled grip, "Think I should give him the benefit of the doubt."

A hand claps down over his left shoulder the grip high and loose against his lithe muscular frame, "Just bring him down to the kitchen." Jean says, voice drawn and resigned in a way that suggests she really doesn't like where this is going, but also doesn't have a better alternative, "And...give me half an hour with him, alone. Before you both start experimenting or whatever, Ok?" She turns on her heel before he can even manage to answer, quickly walking to the end of the hall and disappearing behind the corner.

Qrow just shoots Jane an inquisitive look that she brushes off with a shrug of her own, "I dunno." She says, reaching up to brush away several long blonde strands of hair when they fall in front of her face, "Said she would talk to him; probably just doing that."

"And you don't have a problem with that?"

Jane shrugs again, "Not really." She answers dully, before hesitating at how callous her words come across. "For all my training I'm not exactly the kind of person you'd call for emotional issues. I can play the part, give out hugs and words of support. But hell, everyone else can too, because it's kind of natural, ya know?" Nimble fingers twirl the bracelet on her wrist back and forth, back and forth, "She isn't either, just so we're clear. But still, she might be able to help in some way you and I just...can't."

"You really believe that?"

She chuckles, a low even alto that carries a hint of sadness balanced on the cusp of the sound, "Kinda have to at this point. Don't I?"

Qrow's reply comes in the form of a small click as he closes the door behind himself.

Jean

She takes the stairs slowly, sock-clad feet moving down the stairs inch-by-inch as if she were a prisoner being marched towards the gallows. The thick bundles of cardboard and paper clutched tightly between her fingers; her manifesto, words laid plainly in ink as proof to her sins.

Melodramatic perhaps, but right now it feels almost disconcertingly appropriate.

She doesn't walk into the kitchen, so much as stomp. Big pounding footsteps that announce her apprehension with every single punching step against the floor. She slides into the chair across from where she knows he's sitting, swallows roughly, staring down at the papers in her hand.

Jean can feel his curious gaze boring into her, it's been so long since she's felt like this. Since she's felt so unsure of what she's going to do next; it used to be that she'd just do something, act on instinct and emotion and damn anybody who dared have a problem with it. Jean can't help but laugh at that, 'That's what I'm doing now though, isn't it?'

But things change, no matter how gradual the shift may seem that doesn't mean that one hasn't occurred. And while even to the most passive observer it's obvious that she still has a long way to go, this might as well be the start.

So with a mostly steady hand Jean lays the bundle on the tabletop with a low slap, lifting her head to look across at Jaune.

Melting ice meets dulled cobalt, and she gives him her best approximation of a calming grin.

"We need to talk."

Chapter finally done.

Just to address what I know will be mentioned in at least a couple reviews: Yes, what happened to Jaune physically and the entire family emotionally has been planned for a long while. I know that it might not seem like it, but remember that I rewrote my plans for this story four months ago. The only reason it may feel really short to some of you is because you're either a new reader (in which case, welcome!) or because frankly, I'm really goddamn bad at updating.

Anything that has happened to these characters is being used for further character development, and while admittedly my writing could use a lot of work (which is why I'm writing this about a series I love in the first place) I'm not pulling the "rule of cool" bullshit.

The next chapter will be released when it's done. I know that's vague, but I'm not going to make any more promises I've clearly shown I can't follow through on.

(Anything below this line is me addressing feedback, I'm not naming names and I genuinely just want to hear readers thoughts. If this doesn't interest you, please feel free to exit this update. Believe me, you don't owe me reviews or whatever if you just couldn't care less.)

Okay onto my questions: How do you feel about Jean? Now hear me out for a second when I say what I'm about to say, I may have fucked up here.

Because, and I will not reveal literally any story spoilers beyond this: She's supposed to be kind of a major recurring character. And I have a few arcs mapped out for how she's supposed to grow as a character, to improve beyond the sense of "Oh god how the hell am I supposed to hate him now?"

And judging by the reviews from the last chapter (which I think all of but one called for her to die a violent death) this might be a problem.

So, is anybody actually interested in that? Don't worry she wouldn't replace or shove aside Jaune's own story in favor of forced in "Character development" but I'll admit that even though I try to review feedback with a completely neutral perspective. The sight of the more vocal readers calling for the death of the star of what I genuinely might be one of the arcs I'm looking to writing the most has me mildly terrified if my readers will just drop this story like a bad habit.

So if you're gonna answer any questions I suppose I'd appreciate that one the most, so thank you for reading you guys.