Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So here's the question asked:
Of all the things you love -the people, places, from the future to your ancient past-
Of every one of those, which one will cause you to let it go, let it go
Need to crash"

Better-OneRepublic

Slaughtering the hordes of grimm is easy. Relieving, even. With each pack that falls to her blade and semblance, she hopes for more, and more, and more. Each grimm killed is a victory, but that victory is but a grain of sand to the mountain that is her failure to save Weiss, and Penny, and Jaune. To save her home.

She should have been faster.

She should have been stronger.

She should have trusted her instincts (her sister) instead of clinging to the military; instead of clinging to her loyalty to Ironwood.

The military had saved her -Ironwood had saved her- by giving her an escape from her father’s scorn, and a life of rubbing elbows with arrogant rich families and their equally abhorrent children. She would have taken over a company that was a mockery of everything her grandfather built, and been stuck in a hellish marriage just like her mother.

She thought she had escaped hell, but the last few days have made it clear that all she did was trap herself into a different one. The trap just took longer to spring.

The grimm end before the sandstorm does. She lands, keeping her sword at ready, waiting -hoping- for more to appear. People call her name, race to her. Nora, Ren, Oscar, and Emerald. They have hope and fear in their eyes. Unwilling to say the truth out loud, all she can do is shake her head, shattering the first and confirming the second. Penny was killed. Jaune did not make it. Weiss did not make it. She does not see Ruby, Yang, or Blake among them, and she fears what that means.

Mother, Klein, and Whitley are following them. They are in no hurry, and all are hunched from the weight of their grief; they must have guessed that Weiss was lost when she found herself unable to look them in the eye.

“You can clear the storm,” Oscar tells her. “With your power.”

He watches her with eyes too old and too tired to belong to a boy, and she knows that this is Ozpin speaking to her. Part of her wants to hate him, wants to blame him for Ironwood’s descent into paranoia and tyranny, but she knows that Ironwood made his own choices.

It wasn’t Ozpin, after all, that turned the council against his friend before the Vytal Festival. It wasn’t Ozpin that closed the borders. It wasn’t Ozpin that abandoned a whole city. It wasn’t Ozpin that tried to commit mass murder.

Ozpin does not demand her obedience. He is asking her to push her limits -and she is at her limit; is beyond it even- and hates to do it. But they both know that she has no choice, for she hears what he does not say; it is the only way to keep her people safe.

So she summons all the magic that she can, and changes the weather. Magic surrounds her, blue like the glaciers of Solitas, with flashes of green threaded throughout that are Penny.

(“I won’t be gone. I’ll be part of you.”)

Taming nature is simple compared to taming the grief inside her heart.

But when the dust settles, she wishes she hadn’t listened.

The city of Vacuo is revealed in the far distance, but so too is a herd of giant grimm that can crush the refugees and the city all. Panic spreads like wildfire, and the people react as any creature would when faced with certain death; they stampede toward safety. Some stay: huntsmen, soldiers, even academy students. There aren’t nearly as many of them as there should be, but more than there would have been if she hadn’t thrown herself into her role as a committer of treason. Too many were lost defending Mantle, then Atlas, and now the refugees. They need no order. They simply line up and ready their weapons, resigning themselves to death.

It shouldn’t be like this.

This shouldn’t feel like the end. Not here, when they have made it out of Atlas. Not now, when safety is in sight.

Not when too many children had to die for them to get this far.

On her knees, fighting the urge to throw up or pass out or both, she feels the world around her slow, then stop, as her mind tries to take it all in. It’s too much. All of it is just. Too much.

(“Much like our auras, extreme emotions can strengthen the maiden powers.”

She pauses her tea pouring and looks back at Fria. The woman stares back with clear eyes and a sad smile. Such instances have become rarer and rarer of late, and she finds herself putting the tea aside entirely so she can devote her full attention to whatever wisdom Fria is about to impart. This may have started as yet another duty -another burden- but she has found herself genuinely enjoying the older woman’s conversation. Fria reminds her of her grandfather in some ways: always kind, free with a smile, and surprisingly gentle for all her strength.

Once, she had dreamed of being that sort of person.

“Aura can be affected by emotions in extreme cases; that is common knowledge. Many people even rely on certain emotions to boost their power. What many people never learn is that, as with any muscle, relying on one single emotion can leave you unbalanced. Rage, for instance, can make you powerful if you harness it, but when you don’t have it, you become worse than useless.” Fria sighs sadly and sinks back into her bed. The look in her eyes is still clear, but it’s distant now, seeing visions of a past long gone. “I’ve always found that using all of my emotions works better with the maiden powers. We humans are such complicated creatures, with such messy emotions, but that is what makes us human. However painful it is, it should be embraced.”)

People are talking around her. Someone is trying to get her up. She shakes them off.

“Damn it! If you’re just going to get in the way, then get out of here!”

“Shut up,” she whispers. “I need you. To shut up.”

She breathes.

Frustration. (They have no options)

Tranquility. (Life or death battles were once her playground.)

Hatred. (Salem and Cinder have taken everything from her.)

Love. (She will do anything to protect the people in her care.)

Grief. (So many lives lost. Weiss. Penny. Ruby. Yang. Blake. Jaune. James.)

Relief. (So many lives saved. Atlas, Mantle, the soldiers, the academy students.)

She has never felt weaker in her life.

Yet never has she been more powerful.

She takes a deep breath, and does what she always has when life drags her down to her knees: she rises.

“Winter?” Oscar sounds worried. Scared. Weiss and Whitley used to sound like that: when she couldn’t sneak into her room fast enough after another one of father’s “lectures,” when their mother first started staggering the house with a bottle of wine in hand, and when she left for the academy.

The desire to comfort him just as she used to comfort Weiss is instinctive, but she can’t bring herself to indulge in it. There is no comfort she can offer to anyone in this situation, no words that will make their lives less broken, their people safer, or their dead return. So she does not offer cold comfort, but rather stares out at the horde of grimm, taps her earpiece, and activates the open comm channel. “All soldiers and huntsmen listening, this is Special Operative Winter Schnee, ordering you to fall back. Remain in formation, and protect any injured.”

A hand grabs her shoulder and forces her to turn. The person glaring at her is a familiar one. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Staring dispassionately at the disowned Marigold, she says, “Didn’t you hear me? Fall. Back.”

If Marigold replies, she doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t acknowledge the kids, or her family, or the soldiers around them watching her in confusion. She simply turns back to the grimm, and flies out to meet them, Penny’s gift swirling around her as she, for the first time in her life, unleashes all the emotions that she was taught made her weak.

~

May shivers. The desert isn’t nearly as cold as home, but those flashing blue eyes filled with incomprehensible power had chilled her to the bone. That unnerving calmness, the flat voice; she had not been talking to a person, she had been talking to a force of nature. The storm of fire, ice, wind, and lightning that grows above the distant horde only confirms that. She wonders, have they traded the monster that was Ironwood for another monster, one far more powerful?

Oz watches Winter’s fading form through Oscar’s eyes. He grieves for Penny, another life ended far too soon, but he cannot help but be relieved that the powers of the Winter Maiden have been given to Winter. She is someone who will use them as he had intended them to be used; to protect as many people as possible, without ever giving thought to her own needs. That selflessness is the only thing saving them now. (It may also be the very thing that destroys her.)

Willow drops her head, tears slowly falling from the corners of her eyes. Just as with every other moment of Winter’s life, she can’t even bring herself to watch as everything falls apart around them and her daughter takes it upon herself to pick up the pieces. Winter, the only one of her children who saw a normal, happy childhood turn into a nightmare. Winter, who always puts herself in harm’s way to protect her siblings. Winter, who once smiled brightly up at her, wrapped up in her grandfather’s red scarf and tiny fists resting on her hips, declaring with all the seriousness a five year old can muster that she is going to be as strong and nice as Grandpa Nic someday.

“Because that’s our legacy. To help people! I’ll be a huntress and do that too!”

Chapter Text

"Which is correct: right or left? Should I push or should I pull?
Will that bring up fortune or misfortune? We can just do everything and make sure of it all, right?

Is there a meaning or is there none? Will there be a result or will there be none?
Will it be useless even if I do it again? We can just do everything and make sure of it all, right?"

Praying Run-Uverworld

(“You really expect us to believe you changed sides? You? Ice queen? Do you think we’re stupid? Why would-”

“I’M TRYING TO SAVE LIVES, QROW! All of our lives!”

Winter’s shout and fist banging against the elevator wall is the first crack in the confident facade that the soldier has held since their paths crossed. And what she sees beneath the determination and scheming is a scared, desperate woman who has just betrayed everything her life has been built upon, with thousands of innocent lives depending on her to pull it off.

The dinging of the elevator as they arrive at their floor is absurdly out of place in the tense silence. Qrow, still too lost in his own pain to be useful outside of fighting, growls and stomps out. She may have managed to talk him out of blind vengeance, but it’s clear that the man is only just holding his rage in check. Wags, who had been watching the argument with visible discomfort, sighs and hurries after him, muttering something about keeping Qrow from opening the wrong doors and getting them all killed. Not a bad idea, all things considered, but the mood shifts from hostile to awkward once she realizes that she’s alone with Winter.

It’s not the most promising start to a kingdom-saving (literally) partnership, but as long as it gets the job done, it doesn’t matter to her.

Winter, apparently, is not of the same opinion. “Hill.”

She turns, readying herself to diffuse an argument, and is surprised to find a hand being held out to her. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what is being offered.

Staring at the outstretched hand, she hesitates. She shouldn’t; she has never hesitated to use her semblance before -no matter how much it has pushed people away- and the woman before her does have a reputation as Ironwood’s favorite guard dog. It’s a smart move, establishing trust and confirming intentions with a semblance that can’t be lied to, but there’s something about Winter’s expression that stops her from reaching out and doing the smart thing.

Resigned yet determined. It’s the look a huntsman wears as they walk out to face grimm that they have no chance of beating; the look of someone accepting a terrible fate but unable to make any other choice, because what they will lose if they do is worth more than their life. It’s the look one would expect to see in someone who is turning traitor to the institution they dedicated years of their life to, and doing it for the right reasons.

She can just imagine Joanna glaring, or Fiona frowning, or May angrily ranting at her hesitation. Her instincts have been hit or miss these last few weeks, so why not make sure that Winter won’t turn on her? She thought Ironwood had sent his dogs to slaughter her in the warehouse, then she thought that he could be trusted to help Mantle. She had been proven wrong on both accounts.

“Trust...has to be earned,” she says eventually, paraphrasing the words that were once snarled at Snakestache by the very woman before her. Shrugging, she crosses her arms -effectively rejecting the offer to test her intentions- and gives Winter Schnee her most roguish smile. “And I would say you’re more than earning it, Snowflake.”

It’s a shame that the fate of Mantle is resting on their shoulders and time is running out, because the soft, grateful look that crosses Winter’s face, and the following indignant pout at the nickname, are two expressions she would love to take the time to tease out of her again.)

“So,” Qrow says listlessly. “We have to go to Vacuo.”

It takes all of her willpower not to pull her hood over her head and block out the whole world. The full explanation of the maiden powers, the relics, Ozpin, Salem, and the origin of the grimm is just. Too much. Ironwood’s explanation to the council hadn’t been nearly as detailed, nor had there been time for questions considering Mantle was being attacked by hordes of grimm at the time. And boy, did she have questions.

But the ace-ops are currently glaring at each other, Qrow, or the wall, and the tension in the air is thick enough that even she doesn’t feel like adding fuel to the fire; not after how long it took the others to stop arguing in the first place. Once the initial shock of watching Atlas crash into Mantle, dooming both cities to be swallowed by the ocean, wore off, a single comment from Mohawk was all it took to spark a fight that started with words and almost ended with weapons being drawn. It did devolve into a fistfight; only the brother’s own patience kept her from kicking every single one of them off the airship.

“No one is arguing that we have to go to Vacuo.”

“We’re not?” Mohawk asks incredulously, her question echoed by Hammer.

“No, we’re not, because what Birdman forgot to mention is that Pipsqueak’s group used the...staff of creation or whatever to create portals to Vacuo and evacuate the civilians. So yeah. We’re going to Vacuo.”

If she thought the earlier arguments over who was to blame for the destruction of their home were bad, the ruckus the two make due to that bit of information is even worse. Unfortunately, they don’t know anything more than what Winter -whose own knowledge had been limited at the time- had shared.

Then things quickly devolve into a blame game again, and this time she doesn’t hesitate to pull her hood over her head and close her eyes while she waits for them to tire out. While she normally wouldn’t hesitate to defend whoever she thought to be in the right, this is clearly a team issue, and she isn’t about to get in between that nonsense. They’re alive, and more or less on the same side. Everything else will solve itself in time. Even so, she has to force herself to relax, if only to ease her stomach, which has been churning dangerously since she watched her entire damned city be destroyed.

The city that she was raised in, that she loved, that she gave all of herself to protect. Dropping Atlas had been necessary, but the sight of the ocean flooding the streets she knew like the back of her hand will haunt her for the rest of her life.

There is no guarantee that the kids managed to pull off their plan, no promise that the people she cares for made it through alive and aren’t buried under Atlas and the sea, but there is hope, and she is clinging to it like she never has before. It’s the only thing keeping her going, now.

Thankfully, the four quiet down before another fistfight starts.

“So...um.” Wags shifts nervously and glances out of the airship. “How do we get to Vacuo?”

“We go to Vale.”

“Argus.”

Qrow and Mohawk speak simultaneously, then snarl at each other.

“We need to go to Vale. I have to let Glynda know what happened. Beacon still has its relic, and they need to start preparing for what’s coming. And Salem is coming for them eventually.”

Marrow and Hammer shake their heads, but it’s the latter who speaks up, stopping yet another argument. “This ship can barely make the trip to Vale even in the best of conditions. It was not fueled for a long flight, and it was damaged in the fight. It will not last us the several grimm attacks that we will endure between here and Argus, much less Vale.”

There’s an awkward pause as everyone looks in her direction. Does she regret ramming the airships together? Maybe a little, now that it’s the only one they have. Is she going to apologize for it? Not a chance.

“Flying aimlessly like this does not help either. Our only choice is to switch to a larger airship in Argus,” Hammer continues. “One that will hold more supplies as well.”

When put like that, Argus it is. Wonderful. She isn’t keen on dealing with more Atlas soldiers -her record is questionable at best- but Hammer has a point. Vacuo isn’t so close that they won’t need to eat and drink on the way, and assuming the evacuation went as planned, they’re going to need as many supplies as they can get their hands on. And then some.

“Uh, one problem.” Marrow holds up his scroll and frowns. “We don’t have the clearance to request a larger ship during full lockdown, which Argus should still be under. Especially not one full of essential goods. Cordovin kinda has a reputation, so the chances of convincing her to let us take what we need, especially now that they’re on their own, is going to be...difficult.”

She perks up at the word “clearance.”

(“Here.”

Winter, walking just ahead of her now that trust has been established, pulls a second scroll -one of the fancy new slim models, customized red to match her earrings, with an engraving of the Schnee family emblem in white- from her pocket and holds it up between them. Displayed on the screen is the official Atlas Military Identification (AMID) of one Special Operative Winter Schnee (clearance level max). Complete with a dispassionate head shot, a barcode, and a scroll number.

She stares at it for a second, then raises an eyebrow and flashes Winter an impish grin-because apparently not even the weight of the world can suppress her natural instincts to annoy people. “I’m flattered, but I hope you’ll understand if it takes me some time to clear my schedule for a date.”

“What?” Confusion melts into annoyance, and Winter forces the scroll into her hand with a growl. “Now isn’t the time to be playing around! My security codes are programmed into this. They’ll grant you full access to the base and whatever else you need. Without setting off any alarms.”

“Oh. Handy,” she admits, putting the scroll into her pocket with a lot more care than it was given to her with. “But I gotta ask, do soldiers usually carry around extra scrolls with max clearance on them? That sounds like a major security risk.”

When a light blush turns Winter’s face pink, she has to cross her arms and grasp her elbows to stop herself from snapping a picture of the historic moment. She’d probably be stabbed for the audacity, and she can’t help her people if she’s dead. Still. Winter Schnee. Famed Ice Queen. Blushing. Jo and the others are never going to believe this.

Sadly, the obviously embarrassing story behind why she carries an extra scroll is not one that Winter is willing to give up. “It doesn’t matter. Just, whatever you do, don’t lose it.”)

“Now that isn’t a problem at all,” she says smugly, pulling out her extra special scroll and clicking on the aptly named ID icon. Waving around the max security AMID, she smirks at them and adds, “Not if this baby does what Winter promised it would.”

“She gave you her security access?!”

“Hey, why did you get her scroll and not me?”

“Ooooh yeah! We can get anything with that!”

The mood in the airship is hopeful and excited as the soldiers start making a list of all the things they’re going to need for a cross continental trip to Vale and Vacuo, which is a welcome change from crushing despair. Even Qrow is less tense, if lost in his own world. Making herself as comfortable as she can in her corner of the ship, she lets the ace-ops ramble while she gives in to her lingering curiosity and idly investigates the contents of the scroll.

She isn’t sure what she expects to find considering Winter Schnee was the right hand of the tyrannical bastard that tried to blow up an entire city, but one of the files saved to the main screen is a...picture. The middle Schnee, Ice Princess, is sitting in the academy mess hall, resting her cheek on one hand and childishly pouting at something to the side of the picture taker. Next to her is Winter herself, staring straight into the camera with an expression that can only be described as “indulgent.” Faint though it is.

It’s a side of Winter Schnee that she has only seen hints of herself; a softer, more humane side, whose desire to protect the people ultimately outweighed her loyalty to James Ironwood.

When the sense that she is violating personal privacy becomes too great to ignore, she shuts down the scroll and settles in for a good long nap. It makes the distance between here and Vacuo slightly easier to bear, knowing that Winter, who will likely be working closely with her huntresses (her family), has people she loves and will do anything to protect among the refugees.

Not that she isn’t already certain that Winter Schnee will go to hell and back to protect all of their people, but the thought is still comforting in its own way.

(The office they have taken over is more than spacious enough to fit the four of them, but the tense silence that fills it after the plan is discussed is enough to make it seem almost claustrophobic. Qrow is brooding in the corner, and the soldiers are leaning against opposite corners of the desk. Wags is leaning back, trying to catch a look at Winter’s scroll, eyebrows raised and tail...wagging. “That doesn’t look like your sister.”

She expects a sharp retort, but Winter only huffs. “It’s not. Meili is a...friend of sorts. He can spread the word to certain other operatives that I need help getting as many soldiers out to evacuation zones as possible.”

“Isn’t that risky?” she asks, feeling hints of panic for the first time since Winter and Wags showed up. It’s one thing to have two soldiers defect, but asking several more to do so when she can’t confirm their allegiance? That’s enough to make even her nervous. “Pulling more people in, I mean? How can you be sure they won’t tattle to Ironwood? Or that he won’t notice?”

Winter looks up at her and smirks. “He’s a shadow, and the only thing a shadow trusts more than their weapon is another shadow. If I want to get as many of these soldiers out as possible, then they’re the only ones I can trust to do it right. No one likes to question special operatives. And I’ll make sure Ironwood doesn’t notice the sudden lack of personnel.”

“So you’re not just defecting, you’re starting a full on mutiny.” Shaking her head and laughing in disbelief, she has to wonder if this isn’t the most unbelievable thing that’s happened to her all week. Aside from the whole “evil witch lady controls grimm” deal. The magic portal things are pretty high up on the list, too, but she’ll believe that when she sees it. “You sure don’t do things by halves, do you?”

“I’ll do what I must, to protect our people,” Winter says firmly. Everything about her screams confidence and defiance, from her actions to her posture to her expression. The soldier had been anxious in the elevator, but now that she has a plan and help, she is charging full steam ahead.

It’s an attitude that she can’t help but appreciate. It’s one she shares, after all.

Sidling over to the desk and claiming the spot between the two soldiers, she leans closer into Winter’s personal space than anyone has probably ever dared to. (Closer than she usually dares come to people; few care to be near someone who can tell if they're lying with a single touch.) Startled, Winter looks up at her, some of her confidence giving way to confusion. But not fear, or alarm, or suspicion, or disgust-all emotions she is used to inspiring with physical proximity.

“Rebellion’s a surprisingly good look on you, Winter Schnee.” She tries to be casual and flippant -her usual attitude- but somehow her words come out low, and soft, and more affectionate than she has a right to be. She doesn’t even know Winter, not outside of her reputation, but she’s starting to think that she might want to.

Winter holds her gaze without flinching; the room, Qrow and Wags, all of Atlas fades away, leaving just the two of them. “I’ll do what I must, to protect our people,” she reiterates.

The words are as low as her own were, and as fiery as hers were soft. This isn’t a statement; it’s a promise.)

Chapter Text

"Think I lost my mind
But don't worry about me
Happens all the time
In the morning I'll be better"

Better-OneRepublic

(“I’m sorry to say, but our capacity to assist your people is extremely limited. We will do what we can, but our priority must be to prepare for whatever Salem has planned.”)

“They aren’t going to help, are they?”

Unlike when Oscar (or was it Ozpin?) had grabbed her arm back in Theodore’s office, she doesn’t flinch at the suddenness of Meili’s appearance at her elbow. She hadn’t expected him to search her out, but part of her had hoped that he would. He had been the closest thing to a friend among the shadows that she had before Ironwood pulled her out and put her at his side. That he continues to follow her lead, despite being fully capable of striking out on his own now that nothing binds him to the military, says everything that she needs to know about where his loyalties and priorities rest.

“I doubt it. Vacuo hates Atlas as much as Mantle does, only, they consider Mantle to be a part of Atlas.” Her voice is hoarse; she has done too much crying and screaming these past few hours, and talking is making it worse, but she ignores that like she does the rest of her pain and fills the shadow in on the meeting.

There isn’t much to say concerning Vacuo, but the dynamics between the various people who have immediately started vying for power among the refugees is something that cannot be ignored. It’s so predictable, so contemptible, that Meili has to stop her complaining with a nudge.

“Cool it on the glowing eye thing. It’s hot, but we don’t want the attention.” Meili grins humorlessly, sharp fangs visible even in the dark Vacuan alley.

She sighs, takes a deep breath, and wrestles back the rage that Ozpin had warned would easily trigger the maiden powers.

Her maiden powers, though within them are traces of Penny’s aura, constantly teasing the edges of her senses.

(“I won’t be gone. I’ll be part of you.”)

She shoves her grief down with her rage. There’s no time to cry, or howl, or curse the world for how things turned out, as much as she needs to do those things.

It’s fine.

She’ll move forward.

Just like she always has.

“Who was gathering supporters back with our people?” she asks after wrestling her emotions into something that resembles calmness. She can still feel them, along with the maiden powers, skimming the surface of her control, pushing, waiting, a heartbeat away from breaking out of her hold. It would be unnerving, if her entire childhood hadn’t been spent learning how to suppress her emotions enough to avoid the worst of her father's rage (and how to use them to draw said rage, if she needed to).

Ozpin had also said that her emotions would be easier to lose control of while she adjusts to her power, which is probably something she will need to be concerned about at some point in the very near future.

“The generics were nearly to the point of fistfighting when I left, and Colonel Flub is doing what he does best: schmoozing up to elites.” He scoffs contemptuously. The words he uses to describe the power plays he left are dripping with disdain, and if she didn’t have a headache before, she sure as hell feels one building behind her eyes with every name that he drops as a problem.

It’s all of them.

All of them are a problem.

“They’re going to riot when you announce that the military is being disbanded.”

She nearly trips over her own feet. “That’s a terrible idea. I can’t do that.”

Meili shakes his head slowly. “We can’t just drop a kingdom on Vacuo’s doorstep and set up an army. That’s rude at best and an act of war at worst. Even if the sorry excuse for a government here doesn’t consider it so badly, the people will, and we can’t afford that hostility right now. We attract enough grimm as it is. And the military doesn’t exactly have the best reputation amongst our own people either. For. Obvious reasons.”

The weight of everything -of everyone- lost, of what she has done, and how many lives are hanging in the balance, lives that can be easily destroyed if she screws it up, threatens to crush her. She never wanted this, never wanted to be here; a leader, a figure of authority, a person expected to make the best choices in the worst situations. There’s a reason she chose spec-ops over command, and a lot of it is to do with her struggles to give orders without being influenced by her emotions. (The rest of it has to do with her temper.)

Yet here she is, having betrayed everything she was taught to be loyal to, in order to stay true to herself -to be the worthy sister that Weiss always believed she was- and somehow people are expecting her to make decisions that she has no right to.

She sighs shakily, wondering faintly if this nightmare will ever end, and starts walking again. Disbanding the military, now that she takes a moment to think about it, is the only real option they have. Not only can bringing troops to the doorstep of another country be considered an act of war, as Meili pointed out, but if any single soldier causes trouble in Vacuo, they will be responsible for everything that follows.

Not to mention, she wouldn’t put it past most of the officers (and snooty elite families) to try and make absurd demands of the local council. That wouldn’t go over well, since just about everyone knows that Vacuo hates other kingdoms, and especially hates Atlas.

“I’ll call the troops and make it public. We’ll still need to organize patrols. Make it volunteer based?” She rubs her forehead, mind racing as she imagines the logistical nightmare volunteer-based patrols would be to organize. They don’t have access to troop or hunstmen rosters anymore; they’ll have to do everything by hand now. “But it’ll take far too long to organize that many troops, and with no clear leader, there will still be infighting. The generics won’t listen to me for long. Most of them hated that Ironwood trusted me over them. And last I knew it was Hill’s people that were organizing Mantle. They won’t work with me on principle. Atlas abandoned them, and I was the literal face of their oppression for too long thanks to those public announcements.”

“In other words, they all hate you.”

Meili’s cheeky grin, far too lighthearted for this situation, annoys her. It’s a familiar annoyance, though, one that brings to mind long missions and long conversations about life and death and how real shadows can never figure out which one they want more. Having someone she knows she can trust at her side makes things slightly easier to bear.

“Yes. They all hate me.”

“Good! If they’re too busy hating you, then they won’t have time to hate each other! At least until we can get moving with whatever plan was whirling away in your head when you walked out of that building.”

Staring at her strangely upbeat -subordinate? Brother in arms? Partner in treason? Friend- whatever it is that they are now, she ponders on how much she already hates what he’s implying with the first sentence while replying to the second. “I’ll need to speak with my family for specifics, but gather any of us”-meaning shadow operatives, regular specialists, and soldiers that can be trusted-“available and stock your e-packs for the desert. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

“What are you planning?”

“Long range patrols, and two, possibly three, scouting teams ready to escort technicians.”

Meili whistles. “This...sounds like a full operation. Heh. You sure move fast, Ice Eyes. You came up with that between the academy and here?”

“No. I decided on this before I exited the academy. I refuse to stand by and do nothing when our people are in danger. Not again. Never again.”

Her words are quiet, swallowed by the sounds of the city that rejects them with every fiber of its being. But to the two of them, the words shift the world on its axis, putting them on a path that has no clear end.

It’s good, then, that shadows are used to fighting impossible odds.

They recover from the momentary shifting of their world (though not the first of the day) and continue their planning. Meili leads her to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city that he found while she was meeting with Theodore. They don’t have to wait long before a dozen shadows are striding in, greeting them with raised hands before finding a spot to settle in.

“What message did you send?” she asks Meili under her breath.

“FOLA saying the boss has a plan. They’ll drag along the few shinies that they trust.”

“...Right.”

“Shadow” operatives are the loners of the spec-ops ranks. “Huntsmen with a military paycheck” is how they describe themselves. Most start as huntsmen, and fall into the special op ranks to take advantage of non-stop missions and a guaranteed paycheck. Most are ranked by technicality only; shadows spend more time out on the tundra and the coast than in the city, taking the longest, most dangerous missions to investigate grimm movements, or clear nests, or serving as emergency backup for teams that found themselves overwhelmed. Their motto is to live with one foot out the door. When they’re called, they’re expected to report to their commander within an hour. They have no official team, and often are sent out with only one or two others. If anyone at all.

She had operated as a shadow for the first four years of her military career, and a part of her still feels that that is where she truly belongs.

What makes the shadows uniquely suited for her purposes now -other than their lightning fast response time and perpetual desire to be anywhere but civilization- is that they have their own hierarchy. Of course, military ranks matter when on base, but out on the field, working with potentially strange teammates in high stress situations, the “boss” is chosen based not on rank but on field experience, unanimous consent, or mental stability; generally in that order.

Within the hour, nearly every shadow or trusted soldier on their hastily created roster has arrived, while also successfully delivering Will Scarlatina, several other scientists, and her family with them. Once everyone is settled in, she, at Meili’s suggestion, stands on the table they set up in a corner of the room to act as their command desk and calls for attention.

“I will not waste time that we don’t have, but I will not send you out without first saying this: Atlas has fallen, and likely crushed Mantle beneath it. Tomorrow, the Atlas military will cease to exist. I have no orders for you, only requests. We have an entire kingdom out there that needs help, but Vacuo can’t keep us all, or protect us for long. But again, this is a request.”

Meili takes over from there, calling out names and route assignments for long range patrols. The question of why Vacuo wasn’t sending out more huntsmen comes up from those who aren’t called. Theodore’s explanation of some recent trouble that left quite a few of their huntsmen dead or injured was light on details, so all she can tell the shadows is that the city doesn’t have the manpower. The type of long range patrols they’re planning are rare even for Atlas, however, so it wouldn’t surprise her if there are no standard protocols for such a thing in Vacuo, where the only form of government seems to be Theodore.

And then.

Then she finds her mother.

They don’t talk, at first. Mother and Whitley both are looking away, postures defeated and exhausted. Klein, as always, is the one to break the tension. He steps in and they hold each other’s elbows. It’s their version of a hug, one developed after grandfather died and father became noticeably more intolerant of physical affection. That was when the happy Schnee family life started going downhill, or perhaps when the lie started to crack. Jacques worked longer and longer hours, mother began to pull away emotionally, and her siblings needed someone to fill the gaps that their parents left.

She tried, she did, but it wasn’t good enough. (Nothing she ever did was good enough, in the end.)

“Do you have the full listing of SDC properties on your scroll?” she asks, once she has recovered from the show of affection. Small though it was, it’s more than anything she has had since Weiss.

(“I’m sorry I worried you, but we did what we had to do.”)

Since Penny.

(“You were my friend.”)

“You want the mines.” Mother, of course, understands right away. Weiss and Whitley never truly knew, but the Willow Schnee that existed in Winter’s childhood had been frighteningly intuitive. Not the sort of intelligence that could stand to run a large company, but the sort that made it hard to lie to her. Willow understood people better than she ever understood stocks and market prices, which makes her willful ignorance concerning Jacques’ true nature all the more painful.

She wonders if that’s why her mother constantly pushed her to spend so much time with her grandfather, and trained her in fencing from a young age. It had been their thing, true, but had she also known that, some day, her daughter would need the escape that the academy provided? Had she known, even then, that she wouldn’t be strong enough to support her children like a mother was supposed to when the lie that was their lives eventually shattered?

“Yes. They’re the only thing Vacuo has that can shelter people.”

“Not permanently.”

“I don’t intend for this to be a permanent solution. I intend for our people to be closer to the forests.”

Mother tilts her head, eyes narrowed but clearer than she has seen them in years. Even so, she speaks softly and slowly, with little emotions. She hates seeing her like this; hates how she can remember when her mother looked at her with smiles and pride and joy instead of this dead-eyed grief. (She hates how she misses her mother). “The forests have lots of space. Unclaimed space. New villages fail often, because they lack manpower. Something we do not. But that is a long trip, and we are not used to the desert. Many will die in the attempt. Many more might die in the mines themselves. They have been abandoned for years now.”

She clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath through her nose. “I’m not sending people out to certain death. That’s why I called the shadows. And not all of the mines were allowed to operate far below safety standards.”

“Oh. ...I see. You want your grandfather’s mines.”

She swallows harshly, unsure if it’s the multiple battles or the mention of grandfather that is making her tremble. They don’t talk about Grandpa Nic; not since the moment he was buried. Mother lost a man whose shadow she could never escape, and Winter lost the man whose shadow was her only escape. In retrospect, the way they handled his death was a sign of their futures: Mother refused to speak of him and hid herself away for a time, and she threw herself into her training so that she could someday do his legacy justice.

“I do.”

Mother sighs, but she pulls out her scroll without further comment.

“How.” Whitley shakes his head, eyes closed and fists clenched. He has been silent this entire time, watching their exchange with empty eyes. “How can you be so calm? How can you just. Weiss is gone, and you’re acting like it doesn’t matter!”

Whitley is furious, though he tries to contain it. She understands his reaction. He has never lost anyone so violently, so unexpectedly, and now father and Weiss both are gone. Now, all he has left is a mother who hasn’t been emotionally available for a decade and a sister who escaped into the academy before he was old enough to remember how hard she tried to protect him. His home is gone. Everything he has ever known is rubble, and everything he has been taught to believe is a lie. Of course the poor boy is emotional and looking for someone to take it out on.

“There are thousands of people who need help, and every second we wait is another life lost.”

“So you’re just going to move on? Leave her memory behind like you left us?!”

Oh, that stings. Whitley doesn’t know anything about what her life was like, about the suffering she experienced at the hands of their father, about how deep into depression she was driven trying to keep her siblings safe, while having to be perfect in her lessons and schooling. She was the heiress of SDC longer than Whitley has been alive, and nearly broke under the expectations involved in learning to run the company that her father gutted the spirit of.

But that doesn’t make her angry.

No, what makes her angry is the idea of moving on from Weiss.

Weiss, who always looked up to her.

Weiss, who always loved her.

Weiss, falling into the void, her scream still echoing in her mind and too far away for her to catch.

(“I’m not always going to be around to save you, Weiss.”)

“They died for this!” Her voice cracks, and that terrible, horrible power that Penny gifted to her turns her vision blue (blue like ice, like her eyes, like her sister’s eyes now gone forever) as she shakes her head because she hates that word, hates thinking of Weiss being dead like Grandpa Nic. “They died to protect our people! All of them! And I will not allow that sacrifice to go to waste! Whatever it demands of me, however much it demands of me, I will see this done.”

Whitley flinches at her outburst, at the power she displays, then drops his head and leans against mother, all his energy and fight drained out of him. She had expected him to yell more, or argue, or act like, well, Weiss, but then, what does she really know of him at all?

“I wish,” he whispers, voice thick with tears, “that it was you, instead.”

Mother and Klein object sharply, but she’s relieved because this, this she understands. This, she agrees with.

“Father always used to say that I was a disappointment. I suppose he had to be right about one thing in his life.” She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t acknowledge the pained expressions on Mother and Klein’s faces. It’s nothing more than the truth. She has let down everyone in her life; she has failed everyone in her life. Protecting the people of Atlas and Mantle are all she has left, and she isn’t sure that she can do that properly either.

In the tense silence, she decides to avoid further conversation by searching through the SDC files. Strange how, despite the six years it has been since she last touched these files, she navigates through them as if it were second-nature. The outdated files containing the specifications of the two mines she knew to be from her grandfather’s era are sent to her scroll, but something else catches her attention.

“We have frozen assets in Vale? I’m surprised father didn’t empty out the warehouses once his horrendous price gouging stopped bringing a return,” she says under her breath. Most everything on the manifest is dust, but the SDC office in Vale had a few personal airships and money deposited in Vale’s local bank -to avoid foreign interest rates, of course. Vacuo doesn’t have a port, but the airships, dust, and money could go a long way toward helping the refugees. If they can be accessed.

“Whitley is the only one who can release those assets.” Mother watches her with eyes filled with grief and resignation. It’s the same expression she used to watch her with: after grandfather died, while she was home for academy breaks, and when she announced that she was joining the military. She wonders what she saw then; wonders what she sees now.

“So I have to go to Vale.”

She frowns at Whitley, and when she notices Mother doing the same, she thinks that this may be the first time they have agreed on something since she joined the academy.

“No. Your credentials have to go to Vale.”

Whitley rubs his eyes and sniffles, trying to collect himself. He used to do that after having a nightmare, so many years ago. He would creep into her room and crawl into her bed, never cuddling but desperate to have someone he loved nearby. Now, he will do anything to get away from her. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to distribute the funds properly.”

The excuse is pathetic, and that’s being kind. However, her mother is giving her a look; it’s one she recognizes as “please, just let it go.” It was a look reserved for when she would stand before her father, fists clenched and limbs shaking from rage born of her father twisting her words and turning them into yet another reason in the long list of reasons that she is a disappointment to the family name.

So Whitley wants to leave. He, who has never physically trained, never walked further than the distance from the top of the SDC building to the front of the building, wants to take a months-long trip to Vale. It’s clear what he really wants. He’s running away from his pain with the excuse of doing something useful.

She wants to laugh. Maybe they have more in common than she thought.

“I’ll put a team together, then.” She brings up the tentative roster that Meili and she had made while they waited for the shadows to arrive. An extra team strong enough to get three civilians to Vale is doable. Mother will travel with Whitley. He needs her more than Winter ever allowed herself to. Klein will go with them, because someone has to watch over them both. It will take more fighting power from patrols than she is comfortable with, but the Vale assets will make the risk more than worth it.

(She doesn’t think about how that leaves her with no one. She’s used to being alone.)

“I want to say that you don’t have to do this.” Thinking that her mother is speaking to Whitley, she doesn’t bother looking up. “But you have always taken more after your grandfather than your father or myself.”

Her hand freezes above the scroll. She can’t help but think of warm hugs, wide smiles, a booming voice and joyous laughter; Grandpa Nic had been a legend, her hero, and a far better person than she could ever dream of being.

“That's why Jacques despised you the most. He hates...hated anything that he couldn’t control.”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at her mother, or show any sort of emotion at the confirmation that her father had hated her, that she never would have been good enough -obedient enough- for him. It’s something she has always known and accepted on some level. She had learned how to tell his fake smiles from his real smiles long before Weiss was born, and the only time she ever saw her father truly smile was when SDC stocks went up.

But it doesn’t matter; none of that matters, because, right now, there is an entire kingdom out in the desert that needs help.

(“I’ll do what I must, to protect our people.”)

She made a promise to Robyn Hill, and she intends to keep it.

For Penny.

For Weiss.

For Ruby, Yang, Blake, and Jaune.

And for the man James Ironwood used to be, because, once upon a time, he, too, wanted to save humanity.

Chapter Text

"You're a strong person with no hesitations" - you're wrong. These hesitations of mine...

Not knowing what I should do with them, I ran, and thought it'd be easier if I sweat...
These further overflowing feelings become water and spill from my eyes"

Praying Run-Uverworld

They make it to Argus by morning.

And promptly wish they hadn’t.

The city is in the middle of being attacked by grimm when they fly in-which explains why none of their comm calls were answered- and their lone airship is too tempting a target for the ravager hordes that are circling a building sized grimm. Now, she graduated the academy at the top of her class, and has only gotten better since, but she’s not “best of the best of the Atlesian military” or even...whatever Qrow is.

So as the ace-ops curse up a storm -well, Mohawk curses up a storm and the other two hang their heads- when they see what they’re up against, she understandably feels slightly overwhelmed. They’re all exhausted, have no extra dust, and no mounted turrets to pick off smaller grimm with. Nevertheless, the city is clearly struggling to defend itself, so after a short argument, they agree to jump into the fight.

Not that they really have a choice, since they kind of need Argus standing so they can get to Vacuo and the rest of their people.

Manic is perhaps a kind way to describe the battle. The ace-ops are unbalanced, Qrow is used to working alone, and she is used to working with her team. Their battle experience is what keeps them from accidentally killing each other, but none of them are at their best. They end up having to sacrifice the airship in a dive bomb against the largest grimm’s mask, damaging it enough for the military to finish it off with a laser blast.

Hopscotching across smaller grimm to try and stay out of the water -while also dodging ravagers that take the chance to divebomb at them- until they get picked up by Argus forces is something she could have lived her entire life without experiencing.

But as their luck goes, their troubles don’t end there.

Once they’re saved from the world's worst obstacle course, they’re taken straight to the other side of Argus, and set to work defending the city from grimm that are attacking from the forest. Because of course the city is being attacked from two sides. The day passes in a blur of fighting, carrying out wounded in between waves, and more fighting. Half of that time is spent utilizing a military grade compound bow while waiting for crossbow bolts to be resupplied. It’s nothing like her own weapon, but it’s what she started fighting grimm with, way back before she ever considered joining the academy. Holding one in her hand is like reuniting with a long lost friend, and finding her groove doesn’t take nearly as long as she thought it would.

It’s long past sunset when a weary cheer sounds from the front line, signalling their successful defeat of the grimm.

The military takes control of the cleanup, directing most of the hunters and soldiers to the market district where shops and volunteers are passing out food. Standing in line, she takes in Argus with interest. Less advanced than Atlas, yet far cleaner and brighter than Mantle, it seems like a lively city with plenty of interesting tourist spots. She wishes she were here under better circumstances; before she dedicated herself to Mantle, she had wanted to travel across Remnant and visit the three other kingdoms.

A chime sounds in her pocket, and she hastily pulls out her scroll.

Only to stare in confusion at the lack of notifications even as the chiming continues.

“Wait.”

Within the ten seconds it takes her to pull out Winter’s scroll, the ace-ops and Qrow are already having a collective meltdown in the chat, mostly centering around Mohawk’s news that Cordovin won’t be available until late afternoon the next day. At best. It’s unfortunate news for them, but she’s surprised that anyone expected better. The city did just weather a day-long siege on two fronts, and it’s not like they can expect help from Atlas. Not anymore.

“Nope. Not dealing with that today,” she mutters as she leaves a message saying she’ll meet them on base tomorrow, then removes herself from the group chat.

Not even a minute later, Qrow sends her a message.

Qrow Branwen:

     your winter impersonation is spot on

     need a place to sleep?

Thanks for the offer but I want to sightsee while we’re here

     right well the offers there if you need it

She’s glad he doesn’t call her out on the flimsy excuse, but she supposes that if anyone understands a need for space, it’s Qrow. It’s not exactly a lie anyway. She has no problem taking her time in appreciating the businesses and gardens between the market district and the hotel that the kind volunteer working the food table had given her directions to. The fact that the air is thick with tension and every other conversation seems to be about Pipsqueak’s broadcast or the attacks kind of ruins the mood, but there’s something comforting in knowing that the rest of the world is rightly unsettled by all that has happened.

The hotel receptionist takes one look at her and sets her up with a room and complimentary laundry service. She knows she looks awful and smells worse; the forest had made for a muddy battleground, and seawater is hell on skin and clothes. It has been way too long since her last shower. Several battles, a stint in jail, and a dinner party from hell, to be exact.

Brothers, she must reek.

Exhaustion be damned, a hot shower is exactly what she needs to feel human again. The hotel room is nicer than most houses in Mantle, with perfectly clean sheets, extra fluffy pillows, and the softest blankets she has ever touched in her life.

It feels wrong to be enjoying the comforts of a soft bed, a hot shower, and thin pajamas (a perk of the laundry services) when Jo, Fi, and May are stuck in the desert, with no supplies and no help but the mercy of Vacuo. And everyone knows that Vacuo hates outsiders. Thousands may have been saved, but how many are going to die of hunger, thirst, heat, or grimm in the desert? Vacuo can barely sustain its current population, so what will it do with an entire extra kingdom appearing on their doorstep?

She hates that she can’t be there to help protect her people, hates that she doesn’t even know if the evacuation plan worked.

She hates that any of this happened at all.

But she has never been one to wallow in grief -in fact, she does her best to avoid thinking of her own feelings on a regular basis. An easy thing to do when she had all of Mantle to take care of; less easy when she has nothing to do but lay in bed and think for hours on end. When the sun starts rising over the city, and her mind nowhere near ready to sleep, she decides to distract herself with the only object of curiosity she has access to: Winter’s scroll. After all, the contents of a person’s scroll is the best way to judge their character -according to Joanna- and she has found herself mildly intrigued by the oldest Schnee since her little outburst at the dinner party.

To her surprise, there is a wealth of pictures and videos saved on the scroll; almost all of which seem to feature Ice Princess and her team.

“Ruby! Will you stop playing around and. Wait, Penny, are you recording this?”

“Indeed I am! I have recorded most of our training sessions thus far! Father and his friends say that experiments must all be recorded. For science!”

“Ugh. Can you not? That’s embarrassing.”

“Oh! That’s so useful! Good thinking, Penny! Do you have them all saved? Can I see mine? I still can’t figure out what makes my semblance different from other speed semblances...”

“Of course! I can view them at any time from my scroll. Father requested footage of your training when I first told him that I would be joining you, to better upgrade your weapons. I also send the recordings of your training, Weiss, to Winter, as she is your main trainer.”

“You WHAT? Not all of them, right? Please don’t tell me you send all of them. I’m begging you.”

“Yes? It is important for her to know which techniques you require the most help with.”

“My life. Is over.”

“Hehehehe. Even the time she was tripped by her own summon?”

“Oh yes. That one is Winter’s favorite. She laughed when I showed it to her.”

“Nooooooo! Penny, how could you? I trusted you!”

“Ha! Oh! Oh oh oh, can you send it to me? As her team leader, I should have it, right?”

“PENNY POLENDINA, DON’T YOU DARE!”

“Impressive! That is a much faster summoning time than last wee-”

She wakes up to the sound of an obnoxiously cheerful pop song screaming about it being a “brand new day” at -she checks the time with unfocused eyes once she finds the right damned scroll- one in the afternoon. Whoops. She thought she had set it for noon. Her entire body aches, and dragging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up is a test of willpower. The last time she was this exhausted was before Penny took over as Protector of Mantle.

“I should have sprung for the mini-bar,” she complains. Drinking isn’t something she indulges in often, but after the week she’s had, having a little help in falling asleep wouldn’t have been the worst idea ever.

Wearily, she stares around the room, looking for her clothes.

Her clothes…

...Her clothes.

That she sent to be cleaned.

“Oh. Right. Wonderful.”

She has nothing to wear but pajamas, next to no money left, and she knows her clothes won’t be cleaned until the end of the day at best.

“Not your smartest move, Robyn. Not your smartest move. Oh, I am not awake enough for this.”

Winter’s scroll blares that horrendous song again, demanding she turn off the alarm this time rather than smack doze. Sluggishly, she reaches over, roughly taps the off icon, then stares at the bright screen blankly. Pulling up the app menu with the intent of deleting the awful alarm, a certain icon just next to the app catches her eye. Before she knows what she’s doing, the app that is most definitely not a clock and also most definitely not her business is up and loading with a speed that outpaces her own thinking. Not that that doesn’t describe most things at the moment.

The app spends nearly a minute “synchronizing” with the Argus net before proudly displaying the Atlas Trust Corporation logo. She knows that Argus, due to its close relationship with Atlas, has a local branch for each of Atlas’ major banks in the city. Even with the capital gone, so long as the account owner’s card -or scroll, in this case- has up-to-date information, the funds will be available in Argus as well.

It would have been useful to her, if she hadn’t used most of her money to help the people of Mantle after the warehouse fiasco. (The fiasco she wrongly blamed on Ironwood, on Penny, and how much of a difference would it have made if she had just listened to Marrow that night?)

With a bit of hesitation, since she’s already here and all, she types the same pin used to open the scroll into the password bar. She doesn’t actually expect it to work, but when it does, well: one, that is seriously not secure at all, two, the amount of digits on display sends her mind spinning, and three, it has a pay-with-scroll function. Special Operative is a rank that pays very well it seems, and, judging by the activity on the feed, Winter barely touches her money.

“An avid appreciator of coffee and”-she notes the various charges to restaurants she recognizes as those that surround the academy-“someone of respectably normal taste. Hmm, something tells me you won’t really care if I help myself in the name of necessity.”

An hour later, she has confirmed that her outfit won’t be back until the next morning because she hadn’t specified a rush order, and has added “walking two blocks in her pajamas during the middle of the day” to her growing list of things she never wants to experience ever again. Maybe it isn’t as harrowing as jumping from grimm to grimm in the ocean, preventing mass murder, or breaking out of jail, but Argus is a busy city, and she attracts so many stares and whispers that she almost prefers the fights.

On the bright side, she is able to make purchases with Winter’s scroll; a process that is so easy that she really, really wants to have a talk with Winter Schnee about cyber security and why she should not use the same pin number for literally everything. Or maybe she’ll just tell Joanna about it and let her do the lecturing instead.

She makes it to the gates of the Argus military base by three, only to find the ace-ops and Qrow already there.

“You went shopping? Seriously?” Mohawk glares at her, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

“Would you prefer I showed up in pajamas? Because it takes time to wash mud, blood, and sea salt out of clothes, and I didn’t exactly pack spares before all hell broke loose back home.”

Mohawk rolls her eyes -that one has a serious attitude problem- but Hammer gives her a thumbs up and a wink. At least someone here appreciates her line of thinking. The soldiers have it much easier, since they can grab a spare uniform anytime they want.

Though from the way Wags is frowning down at his clothes, it’s clear that not all of them are feeling fond of said uniform.

Besides, it isn’t as though she went on some sort of shopping spree; aside from the garnet colored hip length field jacket, her outfit is less practical and more, well, not fashionable, but it’ll get her by for the day and that’s what matters. The shop nearest to the hotel had a depressingly limited selection, and she was happy just to find anything in her size-if only because that meant she didn’t have to go back out in public while wearing pajamas. She had ended up buying a storm grey thermal undershirt to keep her warm, a pair of dark blue jeans more form fitting than anything she has worn in nearly a decade -but surprisingly comfortable nonetheless- and black lace-up ankle boots.

It’s very city-casual, and makes her stand out like a sore thumb amongst the whites and blues of the soldiers on base. Or, it would, if any soldier spared them a glance. Not even Cordovin, who has a reputation for being a stickler for the rules -and being as racist as most Atlas raised soldiers are- gives her a second glance when they’re finally ushered into her large office.

Cordovin, disheveled, weary, and grieving, focuses on Qrow alone. “Was that girl right?”

Qrow closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and begins the shortened explanation of what led to the downfall of Atlas and Mantle. He doesn’t go into detail about some of the more sensitive information, but even the basic story is overwhelming. The kingdom of Atlas has been swallowed by the sea, and the military base in Argus is all that’s left of it. That’s enough to send someone reeling who isn’t emotionally invested in either kingdom; to Cordovin, it might as well be the end of the world.

There’s a moment where she exchanges pointed glances with the ace-ops, and they silently agree that trying to explain the faint hope that their people have been transported to Vacuo via some sort of magic is...more trouble than it's worth. Without the CCT, there’s simply no way to know if the plan worked, and even if it did, the journey from Vacuo to Argus is one that can take the better part of a year on foot. It’s not something even huntsmen undertake lightly, and the odds of civilians choosing to settle in Vacuo or in nearby towns-therefore leaving them forever out of reach- is far more likely.

Cordovin listens to the story, listens to their request, and denies them.

“For the time being,” she clarifies, cutting Qrow off before he can argue. “As you may have noticed, our outer barrier is currently damaged, and until it is repaired, we need every ship we can spare to fend off ocean grimm. Between the broadcast and the damaged barrier, I’m afraid that morale will continue to worsen, and that, as I’m sure you know, will attract more grimm than we can handle in our condition.”

She understands the reasoning, brothers she does, but that doesn’t help quell the frustration of being stuck in Argus.

“And how long is it going to take to fix the barrier?” Mohawk’s question is gritted out between clenched teeth, her annoyance only barely contained. Cordovin may be a special operative just like the ace-ops, but she outranks them by-

Actually. She doesn’t know how special operative ranking works. But Cordovin is definitely the higher ranked person here, considering she runs an entire base and all.

“Around three and a half weeks, if all goes well. If not, then around three and a half months.”

“What?!”

“You’re joking.”

“We can’t wait that long!”

Cordovin sighs and clasps her hands together on the desk. “The grimm are starting to evolve. In the last several attacks, leviathans have aimed for the barrier pillars, which are the only sections of the barrier that are unprotected. Raising the barrier has almost become pointless, as it will just be destroyed again within a week. We need to build auxiliary shields for the pillars, but, unfortunately, we lack engineers who are familiar with the technology intimately enough to hasten the process. Atlas usually sends them as needed, but our last request went unanswered, and now. Now there is no Atlas.”

Swallowing her disappointment, she traces the edges of Winter’s scroll and rids herself of any trace of guilt for using the operative’s bank account. Winter will understand, if she explains that the options were either bunking with Qrow or the ace-ops. Hopefully.

If not, well, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Assuming Winter is alive out there.

(She had better be. They had all better be.)

Chapter Text

"I tell myself I'll change
That's right I tell myself I'll change
But then I begin to realize that the problems inside my veins
But it's inside my veins"

Better-OneRepublic

“Soldiers. Atlas and Mantle...are gone. All that is left of our kingdom, of our home are the people here now. We are refugees. With the kingdom of Atlas gone, I am making the decision to disband the military institution. Now this isn’t to say that I plan to leave our people unprotected. I am simply giving you a choice. We will be establishing patrol and guard shifts. Whether you are a soldier or a huntsman, if you still want to protect our people, all of our people, then please speak to your commanding officers. But I want to stress that you are not required to sign up, or required to stay here at all. This is your choice, and I will not fault you for whichever you make. This isn’t a situation anyone can plan for, and Vacuo can’t support us all. I wish I could say that we have a plan, or that help is on the way, but that would be a lie. All we can do, all any of us can do, is our best.”

Following her speech, she had immediately been swarmed by officers, politicians, “elite” family representatives, and Hill’s people. The higher-ranking officers -lovingly termed the “generics” by shadow operatives- especially had not taken the announcement of the military’s disbandment well. They had shouted, and cursed, and demanded that she be arrested for treason. Every single one was silenced by soldiers in the crowd-and not all of them were shadow-ops planted there in preparation for those exact protests. It was then and there that she allowed her temper to rage, spitting harsh words and harsher truths until half of them stalked away.

Whoever they used to be, wherever they used to live, however much power they used to have, all of that disappeared with their homes, and she wasn’t about to put the fate of the innocent refugees in the hands of a bunch of idiots who care only for profit and power.

The ones that stayed pressed her for answers, until she was forced to come up with hasty solutions to delicate issues. And then they argued about those solutions. Every day. She did her best to drive them away by constantly talking over them, cutting them off, outright ignoring their decisions if she felt hers were better, pushing their nerves until the breaking point. The ex-soldiers that retained some semblance of authority learned to stay far, far away from the “command” area that was set up in order to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of yet another council argument. That it forced said ex-soldiers and hunters to organise amongst themselves, thereby reducing the amount of work that she had to sift through, was a pleasant bonus.

“You can’t just ignore us whenever you feel like it! No one gave you the right to take any sort of control here!”

“When you present a useful idea, then I will listen to it.”

“You bitch!”

She doesn’t want to admit that there is a large part of her that enjoys driving the collection of arrogant bastards that is the “refugee council” to tears and mindless anger. Not out loud, anyway. It’s easier than it should be, both to lose her temper, and to rile the tempers of the others, but it’s effective in exactly the way she needs it to be.

“ALRIGHT! ENOUGH!” The disowned Marigold’s shout is loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity, but after nearly a week of this sort of commotion, hardly anyone spares them a glance.

“No! I have had enough! I refuse to be belittled and ignored by Ironwood’s uppity little bitch! I am done here!” With that pronouncement, the former lieutenant Cornel stomped off.

Mentally, she adds his name to the list of nearly a dozen others that she has managed to drive off in the span of six days. While she hadn’t needed to try very hard to intimidate most of the others into quitting, Cornel is the one she took the most pleasure in pissing off to such an extent. They had never liked each other, and she has heard more than a few rumors of the sort of treatment young cadets suffered under his command.

But the people left in this makeshift council are far better than Cornel: May, Joanna, Fiona, Skylar, Rufus, and Pico.

The Mantle three, at least, are a united front. No other Mantle citizens bothered to stand with the council, all making it obvious that Robyn Hill’s people were the only ones they considered trustworthy. It would be useful, if Marigold hadn’t loudly declared her opinion that Atlas -and everyone on it- could have died for all she cared.

Skylar Duclos, a former colonel, is the only tolerable officer among her peers. Her notable dislike of faunus often puts her at odds with the Mantle three, but she at least has the tact to keep her disparaging comments to a minimum. It’s the only reason she has lasted this long on the council.

Rufus Ryba is a former Mantle-based guard captain. Not quite pushing retirement age, but still the second oldest on the council, she had hoped that his time watching over Mantle would mean that he would be willing to compromise with the three Mantle representatives. Unfortunately, she had forgotten about Robyn Hill’s reign of terror over military supply transports, and how many reprimands he had received for “allowing” it to happen. She suspects that he has stuck it out this long because he wants to keep those three in check, which isn’t something she can fault him for.

Pico Morales, six years her senior and a former Atlas-based lieutenant, was actually born and raised in Argus. As such, he has no strong loyalty towards Atlas or Mantle, and is the most sensible of the three ex-soldiers. The one problem is that he lost his brother in the battle against Salem’s monster, and Marigold’s comments about Atlas and what she feels it deserved have rightfully influenced his opinion of them for the worst.

It’s an interesting council, one that has a long way to go before it’s truly functional, but it’s the one that has so far managed to survive what Meili termed their “initiation by fire.”

And every single one of them glares at her with unveiled hate in their eyes. She hopes that means they’re nearing their limit and are about to tell her to fuck off. There’s a reason she chose special ops over command, and a lot of it is to do with the fact that she doesn’t enjoy dealing with people.

“Any other objections?” she asks, voice low and dangerous. Meili had suggested that, in order to really stir up resentment, she needed to just be herself, but “dialed up to a hundred.” Which, apparently, meant that she needed to be ice cold and calm one minute, and shouting insults the next. It’s…

It’s not something she enjoys. The anger is easy, too easy, to tap into, and the constantly activating maiden powers serve as a very poignant reminder of what she is now capable of. More often than not, she doesn’t have to pretend her mood is bouncing between hot and cold with every other breath. But it’s also tiring. When she had to let Cinder flee, she didn’t think there would ever be an end to her rage, but not even a week later, her anger is spent and she is in a permanent state of bone deep exhaustion.

She just wants to crawl into a hole somewhere and sleep, cry, grieve for everything she has lost, but she can’t afford that luxury. Every morning -assuming she sleeps at all- she drags herself out of the “dorm” room of the warehouse that serves as the shadow’s headquarters, ice staining the walls, tears frozen on her face, and reminding herself that she needs to get up, needs to breathe, needs to protect the people that Weiss, Penny, Ruby, Yang, Blake, and Jaune gave their lives for. The least she can do is make sure that their sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

Children, all of them, paying the ultimate price for the mistakes of those they should have been able to trust. (She wishes she had been the one to die, instead of Weiss, or Penny, or any of them.)

A cough cuts through the silence, and her eyes flicker to the smallest of the group: Fiona. She doesn’t show it, but she is relieved that the most sensible person at the table finally has something to say. It’s a shame that things have to play out this way, that she can’t show favoritism or preference to any of the ragtag council. She respects Fiona’s capabilities and personality, but the most she can do is limit how much they talk. Blowing up at the quiet faunus would just make her feel too guilty, and she has enough guilt to wrestle with.

“About the donations that-”

“Excuse me, Special Operative Schnee?”

They all twitch at the interruption and turn their glares upon the offenders. An academy team, she judges automatically. Most likely a transfer team from Beacon or Haven, as their clothing is only barely fitting for the desert. They’re familiar in a way that she can’t place, but it doesn’t matter when she realizes what the presumptive leader of the team is casually holding up between two fingers.

She scowls, and this time she doesn’t have to fake the venom in her voice. “Unless it’s a note saying that he’s managed to bully his council into sending supplies to help mitigate the heatstroke or lack of shelter or lack of food for at least the children, you can tell your headmaster that my answer is the same as the last three times.”

The leader, a rather fashionable young woman with sunglasses that remind her of Yang’s “city” pair, shrugs and says calmly, “We’re just the messengers.”

She would have been perfectly content to glare at the students until they caved and left her alone, but the faunus -who she swears she recognizes somehow- snatches the letter out of her leader’s hand and stiffly walks it over to her. The girl’s male teammates adopt defensive stances, looking ready to defend their teammate from her wrath, and the leader’s hand strays close to the briefcase at her side.

It speaks of a close bond, of a good team, and she can’t help but ease her shoulders and glare. It’s not that she wants to make a good impression -she can’t worry about things like that when her goal is to do the exact opposite- but she doesn’t want them fearing her.

She may have gotten her temper from her father, but she refuses to ever sink to the level of taking it out on children. Not that these students are exactly children, but they look to be Weiss’s age, and she can’t help but see them as such.

The letter, however, is a different matter entirely. It takes only a cursory glance to determine that its contents are the same as the other letters. Invitations to stay at Shade, begging for her to meet with the headmaster concerning Salem related matters, hints at the conditions of Nora, Ren, Oscar, and Emerald, and, worst, how they sympathize with the refugees, but there is little they can do and there are more urgent matters at hand.

It’s a lie, she knows. If things really were so dire that her help was needed, then Nora and Ren would not hesitate to find her.

The letter is turned to ice and crushed in her hand before she even realizes that she has summoned her maiden powers.

“Whoa, that’s hot.”

The nonsensical -and utterly inappropriate- response to her actions is enough to startle her into controlling herself. Her first thought is “great, another Meili” and her second thought is “ew.” Her attraction may lean toward women, but if she’s going to hear a compliment like that, she would rather it come from someone closer to her own age and not a child.

“Coco! Stop it!” the familiar faunus girl exclaims, voice strangled and expression drawn into something like mortified panic. The other two teammates are silent, but also leaning slightly away from their clearly insane leader. So three out of the four are sensible. That’s...not a bad ratio, actually.

“What? It’s true.”

“Don’t you know who she is?!”

“Uh, yeah? Weiss’ older, hotter sister.”

Hearing Weiss’ name spoken out loud is like having a mountain of snowmelt dropped on her, and she violently flinches away from the embarrassed faunus.

She can see her sister falling into the darkness, reaching out but far away, too far away she isn’t fast enough no no NO she can’t lose her she-

A gentle hand on her tugs her out of the strange in-between world where her heart was shattered and back to the hot desert of Vacuo. The hand that had crushed the letter is clenched on the table, bearing enough of her weight to drive the slivers of ice into her skin.

Staring down at the faunus girl, the pieces click together. The Vytal Festival. Team CFVY. Beacon.

“You’re Velvet,” she whispers. “Will’s daughter.”

The concern in Velvet’s eyes is replaced with hope so bright and eager so much like Penny that she has to look away and take a few deep breaths. She waves in Fiona’s direction, tells her to implement whatever her plan is -and doesn’t tell her that she’s the only one who can be trusted to do it right- takes a steadying breath, and turns back to Velvet.

Velvet, who is suddenly far less hopeful, far less bright, and more on the verge of despair.

“No!” she blurts out. “No, no. He’s not. He was fine when we arrived.” Resting a -non-bloodied- hand on the girl’s shoulder, she gently turns her toward her teammates, and urges them all to walk back to the city with her. Once they are out of the council’s hearing range, she quietly adds, “I haven’t received any news saying that his team ran into trouble.”

Not yet, anyway. Vacuo’s naturally dangerous wildlife and the amount of grimm attracted to the city make crossing the desert a far more harrowing ordeal now than it has ever been.

“Team? So he’s really not here?” Velvet asks, frowning sadly. “He left a message, but I had hoped…”

“No.” She glances around, making sure that no one is paying them close attention. The amount of tents and canopies that have been installed in the last few days makes that somewhat difficult, as does the fact that she is disconcertingly well known among the refugees. “He’s working on a project for me.”

The leader, Coco, hums. “I thought the military disbanded.”

“It did.”

The way Coco tilts her head and taps her hand against her weapon -so she assumes- indicates that this is a line of questioning that won’t be dropped. An intelligent leader, if not a bit too bold. She can appreciate that, inconvenient as it is, and readies herself for the questions.

So when Velvet states confidently that she must have a plan for the refugees, everyone turns to look at the faunus in surprise.

“Huh? What? What? I just. Isn’t it obvious?” Wringing her hands and glancing at her shyly, Velvet adds, “He said once that you’re a lot nicer than you let people think, and can be very protective. Whatever he’s doing, he wouldn’t have agreed to it if he didn’t think it would help the people.”

She doesn’t know how to handle the compliments, and can’t tell the team that she has several plans in place for getting the refugees somewhere safe. There are too many ears around; some civilian, some ex-soldier, some spies for certain families, and none of them trustworthy.

Thankfully, Coco seems to understand that discretion is advised, and shifts the conversation away to more neutral subjects such as Nora, Ren, and the others, who are having a rough time settling in Vacuo. From the way she talks about their activities, she assumes that they’re working on something for Theodore. Part of her wishes she could check on them herself, but then she remembers the pain in their eyes when the portal closed behind her, remembers Nora’s tears and the way Ren just...fell apart as the absence of team RWBY and Jaune really hit them. Whether or not they blame her, she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t want to know. They have plenty of reasons to, after all.

Coco’s reassurance that the Beacon Brigade has taken them under their wing settles her worries some. She’s certain Nora and Ren will benefit from having familiar people around, especially people who know their pain. The displaced Atlas Academy students have found comfort in doing so, and some of the professors have spoken to her about putting the students to work with licensed huntsmen and ex-soldiers: to continue their training and to ensure they are watched over.

They part ways at the city entrance, the children heading to the academy, and her heading toward an abandoned building on the southeastern side of town. But not before Coco looks her up and down, then all but orders her to meet them in the same spot three days from now. “We’ll get you something more...fitting.”

“...There’s always one of those in a team,” she mutters, almost fondly, when she has lost sight of them. It’s good to see Beacon survivors flourishing, and better when she recalls how fondly Will spoke of his daughter to the ever curious Penny.

“You look relaxed,” Meili comments dryly when she slips into their temporary home. “Don’t tell me you killed them all.”

“Tempting, but no,” she says, matching his tone. “Cornel gave up, which is nearly as satisfying, but I could have done without Theodore sending another invitation. Had the messengers not been Will’s daughter’s team, I might have shattered more than the paper.”

Meili raises his eyebrows at the last bit of information, but doesn’t ask for more. Will had been on her very short list of scientists and techs that could be trusted with repairing and enhancing the short range comm towers in the abandoned mines. He had volunteered to travel to the first site and determine how much of their plan was viable practically before she had finished explaining her idea.

(“It’s a long shot, I know, and I can’t promise anything will come of it, but-”

“But it’s something, and Penny liked to describe you as “impulsive but never without a plan.” Just tell me where I need to go.”)

“Well, it’s unfortunate that we have no news from them to pass on to the girl, but if all goes well, we’ll have something next week. Team two went out of comm range last night, right on schedule, but no other updates on that front. How’s the council?”

The council, she tells him wearily, is pretty much settled as far as membership is concerned. Cornel was the biggest instigator of fights; he hated her for taking control, hated the other soldiers for being lower ranked than he was, and hated Hill’s people for being from Mantle. He nearly did the job of uniting the council against a greater enemy for her. It had taken more temper tantrums than she wanted to ensure that the others didn’t start uniting behind her instead of working together against her. Not that they’re at that point either, but things should be settling into some sort of routine soon. Hopefully, someone will step up to challenge her leadership with the support of the others, but she hasn’t seen any indication that any of them will.

“At this rate, I’ll be stuck with the job,” she bemoans, uncaring that she sounds like an overdramatic child. Or rather, like her siblings.

“They’ll have to figure it out soon enough. Tomorrow, actually.” Meili pulls up a map of Vacuo and points east of the red square that denotes the refugee encampment. “Our reports from the long range scouts have come in, and the grimm are starting to recover after your slaughter fest. We’ve spotted hordes on the move and we need to thin the herds before they come within range of the regular patrols. I don’t trust that the defensive lines can hold off more than stray packs yet. You’ll make the most difference, considering.”

She sighs as he waves his hand at her, wordlessly indicating her maiden powers. He’s not wrong that she is the greatest weapon available to the refugees, especially as their reserves of dust dwindle to nothing and the amount of people falling victim to heatstroke rises.

“We can leave tonight. The council are grown adults; they can handle a day or two without you.”

“That’s unprofessional.” Her protest is instinctive rather than heartfelt. Raining her anger down upon the council does nothing to quell her growing urge to let loose all the power -all the emotions- she keeps locked inside.

“Because you’ve been impressing them so much with your professionalism. They need this. Trust me.”

Meili has a point, and she can see the merits of testing the council this way. They need to come together, and if it has to be at the expense of her own reputation, that’s an acceptable sacrifice. There isn’t anyone left for her to impress, no one that she needs to answer to. Not anymore. As long as she protects her people, it doesn’t matter what they think of her.

So she agrees, and as the camp sleeps, she steals away into the night with a team of shadows and does the only thing she can do right: kill grimm.

Chapter Text

"Yes I'm neurotic I'm obsessed and I know it
Can't take vacations in the brain
Oh believe me I'd be on one"

Better-OneRepublic

She had two goals when she decided to split her attention between the council and grimm culling: force the council to work without her, and find an outlet for the energy and emotions within her that threatened to explode at every given moment.

She partially succeeded in one of those things.

“First you lord over our every breath, and now you can’t get away fast enough? Are you fucking joking? This is the third time in two weeks that you’ve disappeared! Do you have any idea how many problems we’ve had since you went MIA? People have been looking for you!”

The half of her that itches to be involved in every facet of helping keep the refugees safe and solve problems directly is what prompts her to snatch the scroll that May is waving in her face.

The half of her that would rather be out killing grimm than dealing with people is why she wears a sneer when she does it.

‘I didn’t want command, dust damn it!’ she laments to herself. She’s good at it; she knows she’s good at it. It’s one of the reasons why she flourished as a special operative, and how she rose to stand at Ironwood’s side as his right hand. But ordering people around during the stress of battle -her forte- and dealing with the, frankly, inane arguments and petty bickering that the refugee council is subjected to are two entirely different things, requiring entirely different skill sets.

And “personable” has never been a word used to describe her personality.

...Almost never.

(“Salutations Winter! I have been studying different human personalities since we last met!”

Unfazed -and slightly amused- by Penny’s exuberant greeting and unrelated follow-up statement, she raises an eyebrow and takes the bait. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

“Oh, lots!” The amount of energy that Penny has at five (why, Penny, why?) in the morning is enviable. Borderline offensive to someone who hasn’t finished her morning coffee, but still enviable. “Though there are not many people I know, so I cannot say for sure if my theories hold true. It will be an ongoing project! I did, however, determine that you are quite personable!”

She’s glad that she had put down her coffee -holding uncovered liquids is a hazard around Penny at all times, for many reasons- because she chokes so hard on her breath that adding coffee to the mix would have assuredly killed her. What an undignified way to die. “Oh. Penny. That’s not.” She coughs again to try and clear her throat. “I don’t believe that’s the best word to describe me.”

“How is it not? You are kind, patient, and very friendly. That is what personable means, is it not?”

“Well.” She can think of any number of reasons to -of any number of people who- disagree, but she can’t do so without squashing Penny’s still fragile self-esteem. And she can see how Penny would come to that conclusion; she does make an effort to be all of those things to the impressionable young woman, since she’s not, you know, a monster.

“I…” She hasn’t had enough coffee for this, and, right. Not a monster. “Yes. I suppose I can be. At times.”)

“And you weren’t capable of resolving any of these issues on your own?” The disdain in her voice is only partially faked, and May responds with a poisonous glare of her own before she stomps off toward the refugee registration table.

She wishes the other council members would take more initiative. Three weeks into their arrival in Vacuo, a routine has fallen into place that is the exact opposite of what she wanted; a settled council that seems content to defer to her despite obviously hating her guts. None of it makes sense. Every single council that she has seen and dealt with in her entire life would have shut her out after the first two days. She wants them to start pushing her out, to call her out on her heavy handedness and “mood swings.” If they hate her so much, why wouldn’t they work to figure out how to replace her?

Tugging on her hood, she resigns herself to dealing with inane complaints under the hot sun instead of resting like any reasonable person would after spending the day and a half hunting and killing a giant worm...things. She had no chance to sleep after returning from the hunt, as Meili had new reports from their scouts, and team CFVY dropped by with donations for the refugees-how said donations are acquired, the team never says, but the refugees that have taken over the surrounding buildings of the shadow's warehouse appreciates them. Along with the donations, they brought a woman named Slate that had some very useful information about the recently deserted town, Gossan, and the entire morning ended up being devoted to that conversation.

Slate had been an interesting woman, who didn’t like her and didn’t trust her. That was fine (nobody does), and they managed to have a productive morning regardless; so much so that the woman left her scroll number. Just in case she was “crazy enough to pull this off.”

She supposes it could be worse; after nearly a decade in the military, she has endured more difficult circumstances than a hot day with no sleep, and her new clothes aren’t as much of a death trap as her uniform was.

Coco Adel had come through on her promise of finding clothes more “fitting” for Vacuo than her uniform a week and a half ago. The outfit was, according to Velvet, the best of what they could find in Shade Academy’s lost and found, but it was at least put together with the desert climate in mind. Her shirt is a quarter-sleeve turtleneck made of the lightweight sweat-wicking material that is favored by hunters and soldiers alike. Mostly a light sky blue that almost matches her eyes, the swirling designs that decorate the hems are silver, with enough extra material around the neck that she can pull it up to cover her nose in the event of a sandstorm- something she appreciates more with every passing day.

The pants are loose and made of more durable material than her shirt, and came with three black canvas belts and attachable pouches. Even her regulation boots had been traded in for thick-soled dark grey boots -with no heel- reinforced at the shin; strap and holster for an emergency dagger included. Padded polarized sunglasses, UV blocking white arm sleeves, and sunscreen were packed in one of the pouches.

Completing the ensemble is a scarlet cloak -thankfully matching the pants- that falls to her calves, the hood decorated with white beowulf markings.

It’s mismatched. It’s rugged. It’s cheap. (It reminds her of her grandfather.) It’s the exact opposite of everything that Special Operative Winter Schnee has ever been in her twenty-seven years of life.

She loves it.

Meili had laughed and called it a combined early mid-life crisis and late teenage rebellion. The next time she saw him, he was wearing a hooded scarf with the same beowulf marks, though a brighter -more grimm- red than her cloak. He was in the process of passing out more of them to their off-duty patrol shadows when she returned from the camp, and had the gall to smile innocently at her. He called it “shadow solidarity.”

(“Do I want to know how and why you acquired that many scarves?”

“Eh, a local warehouse was selling them cheap in bulk because the design is gaudy.”

“...I’m going to burn every last one of them, and you with them.”)

It took time to get used to the outfit. Her uniform has been such an integral aspect of her life for so long that putting it aside had felt like ripping away a part of herself. But, as Marrow had declared, rank and uniform had turned into nothing more than a collar; one that dug into their necks with spikes and punished them for every movement in the wrong direction. The discomfort of leaving it behind quickly faded as she reveled in how much freer she felt without it. And cooler. So much cooler.

The command area -now boasting four tables spread out around a large area, chairs enough for every member of the council, and four shade providing canopies- is full and lively as usual. People looking for family, needing aid, or airing grievances are mixed with soldiers waiting to be assigned a section of the camp to patrol, or to report in after a shift. May, Rufus, and Fiona are the only other leaders present, and a glance at the date on the scroll confirms that this is a rest day for the other three.

The center table is covered in papers and scrolls, and she just knows that most of it is for her. The council argues over everything, and most of the time the arguments are evenly split between the ex-soldiers and the Mantle huntresses; which means that a larger majority of their arguments must be decided by her, the tie breaker. Any fights that break out between the Atlas and Mantle huntsmen are almost always taken to her. The Mantle citizens don’t trust the ex-soldiers to take their side, and the Atlas citizens don’t trust the associates of Robyn Hill to be neutral.

The fact that she has no tolerance for racism, classism, or sexism (or any other form of idiocy) no matter who the person is has earned her the reputation as the “neutral” council member. Not that she’s trying to cultivate such a reputation, as the result of being considered neutral is that more people are willing to bring the grievances to her, which means she gets more work by the day.

And on top of all that, somehow she has also become what is essentially the “headmaster” of what the professors are calling the “school of practical experience.” They figured that she was the closest thing to a headmaster they had, what with Ironwood gone and her having been his right hand. The fact that a large portion of her week is spent settling debates on lesson plans of all things is one of the stranger things to come out of her taking over the council. Trying to keep bored and traumatized teenagers out of trouble is far more work than she would have ever thought possible, and there are at least a dozen students that she knows by name due to how many times professors at their wits end have brought them before her.

“Look, your people are ruining our city, so you had better do something about it!”

Looking back up, she searches for the source of the screaming, and finds a pair of Vacuo huntsmen trying to intimidate Fiona, who is working the internal patrol desk today. She changes direction without even thinking about it. Vacuo’s huntsman had been hounding them about the influx of refugees -and the corresponding rise in crime- for over a week, and demanding that they keep their people in order. No amount of explaining that they have no actual power to order the refugees to do anything, much less stay out of the city, stops Vacuo from placing the blame at their feet.

She shudders to think of how much worse the paperwork and politics would be if she hadn’t dissolved the army.

Normally, she’s here to take care of them. As a Schnee, any Vacuo citizen that takes pride in their kingdom would kill for the chance to yell at her, and taking the brunt of someone’s anger to spare others the pain is something she is well used to.

Taking out their anger on the most innocent looking of their leaders, though? Now that’s just cowardly. Even if Fiona is a capable huntress in her own right, they don’t know that.

She is already annoyed by the huntsman before she is near the table, but when one of them raises a fist, she snaps. Whether he plans on hitting the table or hitting Fiona, it doesn’t matter; all she knows is that he is threatening one of her people, and her entire purpose is to protect her people. No matter what.

Summoning a glyph, she slows time and crosses the clearing in half a heartbeat. In the other half, she rests the edge of her sword at the man’s chin and one hand on Fiona’s shoulder, then yanks the glyph into her sword and lets time outside it flow normally again.

The man freezes with a gasp, and, slowly, all noise around them dies down.

She doesn’t think about how this is not the impression she is supposed to be making, or about how Fiona is perfectly capable of defending herself, or about the consequences of threatening Vacuo huntsmen, or about the fact that she has never used time dilation with such a compressed glyph and now she has a glowing, vibrating sword filled with power that fights her control.

“If you so much as twitch in her direction, I’ll slit your throat.” Her words are said slowly, but there is a snarl on her lips and the promise of pain in every word.

It’s a tense, silent eight seconds before the man realizes that she can and will follow through on her threat. He stumbles back, stuttering nonsense before running off in fear. A glare at the partner is all it takes to intimidate her into following after him. A good thing, as her ability to hold back the power of a delayed time dilation quickly reaches its limit.

With a powerful swing toward the sky, she sends the unspent energy up and away from the crowd, though many scream when the resulting explosion causes a rush of hot air and dust that unbalances civilians and soldiers alike.

The screams are short lived, quieting before she drops her arm back down.

The flutter of papers falling to the ground behind her is not.

“...I hope those didn’t need to be in order,” she laments quietly, annoying huntsmen already forgotten. There had been several piles worth of work on the command table, and she has no doubt that all of it is now resting on the sand.

Fiona shifts -though notably not enough to force her hand to drop- and says just as quietly, “Only most of it.”

(“Penny.”

“Yes, Winter?”

She takes in the sight of the messy -not destroyed, but near enough to it that anyone walking in would be seriously concerned- lab. Pietro has a hand on his ear, gaze unfocused, and Will is slowly shaking his head, eyes wide and unblinking. Her own ears are ringing as if she had been standing next to cannons during field artillery testing.

In the center of it all, standing innocently, is Penny.

“Please don’t activate your jets in the lab.”

“My apologies!”)

She removes her hand from Fiona’s shoulder and pinches the bridge of her nose. The weight of everyone’s gazes isn’t an unfamiliar sensation by now, but it’s no less uncomfortable than it was three weeks ago. The refugees tend to watch her every move while she’s among them, though they give her a wide berth as they do so. Unless, of course, they want to complain about something.

“I didn’t know it was possible to compress time dilation to that extent.” Oscar’s voice doesn’t quite make her gasp, but it does make her heart leap uncomfortably.

Turning slowly, she sheathes her sword and admits, somewhat chagrined, “Neither did I.”

“Oh…” Oscar clears his throat and gives her a sheepish smile. Behind him, Emerald shifts her gaze between the two of them uncomfortably. “Well, it made for a convincing threat.”

She scoffs. “Maybe next time they’ll think twice before harassing us for no reason other than to place blame where it isn’t due. ...But what brings you two here?”

Oscar inclines his head toward Emerald, who rubs her neck and ducks her head. “I, um. Coco Adel mentioned that one of your soldiers has a semblance that resembles mine, and I just thought. That is. I wanted to ask if I could meet them? For, uh, advice? I’ve been training with some of the Beacon squad at Shade, but none of them have similar semblances, and-”

“And you don’t know how to improve by yourself,” she finishes for her. The only person that Coco could have met is Myst, whose semblance can create visible illusions. It’s the opposite of Emerald’s, whose semblance causes her targets to hallucinate, but she has heard enough of Myst’s ramblings about the art of illusions to know that there is no better trainer in the world for the young woman. Humming thoughtfully, she takes out her scroll and messages Meili. “If it’s just advice you want, you can meet with her for an hour or two today.”

Meili responds to her query with an immediate and bold affirmative. Several of them, actually, in very quick succession, and she suspects that Myst has snatched his scroll. It’s about the reaction she expected, but having the permission is relieving nonetheless.

Looking up at Emerald, she smirks. “But if you want hands-on training with the best shadow operative in Atlas history and don’t mind traveling across the desert, then we can use someone with your experience and ability.”

“Wait, really? You mean like, an actual mentor? I mean. Yes! I would be, uh, honored.”

She isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or cry at the flustered reaction; it reminds her so much of a pre-teen Weiss that she wants to cry. Emerald’s story is a mystery to her, but she recognizes that particular brand of fear and desperation in someone who has never felt good enough. Someone who wants guidance and support from someone who actually cares. Someone who wants to be better.

But she doesn’t laugh or cry, because her attention is taken by the continued vibrating of her scroll. Holding it up and showing off the near incomprehensible string of messages, she says, “Good, because I don’t think you have a choice. Myst has already claimed you.”

“Myst? Myst?” Emerald squeaks. “The Illusionist? Won the Vytal festival as a first year Myst? And again as a third year?”

“A fan, are you? You two will get along well.”

It doesn’t take long for her to get Meili and Myst’s location and forward it to Emerald, who she shoos off to meet with them in order to prepare for the trip. It’s nice to see her so excited; positive emotions are understandably rare to see among the refugees.

Oscar, who had wandered off to rescue the forgotten papers and scrolls from being buried by the ever-shifting sands, waves at his friend and wishes her luck. He takes being abandoned without warning well, though perhaps that’s because trying to find scrolls in the sand takes a surprising amount of concentration. She moves to help him, and, between the two of them, the area is cleaned and all the papers -hopefully- collected.

“She was so excited that she didn’t even ask why they’re traveling,” Oscar laughs when they’ve piled the sand covered papers onto the center table. “Thank you for that. She...she hasn’t been adjusting at Shade. Not that any of us are, really. After everything, it’s hard not to feel...different from the rest of the students.”

Though it’s a sentiment she understands, a sentiment she expects, it doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking. The young adults -because they stopped being true children when Beacon fell- have gone through more pain and hardship than most seasoned hunters or soldiers. Those sorts of experiences leave their marks, and make it hard to fall back into a “normal” life.

“What exactly did you sign her up for? As far as I understood it, the military disbanded by your order just after our arrival.”

She pauses in her vain attempt to discern what sort of order these papers are meant to be in and glances at Oscar. “Are you asking for yourself, Oz, or Theodore?”

It is, in her mind, a valid question. Her trust in those three exists on a sliding scale of “fully trusts” to “nope,” with Oscar at the top and Theodore firmly at the bottom. And Oz? Even if Oz is the one she understands the most out of them, he has also been a leader for more lives than she can imagine, and the sorts of decisions leaders have to make changes them. And not always for the better.

“Ah. For me? ” Oscar frowns, thinking over the question. Something, however, makes him roll his eyes and smile. “And Oz, I suppose. He claims that he knew you were planning something big the whole time. He’s...being kind of smug about it, actually.”

The sense of pride at Oz’s faith is as immediate as it is unwanted. She hates how relieving it is to know that someone has faith in her abilities and intentions; without question, without hesitation, Oz, someone who mostly knows of her, has faith that she only wants to do the right thing. He trusts her to do the right thing.

Just as Meili and the shadows had.

Just like Robyn Hill had.

(“Trust...has to be earned, and I would say you’re more than earning it, Snowflake.”)

As someone who has always had to prove her loyalty -to her family, to the military- Robyn Hill's unchallenged trust in her intentions is a memory that gives her strength on the days where the stress of dealing with the council threatens to overwhelm her. Not that she will ever admit it.

Even so, it’s difficult to remember that she is doing the right thing when she is so constantly surrounded by judgmental, hateful gazes. It’s no less than what she deserves, after all that she has done -or failed to do- but Oz’s reassurance is a relief.

Looking down, she clears her throat and opens the never before used “emergency ONLY” refugee council group chat and types “Full meeting ASAP.” Fiona and Rufus turn to look over at her and nod. They’ll wait for the others.

“I’d rather explain the plan with everyone present. I was going to inform them of the details tomorrow, but this works as well.”

Oscar raises his eyebrows, surprised. “They don’t know?”

The corner of the table in the opposite direction of Oscar becomes very interesting, and she can feel her cheeks warming. “I started this operation before the council was created, though it was honestly more of a prayer than anything else. I...didn’t think I would be allowed to remain on the council for so long. I had planned on it, actually.” The last sentence is mumbled with no small amount of dismay.

“Winter.” Oz’s tone is one that reminds her of a professor dealing with an unruly child that has caught themselves in a harmless yet embarrassing situation. It’s one that she hasn’t been on the receiving end of since her grandfather was alive, but it’s no less painful now than it was when she was six years old and being caught running around with her grandfather’s old adventuring gear. “All those ex-officers that tried to get Theodore to arrest you...were you purposely attempting to get kicked off the council?”

‘They did what? Wait. Shit. He caught me.’

“I. I’m spec-ops, not command!” she exclaims defensively. “If I wanted to deal with spiteful morons and endless, inane complaints, then I wouldn't have bothered renouncing my inheritance claim over SDC!”

Oz is too busy snickering to dignify her with a response. He ought to know her pain, having served on the council during his last life! Nothing about this situation is funny; it’s baffling at best and inconvenient at worst. There are countless other tasks she would rather be doing than dealing with issues between Atlas and Mantle raised huntsmen, or settling arguments over what the professors feel should be taught to their students, or listening to the council bicker over...anything.

Scowling, she crosses her arms and waits for him to collect himself, but by the time he does, Joanna, Skylar, and Pico are in view, and the others are breaking away from their work.

“There is such a thing as being too kind for your own good.”

With that comment, control is returned to Oscar. Wisely, the boy chooses not to speak of it further. He does, however, have to look down at the table to hide his smile.

“So what’s the big emergency?” May demands once they’ve gathered. Eyeing Oscar, who waves shyly, she asks hopefully, “News from the headmaster?”

“No,” she can’t hide her disdain. “This has nothing to do with either him or the council.”

Without waiting, she brings up a projection of the map that she has been working on with Meili, and proceeds to explain that there is one abandoned mine now cleared to shelter refugees, and a team working on clearing a second. The mines not only have plenty of space, but are also near sources of natural water. The water will have to be purified, of course, but as the mines were founded back in her grandfather’s time, no expense was spared in ensuring that the equipment to do so was durable and, most importantly, protected before the mine was abandoned. Will had sent a list of parts he needed and a promise that his mine would have a steady -if limited- supply of water once they were delivered and installed. The mines obviously won’t be a permanent solution; they’re meant to be waypoints between Vacuo and the Vale forests, which is where she wants to ultimately move the bulk of the refugees.

With some hesitation, she also brings up the idea of using Gossan and other small towns as rest points to the forests, though she admits that those are new options that can’t be counted on until her teams investigate their potential. They aren’t possibilities that can be dismissed, however. Many refugees have taken over abandoned buildings in Vacuo, and many more have left to either Coquina or to Vale on their own, but there are still thousands living in their “camp.”

“My mother and Whitley have already started traveling to Vale, to gather any SDC assets left after the fall of Beacon that can be used for transportation or support. There isn’t much -a few warehouses at best- but even half a dozen airships could save hundreds of lives. That journey, however, will take months. The team they’re with is also charged with scouting for potential settlement areas, or destroyed towns that can be rebuilt.”

Ideally, they will rebuild enough auxiliary CCT towers -or build new ones entirely- to reestablish communication within all of Sanus, but she keeps that hope to herself. They have the surplus of engineers and technicians to do it, but this is not something that will be accomplished anytime soon, and it’s hardly relevant to their current problem of finding safe shelter for the refugees.

Rufus and Pico, true to their training, notice the icons that indicate offline towers at Feldspar and Gossan themselves. They crowd close to the map, tracing the projected paths and debating the amount of guards that will be needed. Fiona is debating with them, attempting to calculate civilian travel times and viable caravan sizes. Assuming they can get their hands on any wagons.

Skylar, however, is more suspicious. “Where did you get enough soldiers to form several combat ready squads? We would have noticed if that many people were disappearing off the volunteer lists.”

“Especially after you made a big show of disbanding the military,” Joanna tacks on pointedly.

The questions, while relevant, still annoy her. She isn’t used to being interrogated on military decisions, and she would rather they focused more on the “what to do next” part of the plan instead of things that already happened. “Technically, this was organized before the military was abolished. Neither did I force any of the soldiers, huntsmen, or technicians to join. It was entirely voluntary.”

“Before the. But that was. Overnight?” Pico stage whispers in awe. Or fear. It’s hard to tell. “You summoned, organized, and sent out full scouting teams across the desert overnight. How?”

Rufus whistles. “Pulled shadows, did you? Insane bastards, every last one of them. All you gotta do to get them going is point at the biggest, strongest grimm or missions with the lowest survival chances.”

The former captain is obviously correct to assume shadows. Realistically speaking, they were the only option she had.

Still.

“I was a shadow,” she says, scowling.

“Oh, I’m aware. One of the best, too.”

It doesn’t sound like a compliment.

She crosses her arms and looks away from him with a huff.

May, however, finally hits her limit and slams her hands on the table to get their attention. The map shakes, and Pico, who was in the middle of tracing the route to Gossan, glares at her. “I don’t give a damn about your weird military rivalries! I want to know exactly how you think we’re going to organize something this huge. Evacuation to Atlas or the Crater was hard enough, but moving people across the continent?”

Idly, she wonders if May is trying to intimidate her, or if she’s just being her naturally combative self. Either way, it isn’t worth losing her temper over; not when she has seen far worse and far more frightening and hasn’t slept in two (three?) days, therefore has no energy left to spare. Instead, she gives May the flat, unimpressed look she typically reserves for particularly annoying cadets who ask questions while the answer stares right at them. “That’s your problem. Or rather, their”-she nods her head toward Fiona, Rufus, and Pico-''problem. Everyone knows that if you give a Marigold one long-term logistical mess, you end up with thirty permanent disasters.”

Dodging May’s enraged attempt to grab her from across the table is as natural as breathing. What she doesn’t expect is for Joanna to pull May back with a pained expression. “Sorry May, but...she isn’t wrong about that. We’ll need you to focus on sign-ups once we get a rough idea of how many people will be going per trip.”

Her smugness over May gasping in betrayal falters when she realizes that she’s only giving them more reason to trust her. And therefore less reason to kick her off the council so she can go slaughter grimm to her heart’s content.

She’s really starting to suspect that she’s going to be stuck with this job.

“Um.” Oscar raises his hand sheepishly. They had all forgotten he was here, and, after catching the disdain on Skylar and Rufus’ faces, she rests a hand on his shoulder and nods encouragingly. Oscar may be young, but he isn’t unintelligent. “You know, if you need information about Vale settlements, I think I can help. The information is a couple of years out of date, but there are more than a few villages off the main path that are worth looking into. At the very least, it will allow you to plan out best and worst case scenarios.”

Of course. Of course. Oz was the headmaster of Beacon, and on the council. The only better sources of information for Vale settlements are in Vale itself. Vale’s forests, like Mistral, are largely devoid of large settlements, though smaller ones pop up every few years. Between bandits and grimm, few last more than a decade at best, but half the reason those settlements failed is because they lacked a sufficiently strong militia.

The refugees don’t have that problem.

“That’s…” She doesn’t have the words to describe how much she wants to hug the boy right now. “I’ll send you the map we’ve been working on.”

This plan is a fragile one, with a million risks for every hundred possible gains. There’s no guarantee that anyone will want to risk traveling across the desert, but, at the very least, her people will have an option to set up a new life somewhere other than a kingdom that doesn’t want them.

Chapter Text

"Someone said this to me as I tried to keep running:
"You're a strong person; there's nothing you fear anymore, right?"
It's not like that, you're wrong

In reality, I'm scared of stopping
Everything seems to stop together
so I make a praying run, "Don't end yet"
believing a miracle will happen someday"

Praying Run-Uverworld

“Nice job, sharpshooter!” The soldier next to her claps her shoulder, and whistles when her next shot takes out three small nevermores at once. “I’m surprised they haven’t pulled you over to the ocean guard.”

She smirks, aims another shot, and takes out two more grimm at once. “I’m on call for the big swarms.”

“Heh. Good to know.” He turns and shouts down the line, “Alright people! After we clear this pack, we’re set to retire for the night! Don’t forget to pick up your dinner!”

And just like that, she is another faceless huntress amongst many.

Argus, their group had quickly learned, had many, many problems besides the barrier. Ever since the fall of Beacon, Mistral’s huntsmen forces had slowly declined, leaving Argus to shoulder the burden of a majority of Anima’s hunt missions. With the regular huntsmen traveling further and further out, on increasingly dangerous missions, Argus now relied almost entirely on the military for fighting power. At the base’s original strength, it wouldn’t have been possible, but some higher up had seen the mess in Anima and convinced Ironwood to double the amount of troops stationed in the city.

Cordovin denying them the airship made a lot more sense when she learned that, due to the rise in long range missions and travel to Mistral, all of the base's airships are in constant use. Pilots barely have time to refuel before the next squad is gathering for deployment, and the only airships not used for travel are the smaller airships, all of which are needed to respond to ocean grimm attacks.

The ace-ops had quickly disappeared into the military ranks, manning the walls and scouting the immediate vicinity of the city for grimm. Attacks weren’t as bad as it was in Mantle after the heating grid was turned off, but they happened every few days, and the whole city was exhausted. Argus needed all the help it could get until that barrier was improved.

Qrow had run off to do his own thing. She’d been suspicious at first, but his state of mind seemed to be slightly more stable than it was when he was dead set on taking down Ironwood.

And her? She had decided to peruse the local hunt board and take shifts on the wall. It keeps her busy, killing grimm, and the extra money doesn’t hurt.

“Thank you for your work today!”

She smiles down at the teenager handing out the bagged “dinner” meals that the city provides the wall guards. It isn’t much, but after a tense day of fighting or twitching at every shadow in fear of spotting more grimm, the food and gratitude helps take off the edge.

“Same to you, kid.”

Munching on the provided sandwich, she scrolls through the local net’s hunt board and picks up another mission for the morning. The more missions she takes, the more money she’ll have for her people in Vacuo.

(The more missions she takes, the less time she’ll have to think about everything that happened in Atlas, and the part she unwittingly played in its downfall.)

~

Nevermore claws clang against her crossbow, and a quick push is all it takes to put it into position to take a bolt to its head.

The soldier next to her hadn’t been so quick with his block.

“Fuck! My eye! My eye!” His screaming attracts more grimm to their position, which is the last thing they need right now. As the snipers, they’re in charge of making sure the squad below doesn’t get slaughtered by nevermores, and they can’t do that if they’re too busy trying to keep themselves alive. “My-guh.”

The squad leader, a man with spiky red hair and a nasty scar on his shoulder, carefully lowers the injured sniper that he has just knocked out. “Greene, take him down below. Trick Shot, cover them and then head over to the next position.”

They should all move, she wants to say. She should be taking over the fifth building, she thinks to herself. But she doesn’t say a thing; she just nods and reloads her crossbow. This isn’t her show, and she has no authority here. In Argus, she’s just another no-name huntress, and she isn’t about to put everyone here at risk by challenging the chain of command while in the middle of an ambush.

They lose the injured man, and Greene gets his throat slit by the end of the day. Fifth building goes down in flames, and it would have taken her with it had she done what she wanted. It’s frustrating how off her instincts have become -instincts that were the only thing she could truly trust for most of her life- and she takes out that frustration on the swarms of nevermore that circle their injured.

She returns to the city with the blood of her comrades splattered on her clothes.

It’s not the first time since she arrived in Argus.

It won’t be the last.

~

Qrow Branwen

     good news

     found polendina

     he says he’ll help with the barriers

     be ready to leave in three weeks

She mutes the chat before the ace-ops start bombarding Qrow with questions. The specifics don’t really matter to her at the moment; all she knows is that she has a timeline now.

"All good Trick Shot?" Red, whose name is actually Redde, doesn't wait for a response before he tosses her a bag.

The crossbow bolts and other ammo inside cling ominously when she catches it, but none are loaded with dust. Dust is slowly rising in price with Atlas and Mantle out of the picture, which is going to leave many soldiers and huntsmen in dire straits. Overdependence on dust is common among the population; especially huntsmen, with some relying almost entirely on the precious resource for battle.

"Yeah. It's nothing to worry about."

"Good. We've got half an hour until we hit our target."

The target is a pack of manticores -almost a dozen in total- that had destroyed a small town. Intimidating stuff for a full squadron; full on suicidal with three lone huntsmen. Redde and Lavi -who appear to have worked together often- give no indication that this is in any way unusual. She isn’t entirely sure how she was pulled for this mission; last night, the order came through on her scroll to report to the gate at five in the morning. No squad details were included. The only thing listed was the location and mission summary.

She assumes they’re going to meet with backup on site, and doesn’t ask questions. That would have been unthinkable less than two months ago, not asking questions, but the destruction of Mantle and everything that led to it made it painfully clear that there are some personal traits that she needs to work on. She has been a leader for so many years -been unchallenged by an equal for so many years- that maybe she needs to spend a little time remembering how to follow orders as well.

The other two gossip about the squads they have worked with lately, grumble about the rising dust prices, and compare favorite weapons. Their casual exchange over fatalities their squads suffered is when she starts to suspect that these two aren't normal huntsmen.

And then they arrive.

There is no backup.

Close range fighting isn't her area of expertise, which is unfortunate as manticores have a bad habit of rushing in for the kill when angry. Her skills lie in, well, trick shots, maneuverability, and well timed uses of explosive shots, however, she wasn't one of the top graduates of Atlas Academy without reason. She spars regularly with Joanna, and Mantle patrols weren't exactly a walk in the park before Penny came along.

That said, keeping up with Redde and Lavi nearly kills her. Redde, who had been calm and precise as a sniper in their last mission, is an entirely different person with his blade in hand and no backup to rely on. Together with Lavi, he darts straight into the nearest grimm's reach to land a critical strike before moving on without pause. They bounce between targets, leaving openings for each other and her to exploit with the same lack of hesitation.

It's not recklessness, or even boldness; it's a cold, calculated style of fighting that can only be adopted by those with a serious disregard for their own life. Every step and every strike they make is succeed or die. She has no time to think about anything but creating and taking openings -taking risks that her girls would kill her for- and before she knows it, the fight is over.

They don’t linger.

“So. Did I pass your little test?” she asks after gracefully collapsing into a heap on the airship floor. Those are the first words any of them have spoken since the fight started.

Redde glances back at her from the pilot’s chair. “Be at the city gates tomorrow. Same time.”

She’ll...take that as a yes.

~

Redde and a different huntress are her companions for the next equally insane mission. The day after, Lavi and another two. All of them have the same cold glint in their eyes, the same lack of regard for their life, and the same level of skill that nearly puts them on par with the ace-ops. They aren’t all as quiet as Redde and Lavi, thankfully, but there’s something about their intensity that strikes her as familiar.

She wonders what she’s gotten herself into, but she quickly falls into a routine: wake up before dawn (to the tune of Brand New Day), spend most of the day on a three-man mission that should rightfully require a dozen soldiers, browse through Winter’s scroll until she falls asleep, dreams of drowning with Atlas or watching everyone she loves or tried to protect drown, then wakes up and does it all again. If asked, she wouldn’t know what day it is; the only day she cares about is the day they leave for Vacuo, which she set up a countdown on her scroll for. The challenging -insane- missions leave her with no time to do anything but eat or sleep in town anyway, except for the rare shopping trip to replace ammo, clothes, or gear. On Winter’s coin, of course.

In her defense, that compound bow she bought has already saved a few lives. And she has been sold hard on the utility of a grappling gun. It’s hard to feel guilty about using the money when there’s so much of it. It won’t be available outside of Argus, either, so why not use that money while saving what she earns for the refugees?

It’s a shame, really, because that much money could change quite a few lives in Vacuo, if she had a way to take it.

~

Her plan for a quiet night huddled under her blankets with hot chocolate and Winter’s scroll to soothe the chill that Apathy left her with is ruined when Lavi appears at her elbow. The street is crowded and full of life, but she’s reaching for a weapon that she doesn’t have without a single thought, reacting to the surprise as any good huntress who has been working every day for well over a month straight does.

“Over here, Trick Shot.”

She follows because she’s curious, and her curiosity is something she rarely hesitates to indulge in.

The restaurant Lavi drags her into is somber, classy, and two stories tall. Not quite rich, but certainly no casual restaurant. They go straight past the main room and into a dimly lit hallway that is labeled “private parties only.” She starts to feel concerned as Lavi walks past several doors (isn’t this how horror movies start?), but their destination turns out to be the very last door. Waiting for them are the other dozen or so huntsmen that she has been working with since Redde pulled her into his...squad? Whatever it is these people are.

“I found a stray,” is how Lavi announces their presence.

“So is this like, a cult or a gang or something?” she asks pleasantly. She’s not even faking it; not when Cap and Vio are holding up baskets of appetizers -cheese sticks, fries, and wings of some sort- for her to pick out of. Being initiated into a gang, she decides quickly, isn’t the worst thing she’s done for food.

“More or less.”

“Nothing like that.”

“Basically.”

“Cults are too much work.”

She stares at the group, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, getting mixed signals here.” Then she bites into a breaded cheese stick because breaded cheese sticks should not be held, they should be eaten. “First off, are you soldiers or huntsmen? I can usually sense it right off the bat, but you lot make it really hard to tell.”

Redde snorts. “Yes. Shadows do the military's worst missions, but not all of us are strictly military. More like independent contractors, I suppose. Atlas doesn’t -didn’t- care if we wore their uniform, as long as we showed up when called and killed what we needed to. And we don't care what they rank us, as long as we get our missions and our pay.”

Shadows?

(“He’s a shadow, and the only thing a shadow trusts more than their weapon is another shadow.”)

Because it’s her only frame of reference, she asks slowly, “Shadows...as in, Winter’s shadows?”

Several of them squint at her in confusion, a couple frown, and Redde crosses his arms. “Winter? Schnee? Yeah, she was one of us for four years before Ironwood dragged her out and into the spotlight. Scariest little shit to ever come out of the academy, believe me.”

Oh, she believes him alright. No one gets to be that high a rank, that young, without being a monster. Not even a Schnee.

Cap, one of those frowning, chimes in, “Why’d you say it like she owns us?”

“Because she called the shadows to help her evacuate the soldiers beh-” She coughs. Behind Ironwood’s back, which was treason. Right. Does it matter if Atlas is gone? Winter had full confidence that the shadows would support her, and the people here haven’t given her any indication that they particularly care for the military outside the paycheck it gives.

“Right,” she starts again. “Say that, hypothetically, Ironwood...went all tyrannical dictator and threatened to bomb Mantle and then take Atlas up above the clouds to escape from the evil Salem witch lady that Pipsqueak mentioned on that broadcast. And say that, hypothetically, Pipsqueak and her team had a plan to make a bunch of magic portals to evacuate all of Atlas and Mantle to Vacuo, which would unfortunately also result in Atlas, uh, falling. And, again, hypothetically, Winter turned on Ironwood, helped execute said plan, and called the shadows to order soldiers into the shelters for “protection,” where the magic portals were set to appear so they could escape with the citizens.”

Wide, unblinking eyes all around. Vio has a wing halfway to her mouth. Cap might not even be breathing.

Maybe she went too hard on the hypotheticals.

“...We need alcohol for this.”

“So much alcohol.”

“Shit that makes Ice Eyes the boss, don’t it? I think she needs alcohol.”

“Damn, we have to go to sand hell? Gross. Is anyone going to be left when we get there?”

Redde sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Ice Eyes is the perfect combination of shiny and shadow. I’ll bet my life savings she has ten different solid plans for keeping the people safe, and is going to see them done in the most self-destructive way possible.”

"How did they push orders to that many soldiers without. Oh. Fuck, Myst was pulled back a few days before this all went down."

"Meili too. Bet he was the pointman."

“Sit down, Trick Shot. Food and drinks on us if you tell us what the hell happened in Atlas.”

Weird, borderline suicidal soldiers who feed her, are totally cool with the idea of Winter committing treason, and have started making plans to get to Vacuo so they can help of their own volition? Best gang ever.

~

Penny:

     For Winter!

What is this?

     A song!

     For you!

     Do you like it?

I did notice that, yes.

It’s interesting.

     Studies show that energetic songs help

     people wake up in the morning!

     Since you are always so tired, I thought

     it would be helpful!

That’s very thoughtful of you, Penny.

     Perhaps it would be most effective to

     set it as your alarm?

I will do so.

Thank you.

     It is my pleasure!

She can’t help but laugh as she listens to the song that Penny had linked in the message a year ago; it’s the horrible alarm song. “Winter Schnee, you are the biggest softie in the world.”

It’s what she has suspected since she first started snooping in the scroll’s files, yet every confirmation of it she finds manages to surprise her. It’s the little things: keeping recordings of her sister’s performances, saving every video and picture of Pipsqueak and the other kids that Penny or Weiss sends, and nearly every message interaction she has with Penny.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Qrow drops onto the bench on the other side of her mini-picnic and immediately grabs a scone. “Got yourself a new paramour or what?”

She forgives the food theft, but not the implication that she has the time to find herself a lover. This is the first day off from grimm hunting that she’s had since they arrived, and she only has it off because the shadows decided that they would need a day to prepare for a trip of undetermined length to Vacuo. “Paramour? How old-fashioned of you. And no.”

Qrow lifts his hands, trying to portray a picture of innocence. That smirk kind of ruins his attempt, however. “What am I supposed to think, with you smiling at that scroll so-wait is that Winter’s scroll?”

Never in her life has she closed a scroll so quickly. She tries to tell herself that it isn’t because she’s embarrassed, but she has never been good at lying to herself, so she does the next best thing: she doesn’t think about it and changes the course of the conversation. “Winter Schnee may or may not be helping sponsor my stay in Argus. Without her knowledge.”

The look Qrow gives her says that he isn’t going to forget the first part of their conversation, then her words registers and he makes a choked noise. “You hacked Winter’s bank account?”

“Hacked is a very strong word for something that took very little effort. And anyway, she doesn’t use her money on anything but coffee and takeout, so I honestly doubt she’d care.” Throwing her hands up, she continues bitterly, “Do you even know what special ops are paid? It’s disgusting. I’m not putting a dent in her account, even with hotel and food costs. And the clothes. ...And okay, yeah, I didn’t need an emergency compound bow, but it saved my life twice now, so I kind of did. Not to mention! Dust is going to be in short supply, you know, and we didn’t even make it to Argus without trouble.”

Qrow lets her rant, chewing on the scone slowly. She can see the wheels in his mind turning, and see when it settles on something that is going to annoy her. “So...does that make you the trophy wife?”

She lunges. “Give me that damned scone back.”

“Technically, it’s Winter’s scone.”

He has a point, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. In fact, she wants this topic to be dropped, period. No one is allowed to be as nosy about her business as she is about other people’s. “What brings you out to the neighborhood park anyway?”

“Right. About that.”

Whatever answer she’s expecting, “having a picnic” is not it. She almost doesn’t believe it; especially when Qrow points out the group that had arrived while he sat with her. Pietro Polendina, a tiny old lady, two women about her age, and a toddler make for a surprisingly domestic party. Side-eyeing him hard, she wonders if he has been possessed or if he’s drunk.

“You’re joining us.”

“Oh?” She scoffs. “Am I?”

“Yup. You clearly need to socialize if you’ve started making heart eyes at Winter Schnee’s scroll. Bad enough you were flirting with her back in Atlas,” Qrow mutters, rolling his eyes. The way he wrinkles his nose suggests that he finds the very thought of her flirting with Winter to be cringeworthy.

“That was. I was only...” She trails off, because she was flirting. A little. So instead of lying, she tries to play it off as unimportant. “So I might have a thing for confident women who rebel against the government. There’s nothing wrong with that. It was a nice distraction while we plotted mutiny and tried to prevent mass murder.”

“A distraction. Sure. Whatever you say.”

She growls, he laughs, but there’s no real tension behind it. Qrow is only half right, anyway. The shadows are always eager to gossip when traveling to or from a mission point, though they almost always disperse the moment their feet hit Argus ground. The dinner she had been dragged to the other day was the only real moment of non-work related socialization she’s had since before the dinner party.

Considering that the dinner party (and her jail time) had required her to be in the presence of Jacque Schnee, she refuses to count it as anything other than torture. Even if she was somewhat taken by Winter’s outburst, and she got to see Jacque arrested.

It reminds her of her days before Atlas Academy. Not the jail part, but the lack of socializing. Jo, then Fiona, then May, are the first true friends she ever had, but they have been a constant in her life for years now. Unlike Winter, she isn’t sappy enough to keep an entire scroll dedicated to pictures and recordings of them. Which is...a really weird thought. That might be something that she’ll need to change in the future.

If they’re still alive. If she lives long enough to see them again.

“You know what”-at that moment, Winter’s scroll pings the emergency alert for all huntsmen on call for ocean attacks-“...I’ll have to take a rain check on that offer. Duty calls.”

He lets her go without protest, but she can feel his suspicious glare on her back until she is out of sight.

~

Pietro Polendina is someone she had only heard of in Mantle; most everyone knew about his work in helping fit injured miners with prosthetic limbs, but she never had a reason to visit him herself. Going through Winter’s scroll, however, has given her an entirely different view of the man, and seeing him with Qrow yesterday sprouted a terrible idea. “Hey, Doc. I have a question.”

“Robyn Hill.” He looks surprised. She can’t blame him for that. They’ve never had reason to interact before, so her waiting for him at the base entrance is probably a little weird. Suspicious, even. “What can I help you with?”

“You do a lot of work with computer programs, right? Say I needed to get money out of an ATC account before we leave, so I can deliver it to the account owner in Vacuo. How easy would it be to hack the bank, since they kinda refused to let me into the account unless I was family?”

Pietro raises his eyebrows higher with every sentence, but, most importantly, does not look offended. “ATC has some of the best security around. Most soldiers bank there, so the military helped develop their firewalls.”

Well, that’s more or less what she expected. Sighing, she considers her options and finds that there are none. “Well it was that or hack the local government and list me as family.”

“Oh, municipal databases I can get into easily. If you have their ID, it would be even easier.”

She has Winter’s scroll out of her pocket before he finishes speaking. “I’ve got that covered!”

Pietro does a rather comical double-take and stares at the scroll with wide eyes. “Isn’t that? That’s Winter’s scroll.”

Of course he recognizes it. Penny is his daughter, after all, and the young woman seemed to spend a lot of time around Winter. “Ah, yeah. She gave it to me back when we were escaping. She’s out there protecting our people, so I’ve gotta help in every way I can. And right now, that means getting her money to her.”

“You do realize that the Schnee’s are very famous? I can’t simply list you as family. The only way it would work without drawing suspicion is...”

“If I were her wife,” she finishes with a grimace. All of her brainstorming had led straight back to Qrow’s joking comment; the Schnee family was too well-known for a bank as paranoid about security as the ATC to accept that she was a random family member. Even if they did, their rules concerning who had access to the accounts of lost soldiers narrowed her options considerably.

Winter, however, has been out of the public eye for years. If she had discreetly gotten married at some point in the last two years, who was going to argue otherwise? The CCT has been down for so long that no one would question her file not updating. And banks made exceptions for spouses all the time.

“Normally, I wouldn’t agree to this sort of thing, but I know Winter well enough to say that she would accept your reasoning. At least, enough to not yell too much. I suppose the only question is, do you want to take her name, or use both?”

~

The bank’s manager, a portly old man with a terrible mustache and worse disposition, stares at the ID’s before him on the table. Between them is a marriage certificate that Pietro had the foresight to create after his bit of hacking.

“Well then, Mrs. Schnee. It seems everything is in order. Forgive us for the runaround, however-”

“The world has been kind of crazy lately. Believe me, I understand, and I’m grateful for all you do to protect your clients.”

~

The airship pad in Argus base is relatively small for the amount of traffic it now deals with, and it feels even smaller when the three ace-ops, Qrow, Pietro, the old lady, a dozen shadows, and herself are crowded around an airship.

Mohawk is making a fuss about all the extra people. The shadows are carrying on with loading the unexpected amount of supplies that have been procured, and Pietro is giving her a questioning thumbs up. She grins and gives him one of her own.

Yeah, she got the money. It only took three hours of waiting and arguing with the bank officials yesterday, and she had to introduce herself as “Robyn Schnee” so many times she almost believes it now.

“Alright, alright. We get it, Hare.” Wags rolls his eyes and walks onto the airship ramp. “They got us way more supplies than we would have managed alone, and we’re going to need all the help we can get in Vacuo. I think flying a little slower is a pretty decent tradeoff.”

Mohawk huffs, but quits her grumbling. Looks like the ace-ops solved their team issues during their month of guard duty, and upgraded their wardrobe while they were at it. Good for them.

“We’re taking off in thirty, people!” Redde shouts from the back of the airship. “Better get comfortable now!”

“It’s gonna be a long trip.” Qrow stretches his arms up and links his hands behind his head and smirks at her. “Plenty of time to tell me how you recruited a bunch of shadows for this.”

“Sure. And you can tell me how you found Pietro Polendina. Something tells me he wasn’t exactly next door to Argus.”

“Eh, deal.”

Chapter Text

"I swear I'm not insane
Yes most likely not insane
Everybody goes through moments of losing their clarity
At least I'm never boring"

Better-OneRepublic

“Uh, Schnee? What is that?”

She glances up at a disturbed Skylar, determines the question to be of no consequence, and looks back down at her scroll. “A child.”

“...Right. I. I see that. But...why?”

Sighing, she puts down her scroll, smiles at the boy who is leaning into her and away from Skylar, then frowns at the woman. “Because he needs an interpreter. I’m hoping someone from his clan can take him in. Assuming I can find them.”

“His parents?”

Thinking back to the night before, when she heard shouting during her walk through the city, saw a man’s raised fist, saw the cowering child in front of him, and instinctively summoned her glyphs to blast the bastard into a building, she scowls. “He was unfit.”

“...Unfit,” Skylar repeats faintly, expression somewhere between dazed and horrified. It’s the most emotional she has ever seen the usually stoic woman. Well, she has seen her angry, but that hardly counts when the entire first three weeks in Vacuo were spent with the entire council at each other’s throats. “You can’t just take a kid from his parents! That’s kidnapping.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but can’t find the words to deny the accusation. She did, in fact, take a child from their parent, but, in her defense, she had tried to take said child to the proper authorities -or as close as she could find in Vacuo. Once they heard that she was a refugee, however, she had been ignored or ordered out, no matter how loudly she explained that the boy was a local.

“Who’s going to stop me?” she says instead, crossing her arms and lifting her chin, daring Skylar to argue. Not that she can, because she has proof that no huntsman in Vacuo will care that she has taken a child from his father and is planning to find him a better home.

The former officer covers her face with her hands and whispers several expletives; most of which she has heard frequently during her time as a shadow, and a few that would impress even Myst.

“Uh, Specialist. Er. Miss? Councilor? Um.” A former soldier stands nervously at one end of the command table, nervously bouncing his gaze between them.

“You’re Ray?”

“Yes ma’am.” Ray lifts his hand, as if to salute, then drops it awkwardly.

The disbanding of the military has been difficult in many ways, but the lack of proper titles is probably the most persistent source of confusion.

She ignores his discomfort and gently pushes the boy forward. “I need to find this boy’s family if he has any, or clan name if not. My knowledge of sign language is unfortunately limited to battle shorthand, and you were recommended.”

Ray straightens, suddenly far less nervous. “Oh! I see. Yes, of course.”

Before the former soldier can start “speaking” to the boy, he comes alive in a flurry of sign language and wild gestures. Satisfied that she has solved at least one person’s problems, she returns her attention to Skylar.

“What was it you needed to speak about?”

Skylar sighs deeply, but brings up her scroll and returns to business mode. The civilian response to the offer to move to the mines has been surprisingly positive, and now they have a serious issue concerning how to actually move as many people as possible, as quickly as possible, with next to no supplies and no experience with desert travel, to the mines.

Thankfully, she has the contact information for someone that can help them.

~

“Schnee.”

She looks up from her work, rubbing her eyes and begging for the world to come back into focus. However long she has been here, it’s too long. Staring at her scroll while baking under the hot sun is a torture unique to Vacuo, and one that she has been experiencing far too often for comfort. “Slate? What are you doing here?”

Slate gives no indication that she cares about her struggle to register the surprise visit, or that the rest of the council is frowning at her because she is technically interrupting a full meeting. “You look like hell, kid.”

Were she less tired, she would have ignored the comment and gotten right to business. However, she hasn’t slept in...days, probably, or eaten in just as long, and she isn’t entirely certain that this isn’t a hallucination or vivid dream. “Well I’m in hell, so it’s only fitting,” she says after an uncomfortably long few seconds.

The heat of the council’s glares hardly bothers her, but Slate doesn’t take offense; she snorts and deems the assessment fair before holding up a stack of papers. “After our first talk, I thought about it some and decided that you were undoubtedly crazy enough to try to send people out to rebuild towns and towers, so I went ahead and hunted down some old locals for information. Your call the other day came at a good time. I just have to know, are you claiming these towns for Atlas, or?”

“No. Dust, no,” she blurts out, offended at the mere idea of taking more from Vacuo than Remnant already has. “Atlas doesn’t exist anymore. If the original settlers wish to move back after we have cleared the premises, that would be the best case scenario. They know how to survive in the desert better than we ever will. I’m simply...trying to give people options. That’s all. The only “requirement” I have is that they let the technicians stay and fix the auxiliary CCT towers.”

Slate hums, squinting at her as if deep in thought, then shrugs. “Works for me. Here, uh. Not you, kid. The only thing you need is sleep. Who’s in charge of getting the people moved? You’re going to need a lot of help.”

Rufus, Pico, and Fiona raise their hands eagerly. After receiving the papers, they are quick to hover over them, effectively ignoring the rest of the council.

Skylar rubs her forehead and sighs. “That’s great and all, but finding the supplies for this is going to be our most important issue. We don’t exactly have governmental funding to rely on.”

“What?” Slate points at her, eyebrows raised nearly into her hairline. “Aren’t you a Schnee?”

Interesting, how this is the first time anyone has brought up the fact that she is a Schnee in relation to money problems. Usually they just curse her name and hate that she exists in general.

“I was disinherited from all company funds when I joined the military. The only thing that I can claim is my specialist pay, which isn’t insignificant, I suppose. Not that it matters, as Vacuo has no local branch of ATC.” Thinking of her bank account -which is hers and hers alone, and therefore free from her father’s petty attempts at controlling her- she remembers another detail and huffs. “Not that any of that matters, as the only access to my account information is on my personal scroll, which is currently in Robyn Hill’s possession. The only lien I can claim at the moment is my emergency stash.”

There is a short moment where the council all swings their heads to stare at her in various levels of surprise, before there is an outburst of questions. The Mantle reps, in particular, shower her with questions and demands, and she feels a headache building behind her eyes. Apparently Robyn Hill doesn’t even have to be here to give her trouble, for dust’s sake.

“Enough!” she declares loudly. “Hill has my scroll because I needed her, Qrow Branwen, and Marrow Amin to bypass security and ambush the other ace-ops in the hangar in order to prevent them from bombing Mantle on Ironwood’s orders while we were in the midst of evacuation.”

The fate of those three is something she thinks of every so often. Robyn is one of the top graduates of the academy, Marrow made it to ace-ops for a reason, and Qrow is...Qrow. She knows they managed to make it out. She had hoped that they would have arrived in Vacuo by now, but isn’t surprised that they haven’t. Argus -which she hopes they were smart enough to escape to- will be in bad shape without Atlas. The city was already taking on the burden of covering grimm extermination missions for most of Anima before she returned to Atlas; a situation that hadn’t improved over time, if she recalls Cordovin’s last reports correctly.

With Ruby’s CCT transmission, she doesn’t doubt that the rest of Remnant is experiencing heightened turmoil and fear, which will attract more grimm than the world has seen since the end of the great war. The trip to Vacuo will not be an easy one even for three highly capable fighters.

“You gave two escaped criminals and an ace-op your scroll, so they could...attack the other ace-ops.” Skylar takes a deep breath through her nose, puts her hands together and rests them on her lips, and releases her breath slowly. “That...is treason.”

She doesn’t roll her eyes, but it’s a close thing. Does Skylar think she’s an idiot? “I’m aware of the definition of treason, Duclos.”

“Huh.” Pico taps his chin in thought. “Ironwood still planned to bomb the city...which means he expected to succeed in...whatever his plan was. Yet nearly the entire military was suddenly given orders to guard the shelters in Atlas. The non-mechanical soldiers were, anyway. Awfully convenient that portals appeared in said shelters, allowing most of the army to escape with the citizens.”

(“I chased a lot of shadows over the years, always expecting betrayal...but never once did I ever think it would come from you.”)

His implication of her past actions hangs over the council like a physical weight. She can still see the disappointment and betrayal (the grief) in Ironwood’s eyes before he accepted that she would be yet another sacrifice that would have to be made for Atlas’ survival. He hadn’t even known that she had turned the shadows against him and evacuated most of the military behind his back. Would he have cared? Would he have been satisfied with rising on Atlas alone, the world safe from certain destruction in his mind, yet doomed to a slow destruction in reality?

Once, she would have known the answer to that question.

But Ironwood had left her with no choice, and, in the end, the only people she could turn to were the ones she had pushed away or been pulled away from. People who answered her call to help without question-people who trusted her. She wouldn’t believe it herself, if she hadn’t lived through it.

(“So you’re not just defecting, you’re starting a full on mutiny. You sure don’t do things by halves, do you?”)

Recalling Robyn Hill’s surprised reaction, she smirks. “When I commit treason, Morales, I’m not going to half-ass it.”

The only person who has a response to that is Slate. “You people are a mess. Now back to this information.”

~

May has been glaring at her for five minutes.

While not unusual -May’s temper has always been terrible, if she remembers their few interactions as children right- their quick meeting had ended thirty seconds ago, yet she’s still standing at her table.

“Was there anything else you needed to cover, Marigold?”

May crosses her arms. “You said that you were with Robyn, before the. The evacuation.”

Robyn? Oh. Right. She supposes Robyn’s team would want to know more about what happened. “Yes. She had already escaped from jail with Qrow when we ran across each other.”

“...Was she”-she shifts uncomfortably, as if speaking is physically painful-”alright?”

She frowns. Had any of them been alright in that situation? Robyn had been a little annoying to deal with, but for no reason other than that horrendous nickname that she insisted on using. She hadn’t appeared injured, or panicked. Serious, as the situation warranted, but eager to help with the plan to stop the bomb. Too eager, maybe. No. Not eager. Too trusting.

(“Trust...has to be earned, and I would say you’re more than earning it, Snowflake.”)

Lifting her hand, the one she had offered to Robyn in a bid to gain some measure of trust between them, she stares at it and thinks back on the interaction. From what little she had seen before that moment, Robyn never hesitated to use her semblance; in fact, she often insisted on using it.

Yet her offered hand hadn’t been taken.

Somehow, that felt like a more significant marker of trust than if it had.

She shakes herself out of the recollection when May’s fidgeting becomes obvious. “She was perfectly fine, and she was with Qrow and Marrow. I have faith that they made it out of the city before it fell.” She sniffs. “Maybe she can use the trip between Solitas and Vacuo to learn how to use my name.”

No, she isn’t still offended at being called Snowflake. That’s almost worse than Ice Eyes. But she supposes it’s better than Ice Queen. ...If anything, it gets points for not having “ice” in it.

“Oh?” May smirks and puts her hands on the table, leaning forward. “Gave you a nickname, did she?”

“No.”

“Liar! What was it?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“It must have been bad if you’re so defensive.”

“Well it was better than Crystal Queen!”

The way May blinks, then jerks back as recognition dawns on her face just before it turns cherry red is something she relishes. “I. That. I was drunk!”

“Off one glass of wine.”

“Whatever, Schnee!”

She waits until May has her back turned before sighing in relief. Mortifying as it had been to be hit on by the drunken Marigold heir when she was fourteen, she’s glad that the incident serves some purpose in her life.

(“Hey, Snowflake.”

She automatically cringes at the nickname. She debates ignoring the call, but forces herself to turn back. Robyn Hill is lingering at the hallway corner, grinning in a way that makes her regret not walking away. “What?”

“Don’t you get yourself killed before our date, alright?”

“Leave! Now!”

With a wink, a laugh, and a parting comment that she’ll see her on the other side, she does.)

~

Sitting on the crate that serves as the “command” table’s chair, she holds her fist to her mouth, deep in thought. “The locals have started waving at me.”

Meili nods without looking up from his map. “You gave us permission to chase off troublemakers, and have scared off more than a few on your own. The refugees that have taken over the nearby buildings appreciate the sense of safety, but it means we’re technically a gang now. We have a name and everything.”

She blinks.

Blinks again.

Drops her hand.

“...I’m sorry?”

“The Red Beowolves! Wolves, for short. It’s great.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” The scarves aren’t even red; they’re scarlet.

“Nope. The police don’t patrol out here anymore because they’re scared of us. I’ve been thinking that we’ll have to pick up the slack there.”

A gang. She turned the shadows into a gang. Why is it that every choice she makes in Vacuo has such strange and unwelcome consequences? “...I’ll see what I can do. The Beacon Brigade may be open to assisting with patrols.”

~

I will explode

You’ll see me rise

You may not even

Recognize

I just can’t wait for this reveal

“Penny?”

Exploring!

Now I’ve opened up a door

Finding so much more in me

When I look inside I’m liking what I see

“Penny!”

The blaring music abruptly stops. Penny, who had been sprawled out on the examination table in the corner of the room, hops to her feet with her typical exuberance and waves with far more force than necessary. “Salutations, Winter!”

“...I see your study of music continues.” She tries to remain stern, but it’s difficult when Penny starts literally vibrating in excitement. And, well, the current music is better than the death metal trash that was the subject of Penny’s interest a few days ago.

“There is so much music available in Remnant. And so many different types, with so many different emotions! People have so many emotions.” Penny stares off into the distance, mind wandering on what she knows from experience is a train of thought that will quickly derail into an utterly unrelated subject.

“Understanding the emotions we feel is not an easy thing to do, hence the large variety of music,” she says with a wry smile. “That is something that is true no matter how old you are.”

The grin Penny gives her is almost blinding in its radiance. She knows how insecure Penny can get over the fact that her body is synthetic, and little affirmations that her various confusions are normal and human mean the world to her.

“Why don’t we take the long way to the training center today? I could do with a walk.”)

I looked in the mirror

And I gotta say

It’s been a long long time

Since I felt this way

“Ugh. Penny. Too loud.” She shakes her head and rubs her face. It’s strangely hot out, and she’s sweating enough that she almost thinks that she just finished running a marathon. Opening her eyes, she looks for Penny, intent on reminding her that humans cannot listen to music at high volumes and sleep soundly, and finds...the desert.

Her mind struggles to differentiate between reality and dream.

(Right now)

Vacuo, not Atlas.

I’m just a bit surprised

Rufus and Joanna, not Penny.

(Cuz I feel just fine)

A lopsided table in the desert, not an examination table.

And I might just touch the sky

Atlas falling.

(“Salutations! You made it!”)

Penny, smiling.

(“It seemed fitting that it should be you. It was your power, after all.”)

Penny, fading away, becoming a part of her.

(“You were my friend.”)

Penny’s body, surrounded by Penny’s blood.

The world and her stomach spins. She can’t stop seeing Penny, lying in a pool of red, human blood. There are too many people around her, too many in sight, too many watching her. She can’t breathe, has to get away.

She isn’t aware of stumbling away from the refugee command table -how had she fallen asleep there of all places?- summoning a manticore or flying out to the desert.

(“Are you okay?”

“My personal feelings don’t matter.” “It should matter.”

“What are you doing? My life doesn’t matter!” “I disagree.”

“I was just the machine. Just following orders.” “You were my friend.”)

She isn’t aware of anything but her memories of Penny, of her friend, until her manticore dissolves beneath her. Far out in the desert, there’s nothing but the sand and the sky to watch her fall to her knees and scream.

~

Meili:

I need a fight

     Thought you’d never ask

~

The rules are simple: no weapons, no dust, no semblances. Just old fashioned punching and kicking. First one to break the rules or stop moving loses.

The shadow’s way of handling stress is not sane, or healthy by any measure, but sane or healthy people aren’t the type to become shadows.

She walks through the less crowded back streets of Vacuo, rolling her shoulders and rubbing her neck. She’s sore, and bruised, but for the first time since she arrived, she feels like she’s only a few steps away from a breakdown, rather than standing on the razor thin edge of one. A good long fight with Meili, followed by eighteen hours of dreamless sleep, has done wonders for her mood.

“SCHNEE!”

And there goes her good -relatively speaking, as having no emotions is hardly better than drowning in despair- mood.

People in the area stop at the shout. Her last name, unfortunately, is not one that people tend to ignore. She isn’t noticed immediately; Cornel draws most of the attention, and nothing about her current outfit screams “Winter Schnee, former heiress of the Schnee Dust Company.” The man is a mess. His uniform is half gone, what’s left is stained, to call his long hair a rat nest would be an insult to rat nests, and he is swaying on his feet.

She doesn’t need to be near him to know he’s drunk, despite it being just past dawn; her mother has spent most of the last decade or so swaying in the same manner.

Sighing, she takes note of how the crowd is quickly moving to the side of the street, leaving the space between her and Cornel empty. They aren’t leaving, however, and there are several flashes of scrolls being pulled out to record the altercation. It’s annoying, but nothing to worry about.

And then Cornel pulls out a gun and aims it at her.

Several people gasp, but not a single person, she notes disdainfully, tries to escape.

“You’re going to pay, bitch!”

His gun cocks, but she’s already on the move. It’s a simple matter to twist the gun out of his hand (breaking his finger), then, because she really doesn’t want to deal with his ranting, grabs his wrist and throws him over her shoulder with enough strength to break his aura and knock him out. And possibly break something else. That crack hadn’t sounded painless.

“Firing a weapon with this many bystanders. What is wrong with you? I can’t believe they promoted you to command,” she rants to herself while she checks him over for weapons.

Two more guns and several cartridges of dust are found and taken. Clearly, he can’t be trusted with weapons. The refugee patrols will put them to better use.

She doesn’t bother calling out for someone to help him before walking away. Her patience is at its limit, and there are plenty of people recording. Someone will help him. Probably. She doesn’t really care.

~

“Hey, Schnee. Did you kick Cornel’s ass and steal his money last night?”

“No, Morales. I did not. I relieved him of his guns and dust, not his money.”

“Soooo do you think he’ll try to attack you again?”

“I don’t need guards.”

“Obviously. I just want to see it with my own eyes this time. I can’t believe I missed that! Always hated that guy.”

“I forbid you from following me around the city.”

“Oh, come on. Maybe I just want to know where your super secret shadow hideout is.”

“How do you know about that? And it’s not a secret.”

“Then where is it?”

“No.”

~

It’s dark when she makes it back to the city. Another herd of grimm had been spotted by long range patrols; too close to the mines for comfort, and large enough that she had to really put her maiden powers to use. It’s still foreign, the power, but it feels more...settled now. She’s grateful to no longer have that feeling of power trying to crawl out of her skin; it leaves her with more energy to overthink about all of her other issues. Of which there is no end.

The streets are still crowded; the night is young and it’s a weekend. She pulls her hood over her head and weaves her way through the streets. More than a few groups in the city proper recognize her cape thanks to that altercation with Cornel, but they keep the jeering to a minimum and give her a wide berth.

When she gets to Wolves territory, the reaction to her presence is much warmer. She still isn’t sure how to feel about the whole “gang” issue, but their district is safer than most. That’s all that really matters, she supposes.

“Perfect timing,” Meili greets when she walks into the warehouse. “You have visitors.”

Oscar, Ren, and Nora jump off the crates they had been sitting on and fidget nervously. Ren and Nora, she understands; she hasn’t seen them since she stormed out of Theodore’s office that first night. Oscar, however, has been a somewhat frequent visitor, as he tags along with team CFVY when they stop by to pick up messages from Will, deliver goods, or talk to Meili about the small crab meat business that some of her scouts have accidentally started.

Oscar is the one to speak first. “Hey, Winter?”

“Oscar. Ren, Nora. Is something wrong?”

His twitching increases, and he can barely look her in the eye, but she lets him gather his courage. “I. We.” He takes a deep breath. “We don’t think the others are dead!”

What?

“We’ve been doing some research into the other worlds, not that there’s a lot of information on them since it’s mostly just stories and fairytales, but Oz thinks that they aren’t dead but lost in the worlds that exist outside remnant where he once met the God of Light and where the relics are kept because that’s where we specified the-”

“Stop.”

He obeys, gasping from his rushed explanation.

“How long have you been working on this?”

Ren steps forward to answer, letting Oscar catch his breath. “Since just before Emerald left.”

So. Weeks. They’ve been working on this for weeks.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but-”

“Oz strongly suggested you not tell me, didn’t he?” she interrupts calmly.

She isn’t calm. Or maybe she is. She doesn’t really know how to feel, having such a thin string of hope being dangled in front of her.

But the kids are looking away, afraid of her reaction.

“He was right.” It takes a lot of strength to admit that, and she wouldn’t have been capable of admitting it even a week ago. She’s not fine, not by a long shot, but she’s at least at the point where she can acknowledge her current lack of emotional stability. “I wouldn’t have taken it well, then. I can’t say that I appreciate the knowledge now. Hope can be the most powerful, and most destructive, force in the world.”

“...He said that, too.”

They talk some more, speaking of the logic behind their suspicions, sharing the little knowledge they have. There isn’t much, and the topic eventually shifts to the refugees. When they leave, Ren lingers just behind them; his expression during the whole visit has vacillated between concern and fear. She recalls how he so confidently identified her emotions -and those of the ace-ops- on the airship, back when they were flying towards Salem’s monster. The urge to ask him what he senses about her emotional state comes and goes, as does his moment of hesitation, and he follows after his friends without looking back. Ren is a quiet young man, and he is smart enough to know that he cannot help her with this pain.

“Need a fight?”

“...Yes.”

Perhaps it’s because she’s a coward. Perhaps it’s because there is more of her mother in her than she will ever admit. Perhaps it’s because she just doesn’t have the strength to hope anymore.

But in between punches and kicks, she files away that knowledge that Weiss may be alive in some strange world, because does it even matter, if she has no way to reach her? Her job right now is to protect as many refugees as she can, no matter what.

(Now if there were a way to reach her, she would travel to the end of any and every world needed to bring her sister back.)

~

She stares at her reflection in the scroll, and can’t be sure who she’s looking at. Literally and figuratively.

“You let those ravagers get way too close, Boss.” Charrie, the shadow who had forcefully volunteered to cut her hair, brushes her neck with a towel. It’s a nice gesture, if pointless. Only a shower can wash off all this hair, and water is in too short supply to waste on that sort of luxury.

Sighing, she tugs at her barely-shoulder length hair; yet another thing of Old Winter that she has cut away. “I’m just grateful it was my hair and not my hood that they sliced through.”

“...Or your neck.”

She doesn’t know if she wants to disagree or agree with that statement, and the irony of being scolded for recklessness by a shadow of all people doesn’t escape her either. Shaking her head and marveling at how light it feels, she pushes the scroll away and tries not to think about how she first thought that she was staring at a picture of her grandfather.

“Be a little more careful when you’re out there, ay? Dust knows none of us want to deal with that council of yours if you end up biting it.”

“Hmph. Noted.”

~

Three weeks after Slate’s initial visit to the council, the first group of refugees is ready to leave for the mine. The entire week leading up to it is hectic, to say the least. Slate’s information saved them time, but operations of this magnitude are never without their problems.

It doesn’t help that she spent five days of those three weeks gone or...incapacitated.

Rufus and Joanna are strangely subdued around her. She’s certain they think her weak for her breakdown, and has been bracing herself for the inevitable round of questions or accusations of incompetence.

They never come.

Somehow, that’s worse.

May, in particular, has never been shy about complaining about her absences, with Skylar not far behind-if quieter about it. But neither of them say a word about her repeated disappearances.

The council meeting to prepare for the first round of evacuations is tense-on her part, as the unnatural lack of reprimands from the council have left her on edge. Despite the serious amount of constraints that they have to operate under, everything has fallen together, and the only thing they have left to do is send off the refugees tomorrow.

“Grimm activity has remained steady for the last three weeks. It’s not promising, but it’s better than we expected.”

Skylar and Joanna had, at her request, spent the last three weeks keeping track of the number of grimm their patrols encountered. While there was a notable increase of cheer throughout the camp when news of the cleared mine spread, it couldn’t possibly be enough to combat the growing levels of depression and aggression. If the grimm activity increased exponentially, they would have had to send extra guards with the refugees; something they can ill afford.

“There shouldn’t be any problems concerning grimm for the travelers to deal with, then. At least, nothing that their guards can’t handle after they pass out of patrol range. The last message I received from the teams in the mine declared the area free of grimm as well. If all goes well, we will be cleared to send people to the southern mine by next week.”

“And any grimm between here and there, you killed yourself,” Pico adds.

“Yes. The pack I cleared was-” She jerks her head up and stares at him, startled. “How did you know that I-”

“-That you go slaughter entire herds of grimm out in the desert whenever you disappear for a couple days?” he interrupts. He rests his chin on his palm, and his other hand bounces his pencil lightly against the table. “I found your secret shadow hideout.”

“It’s not a secret,” she says automatically.

“Then why didn’t you tell me where it was?”

“Because I sleep there, and I deal with you people enough as it is.”

Pico blinks, then tilts his head. “...Okay, that’s fair. Anyway, Meili was one of my teammates back in the academy, so I asked him about you when I got there. He told me everything. Love your shadow scarves, by the way. Meili was always big on things like that, even though he hates actually working with a team.”

That’s it. She’s going to kill Meili.

The conversation should end there. She wants it to end there. But the silence is suffocating, and all of them are staring at her for some reason and she hates it.

She growls and crosses her arms defensively. “What?” she demands.

Skylar, of all people, is the one to clear her throat. “Don’t you think you’re...doing too much?”

At first, she can barely comprehend the words. Then, they sink in, and she forgets that her entire plan from the beginning of this mess was to have the council eventually send her off, that she wants them to question her, doubt her, declare her presence unnecessary.

Because, too much?

Too much?

“Too much what?” she snarls and slams her hands on the table. “Protecting people? Helping people? I am doing what needs to be done!”

“We’re not saying that you aren’t!” Fiona snaps back. And only because it’s Fiona does she bite back another angry retort. It isn’t as though the woman can’t take it -she has a bit of a temper herself- but it would feel wrong. “But it’s dangerous for you to keep going like this. You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Every last drop of anger dissolves into a gooey puddle of confusion. She falls back into her chair and stares at the faunus. She almost laughs, because it’s clearly a joke. “I. What? What does that matter, so long as the job gets done?”

Skylar, Rufus, and Joanna all cover their eyes with a hand and sigh loudly.

“Do you seriously have a death wish or something?” May asks incredulously.

She snorts. “Wouldn’t you be happy if I did.”

May has nothing to say to that; the entire council has been subject to her derisive comments about how Atlas got what it deserved, and that the entire military should have gone down with it. While such comments have been absent of late, the effect they had on the council’s cohesiveness is still very much present.

“If we’re done with this unnecessary line of questioning,” she says when the silence begins turning uncomfortable again, “I would like to finish this meeting and continue on to something productive.”

~

The council lingers after the meeting ends; all except for Winter, of course, who they have noticed is on the constant hunt for work to do.

“I told you she wouldn’t take it well,” Rufus says, breaking the awkward silence that tends to build between the council when Winter isn’t there to demand their attention. “The most basic requirement for a shadow is to lack any sort of self-preservation instinct.”

There is a round of sighs. None of them know quite what to do about Winter Schnee, who has alternately been their worst nightmare and savior. They had all assumed that her early attitude of lashing out at people who questioned her and threatening them all into submission with constant reminders of her strange new power was simply arrogance. Being the highest rank special operative at such a young age, and a Schnee, it was almost a given that she would try and take control. They had hated her and hated each other, sticking it out because someone had to.

But then the council settled -thank the brothers that she ran off Cornel and all the other idiots- and her temper tantrums all but disappeared overnight. She was still demanding, still quick to call them out for wasting time, but the tone of it was entirely different. Every time tensions between the divided council members threatened to derail meetings, she cut off the argument, declared how the current problem was going to be solved, and forced them to move along to the next subject. Yet if someone later suggested changes to her decisions, she almost always listened to them, and didn’t hesitate to incorporate better alternatives.

Heavy handed it may have been, but it worked, and had it not been for her, the council would have still been squabbling over who had the right to be on it. The problem now is that they’re only just realizing the extent of Winter’s plans and operations, and none of them are entirely certain how to get her to trust them enough to help shoulder the burden of the insane amount of work she has taken upon herself. Here they had been concerned with just surviving in Vacuo; meanwhile, Winter was making moves to find homes for the refugees all across Sanus.

And only recently have they begun to realize the toll it’s taking on Winter. The hair trigger temper, the constant use of violence (or the threat of it), the loss of focus when her sister is mentioned, the panic attack; they’re all the most basic signs of trauma, and every last one of the councilors had failed to clock it until the woman nearly fell apart at the command table.

(Rufus and Joanna never told the others what exactly happened that day, never speak of the sheer level of loss and pain they saw on Winter’s face as she slowly woke from her dream. It’s too personal, and there are some lines that just shouldn’t be crossed.)

Shameful as it is to admit it, even if they had noticed sooner, they wouldn’t have cared enough to try and do something about it. Everyone had lost something with the fall of Atlas; grief was just another fact of life.

“I vote we let Thyme handle it.”

“What?! Why me?”

“She never yells at you.”

“Seconded.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Better than me.”

“No no no, I’m sure that she. She. ...Crap.”

“You’ve got this, Fi. She clearly has a weakness for small, cute things.”

“Like that Scarlatina girl.”

“And that faunus boy she kidnapped.”

“Oscar, too.”

“I hate you. All of you.”

~

“...Did you need something?”

Fiona, who has been standing stiffly in front of the “central command” table for nearly a minute, waiting for her to finish settling an argument between two patrol captains, twitches. “Uh, I. That is.” She takes a deep breath. “Wewanttheinformationonyourlongrangepatrols.”

She blinks, tries to parse the sentence, and fails. “...Say that again?”

It takes a few breaths and visibly steeling herself, but Fiona repeats herself. Coherently, this time. “We want the information on your shadow’s long distance patrols, so we can adjust our own accordingly, and possibly set up a better system. It would help if we can also take over assigning academy students to work with patrols, since we’re changing so much of the system to account for those who have left with the refugees.”

The strange conversation from a few days ago crosses her mind, but honestly she’s buried in so much paperwork that she’s starting to run out of room on her table. Fiona’s arguments are sound, anyway; that they take a good portion of work off her shoulders is probably a secondary concern.

“Very well.” She digs around her piles of work and finds the folder that contains the dossiers of the academy students and teams. They’ve been incorporated into the patrols around the Wolves district, so she keeps that one on hand. “Meili carries the patrol information for the shadows and students both. Send Morales to get it, since he went through all the trouble of finding the damn building.”

Work handed over, she returns to pouring over the information concerning Feldspar and Gossan, provided by Slate. The team that cleared the second mine will be moving on to one of the border towns just past the desert, but the first mine team should have already arrived at Feldspar. Having that auxiliary tower repaired will grant them communications with the second mine once the technicians finish repairing the short range comm towers that her grandfather had installed. If they can get Gossan’s tower back and upgraded, both mines will be in range of communications, making their task of protecting and moving refugees thousands of times easier.

Things are finally moving along, and with every shelter cleared, and every refugee caravan created, she feels a tiny bit of tension slip off her shoulders. She doesn’t know if she’s making the right decisions, and certainly doesn’t know if this will succeed, but she’s trying, and, in the end, that’s all she has ever been able to do; try, try, and try again, returning for a beating and letting her failures pile on her shoulders.

Just like a true shadow.

Chapter Text

"My feelings alone advance on, yet it seems unlikely that my ideals can catch up the distance
Blindfolded in the darkness, I earnestly go ahead at random

But still, when I'm running alone, it feels like I'm advancing towards my dreams
Sometimes water will spill from my eyes, but I feel like I'm happy with that too"

Praying Run-Uverworld

There are grimm in Vale.

There are grimm everywhere, technically, but there are grimm in Vale when they arrive in the early evening. Sirens, fires, explosions of dust on the city edges; the whole damn circus. It’s like they never left Argus.

Vio sums up their feelings with a succinct, “Well. Shit.”

Redde swerves the ship and hits the button to open the cabin door. “Trick Shot, catch your ride and take Lavi and Cap with you. Take that flock out. The rest of us will head down to the city. They need more help on the ground, from the looks of it.”

She doesn’t have time to question why she gets the honor of helping take out a flock in mid-goddamn-air, which is a terrible place for a sniper; in the distance, a giant nevermore surrounded by a flock of smaller creatures screeches and turns to head straight toward them. The three of them are ready in seconds, and when it gets within range of her crossbow, she gives it a welcoming shock of lightning and jumps.

It’s funny, she thinks as she launches herself from grimm to grimm a dizzying height above Vale, that she once thought that grimm-hopping in the ocean was the worst thing ever. At least she’s getting her money’s worth out of the grappling gun.

Er, Winter’s money. Whatever.

Clinging to the back of a falling and fading nevermore by way of a knife (also unknowingly provided by Winter) stabbed into it, she tosses out an entire bag of dust, takes aim, and shoots. The dozen ravagers that are chasing after her are fried in an instant, leaving the skies in the immediate vicinity grimm free. There’s no time to celebrate, or mourn the amount of dust that maneuver used up -dust is expensive these days- not with the ground coming up fast, and the nevermore dying faster than she needs.

She hits the ground with a roll and comes up shooting.

FIghting in a large-scale battle like this is harder than fighting with a single squad or alone. Keeping track of enemies and allies becomes difficult as the sun drops, and there is zero coordination between most huntsmen. She ends up having to fall back to support the assault types; after several weeks of shadow boot camp, it’s weird not being up close and personal with the grimm for half the battle. If she took a shot of liquor for every opening she spotted that another huntsman misses, or every opening she created that another huntsman misses, she would have been knocked out cold from alcohol poisoning thirty minutes into the fight.

Night has long fallen by the time the grimm are cleared. The local huntsmen move into clean-up mode with the same efficiency that the Argus forces do, if more wearily; obviously, Vale is no stranger to large grimm attacks. The attack that was televised before the CCT went down was seared into the memory of all of Remnant’s citizens, and the widespread destruction and reconstruction proves that the attacks haven’t stopped.

At some point during the clean-up, Qrow sends a message to the group chat with a location and time. Glynda Goodwitch, he says, will meet with them after the city is secured. She almost doesn’t go, almost finds herself a hotel room and calls it a night, but for however much she is practically a shadow for the time being, she still feels some camaraderie with Qrow and Marrow. The other ace-ops are still wild cards in her opinion, but that’s just because she has hardly spent any time with them.

As is becoming routine, she’s the last one to arrive at the office building. She waves her bandaged arm (a beowolf had landed a solid hit in its death throes) and says, “Sorry. Took forever to get this taken care of.”

It doesn’t escape her notice that she is by far the dirtiest and most wounded person there, but they hadn’t jumped ship onto a nevermore, and the shadow’s habits of dancing on the edge of death by way of rolling around in the dirt and collecting wounds like trophies have started to rub off on her. The amount of clothes she went through during her stay in Argus would have made her cry if she’d been using her own money to pay for it all. Ace-ops, the shining stars of the special operatives, are too clean for that sort of fighting.

Oh. Oh. That’s why the shadows call them shinies. Heh.

Introductions are a little awkward. That’s fine. It’s still less awkward than being cell mates with Jacques Schnee and Arthur Watts.

Glynda Goodwitch's expression turns increasingly darker as she listens to Qrow explain what happened in Mantle and Atlas. There’s other things: relief that Ozpin’s reincarnation (that’s a topic she refuses to think about) found him, pride for team RWBY and the others, surprise that Penny was rebuilt (that Penny was revived, not rebuilt, because she is just as human as anyone else), shock over Ironwood’s choices, disbelief that Winter helped them. The story is more personal to Glynda than it was for Cordovin or the shadows; Glynda was friends with Ironwood, if her mournful “oh, James” was any indication.

“We...don’t really know what happened with Ruby and the others. Our fight took longer than expected, and we lost contact with everyone before we could confirm the evacuation status,” Qrow admits, sinking lower into the chair in exhaustion. Mohawk and Hammer shift awkwardly. As they should. “Last we heard, Ironwood was in custody and Winter was moving to guard the vault, but there was no word on whether or not the portals had been created.”

Glynda’s shoulders sink, finally showing how heavily the weight of having to protect an entire city for two years while knowing that ultimate evil was lurking in the shadows and waiting to strike again weighs on her soul. It’s not pretty, but damned if she isn’t in awe of Glynda Goodwitch right now for knowing all that she does and still fighting, still daring to hope.

“We don’t have any airships to send, however, I can see about gathering supplies. Vacuo is not kind to its citizens at the best of times, and I’m afraid that Theodore will be...ill-prepared for this situation,” Glynda says, carefully avoiding overly negative comments about Shade Academy’s headmaster.

“SDC has a big presence here, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t they have access to plenty of supplies, what with all the subsidiary brands Snake-er, Jacques bought out?”

Everyone stares at her. Qrow suspiciously, the rest in confusion.

“Yes,” Glynda answers slowly, “but they have been less than forthcoming with their supplies and assistance. I doubt that will change anytime soon.”

“Hm. I’ll see about that.”

Qrow shakes his head in disbelief. “Just because you charmed Winter doesn’t mean you can charm the local SDC grunts into ignoring their precious rules and giving away anything that they can sell for a profit.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” she says with a shrug, as if she isn’t actually planning on seeing if her new status as Winter’s legal wife can get her access to more than her personal bank account. “...You really think Winter was charmed?”

He groans. Loudly.

Marrow, on the other hand, gives her two thumbs up, proving himself to be her favorite ace-op once again.

~

Vale is a nice city. She had visited once, for a Vytal Tournament, and had promised herself that she would return again for a proper vacation. It was similar to Argus, minus the trolleys, offensive amount of steep hills, and snow. The ocean view from the top of the SDC building in particular is something that she enjoys.

Or she would enjoy it. Under normal circumstances.

“Well. These documents appear real…”

She scowls. Charm had gone out the window after the first half hour of waiting, and the subsequent run around by the SDC employees only worsened her mood. Eventually, she had adopted a semi-passable Winter impersonation that she hoped would scare people into actually doing their job. And keep them from questioning her lie -is it a lie if it is, by all rights, legally binding?- too closely, but mostly because she is tired and irritated and sore and would like to go back to sleep. “Yes, they are real. As I have said a dozen times in the last two hours.”

The manager of the Vale SDC office flinches now that she has proven her status as Winter’s wife -and therefore can make his life very difficult with ease- though he does his best to hide it. “You have to understand, we get many people trying to claim SDC property-”

“And how many do so by pretending to be Winter Schnee’s spouse?” she interrupts smoothly. She kind of wants to know, because who would be that stupid?

Herself not included, obviously. She actually knows Winter so it doesn’t count. And she’s not pretending either. Sort of.

“Er, none, but-”

“I am not asking to take any SDC funds or property that Winter herself is not entitled to, which I am obviously aware will be a limited amount, due to her father’s...displeasure over her career choices.”

“That’s. I can’t.”

“Then find me someone who can.”

The office and woman she is eventually led to are far warmer than the disgusting little toadie that runs the SDC corporate accounts. Dennie, as she introduces herself, gets to business without any of the fuss that Toadie made, and even offers her coffee. The woman deserves a pay raise, in her opinion. Does she have the power to make that happen? She’ll have to look into that.

As May (and every newspaper in Atlas and Vacuo) had shared long ago, Winter was disinherited from all Schnee Dust Company assets, but those assets did not, she learned, include those that were owned by the Schnee family. Nicholas Schnee, the legend himself, left quite a few personal accounts active in all the major kingdoms. As a huntsman and frequent traveler before SDC was officially founded, many of the older accounts were linked to the company for convenience, but could not be controlled by it.

And Winter, it turns out, is the legal owner of everything that belonged to Nicholas Schnee personally.

“As many of the late Nicholas Schnee’s accounts are locally based only, they would not have been included in company account summaries. I highly doubt she is aware of their existence,” Dennie explains as she clicks through file after file with lightning speed. “The total amount you can draw out as Miss Winter’s spouse is half, but unless you have certain codes, only a quarter will be available now. These accounts are quite old, and were never fully integrated into the system, so accessing them will be a hassle. According to our records, there is a smaller account in Argus that was active before the CCT went down.”

Considering she went into this expecting to be sent running, even a quarter is better than nothing. “For all the effort it took us to get out of Argus, I’m willing to settle for a quarter. Winter can decide what she wants to do with the rest later.”

If there is a later.

Dennie hands her the summary of the Vale and Argus accounts and continues her explanation. “For future reference, then, the Argus office should have the codes on record that will open the other quarter of the Vale account.”

“...Ah.”

That is a lot of zeroes.

~

Shinies and Crow

I need to go back to Argus. Be back in a few days

     ...several people are typing

~

Arriving in Argus the second time thankfully involves less grimm, less crashing, and flying in style; a perk of being a Schnee is being given a private airship, because rich people.

Granted, enduring a crash course lecture on how to act like a rich person and what the people running the local branch of SDC will expect from her is almost worse than exploding a ship.

“Is all this really necessary? The clothes and hired car?” she asks Vahn after they escape the tailor and her needles.

“Yup! The Argus branch of the SDC is way stuffier than the Vale branch. You can’t just waltz in looking like a huntress dragged off the street. If you’re going to be a Schnee, you have to look the part.”

“Looking the part” apparently required shopping in the kind of store that had no price tags and scorned the very existence of dirt. Vahn -the shadow recommended by Redde to serve as her tour guide in Argus- had acquired and changed into clothes more befitting an elite family servant while she investigated the small condo that the Schnees owned. His parents had been servants to an Atlesian elite family, and he knew how to act the part. The shopkeepers would expect him to do the talking, he had said, and all she needed to do was look bored and vaguely displeased.

Finding a tailor that could have a proper outfit ready within a few days, getting fitted, and cleaning the condo enough that they won’t choke on dust in their sleep takes the entire day of their arrival. Both of them end up sleeping in, but as they have nowhere to be until her outfit is ready, they have no shame in taking advantage of the time to rest.

Inevitably, they wind up snooping around the condo, but it quickly becomes obvious that it was bought mainly as a status symbol. There are few personal belongings, and no evidence that it has ever been lived in. The only item of interest she finds is an old picture of a young Winter and Weiss; the former standing tall and looking every inch the heiress of the SDC except for the teasing smile directed at her sister, and the latter staring up at Winter with an expression that screams “hero-worship.”

She pockets the picture without a second thought. It’s too cute to leave in a dusty old condo where no one can see it.

~

“You clean up nice, Trick Shot.”

She adjusts the vest out of habit and not necessity; the insanely expensive outfit is tailored so well that she almost doesn’t regret the price tag.

The outfit is, for the most part, rather simple: slate grey pleated suit pants, a double breasted vest, and a currant red (which she assumes is a pretentious way of saying dark red) long-sleeved button-up dress shirt. The shopkeeper had insisted on throwing in a white handkerchief for a color accent, but she had chosen a bright blue similar to Winter’s eyes. After her various spats with the Atlas military and the...everything that happened with Jacques Schnee, she has decided to cut white out of her wardrobe for the rest of her life.

Running a hand through her loose hair, she sighs and says, “Let’s just get this over with.”

~

“Not a word, Birdman.”

Qrow holds up his hands and keeps his comments about her outfit to himself, but that doesn’t stop him from sniggering. They had booked it out of Argus the moment they got a hold of the money, not even bothering to change or eat on the way out. From a distance, anyone would think they are a rich woman and her servant meeting hired guards upon arrival. Redde and Lavi hide their amusement better; they had gotten their laughs out when she asked for an Argus tour guide and admitted that she was getting her hands on SDC money because she illegally made herself Winter’s wife.

“Mission accomplished?” Redde asks, falling into step next to her.

“Of course. Vahn bullied half the SDC into getting us a meeting, and I bullied the rest into doing what we wanted.”

It had taken an entire day to deal with the SDC’s bullshit. The amount of waiting, explaining, waiting, demanding, and waiting she had to do was enough to drive anyone insane. Unfortunately, now she has to go back and deal with Vale SDC again.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“So you really convinced them that you’re doing this on Winter’s orders, huh? I didn’t know she had that much power over the company, considering, you know.” Qrow doesn’t sound suspicious -amused, but not suspicious- and she has to hold herself back from cringing.

“Technically speaking, the money she has access to isn’t part of SDC’s coffers. They just watch over it. And what normal person wants to argue with Winter Schnee, even from a distance?”

He scoffs. “Fair point.”

The thought of telling him the truth crosses her mind, but she knows he won’t ever let her live it down -not when he already thinks she has a crush on Winter- and it’s a long way to Vacuo from here.

Redde takes over the conversation from there, detailing the supplies that they managed to acquire from the city and Glynda Goodwitch. “Barring any emergencies, we’ll be good to leave once you finish your business with SDC.”

~

They leave two days later, because grimm attack the city again, but as she watches Vale shrink beneath them, she dares to believe that everything will be alright.

Chapter Text

"Keep on praying
Trailblazer
Believe in you
Keep on running

Praying run
Don't give up and stay on your way
Wow wow be strong
Check it out, trust yourself"

Praying Run-Uverworld

The airship is quiet, with all the people aboard dozing through the night. She has Qrow, the ace-ops, Pietro, and Maria (the Grim Reaper) aboard the Schnee airship.

She would bet all of Winter’s money that Redde just didn’t want to deal with the ace-ops himself, and no, she isn’t bitter that the decision leaves her with only one person who can play a decent hand of cards: Maria.

Then a scroll starts beeping.

Qrow, her lazy co-pilot, gives her a curious look as she pulls out Winter’s scroll and opens the Field Op Locator app. That particular app was created by a shadow -the mysterious Myst that she recalls being an absolute monster at the single Vytal Festival they both competed in- and it does what it says on the tin; it sends out and searches for the signals of other shadows when active. Redde had suggested everyone keep their app open, so they would know when they got within comm range of Vacuo, or, barring comms, walkie range of other shadows.

To her surprise, five names are listed that aren’t part of their thirteen. They’re a fair distance away, clustered at what her map declares to be a village.

Vahn

     We’re touching down

     They’re from Vacuo

     They have your mother-in-law

     And news about your wife obviously

Don’t make me regret telling you all about that

     :)

“Something wrong?”

She closes the scroll -making a mental note to tell Vahn that he messages like a teenager- and deactivates the ship’s auto-pilot. “We’re touching down at a village to the southwest. Looks like we found ourselves some stray Schnees.”

The village is located at the edge of the forest; the fields west of the village have more than enough room for the airships, and it is a very tired, very dirty group that is waiting for them. The Schnees aren’t recognizable as such, dressed as they are in tattered traveling clothes more fit for Vacuo than Vale, and sunburnt as hell.

“Elise, report.”

“Why do you have a private SDC airship?” the young white-haired boy that can only be Whitley demands.

He is summarily ignored.

“Hey Redde. You know what happened in Atlas?”

Redde nods and tips his head in her direction. “Trick Shot over there gave us the rundown, yeah.”

The new shadows murmur amongst each other. Clearly, they know she was something of a criminal, and the way they look at Qrow and the ace-ops means that more than a few explanations will be in order. Elise, however, settles for raising her eyebrows and shrugging it off.

“We can’t say much for what’s happening in Vacuo. Boss pulled us together once she drove off the grimm, and we set out the next day.”

When Winter specifically drove off the grimm? What’s that about?

“Were there kids with her?” Qrow blurts out, impatient to hear news of his nieces and their friends. “Her sister, Weiss, and her team?”

The air shifts. Had she not spent weeks working with Redde and the others, she wouldn’t have noticed how Elise and her team freeze just the slightest, shift back a hair, hesitate to speak.

But she does notice, and a chill runs through her spine.

No.

“Weiss.” Willow Schnee closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She is trembling, and Whitley’s fists are clenched. “Weiss and her team...didn’t make it through the portal. Only the two boys in green, the pink girl, and the girl in white.”

The whole team.

The whole dust-cursed team.

She has seen hearts break before, has seen the sort of devastation that can be left in the wake of loss; watching Qrow take in the loss of his nieces, Pietro realise his daughter is truly lost, Maria grieve for the kids that saved her, and the ace-ops learn just what their obedience to Ironwood cost, is the hardest thing she has ever done.

Kids saved Atlas. Kids died for Atlas.

(It’s always the innocents who pay the highest price in war.)

There are no words to fix this, nothing that can make this better, and when Qrow bolts, Pietro and Maria retreat to the ship, Wags storms off, and his teammates follow him, she does nothing. She crosses her arms, holds herself tight to stop her trembling, and fights her own tears.

She doesn’t know the kids personally, but she has seen countless videos and pictures. She knows their voices and dreams of their laughter. She thinks of Weiss, who loved her sister to the point of hero-worship. She thinks of Penny, who only ever wanted to protect people, who went to Winter for advice and reassurance.

She thinks of Winter, who hoarded every picture and every message and every video of the kids because she was stupidly sentimental. Winter, who has been living with the loss of her sisters, because what else could Penny have been, with how much those two clearly cared for each other, while also help bear the weight of an entire kingdom’s future.

“She’s the maiden now, Winter.”

The shadows frown, but she laughs bitterly. The maiden. Winter, the Winter Maiden. A power that could only have been passed to her if she was the last person in Penny’s thoughts. A gift, Qrow called it, with a sneer on his lips and disdain in his eyes. A burden, is what it really is. What a terrible price to pay for such power.

“Penny adored her,” she says mournfully; ‘And Winter cared for her just as fiercely,’ she doesn’t. “Of course she would use her last moments to gift those powers to the strongest woman she knew and loved.”

Willow grimaces at her words; whatever she knows about the maiden powers, it’s clear she doesn’t think of them as a gift either. “We don’t know how the situation in Vacuo is unfolding, but I do know that Winter is sending teams to clear out two mines for the refugees. Once -if- that is accomplished, she will send them out further to the edge of the mountains and forests to establish permanent homes. She had scientists and engineers among the soldiers she called, so I assume she may also be intending to restore CCT towers in Vacuo. Perhaps all of Sanus at some point, as that would be the next logical step, and she has never been one to give less than her full effort toward solving problems.”

Their group is silent as they take in the magnitude of the project that Winter has apparently taken on. That. That is a lot. And this plan was created within a day?

“The military is disbanded, by the way,” Elise adds. “Boss made them switch entirely to volunteer squads. Ahh, the way she yelled at those generics made my month.”

The news of the Atlas military, one of the greatest fighting forces in Remnant, being abruptly dissolved should come as more of a shock, but it barely registers compared to everything else she has learned since walking off the airship twenty minutes ago.

“Eh, not the greatest move for stability, is that?”

“Well there’s no Ironwood to keep the generics in line. They could destabilize the whole damned kingdom with their power struggles, so it’s not really that bad. Rooting the problem out at its source and all.”

“And mobilizing an army on another kingdom’s doorstep is kind of rude, no?”

Redde has his face in his hands, muttering about how he knew Ice Eyes was going to get herself into something ridiculous.

~

Whitley squints at her, suspicious and annoyed. “You’re Robyn Hill.”

“You’re Whitley Schnee,” she says plainly.

“Obviously.”

“Yes, we are stating the obvious.”

He flounders for a bit, clearly unused to being treated like a regular (annoying) child.

Internally, she curses Redde for leaving her “in charge” of getting the civilians fed while the shadows got to talk about the important things. Outwardly, she smiles and takes a bite of a potato wedge. Willow and Klein, the family butler, hide their own smiles.

Normally, she wouldn’t care about being left alone with two Schnees and their butler. Normally, people are her thing.

Normally, she hasn’t spent weeks trying to keep herself from falling apart after witnessing the destruction of her home by throwing herself into dangerous missions.

Normally, she isn’t trying to figure out how best to explain the small fact that she is technically related to them. Through marriage. Which she illegally made happen.

Oh, and being a former political rival to Jacques Schnee is a thing, too, but does anyone actually care about him?

“So I understand Winter sending out shadows across Sanus before anyone can get their bearings, but why exactly did you three tag along?” she asks when it’s clear that Whitley is going to pout rather than try and interrogate her.

“We’re heading to Vale to access the SDC assets left in the city,” Willow answers as she daintily stabs at what the barkeep claimed is a meat pie. “There should be something left that we can use to help the refugees.”

“A few airships.” Without thinking, she pulls out Winter’s scroll. The files that Dennie had so kindly sent to the scroll summarizing the SDC assets are hotlinked to the main screen. “I have the Vale and Argus summaries here, hold on. Dust, for sure, and-”

Klein squints at the scroll and frowns. “Now isn’t that Miss Winter’s scroll?”

How recognizable is this stupid thing!

Willow hums. “How exactly did you acquire those protected files?”

Oh no. No no. This is happening too fast.

“And the airship!” Whitley adds proudly, as if finally vindicated for his initial attempt to interrogate the group.

Okay. Okay, she can handle this. She has faced Ironwood, Clover, and Jacques Schnee. She can handle Willow and Whitley no problem.

“Before we get to that, I have a question. Uh, how mad do you think Winter would be if I, say, found a way to gain access to her bank account and withdrew all the money so that I could deliver it to her in Vacuo?”

Whitley loudly wonders why his sister would be angry over someone bringing her money. Klein continues frowning, and Willow.

Willow crosses her arms and leans forward, a smile tugging at her lips. Such an innocuous gesture and expression should not be so frightening. “The ATC bank account that only a spouse can access in emergencies, you mean?”

It’s clear that Willow knows what’s up, but is going to make her say it anyway because she’s a sadistic monster that enjoys playing with her prey. “Ah, yup. Yeah, that would...be the one.”

“Well, I think, Robyn Schnee, that my daughter will be grateful that you are helping her protect our people.”

~

“How was your “meet the family” dinner?”

“Fuck you, Redde.”

Redde, Lavi, and Vahn snicker into their mugs of locally brewed alcohol while the other shadows lounging about in the abandoned barn look over at them curiously.

She isn’t a big drinker, usually, but she has no problem downing her cup of dubious alcohol. Her ears are still ringing from Whitley’s temper tantrum over her illegal marriage. He had been very set on the fact that she was his father’s former enemy, and also a vigilante, and impudent beyond measure, and clearly a good match for Winter.

It sounded distinctly like an insult, the way he said it.

She chooses to take it as a compliment.

Willow had solemnly welcomed her to the family, and two of Klein’s personalities had given her the shovel talk, and the whole thing had been as awkward as she feared it would be. But it was hard to hold the family’s amusement against them; it was clear that they needed a little bit of fun after spending over a month trudging through the desert. Traveling like that is hard on seasoned adventurers, much less untrained civilians.

“Willow is convinced that Winter intends to get the continent’s CCT up and running. I’m going to talk to Pietro tomorrow and see what it’ll take to help make that happen from our end. ...And then I’ll find Qrow.”

Vahn pours her another drink, then fills her in on the details of what exactly happened to the refugees when they evacuated the kingdom. By the time he gets to the part about Winter flying off to destroy a horrific amount of grimm by herself, she has traded the cup for the bottle.

~

For the first time since she set foot in Argus, she doesn’t fall asleep to the sound of music that Penny has sent to Winter, or Weiss’ singing, or videos of the kids.

~

Pietro is red-eyed and exhausted when she finds him the next morning. She explains the problem, and lets him rant about what they need to do and why. Restoring CCT to Sanus will require upgrading nearly every auxiliary tower on the continent, if they want the network to continue working in the event that a single tower falls. Most of the towers are located in towns, true, but it isn’t a small undertaking by any means. What will truly determine the success of this plan is access to the supplies needed for the upgrades, and, as expected, the money to fund it all.

“Oh, I think we have a solution to that.”

He looks...not happy, exactly -how can he find happiness in anything when his daughter is dead?- but perhaps relieved. “I think...it would be best if I stayed with the Schnee family, in that case. I. I no longer have a reason to go to Vacuo, now that…”

The breath he takes is shuddered, painful, and laden with held-back tears. Pietro Polendina is tired: of loss and of life. This plan of Winter’s is a distraction that he can barely invest himself in, but is doing so because he has always tried to help others. Because Penny only wanted to protect others.

The scroll in her pocket burns.

“When you’re ready,” she says softly, “I have some videos you might like to see.”

~

Qrow is a catatonic mess hiding in the trees not far from the airships. He hasn’t slept, or eaten, but there’s a bottle of alcohol that is identical to the bottle she finished off last night. It’s unopened, but he clutches it like a lifeline.

She has never seen him drink, but something tells her that if he opens it, he will truly lose himself.

“Don’t bother with that stuff. It’s trash,” she tells him, as if she isn’t fighting the urge to rip the bottle out of his hands. She doesn’t think that would end well, however much it will help him. “I brought you food. Something that resembles food, anyway.”

She talks about random subjects for what feels like hours after gently switching the alcohol for the questionable food. Rarely does she let herself lapse into silence, even if she isn’t sure that he is listening to her. Maybe he just needs company. Maybe he really does need silence and solitude. But he doesn’t tell her to leave.

Not that he ever responds to her presence at all.

“I won’t pretend to understand your pain, Qrow, but as much as I hate to say it, there are kids over in Vacuo who do. Kids who have been through too much pain, and too much loss, and don’t have anyone but each other. They can probably use you around through all of this.”

~

Whitley is curled up in the co-pilot’s seat of the Schnee airship reading through the SDC files she sent to his scroll when she wanders over with snacks dug out of the refugee supplies. If she didn’t know any better, she would think that he is a normal Mantle teenager, complete with brooding frown and staunch refusal to look like he’s with his mom.

“Here,” she says, dangling a bag of chips over his head. “It’s not caviar or whatever it is you rich people snack on, but it’s better than mystery meat.”

He glares at her, but doesn’t hesitate to snatch the bag. “Caviar is disgusting.”

“Winter isn’t fond of it either,” Klein says, speaking specifically to her. It appears that the Schnee family isn’t done having fun at her expense, but she’s willing to tolerate it if it means learning more about Winter.

Not because she has a crush.

She’s just curious about the woman who defied everything she was raised to believe in for the sake of protecting all of Atlas and Mantle. It was the right thing to do, obviously, but from Winter’s perspective, it was probably a betrayal of her entire worldview. Unless, of course, some part of her worldview determined that protecting all of Solitas was the most important goal.

“...But I’m certainly willing to try it once more,” Whitley mutters, face twisted in displeasure at the idea of having anything in common with his oldest sister. Does he truly dislike Winter, or is it a typical sibling thing? Her instincts say a mixture of both, but she wouldn’t really know, having no siblings herself.

Leaving the boy to his brooding, she turns back to Willow and Klein. The two have showered off all the dirt and sand, but their skin will show the signs of sun overexposure for weeks to come. There’s little left about them that declares them to be Atlas upper class, the elite of the elite, the remaining members of the great Schnee family. Or rather, a Schnee and her most trusted servant. Klein seems to be a more important member of the family than Jacques ever was, and he does not hesitate to speak fondly of Winter.

“You do realize that, by taking our name, you are also one of those rich people,” Willow says placidly. There’s a teasing lilt to her smile; one that grows bigger when she grimaces.

The world of rich people as she has experienced involves too much dealing with annoying idiots and even more waiting. Sure, her vest suit is insanely soft and fitted so comfortably she almost didn’t want to take it off, and yeah, she was just given a private airship, but at what cost?

(She doesn’t actually know what her fancy vest suit cost but it was probably a lot. And the airship? She doesn’t even try to guess.)

“Anyway,” she says, changing the subject without her usual finesse, “I talked to Pietro Polendina, and he wants to travel with you back to Vale. If there’s anyone who can help with Winter’s plans, it’s him.”

Willow nods, because what else is there to do? They are all here because people need help. She is here because her people need help; the Schnees are here because Winter is determined to help their people. Not that she doesn’t think Willow and Whitley want to help the refugees, she just doesn’t think they would have gone to such lengths without Winter laying a path for them to follow.

(“I’ll do what I must, to protect our people.”)

Winter’s promise comes to mind; a promise that she suspects has taken a heavier toll on Winter than she could have ever imagined. A promise that she knows Winter will kill herself to keep, because she is, after all, the perfect combination of shadow and shiny.

And no one sane or healthy ever becomes a shadow.

~

The next day sees her bid a somewhat sad farewell to the Schnee family; for all that her marriage to Winter is legal only, she has found herself becoming fond of Willow, Whitley, and Klein. The five shadows Winter assigned to them continue traveling with the family, promising to include a full report with the supplies that the Schnees plan to send to Vacuo. Qrow is waiting for them in the airship, still unresponsive, and hardly looking any better than when she last left him. Still, he is there, which means that he isn’t completely lost to his grief.

The group is smaller, less hopeful than the one that left Vale, but they know that their people made it, that there is someone out there who has a plan, that there is hope buried within the harsh sands of Vacuo.

It’s all they need to buoy their spirits between the edge of the desert and Vacuo.

Chapter Text

"Think you lost your mind
Well don't worry about it
Happens all the time
In the morning you'll be better
Things are only getting better"

Better-OneRepublic

~Winter~

She is in the middle of a council meeting, listening to Skylar and Joanna talk -complain- about the Vacuo’s local huntsmen patrols causing problems with their own patrols, when her scroll blares out an alarm that would wake her from the dead. She has it out and open within a single breath; the alert declaring that an urgent message is being sent through the Field Op Locator (known as a FOLA) is one that is burned into her mind, despite it being years since she last heard it.

“Redde? How did you-”

“Hey Snowflake!”

Taken aback, she stares blankly at Robyn Hill, who is grinning widely even as explosions and the sounds of angry grimm crackle through her scroll’s speakers. May, Joanna, and Fiona freeze, afraid to confirm for themselves that their leader is alive and near enough to make calls.

“Redde got distracted by a grimm, but yeah, he’s here. Sorry it took so long to get here, but Argus was in a state. Had a few other detours, including running across your team in Feldspar, and deciding to take them out to Gossan, which should be cleared, uh, soon. Ish.”

Someone in the background yells at another person to watch the damn tower because they just got it fixed. She thinks it’s Cap, but then there’s a pop-crackling of something extremely bright that can’t be anyone other than Pixi. A nevermore screeches in anger, and Robyn takes a moment to reach out and shoot her crossbow. There’s an explosion, another screech, a crash, and a voice she places as Vahn whooping in joy as the force of whatever just happened overwhelms the scroll’s speakers. Just how many shadows are there, and how did Robyn find them? And did she say Gossan. That accelerates her plans by a month at least. Thank the brothers that Robyn isn’t here in person; she might not be able to stop herself from doing something embarrassing like hugging the woman.

“We’ll get you a full report when we get there, which should be later today. I’m sending Redde’s manifest of supplies your shadows collected in Argus. Goodwitch gave us a few things too, but we don’t have an exact record of those supplies.”

“Head to the mines first,” she says quickly. She’s still somewhat shocked at the sudden call, and desperately wants to know how Argus and Vale are doing, but not enough that she can forget her responsibilities to the people she swore to protect. “They need supplies more immediately than we do. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“Will do, boss.” Robyn has clearly been spending too much time with the shadows, if she has picked up that title. “The airship is pretty packed, so if you could have people ready to unload when we get to Vacuo, that would be a big help.”

“Of course. We’ll be waiting.”

“And Snowflake?” Robyn lifts her free hand and points at her through the screen, giving her the same annoying grin and wink from when they parted ways in Atlas. “Love the haircut.”

She slams her hand on the scroll’s end call button. The council is silent as she drops the scroll onto the table, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath to ease her irritation with Robyn Hill. How can one woman be so helpful yet so frustrating? For all the time she has spent worrying over the fate of that team, now it feels like it hasn’t been long enough between interactions. “I’ll forward the manifest when I receive it. Don’t worry about the patrol schedules for now. We’ll have to redo them when I get a proper roster of the shadows with Redde.”

The council is dismissed from the meeting. Fiona, Joanna, and May run off, smiling, laughing, hugging each other, and radiating hope and joy. The other three aren’t quite so cheerful, but there is no mistaking the extra spring in their step at the news of extra soldiers and supplies heading their way.

She remains at her desk. There are maps to look over now that Gossan and Feldspar both are tentatively clear, and conversations to be had with Meili, Slate, and her teams in the mines now that CCT is restored to a good portion of the southern side of the continent. Time passes, and eventually Redde -actually Redde this time- messages her with a list of the shadows he brought from Argus. As far as she can tell, it’s every shadow that had been working out of the city.

If they were willing to leave, Argus must be doing well for itself, or at least have a chance at surviving without Atlesian support.

More time passes, and an unknown number that turns out to be Robyn informs her that the three ace-ops and Qrow are with them. Three, not four, and the following message confirms that Vine is the one who perished in Atlas. She isn’t quite sure how to feel about that; she had not been close to the ace-ops in the way she was to Penny, and she is the one who sent Robyn, Qrow, and Marrow to ambush them. That they’ve chosen to remain with Robyn indicates that they may not hold her actions against her.

She was only doing what was right, but that doesn’t mean they don't have reason to resent her for betraying the loyalty that Ironwood prized above all.

Robyn Hill

     We ran across your family

     They’re in Vale now

     They were a little browner, but fine

     Oh and Pietro is in Vale with them

     He’s helping with your CCT plan

Thank you

Thank you doesn’t feel like enough to express how relieved she is to hear that her family is safe. She doesn’t regret giving Whitley the means to escape Vacuo (escape her presence), or even miss them (she hardly knows them) but the fear that she had sent them to their deaths haunted her thoughts with all the other memories of her failures.

She doesn’t think about Pietro. About Penny. That. She can’t do that. Not now. (Maybe not ever.)

The sun falls and the moon rises. Fiona brings news that they have volunteers ready and a preliminary plan for distributing the supplies. She also brings food and water, and holds them out to her with such a worried frown that she reluctantly forces herself to stop working and make an effort to eat.

It’s not the first time Fiona has done this lately, and she still doesn’t know what to make of it.

The kids appear at some point late into the night. Oscar sits with her, sharing his snacks and information about the settlements that the team with her family noted that could, with rebuilding, support refugees. Ren and Nora doze in the other chairs; they are tired from constant patrols and training, but are too eager to see Qrow and Marrow to sleep properly.

Team CFVY appears with food for them all as the stars are beginning to fade and grey is spreading on the horizon. Most importantly among their delivery is coffee. She clutches her cup like a lifeline, so content with the drink that she doesn’t even mind when Velvet hugs her, sniffling and thanking her because with the towers up she finally had a chance to speak with her father. Coffee is a luxury these days; not because she lacks funds, but because she rarely has the energy to bother with anything outside of her work. Had Coco not taken it upon herself to provide her with a desert-friendly outfit -though she suspects Velvet and Yatsuhashi made the final decision concerning her attire- she would have continued using her uniform, regardless of how uncomfortable it was in the desert heat.

The council returns when they’re finishing their meal. Some details need to be finalized, but their plans will likely change the moment the airship lands, and soon they are heading toward the edge of the refugee camp where she has directed Redde to land.

“Robyn Hill is a surprise, but I’m glad she made it out too.”

Rufus cringes at Nora’s comment, but Robyn’s team are too busy smiling at each other or Nora to notice. It’s good that the man isn’t outright hostile toward Robyn, but she can’t blame him for being uncomfortable with her presence. He had received many scoldings from Ironwood for Hill’s reign of terror.

“Her presence in the camp will certainly be beneficial,” she agrees, drawing startled glances from the entire group. “She is well known and popular among the former Mantle residents. Did they not call her a hero? The people can use a hero to lift their spirits. It might help keep grimm away.”

The last sentence is muttered to herself thoughtfully. As people move out to the mines, grimm activity has slowed, but is not anywhere near an acceptably low level. With as many guards that the refugee caravans required, the lower level of grimm activity hasn’t actually made a difference; they’re breaking even at best, to put it in business terms.

“You mean a hero besides you?” Nora asks, arms crossed but one hand flipping out to point at her.

She scoffs. “Very funny.” Her, a hero? What sort of joke is that? “No, they need a real hero; someone who can give them hope. Not.”

Not someone with a shattered heart who is mentally unreliable and barely hanging on to their will to live. Not someone who has only ever failed and failed and failed when it mattered most. Not someone who is alive because they’re too strong to die quickly and too weak to save their loved ones.

(She is alive because Penny died, and the traces of Penny that she can sense whenever she closes her eyes or calls upon the maiden powers will never let her forget it.)

“I think you mean a star,” Oscar says softly. At least, she thinks it’s Oscar, but when she looks back at him, there is a weight on his shoulders and pain in his eyes that suggests Oz is the one speaking now. “Those are something bright and distant that everyone can look up to. The stars are dependable and comforting. They lead us home, tell us where we are in the world. Heroes, real heroes, are the ones who keep walking as life takes more and more from them. It’s never pretty, or nice, or easy. They’re the ones who, when the evils of the world hold a sword to their throats, bare their fangs and fight to their last, because giving up means allowing someone else to suffer the way they have, and they cannot let that happen.”

Those words are, she thinks, supposed to be profound, but they bring to mind many of the shadows she has worked with over the years. They do not want fame, or recognition of any kind; they fight to lose themselves, fight to protect, fight because they have nothing left to live for but all of Remnant to die for. “By your definition, there are many unacknowledged heroes across Remnant.”

Oz smiles lightly at her conclusion. “Well, yes. I suppose so.”

“Hmm. Either way, Hill will be useful to have around. Perhaps people will go complain to her about their petty problems, seeing as many considered her a local hero,” she declares, daring to imagine a world where she is allowed to focus on her work without interruptions.

“That’s doubtful. Miss Hill has been out of the public eye since her...arrest, whereas you have made yourself very visible and worthy of trust since your arrival in Vacuo.” Oz smirks -smirks the bastard- at her and adds, “In fact, I would hazard a guess that you are the common favorite council member.”

In other words, there’s no escaping her position on the council. And what does he mean by the favorite? She isn’t supposed to be the favorite anything, except the favorite person to hate.

Oscar regains control and promptly bursts into a fit of giggles at the appalled expression on her face.

Nora and Ren watch them, disconcerted for reasons she cannot understand, and the council members repeatedly glance back at her with strangely solemn expressions. She almost calls them all out on their increasingly strange behavior, but at that moment a dark spot appears in the eastern sky.

“They’re almost here. Let’s get everyone ready to unload.”

~Robyn~

Her first impression of Vacuo is that someone scooped up a city, tossed it at the sand, and called it a day. From the sky, she can’t see any sort of order to the arrangement of the buildings and streets. It’s absolute chaos; not even the crater slums had been this disorganized. And towering above it all is what she presumes is Shade Academy.

But what captures the attention of everyone on board is the veritable sea of tents and canopies outside the city.

“They really did bring the entire goddamn city. Both of them.”

They knew, of course, that the evacuation had been successful, but there’s nothing that could have prepared them for seeing what’s left of Atlas and Mantle strewn across the sands like litter. The closer they get, the clearer it becomes that the tents, unlike the city, have a rough order to them. There are several “quadrants” separated by wide spaces to serve as “roads,” and in one of the northeastern quadrants (the opposite end of where Pixi is directed to land the airship) is a large space devoid of anything but four large canopies.

There is a small shuffle of movement as everyone gathers their gear and packs, but when the cabin door drops, the shadows saunter out without a care in the world. She hangs back, taking in their welcoming party.

Front and center is Winter Schnee herself, and with her are her team; every single one of them hardened by the desert -Winter herself is nearly unrecognizable without her uniform. Well, her team stands behind Winter, as do three others that hold themselves in the distinctly stick-in-the-mud way that military types of a certain rank do. Actually, one of those soldiers is most definitely Rufus Ryba, who used to be in charge of Mantle troops and was an all around pain-in-the-ass to deal with.

This is the council they have heard of; the council that has taken on the monumental task of protecting what is left of their kingdom. The council that, according to the shadows they picked up in the desert, Winter had bullied into effectiveness.

The majority of the shadows head to the back of the ship, ready to help unload the supplies, while the ace-ops follow after Redde, who is already talking with Winter. Much as she wants to be part of that conversation, she has something more important to take care of.

“Ouch, hey, easy there, Fi. We talked yesterday,” she teases her friend who has just attempted to tackle her. Back in Atlas, she might have been knocked back a step or two, but keeping up with the shadow’s insane battle pace has seen her in better shape than she has been in years.

“It’s not the same and you know it!”

Joanna and May adding themselves to the hug swallows her answer of, “I know, I know.” She hadn’t allowed herself to miss them while in Argus, or in Vale -had distracted herself with fighting and Winter’s scroll- but ever since they found the Schnees, ever since it was confirmed that their people made it to Vacuo, her heart ached with the need to see them. Now they're here and wonderfully alive, if reeking of sand and sweat. They're all a little different; weary from struggles that she missed while out fighting in Argus. There is a confidence about them, too, that speaks well of their work and how much they believe in it.

Wrapped up in greeting her family, she doesn’t hear the kids yell Qrow’s name, or notice them running to him, or notice how he stomps past them.

She does, however, hear him yell Winter’s name. His voice is full of all the terrible emotions he has been simmering in since he heard about his nieces, and it puts her on high alert before she registers exactly what is happening.

Qrow screams at Winter, demanding to know why she didn’t protect them, why is she here and not them, she was supposed to protect them, and the kids are trying to pull him back saying that he doesn’t understand and begging him to wait and Winter…

Winter has her head down, accepting his rage and pain and blame.

She isn’t quite aware of how quickly she moves to intervene, even as she notes Redde, who had been walking toward the unloaders, stop and turn to do the same.

But it is the smaller kid in green that steps in front of Winter, every inch of him exuding confidence and command, and eyes flashing with power. “Qrow! Enough. There is much about the events that occurred during the evacuation that you do not understand, and more that you need to know. We can speak of it on the way to Shade Academy.”

That...isn’t a kid.

That is Ozpin, and seeing the change -the proof- for herself does not make the idea of an immortal soul eternally reborn after death any easier to swallow.

It gets Qrow to stop, however. The pink one -Nora, she assumes- grabs his arm and drags him to Shade; her expression is sympathetic, but the force she uses makes it clear that she is somewhat upset with him for yelling at Winter. The taller boy that must be Ren takes several steps as if to follow, then stops and turns to look back. Ozpin, Oscar, whatever his name is, whoever he is, rests his fingertips against Winter’s arm, touching lightly and carefully. His words are too soft for her to hear, but the effect they have on Winter is anything but.

She had a classmate in Atlas Academy whose semblance allowed him to “swallow” explosions into his aura. Whenever he did so, his aura would shine impossibly bright, rippling and straining from the effort to contain the explosion until it settled into a faint pulsing glow.

Watching Winter collect herself is like watching a raw dust explosion coalesce into a human form with military straight posture and only a passing understanding of how to express emotions. And like a dust explosion, there’s the sense that any mishandling will wipe out an entire mine in the blink of an eye. Maybe the gleam in her eyes is a trick of the light, or maybe it’s the maiden powers somehow leaking out, but neither answer makes it any less terrifying.

The way everyone aside from Redde -who has paled a few shades- ignores the sight is more worrying than Winter’s volatility.

“Hey, did I miss any fun?”

She doesn’t jump, but she does bite back a curse. Redde doesn’t jump either, but he does curse out loud. “Son of a bitch, Meili!” he snarls at the newcomer while one of the two unknown councilors hisses his own curse.

Meili is unaffected by their reactions; if anything, he looks far too self-satisfied for it to have been anything other than planned. “Good to see you too, Redde. I brought your scarves. There’s your thirteen and the hitchhikers, right?”

“Why the fuck do I want a shitty scarf in this hellhole?”

Meili grabs a scarf from the pile draped over his shoulder and throws it at Redde. “Don’t disrespect our official uniform. Also, it has a hood.”

Redde narrows his eyes, but a hood is a tempting enough feature to suffer the extra layer. She would know, considering her old hooded scarf -lost forever in some Anima mountain cave, ripped to shreds and coated in blood- had been her favorite accessory. She almost asks for one herself, but Redde beats her to it by tossing the one given to him at her (she has to take a few large steps forward to catch it, but better than letting sand get into it).

“Since when do we have a uniform?” he asks while holding out his hand for another scarf.

“We don’t.”

“We’re a gang now!”

Both Winter and Meili respond immediately; with irritation and excitement respectively.

“No shit. For real? Oh, I see, they match her cape.”

“We’ve got a base, territory, and our own patrols ‘cause the boss ran off the cops during her bad moods.”

"Bet that didn't take long."

The two shadows head over to the back of the airship where the rest of the shadows are helping with the unloading process, chatting about their territorial responsibilities and the small crab meat business they’ve turned into a decent source of income. With the mood effectively broken, Ozpin -Oscar?- takes the chance to leave, gesturing for the ace-ops to follow. Harriet and Elm obey without hesitating, but Marrow drags behind them to watch Winter with worried eyes.

Their intrepid leader, on the other hand, stands with her eyes closed and fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose. Seeing her act so normal, so human, when just a minute ago she was on the verge of a complete emotional meltdown that could easily destroy this entire camp -if what she has been told about the maiden powers is true- is unnerving, to be honest.

“And why are you a part of this?”

Being the only new arrival left with the council, she assumes the question is meant for her. “Eh, for breaded cheese sticks, I’ve done worse than joining a gang.”

Winter moves her hand away from her face and gives her a look that is the definition of “what the fuck.” It's almost art.

“Yeah, her name was Cerise,” Joanna mutters behind her, though not low enough to escape Winter’s attention.

Did she say she missed her team? If so, she’s reconsidering her opinion of one of them.

“I thought it was Jas,” May stage-whispers, smirk audible in her tone.

Two of them.

“Moving on,” she says with the fakest grin she has ever grinned -other than any she might have directed to Jacque Schnee- “if you don’t have anything pressing to take care of, there are a few things I have to talk to you about.”

“I do not,” Winter confirms. Then stares.

As do the other council members, and even if she can’t see them, she knows her team are also staring. Which. No. Having had this conversation twice already doesn't mean she's willing to have again, with an audience. Closing the space between her and Winter, she moves to grab her arm, remembers that the woman before her is more fragile than raw dust, and without pause steps in closer, turns, and rests her hand on the small of her back. “Alone, Snowflake.”

Winter stiffens at her audacity and glares up at her, but the scowl has no more heat than when it was directed at Meili and Redde. “Why?”

“You think I would come all this way without presents? When none of this”-she gestures at the airship grandly with her free hand-“would have happened without you?”

“I don’t need presents.” She says presents with the same tone some might use when confronted with raisin cookies; trying to politely deny them while internally considering them to be an affront to humanity. But she doesn’t resist being gently pushed to the airship, or move away from her hand, which she determines to be akin to the sensation of leading around a wild beast: one more than capable of leaping out and efficiently slaughtering her prey at the slightest sign of weakness.

It's a terrifying feeling, and she reacts to it as she does any stressful emotion.

“...Am I remembering wrong, or have you gotten shorter since Atlas?”

Her foot narrowly misses being stomped on.

She laughs.

Winter sneers.

(Neither of them move away from each other.)

The airship’s AC provided cold air is all but gone, but it is still far cooler in the ship than outside. Stepping away from the heavy gazes that follow their backs eases the tension in Winter’s shoulders; here, alone with her, she is less a leader of desperate refugees and more of a normal human. An exhausted human being who clearly needs more food, more water, more sleep, and less sun, but a normal human being regardless.

There is a small pile of briefcases by the pilot’s cabin, which she leads Winter to. She pulls out the borrowed scroll and holds it out reluctantly. “First thing. Your scroll. Second thing. I kinda had to use some of your money to get by in Argus.”

“That’s not an issue.”

Good, good. No sign of anger. That’s the reaction she expected, but it’s still a relief to know that she isn’t about to be stabbed as punishment for what is technically theft.

“Third thing. I got into your account and pulled out all of your money.” She braces herself for the reaction, waiting for the inevitable questions and accusations.

The reaction comes in the form of an absently asked, “How?” Winter is too busy counting the suitcases and probably doing some mental math to determine how much money is in front of them. Of course she wouldn’t know off hand how much money she had in the bank, since she doesn’t use her money for anything other than coffee and junk food. What a terrible diet.

Actually, with how much weight Winter has visibly lost, she could probably stand to eat more junk food.

“How? Well, ATC is kind of strict about their policies, and Pietro declared their online security to be more trouble than it was worth to hack in, so he hacked the government files instead and made me your wife.” There. A short, sweet, simple explanation of the greatest stupid decision she has ever made-and that’s including running for the council seat.

Winter is frowning at the money, then she jerks her head over and up to look at her, turns back to the money just as quickly, and hums in realization when the dots connect. “You took advantage of the spousal exemptions and benefits. Clever. This should go a long way toward rectifying our supply issue.”

She has no reason to be so proud of the compliment, but it was clever. Illegal? Absolutely, but still clever. Who cares about the law during an emergency anyway? Clearly not Winter. “That was the easy part, unfortunately. Getting your money from the Vale and Argus SDC offices involved a lot more work, a hell of a lot more waiting, and a fancy outfit that cost you more than I make in a year. You can expect me to wear that for our date, by the way.”

“I never agreed to any date!” Winter snaps, scowl returning ferociously.

She grins down at her roguishly and doesn’t take the rejection to heart. “Sure, Snowflake. Now do you want a summary of the SDC supervised accounts you never knew you had access to or not?”

“...What do you mean SDC supervised?”

“See, here’s the thing. Grandpa Schnee really, really loved you. And also had a lot of money outside of the company...”

~Meanwhile~

“So...any of you have any idea what that was about?” May asks the rest of the council.

Joanna, Skylar, and Rufus shrug, Fiona frowns and lifts her fist to her lips in thought, and Pico tilts his head to the side, confused.

“Which one? The angry bastard, the gang thing, or Hill’s weird idea of flirting?” Pico asks sarcastically.

She drops her head into her hands and sighs heavily, because the description isn’t exactly wrong. “Oh, for fucks sake. She better not be flirting with Schnee.”

Fiona, ever the optimist, says weakly, “At least they’re getting along? Sort of.”

“Schnee is going to snap and kill her in a fit of rage before the week is out,” Joanna declares grimly.

At least someone understands her fear. She loves Robyn, don’t get her wrong, but Robyn loves to dig at people’s insecurities or test the limits of their patience, and Winter Schnee responds to everything that pokes at either of those things with shouting at best and violence at worst.

And the line between “best” and “worst” responses is disturbingly thin.

“Have some faith. I think they’ll be fine.”

The entire council minus Fiona shares a look, wordlessly and unanimously agree that this is going to be a problem; one for another day. For now, they will let the hope that Robyn Hill brought with her flourish among their people.

" Even if someday a miracle that astonishes everyone happens to me
I'm sure that only I won't be astonished. A miracle that should've happened happened

Oh let my prayers reach you "

Praying Run-Uverworld