I wake up to cold.

I don't wake up cold. That's what happens when I forget to pull blankets over me before I fall asleep after a long day of classes, or when I leave the window open when it's snowing. When I wake up cold, I'm shivering and half-numb, ready to find a shower head and let near-boiling water pour over me and restore feeling to my limbs.

When I wake up to cold, that's more like getting a bucket of water thrown on me. Except this time I'm getting thrown into the water.

"Fucking what?" I shout, jumping away from the cold thing on the ground and brushing at the remnants of whatever it was. Man, was it a liquid? Because my pants are soaked now. This is going to be a pain.

Then I pick up on my surroundings. White. White everywhere, punctuated by black. Black trees, dead as doornails, and white snow, rapidly soaking my pyjamas. A desolate little winter wonderland.

See, that's when I start feeling the tell-tale signs of panic. My heart starts pounding, hands get twitchy, perspiration, the works. Because being outside in the winter? A great way to die. People go out into snow storms, sit down for a rest, and never wake up all. The time. People go out in places they know like the back of their hands, and they still die of hypothermia.

This place? It doesn't look familiar. It doesn't look like anywhere I've been, or anywhere I've heard about. I don't know any black-barked trees, and none native to home. That, and for night it's too bright. Like it's a cheap horror-movie night where the set designers can't be bothered to shoot in the dark until they get something half-decent.

I look up and see stars. So many it's hard to believe. More than I've ever seen, even during backpacking trips with Dad, outshining the shattered moon that hangs in the sky like-

The moon's broken.

Wait.

No.

What?

I stand there, the melting snow slowly pruning my feet as I try to wrap my head around the broken moon, the panic fading away as I take it in. It's beautiful, in a H.R. Giger sort of way. One hundred percent unnatural, but more significant for it. Then some pieces fall into place.

The real moon is intact. RWBY's moon is not. I do not do hallucinogenic drugs, nor do I get pressured into them. No one wants to kidnap me, nor have I offended anyone enough to get my throat slit.

I am on Remnant. In the winter. In the middle of a forest. In my pyjamas.

I may die.

That last thought is a terrifying one. I feel my breath come faster. Ah, there's the panic. No no no, that's a bad idea, chill out or else the Grimm will come and eat you. Why does that not make me not panic!? Okay, coping mechanisms. Jokes. Do jokes. The one about the perfect world being policed by the British, fed by the French, run by the Swiss? Or is it the Italians? Damnit, Fibonacci come to my aid.

I kneel down, ignoring the snow on my knees, and shove a handful of the cold white powder into my face. 1 and 1 is 2, 1 and 2 is 3, 2 and 3 is 5, 3 and 5 is 8, 5 and 8 is 13, 8 and 13 is 21...

After I redo 196418 and 317811, I realize my heart rate is back down, that I'm cold, and that I'm sane.

Clarity.

I finish compartmentalizing the panic and fear. Then I get back up to my feet and start thinking. First, I need to survive. That means getting the hell out of these woods and finding a Hunter. Everything else can wait.

I start jogging in a random direction. Not sure which way I'm going, but it's better than staying still and hoping for the best. Maybe. I think the whole "stay where you are in emergencies" thing operates under the assumption that someone's looking for you, so I'm going to keep-

I step on my pant leg and trip.

Sometimes it doesn't pay to try and think.

After I pick myself up out of the snow (cold) I notice that my fingernails are bigger than they should be. I was a nail biter, and seeing the clear part go all the way up to the end of my fingers is weird. The base-rate neglect bias there (most people don't chew their nails past the quick), but it's still weird. That, and why do I have my nails back?

I check my forearms. No brown spots.

What?

I rub my upper lip and don't feel any facial hair. A quick check of my nether regions confirms that I'm bare down there.

Okay. So not only am I in Remnant, but I got aged backwards ten years, give or take a few months. Of course. I mean, why wouldn't being transported to another world be accompanied by a nerf? I mean, why would I need some extra leg length and endurance? Being able to run faster wouldn't be helpful at all, and who needs extra body mass to generate heat?

I laugh twice, bitter and angry. How did I end up on hard mode?

Then I do some two digit multiplication in my head. Calm. Clear. No Grimm.

I keep running, holding up my pants so they don't trip me again and stop thinking so hard. I'll find someone or I'll die. It's terrible and scary and unfair but I can't do anything about it.

It's getting colder.

I come across a trail in the woods. Salvation. Two impressions in the snow, probably wheel tracks, with little footsteps between them. I follow the trail, pushing back the chill with hope. Footsteps means people means civilization means towns means food, or at the very least a place to get dry clothes and think.

There! Off in the distance! A barn, worn down but standing. There's a little blond girl walking up to it, dragging a wagon behind her with a bundle of cloth in it. She's struggling against the wind, and my heart goes out to her. It's cold, and she doesn't look older than my body is.

Wait.

A blond wandering through the snow with a wagon in tow?

Yang and Ruby.

I feel something in my chest. Something tender and lonely from the worst days of high school that tells me to to do something, anything. That I need to pay back these fictional-

No. They're not fictional anymore.

This is for keeps.

I start moving before I can think properly. Sprinting in shin-deep snow is hard but doable, even for a kid. More panic. I shouldn't be panicking, shouldn't be attracting the Grimm.

I'm not thinking clearly. It's not stopping me.

"Hey!" I shout, desperation wet and fearful in my voice. "You've got to turn back!" Please please please listen Yang. Please.

The blonde girl doesn't stop moving. Instead, she hunches her shoulders forward and starts speeding up. Goddamnit Yang!

I see things are running through the woods. Not things. Grimm. The panic changes. It's less desperate now, and more dreadful. Fear. The primal kind, that doesn't want to go outside at night, even in a suburb, where crime is low and wolves haven't been around for years. The kind that keeps away from strangers, even in safe places.

The kind that Grimm apparently love.

There's a howl, and red eyes glint in the forest. Yang stops and turns around. I catch a glimpse of lilac. She needs to run away from the barn.

"Think of Ruby!" I shout, trying to get another little bit of speed out of my legs. I'm closing on her, the wagon an impossible handicap. "The barn is full of them!" I warn. Please let me be there in time. Please. Snow crunches around me, footfalls too heavy to be anything natural. My heart stutters for a moment. More fear. The Grimm follow it.

Wait.

I don't think too hard about my plan. I need fear for it to work.

I juke right, side-stepping Yang. I'm close enough to see the snoozing little girl in the wagon. Black hair, with little red tips.

It's just a glance, but it makes me grit my teeth and run a little harder, powering through the numbness and lactic acid.

"Turn around! Find Qrow!" I shout back. "I'll draw the Grimm!" Then I plunge into my mind. I need fear. Lots of it. That, and every negative emotion I can gather.

Time to go to some dark places.

I drag up my greatest fuck ups into the forefront of my mind. When those stop working, I think of the time I broke a promise that mattered, when I realized I lied to a friend, to my family. I remember being betrayed.

The fear of failure, of being a leech, of not being a decent person, of other people.

All the things that make me feel tired and empty and like life's not worth living. It probably smells like a feast to the Grimm.

I glance over my shoulder and see Yang backpedaling, dragging Ruby away from the pack. Beowolves run past her. My plan worked, apparently. Something to keep in mind for the future.

Now I just need to survive. Like it's that simple.

I zig-zag around the trees, adrenaline redlining my system and getting me to move. I hear more howling, close enough to feel it shake my bones, and the sound of branches snapping. Or trees. I don't know how big these things are.

I feel something warm and wet run down my leg.

I dodge right and something big and black with white and red bone plates crashes into the snow next to me. I nearly stumble from the sudden wave of snow, briefly concealing the monster's shape. Then I get a glimpse of one red eye.

You always read about seeing emotion in someone's eye. Humor or danger or mania. I don't buy it. Any emotion you get is in the muscles around the face, the body posture, the angle of their mouth, whatever. I wrote a paper on it. Learned a thing or seven about flirting while I was researching, too.

Apparently Grimm are telepathic, because I see murder in that red orb. Personal, hot and hard murder.

I also feel murder when a paw crashes into my side. Something breaks with a wet *snap* and my feet leave the ground.

Weightlessness.

Then I hit another tree and there's more wet snapping. It sounds like branches inside of a water bed. My side. Punctured organs, no broken spine. Small mercies.

I should be in pain. I'm not.

My skin has something hot and wet on it, but I feel cold. More branches break and I muster the energy to look up.

A pack of Beowolves form an arc around me. A trash tier mob, wrecking me. If my brothers could see me now, either of them, they'd be shaking their heads in shame.

The 'wolves close in. I look around, darkness closing in around the edges of my vision. Nothing but black, red, white and death.

Fuck. This is a shitty way to die. I cough up something warm and start losing focus.

Then there's a silver blur weaving between the wolves and suddenly the pack is falling apart. More branches snap, but the sound is sharper. Not branches. Gunfire. I smell something like burning sugar. Pretty sure that's not what gunfire is supposed to smell like.

No more 'wolves. Think I lost some time. I can barely see through my nearly-closed eyes.

There's a guy standing over me carrying a massive scythe. Black hair shot through with grey, red eyes. He's saying something I can't make out. I shake my head and try to point to my

Huh. Now he's got his hands on my chest and I see his lips moving. Can't read them. I think about trying to lift my arm so I can push him away, but it sounds like too much

Pain.

I try to scream, but that only brings more pain. I feel myself shifting inside, little slivers of glass scraping through my flesh and I'm breathless. I can't breathe can't breathe can't breathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe

Something goes *schlorp* and I heave in air. I let it out in a scream, long and loud, and I can hear again.

"-is a kid doing out here in the middle of the night?" Qrow says, lifting his hands off my chest and sagging a little. I feel my arm twist and I scream again. Jesus fuck how do athletes put up with this level of pain? Qrow keeps talking like I didn't just get into back-to-back car accidents and am feeling it all over again Jesus FUCK this hurts. "Listen, your Aura's unlocked, but it ain't everything. You're going to be crashing real soon, so I need you to tell me your-"

That's when my ribs start fusing back together, fire shoots through my bones, and I black out.