Oscar Pine

I set down my pitchfork. It had been an abnormally stressful day, working in the farm my aunt owned. She had nicely let me stay with her after what had happened with my parents. The place was far too big for her to work on alone, even without livestock, so I helped out.

Today'd been strange, though, even before I woke up. First I'd had that half-dream, half-memory of my parents dying. Which was the beginning of the odd feeling; usually my nightmares were true to what actually happened on that day, meaning I never witnessed their deaths. I only listened, like a coward. As young as I'd been, there was surely nothing I could have done. I knew that. It was still cowardice.

Things weren't normal in that dream, either. Parents: check. Two Grimm: check. Me: check. But the orange eyes were new. One of the Grimm had them, shining like embers in the dim evening, and was fighting my father. I remembered my dad having an Aura - everyone had one of those. But last I saw, his wasn't green. Now it was, though, flaring a bright emerald whenever the orange-eyed Grimm scored a hit as Dad darted in and out of its reach. Nearby, my mother was trapped within the claws of another huge monster. Though there were no archers in sight, she had an arrow through her heart and she was - well, I had had to look away at that point.

Dreams generally have a blurry, anything-might-happen-and-it's-all-totally-normal quality. But this vision was different. I felt a mounting terror as I watched, an emotion that stayed with me after I woke up. The last image I'd taken in was unforgettable - my father, dropping at last, his green Aura flickering out. The leaf-green light coalesced above his fallen body, siphoning away, and it was only after I was preparing for the day that I realized the light had been drifting toward me.

I'd tried to banish the dream from my head since then, but I hadn't been very successful. Besides that, no matter what I did or how many times I glanced nervously over my shoulder, it felt like someone was there, watching me. Aunt Jade wasn't doing it; she was busy in the house whenever I checked. Overall it was a creepy sensation, although it didn't seem particularly malevolent. In fact, the mysterious gaze felt both worried and indecisive, like my new stalker was considering whether or not to make contact. My increasingly frayed nerves insisted that he or she was deciding if I should live or die, but I rebuffed that horror-movie notion.

Which brought me to now. I had to force myself to unclench my muscles. I told myself firmly that grabbing the pitchfork and using it as a weapon would not be necessary. There wasn't anybody else here.

That's not fully correct, murmured my fear in the back of my mind.

Now, my life was a secluded one. My aunt homeschooled me. I hadn't met many other people even before my parents were no longer around.

But I was fairly certain that hearing voices in your emotions was not normal. Nor was it a good thing.

I was silent for an instant, concentrating. My hands found the edge of the sink we kept out here, and I turned, studying my eyes in the tarnished mirror hanging before me. Were my irises more yellow-green than yellow-brown?

"Hello?" I whispered, cursing myself for succumbing to my paranoia. The voice was my panic over imaginary stalkers. Just my subconscious asserting itself. Nothing else. I held my own stare in the reflection. Nothing happened, of course. I shook my head at my stupidity. What had I expected? For a person to step out of the shadows and explain themselves to me? I exhaled.

And the phantom speaker struck.

Hello! I am Professor Ozpin.

I let out a yell, pushing off the sink's rim in shock and tumbling to the ground. Those weren't words I had heard with my ears. That sentence had been spoken inside of my head. I lay on the straw mounded around the barn, my breath coming in panting gasps. I barely registered Aunt Jade calling for me to be careful - she thought my shout had been caused by me hurting myself with a farm tool or something. I was not inclined to correct her.

People who heard things that were not there were crazy, right? And I was hearing a voice in my mind. One that was not my own. One that had to be my imagination. Therefore, I must be crazy.

I'm insane.

I can assure you, Mr. Pine, that you are not.

I ignored it. Of course the voices a crazy person heard wouldn't just tell them that they were insane. The voices would claim to be real.

I am not a figment of your subconscious mind, Oscar. I have sapience behind me. Can't you feel it? Professor O - no, the voice - sounded resigned, like he had been through all of this before. And there was something about those words. They flowed from an ocean of memories and thoughts. Something floated there, something old and wise and powerful. Something that was...someone?

I shrank away. No. No.

Yes. I do regret that it had to be you. I've never reincarnated in somebody so young before.

"Re-reincarnated?" If I didn't talk directly to it, it would go away.

Our souls and Aura have combined. I am - or at least, last I checked I was - the headmaster of Beacon Academy. Before that, however, I was in another body, and before that another. I have shared many lives. This is not new to me.

Would my brain have bothered to create an explanation for my hallucination? Did other insane people have reasons as to why they heard or saw what they did?

You really aren't crazy, Oscar. I have a curse upon me and - well, I suppose I can tell you the whole story at a later date. For now, it would be best if we went to Haven. There are people that can help us there -

I cut him - it off. I'm not going, I thought loudly in his - in the voice's general direction. I won't follow around some part of my - my overworked brain, or whatever. Now leave me alone. Being polite couldn't make the situation any worse, could it? Please.

I waited. There was nothing from the corner of my mind that contained my delusions. He still lurked back there, watching me, but he seemed content to remain merely an observer.

I tentatively stood. He - it did not interfere.

I headed for the main house. Aunt Jade would have dinner on the table by now.

That night, Ozpin tried again. I brushed him off and finally fell asleep.

The next day, he surfaced once more and bugged me. I announced that I didn't believe in his existence and ignored him yet again.

He talked to me all throughout the day, spouting nonsense about good and evil, about gods and magical artifacts and a woman called Salem. He tended to shy away from certain topics, but he'd go on and on about others. He spent a large chunk of time describing his allies, people that I could supposedly trust. Some were adults, friends of his. Others were students from Beacon.

I didn't actively spur him on, but neither did I interrupt. I listened to his tales and found my resolve slipping. I liked to think about the outside world; I liked to imagine that one day I would leave my aunt and do something interesting, if not something important. Just so long as it was something. I'd never even so much as heard of most of what Oz talked about, though. I knew a little about the Maidens, but not a thing about Relics. Could some independent part of me really be making this all up?

I went to bed feeling troubled, and in the back of my head, Oz was hopeful. Or - well, maybe it was just another portion of me feeling hopeful, but it didn't feel like me. I could sense him thinking, but when I drew nearer, he walled himself off somehow.

If you're just me, then why can't I hear what you're thinking? I asked him.

You just made my point for me, he noted. And I need some privacy to consider how I can get you to accept me.

I wavered. You're not here. Even I could tell that my words were weak. But if I truly had a second resident in my head, then all he'd mentioned about Remnant being in danger was likely true. And as much as I longed for adventure, I'd never wanted the world to be in peril.

I have an idea, said Oz suddenly.

I resolutely did not ask him what it was.

I might not be strong enough for this, Oz added. But one attempt can't hurt.

Ozpin let down his walls. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to fall asleep.

Then I was burning.

There was no agony. There wasn't any heat. Orange and red were not licking at my walls, and my mother's old rug was not blazing. I looked down at myself and didn't find any charring.

Yet I was still on fire. It lasted a good five seconds, and I was frozen in place - with fear or literal paralysis, I can't say - the entire time.

Then it was over.

Oz and I both gasped for breath at once. I was positive that there should have been smoke in the air, or scorch marks on my wooden headboard, or really anything to show that I had been aflame. None of that was there.

I'm not strong enough yet, Oz conceded. His lack of oxygen and his sudden weakness appeared to be tied to the fire. The fire that hadn't existed, after all. Perhaps the two were related because my brain had made them both up. It'd gotten tired of talking to me under the guise of a stranger and was now attempting to convince me that I was dying or something.

I'm not, though. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong, I can push through this. It's only a bad thing if it causes me to not function normally and if I can't live my life with it. But I can just be me. I can ignore it forever.

You aren't very good at motivating yourself, Oz muttered, but there was an undercurrent of worry. He was concerned that I would never help him.

I wasn't talking to you, I returned, and redoubled my efforts to go to sleep. Some time later, I managed to.

The next day, Oz behaved nothing like he had before. Absolute silence. I almost asked him why he was so quiet, but then I remembered that this was technically what I wanted and stopped myself. I could tell that he was still there, readying himself. But he was wordless, so I too said nothing.

Come afternoon, Oz was still closemouthed. I sat on my bed, reading a book about Beacon Academy. I told myself that there was no specific reason why I was reading it. I also told myself I wasn't lying.

"Oscar! Supper's almost ready!" No matter what we were eating, I would enjoy it. Jade was a fantastic cook. We used to take turns making meals, but I was never any good. This inability climaxed when I set the countertop on fire. The stone countertop. While washing dishes.

I didn't make the food anymore.

"What're we having?" I yelled anyway, flipping a page.

"Doesn't matter! You're eating it!" Her tone was playful, as usual. I didn't know how she did it. After my parents died, and Uncle Nooram decided simple farm life was not for him - especially not with a young boy who wasn't any relation of his...well, my aunt might curse her ex-husband's name in the daylight, but I had once heard her crying in the dead of night. I never asked what caused it, or told her I knew. Sometimes you just needed to weep.

I knew all about sometimes.

I shook away those thoughts and called back to her, "I never agreed to these terms!"

She was quick with a comeback. "It's part of the Living Under My Roof Contract. Go read the fine print, then come wash up."

I shut the book, then slid off my bed and made for the door.

We have to leave.

Oh, so he was speaking now, was he? I paid him no attention and reached for the knob, despite Oz saying my name. Only when he repeated it did I halt.

"I've decided you aren't real, so you might as well just give up." I didn't mention the fact that that conclusion wasn't very solid.

I understand how you're feeling. I went through the same panic and confusion.

I wheeled around and headed back for my book, grabbing it and shelving it. I did the same to the other books I owned, having removed them earlier so I could read this one. "It's not real," I mumbled to myself, repeating the words frantically. By now, however, my muttering made no difference. It was real; it had to be. I was still going to fight it. Adventure would never be worth having a traveling companion inside my head, especially not when he made me burn and ordered me around nonstop. "It's not real."

You are perfectly sane.

I stood, raising an eyebrow, gazing at my likeness in the window. My eyes were tinted green. "I'm talking to a voice in my head."

The aforementioned voice took on a sardonic cast. I didn't say you were normal. I said you were sane. There's quite a significant -

"SHUT UP!" I stormed towards the door, then about-faced and paced a few steps away. "You think this is funny? It's not."

We are in complete agreement on that matter, I promise you. Believe me, I wish this weren't the case. But as I've told you...Oz started rattling off stuff about our souls again, and I tuned him out.

"I'm done listening to you." I glanced back at the window, this time looking out it at the road leading out. I'd been down that road, but never without the intention to return. I swiftly looked away again.

Oz thought, then asked, Have you ever been to Haven?

"I told you I'm not going, and I told you I'm done listening."

Do you think you could describe the headmaster's office?

"Nooo...Why would I know that? I've never seen -"

Try. Right now.

I let out an exasperated breath and said, "It's probably -"

And then I was somewhere else, in a room the color of fall leaves. There was a desk that I knew was mahogany, though I'd only ever seen the wood in pictures. In the corner, a small table and chairs awaited guests. I hadn't ever tasted tea before; Aunt Jade didn't like the stuff. But now there was a lemony flavor on my tongue, and I remembered holding a teapot and pouring from it, and I recalled giving a cup to Headmaster Lionheart.

I realized I was saying this out loud. I shut my mouth abruptly and put a hand to my head. I got the impression that Oz was watching me very carefully.

"Why did I say that? How did I know that? I saw - why did I say that?" I stumbled over to my bed and collapsed there.

Ozpin spoke. Because I helped build that school, and the tea set was a gift to the man running it now.

He'd shared a memory of his with me. I trembled, putting my head in my hands. Oh, colors. It was real. Everything was true, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Oscar. We have a grave responsibility to uphold.

"Stop talking to me!" This was too much for me to handle. Too much for anyone. I fell to my knees, overwhelmed. "I never agreed to any of this."

No, you didn't. And neither did, I, at first. But you do have an opportunity. Curse his calmness. An opportunity for greatness, hopefully.

I opened my eyes.

Greatness in knowing that when the world needed saving, you were the one to reach out your hand.

Oh? And it'll be that easy, huh?

It won't come without hardship. And...sacrifice. Faces flashed in Oz's memory, but he banished them quickly. I know you don't want to spend the rest of your life working as a farmhand in Mistral.

Leave my life goals alone, Oz.

Oscar -

I knew that shouting wouldn't make a difference. There wasn't anything either of us could do about out current arrangement. But I needed some time to deal with this all, so I gave up and yelled all the same. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

Oz withdrew, letting me gather myself. He was still there, but he quit talking, and I appreciated it.

Aunt Jade called out for me - it probably wasn't the first time - and I strode out, closing the door behind me with a quiet click.

"Oz?" I whispered into the night. I should have been asleep, but my thoughts were spiraling around and not bothering to give me my rest. So I'd gone outside to think. I loved the night. I enjoyed the cool, fresh air. I liked how you could see every star in the sky when there weren't clouds - and tonight there weren't. I wished my mind could have as little conflict as the night sky.

Yes?

I didn't feel like disturbing the calm. Have you ever made weighty decisions?

I...yes. As weighty as the world.

We sat there for a while.

Have those decisions ever ended up with someone dead? I finally asked him.

He let out a sigh. It was time-worn and filled with sorrow. He didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

Words spilled from me, and somewhere along the way I was talking out loud. I told Oz of the day my parents had told me that I was going to have a baby sister. How we'd been so joyful that we didn't notice several Grimm coming close to the yard. How normally, my father would have scared them off, but how that day he had given his rifle to my mother's older sister to use, and so how on that day he was weaponless. I explained how I had turned and run for the cellar, as was our protocol to do. We had practiced doing that. I described the horror I had felt, realizing that my parents were not at my side. How I'd jumped in the cellar, then glanced out and seen a Grimm bearing down on me. How I, not yet ten, had barely managed to shut the heavy door. And how I had cowered there, terrified.

Listening.

When I was done, Oz filled in the silence. He spoke of walls and guilt, and how people hid their shame and sadness behind walls like the one he had used last night. Unlike that wall, however, the ones used to block out emotions were walls that kept even their creators out. Because nobody wanted to be trapped anywhere with those feelings. He spoke of the topic intimately.

Hey, Ozpin? I wish you weren't here, but I'm glad you are too, if that makes any sense.

It does.

Some time passed.

I'm going to regret this, aren't I?

What? Staying up so late?

No - well, that too. But what I meant was saving the world.

You'll help, then?

I thought of walls, of doors, of youth, of helping. Of doing something. Of being in a position where that might actually be possible.

You're in my head, Oz. You tell me.

My mind was like the night sky.