(A/N) Hello there, readers.
I've noticed a frankly criminal lack of Ozpin!Jaune stories on this site.
Here's a little drabble to rectify that for you.
Jaune couldn't have placed the day the dreams - no, the nightmares - had started.
They began some time after his sixteenth birthday; visions of fire, of war, of battle; flashing behind his eyelids as he ate breakfast, walked to school, did his homework, or spoke to his friends over scroll. Jaune was haunted constantly by images he had never borne witness to.
He told nobody, of course.
It didn't go unnoticed by his parents, naturally. Nor by his seven sisters. They could practically pick out the moment the... thing... would occur - a minuscule flinch, a twitch of the eyebrow - always followed by Jaune's mood collapsing like a paper bag, his attention falling inwards to introspection.
They couldn't figure out exactly what happened, had no way of knowing, and Jaune, ever desperate to be like the strong, dependable man his father represented, shouldered his burden alone. He could handle it, thought Jaune. He must, for the sake of the world, because when he finally got out there and made a real difference, he would make sure none of that ever happened.
Months of mental anguish later, however, Jaune's hand was forced; something had to change, and change it did.
Sixteen-year-old Jaune Arc sighed as he folded the towel over the heat-rail once more. Mustering up the motivation to dress himself for the second time that day - evening showers weren't an uncommon occurrence for the teen - he wandered out into the hall of the Arc residence, and made his way down into the, currently empty, dining room.
Today had been a good day, he mused to himself, as things went. He'd only had one of the... visions. He'd gotten nearly six hours of sleep last night - nearly breaking his own record. The bags under his eyes seemed less prominent, the lines forming between his brows slightly more shallow, and his mind, dare he say it, a little more at ease than usual.
Jaune dared not hope the reprieve would last long.
A voice broke his musings.
"Son?"
His father was still downstairs, evidently. The man stared at him stoically from across the room, sitting in one of the lavish armchairs that decorated the area. A glass of amber liquid rested in his hand, the patterns on it reflecting the dim light from the fireplace and playing shadows across the man's face. The bottle sat innocuously on the coffee table between them.
"Dad." Jaune acknowledged tonelessly. He knew the look on his dad's face. They were going to have a Talk.
He sat down opposite his father.
There was silence for a moment, before his father spoke.
"You're seventeen in a month, Jaune." And when Jaune thought about it, he realised it was true. "You forgot?"
"Yeah."
A beat. His father swirled his drink in his hand.
"... What's going on, Jaune?" The man leaned forward. "You've been like this for months. You're tired, you hardly talk, and there are times you're just... not there."
"... I guess I'm just not sleeping well." Jaune shrugged.
"Don't give me that crap, Jaune." His father spoke sharply. Jaune flinched slightly. Okay, so that wasn't going to fly tonight, got it. "Do you think we don't see it? You'll do that... thing you do at random moments, and then you have a very particular look on your face. Do you know what it looks like, Jaune?"
Jaune didn't answer. He didn't need to.
"They call it the Thousand Yard Stare. It's the look military veterans get after they go to battle one too many times. It's the look Huntsmen get after their first real failure." Jaune's father took a sip of his drink. "It's the look I - well, I can see it on my own face, sometimes. It means you've seen war... suffering... death... so you tell me, why do I see it on my son?"
Silence.
"This can't go on, Jaune. You're dead on your feet." It hurt, hearing that tone in his father's voice. It was desperate and so earnest, and Jaune felt his stomach sinking through his feet. "Your mother and sisters are worried about you, Jaune-"
"I know, alright!" Jaune burst out. He breathed in deeply then let it out in a great gust of air. His father sat back, having gotten through to his son through his one soft spot - his sisters. "... I know."
This time, the man opposite him let the silence settle.
Perhaps it was time to tell somebody? Jaune turned the idea over in his head. No - he would be dismissed as insane - but would he? This was his family, they loved him, they would never think him insane, right?
A sound broke the silence; the clink of glass meeting glass. Jaune focused his attention back on the man opposite him, who was pouring some of the liquid into a second glass. It was slid towards him.
"Why-"
"Because you're going to tell me." His father smiled for the first time that night, small and yet overflowing with unidentifiable emotion. "I can see it in your face. I got through to you."
Jaune looked at the glass.
"Take it. You're going to be a man, soon, Jaune." He did so. "That's a man's drink."
Jaune sipped, then winced as the sensation hit his tongue. Nevertheless, he swallowed the bitter, fiery liquid down; he didn't want to disappoint his father. The boy sighed, pulled up his courage, and slowly spoke.
"I get... images. Visions. Nightmares, really. They're... violent, mostly. Fighting. Murder. Sometimes it happens in front of me. Sometimes I'm the one doing it... or, whoever's perspective it is I'm watching from... I don't know."
"Visions..." Jaune's father hummed and sipped his drink. Jaune mirrored the action, once again grimacing at the taste. "Go on. You said 'mostly'. What did you mean?"
"... I get images of people, too, sometimes. It often happens when I'm sleeping, the visions I mean, and I get emotions then too sometimes... never any names, though. Actually, I never hear words, just..."
"Just the sounds of death." His father nodded sympathetically - at least, Jaune thought it was sympathetic. He didn't seem to have been written off as a maniac yet; did his father know something about it?
"Yeah." He nodded. "All those times I... go vacant, out of nowhere... it's because something triggered a vision. I never found a pattern."
A long moment passed where nothing was said. Jaune absently sipped at his drink again; it seemed to be going down easier now.
"Have you tried anything to help with them?" His father asked. "Medication? Anything?"
"No..." Jaune muttered. "I never told anyone. I thought you'd think I'm insane."
"The thought had crossed my mind." Jaune's head snapped up. "Calm down, son. It's the natural response... but it's not the one I'm going with. It fits too well with what I've seen. No, I believe you."
Jaune sagged in relief and took a gulp of his drink. Coughing slightly, he gave his father a weak smile; the expression felt depressingly unfamiliar on his face.
"But the question that remains now is... why?"
"Huh?"
"Why are you getting visions?" His father asked.
"I did wonder about that myself, for a while." Jaune's voice was stronger now, emboldened by his drink and his father's faith. "I... guess I stopped wondering after a while and just tried to live with it."
"Well, that's not worked, now has it? Let's try something else." His father spoke gruffly, but the tone was fond. The weight that had been pressing on Jaune's shoulders had already begun lessening just a little, and the mood has lightened somewhat now that he had let out the reason for his stress. "Any ideas?"
"Is it possible that... I dunno, it could be my aura or something?" A weak grasp at an idea, but surprisingly, his father latched onto it.
"Your aura?" Sip. "It's possible - it could be an odd manifestation of a semblance, perhaps... empathic abilities? Some form of telepathy? Maybe you're latching onto somebody else's experiences...?"
Jaune stayed silent. He made to take a sip, only to realise the glass had been emptied. He reached over to the bottle and made to pour another, but found his father's much larger hand on his.
"All things in moderation, Jaune." He chided. He tilted it slightly, letting a small amount pour out, enough to fill a little less than half the glass. "You'll thank me tomorrow morning."
Jaune have a half-chuckle and leaned back, watching as his father poured out his own (noticeably larger) portion. A thought sprung to mind.
"Dad..." Jaune began.
"Hmm?" Sip.
"I think I understand why you never trained me to be a Huntsman now." His father froze for a second.
"I guess you figured that out, huh." The man ran a hand through his mane of golden hair. "Look, I-"
"No, I get it." Jaune smiled, a genuine smile, if slightly sad. "These visions of mine... they gave me a bit of perspective. I understand the danger a lot better now. I know it's not just... just a fairytale."
"Fairytales..." Jaune's father chuckled slightly. "I guess it's your mother and I's fault for filling your head with stories, huh."
"I don't blame you, really." The boy shook his head. "I'm actually quite glad I got a reality check now, and not... I don't know, when I ran off to Beacon to try and be a hero or something."
"Hah! I can imagine you doing something like that six months ago, but now? Not a chance." A brief laugh ensued, followed by a comfortable silence.
Jaune took the opportunity to turn his thoughts inwards, and he marvelled at how... light he felt. It was as though the world had been lifted from his shoulders just a little bit; it was an amazing sensation. So this was what just telling someone felt like? For the briefest of moments, something sparked in Jaune's heart; a flicker of hope that maybe he could be free of his... curse.
Jaune smiled a little to himself.
"Jaune." His father spoke suddenly.
"Yeah? What?" Jaune looked at him questioningly.
"We're going to unlock your aura."
Jaune's eyes widened and the gears in his mind stopped working for a minute.
"I- but- why?"
"If it is your Semblance, the only way to gain control of it is by unlocking it fully, and to do that..."
"... I need to have my aura. Right." Jaune nodded, a little dazed. "But... you don't want me to be a-"
"You don't have to be a Huntsman just because your aura is unlocked, Jaune." His father explained patiently. "There are a few procedures to follow - make sure the government can keep track of the people who have aura - but besides that, you can live a normal life."
"Right. Okay." He nodded mindlessly. His father downed his glass and rose, the slightest of sways to his step. Jaune mirrored his action once more, the height difference becoming clear - Jaune's six feet paled next to his six-and-a-half foot monster of a father. Jaune promptly fell over again as his legs turned to jelly.
"That's alcohol for you, Jaune." His Dad chuckled, pulling him up. Steadying himself, Jaune laughed slightly. "You're juuust a bit tipsy right now. Don't get used to it; your mother will kill us both if she knows I let you drink at sixteen."
"Okay."
Jaune, led by his father, half-walked half-staggered his way outside into the cool night air. His mother and sisters had retired for the night, thankfully. He felt the cool ground beneath his feet and wiggled his toes a little, absently enjoying the feeling.
"Face up, Jaune."
They were in the middle of their yard. An expanse of grass about fifteen metres either way, mostly shaded in darkness save for the light of the dining room shining through the door, extended out either way. His father stood a few feet away, his imposing silhouette standing out from the background.
"Are you ready for this, Jaune?" His dad's hands fell onto his shoulders and he was looked in the eye. The significance of the moment wasn't lost on him. He steeled his nerves; this was what he wanted. He would fix himself.
"Yeah."
"Then close your eyes and listen well."
He did so.
"For it is in death that we fulfil our purpose... Through it, we become the embodiment of sacrifice to shoulder the burdens of the world. Martyred by life and undone by love, I emancipate your soul and by my hand, condemn thee!"
Jaune's world exploded.
An infinite number of voices cascaded into his ears all at once and yet not at all, the cacophony throwing him off balance, but he was not stood on the grassy floor of his backyard anymore, he was falling through an endless abyss and the images rushed past him, people, names, places, events, death, rebirth, again and again, over and over and over and please let it be over, I just want it to stop-
"Hello. I'm professor Ozpin."
His world went black.
(A/N) Well, that was fun. If I get any interest in the story I may even be motivated to make a part 2. One can only dream, ne?