Yang Xiao Long was an angel. Not in the common way that everyone imagined, with the white robes and the halo. No, Yang was an angel of death. She rained fire on her enemies, and her wrath was beautiful and terrible to behold.

Leaning back into her infirmary bed, Blake reminisced on the team's latest battle.

Blake dashed behind a Beowolf, slashing what would have been the hamstring on a human, before throwing Gambol Shroud into the neck of the Ursa behind Yang. Like every fight they participated in as partners, Blake reveled in their synergy. After leaving the White Fang and Adam, Yang walked into her life and took to her role as partner like a fish to water. A small smile flitted across her face as she thought of the fish jokes Yang would have made if she'd said that out loud.

Seeing the Grimm beginning to thin out, Ruby signaled for a partner switch. Ruby and Blake were so fast that they could take out enemies at close and mid range extremely quickly. Yang, under the influence of one of Weiss' Haste glyphs, started hitting Grimm left, right, and center like a truck. It was an efficient way to wrap up a battle.

Blake began to wade her over to where Ruby was clearing a space. This was the risky part, as Yang couldn't cover her back. Blake secretly prided herself of her situational awareness, although the reasons she developed it were not as praiseworthy. She shook her head, pulling back on her ribbon. This was a battle, dammit, she shouldn't be thinking so much.

In hindsight, Blake thought that the same entity that granted Yang with her angelic aspects must have shared Yang's ability to drag her into trouble. A swipe from an Ursa Major caught her right across the back. She tried to twist herself in the air, only to find her flight abruptly cut short, courtesy of a sturdy oak. As such, she didn't have time to remember to tuck her head, which hit the trunk with such force that Blake blacked out for a few seconds.

As she came to, with her body reporting at least a few bruised ribs, she heard three voices shout her name. She tried to tell them she was fine, but there seemed to be a disconnect between her brain and her mouth. Huh. Her mind wandered to the warm trickle down her neck, before an intense heat wave made her attempt to focus on what was in front of her.

Fire. Despite the concussion she probably had, she knew that fire coming towards her could only mean one thing: Yang. She laughed. It hurt.

Grimm flew, reminding Blake of bowling pins. Before she knew it, Yang was kneeling over her. Her eyes flashed red and lilac as she took in the condition of her partner. "Shit, Blake," she swore, running a hand through her hair. "Don't move, we'll wrap this up as fast as we can," she promised, giving Blake a weak smile. Turning her back to Blake, she pounded her fists together.

"Come at me."

Yang, in her boundless generosity, met the Grimm halfway. She was rage incarnate, the fire of her soul covering her and torching everything she put her fists and feet to. Blake saw the blackness closing in on her vision, but she wasn't concerned. She had her team. She had her guardian angel.

Yang was sitting in a chair next to her bed. Well, sitting was a strong word for what Yang was doing. It was something between a slouch and a sprawl. All in all, it was a very Yang-like way to sleep in a chair, complete with light snoring and drool.

Blake smiled. Her guardian angel was drooling onto her bedsheets. She wouldn't have it any other way.