Living out on the frontier of good old Grimm-infested Remnant was a tough life.

He had to go through hard work every single day to tend to his family's farmlands. Anything to ease the load off his family's backs.

He had to be there for his sisters when they needed their brother: had to be there to be a shoulder to cry on, a lap to rest on, or a friend to laugh with when no else would or could.

He had to be dependable.

He had to be there for his parents when the work got too much for them.

Had to be there for his father when the monster slaying was finished; when the memories of lost friends, ghoulish faces that gnawed and bit and chewedandgnarledclawedandtoreandravaged-

Had to be there when the nightmares got too much for the grizzled Huntsman.

Had to be there with his old man's favorite brand of beer that he walked hours to the nearest Valean settlement for; offering him a chance to relax and crack a cold one with his son.

Had to be there to ease an old hunting dog's heart with the warmth of his championship and the power of his smile.

Had to be there for his mother when the stress of taking care of a family of ten got too much for the weather-bitten matriarch of the Arc family.

Had to be there to show hi-no their appreciation and adoration and love and a million other things that she was worthy of when the stress grabbed her and twisted her into a bitter old tired woman that felt like she was taking on the weight of millions.

Had to be there to talk about the latest episode the drama shows they watch with rest of the family; to laugh and banter: to take their minds of the fact that the world was burning.

To remember that the flames would never take them if they stuck together.

He had to be considerate.

He had to learn to comfort them, to take their burdens as his.

He had to learn: to make their hellish days into less hellish days, to turn their good days into great days , to turn their great days into the best days.

Had to learn to convey that even though things looked bleak, he was there for them, every step of the way on this crappy misery-infested path.

That their luggage was his.

That you didn't have to bear all of your burdens alone if you had someone walking alongside you.

That the weight of the world wouldn't crush if you had a pack mule to help you carry some of it.

AN

Huh, this fic was supposed to be an angsty fic where after the events of the Vol. 3 finale Jaune laments his family's murder and Phyrra's death and how much he's lost...

I had the plot set out and everything, I wrote the beginning as something heartwarming and then I would follow up with a line of something like 'They got killed by Grimm' or some crap and give Jaune crippling depression, then he joins Beacon to avenge his family or some shtick, things follow Canon, then Phyrra's death opens wounds thought long since healed.

But then this fluffy heartwarming garbage stuck itself into my head.

The premise is that after the events of Vol. 3 Jaune gives: Ren, Nora, Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang a shoulder to cry on and a -waitforit- pack mule to help carry their emotional luggage, because let's admit it, those guys are pretty depressed, the thing is Jaune is also depressed so yeah, it's fun.

Got any critiques on my stinking pile of refuse I call writing? Love it? Hate it?

Be sure to show me by smashing that [REDACTED] Like butto-

Erm, I meant leaving a review.