Last chapter was a little lackluster, so this one should be a bit better. A bit more action, a bit more sadness (and 500 words shorter), the whole nine yards. Anyway.

I do not own Roosterteeth

or the rights to RWBY

and may Monty Oum be forever unbound by death.

Qrow was tired.

A little drunk (a given for Qrow), but mostly just tired. He had been asked by Oz to locate some kid ass deep in the wilds, and get them out. Not to mention the fact that the ancient Beringel that had been keeping most of the other Grimm packs away was killed, so the place was even more dangerous than usual.

And his flask was empty, so he was even more grumpy than usual.

So he felt excused when he almost tripped over some log on the ground, stumbling into a nearby tree. He quickly whipped around to punt the offending hunk of wood for daring to cross his path but froze before he even took a step. Before him was not some dried, dead branch, but something much more foreboding.

What lie before him was an arm, severed at the shoulder and surrounded by grass stained red. Even the surrounding forest seemed to pay respect for the limb, as a single ray of light dispelled the shade surrounding the appendage. Qrow wasn't to bothered, as his chosen career path had brought him across far worse sights, but it did strike both a cord of sympathy and confusion at the sight. Sympathy for it to happen to someone so far into the Wild's, but confusion at the distinct lack of a body to accompany the severed arm.

He bent down, inspecting the arm a bit more closely. It's hand wore a leather, fingerless glove. A black sleeve that would not be remiss on a sweater of similar color covered the rest, and a white spaulder atop the shoulder. Qrow could swear he had heard these details before, even bet his prized flask on it. The reason being?

The details were exactly like what the kid he was hunting for was supposed to be wearing, eerily familiar. A quick DNA test would say if it was or wasn't, but that wouldn't be until he got back. Nevertheless, he still had to actually carry a severed arm back to Beacon and its residents. Such as the kids team.

And both of his nieces.

I'm gonna need a drink.

So Qrow bent down and gently picked up the appendage, carefully wrapping it in his cloak. Disgusting? A little, but he paid it not mind as he called in a bullhead for retrieval. Supposedly, the kid had saved his entire team with this, so he wasn't about to criticize him now.

I couldn't even save Sum-

No Qrow, he shook his head and grimaced at the emptiness of his flask

That way leads to madness.

MADNESS!

A mop of blonde rolled underneath a swipe from an Ursa Major, dragging his blade through it's shoulder. The Ursa returned the favor with a swipe towards his middle that forced him to jump back.

I could have SWORN that I had killed this one already!

Jaune had been fighting for about ten minutes, as the untimely appearance of a small band of merry Ursas decided to screw with his day. In all likeliness, they were probably drawn to the frustration he had feeling prior to now from a very basic, very stupid problem.

He didn't know how to tie his own goddamned shoes.

The knots had come undone as a crow had passed overhead, its form just peaking through the canopy above as it flew over the blond and his woes. It looked as if it had been flying drunk, but who was he to judge. His shoes were untied, and he could not for the life of him figure out how to tie them securely with one hand. So as he ducked/fell under the arch of a flying Beowolf that had felt the negativity and heard the commotion, only one thought permeated his mind.

Weren't they triple knotted?

He thrust his blade into the side of the Ursa Major once more, but the ancient blade got caught between its plated ribs. As Jaune struggled to free the blade and the Ursa bucked wildly, the Beowolf lunged once more, catching the handle of Crocea Mors. Jaune dove to the side and turned to see the one thing he never wanted to, or ever thought possible.

The stress on the blade as it was pressed in two different directions was to great, and its old metal shattered with a resounding crack. Time itself seemed to freeze as the Beowolf landed with the handle of his sword in its filthy maw, and the Ursa finally slumped down with the broken blade still in its side.

Jaune?

Jaune had completely locked up as he stared at the pale blade. What he considered his only lifeline, his only defense against the hordes that threatened to swallow him whole had shattered before his eyes. Even the Beowolf seemed shocked as it dropped the sword's grip upon the ground. Timed slowly resumed its normal pace however, as the Beowolf let out a snarl before charging forward at Jaune. In response, Jaune could only shake himself back to attention in time to dodge to the side. His mind was blank as he continued to dodge swipe after swipe, lunge after lunge, bite after bite, until his back hit a tree. The wooden behemoth did not even shake at the weight of Jaune throwing himself against it, and the Beowolf prepared for another lunge. Jaune was not out of aura, but he was in a position to lose a lot more than just an arm this time around. So he did the only thing he could.

He hoisted the sheath that had rarely, if ever, been unstrapped form his waist, and widened it into it's kite shield form. The Beowolf hit its face before grabbing the edges of the shield, its claws scraping against the metal with an eardrum shattering screech. Jaune returned the noise with a roar of his own as he shoved against the weight of the Grimm, throwing it off and onto the ground. He wasted no time in doing what came instinctively at that point.

He threw his body forward and drove the shields pointed edge through the throat of the beast. When it failed to go completely through, he repeated the action, and the accompanying squelch was music to his ears. So he repeated the process.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Over and over, and when the Grimm faded from beneath him, he continued to pound the spot on the earth below, digging a hole with his shield until he collapsed on its surface. He felt numb, even as silent tears fell from his eyes. The same ocean blue eyes seemed clouded over, apathetic even. He rose to his knees with the shield on the floor as he looked to the sky. The bright, almost cheery sunlight that pierced the canopy seemed to mock him, to taunt him with his failure. All because his damned shoes had come untied.

Suddenly, Jaune slapped himself across the face before breaking into laughter. His untied shoes had broken his blade, but not his will. Some stupid laces had ruined what he thought was his only form of offense, his only weapon against the Grimm.

Now? Now it started to seem hilarious in hindsight. Some untied shoes had made him realize that he never was an attacker, it wasn't what he wanted to be and certainly was never what role he had to play. He was a protector, and he only ever needed a shield to do so. Hell, it can easily be an offensive tool too, as the repeated beatings from Pyrrah and the most recent Grimm could tell you.

He wasn't helpless. If anything, he was better than ever.

So as his laughter settled into a light chuckle, he stood up a bit shakily and move to the fallen handle of the blade. Retrieving it, he inserted it into his shield before transforming the entire thing back into a sheath. He looked back over to the now faded corpse of the Ursa Major and saw the broken blade resting tip first in the earth, sunlight bathing the scene to give it a serene feel to the entire sight. He knelt before it and bowed his head.

"You were a legendary weapon, a sword held and used by equally legendary wielders. I know now that you were not what made them legendary, but in combination with your partner you won wars, defended the people, and destroyed evil." A solemn chuckle left his lips as he shook his head.

"I am not a destroyer of evil, nor have I had to fight a war…"

High atop a tower at Beacon, a certain white haired, coffee drinking Headmaster sneezed.

"…but I will always work to defend the people. My friends. My family,"

Images of each statement passed through his head as he said them.

"My home. All of these and more I must protect. For that I do not need you, never have." He stood up and turned to leave, leaving one last remark for the ancient blade that now resided in what would be its eternal resting place.

"All it took, was some undone laces."

Now if only he could figure out how to tie said laces.