The morning rays streamed through the windows, bathing the barn in warmth and light. It danced off the trowels, shovels and other tools stored, and painted the hay a brilliant gold. A forkful, guided by orange-gloved hands, tumbled into a wheelbarrow, for feeding to three foals sure to still be asleep. The freckled arms wiped away beads of sweat, and the boy's eyes, green with a twinge of orange, stared fixedly at the task at hand.
"Oooooscaaaar!"
"Coming!"
Leaning the implement against the wooden walls, he grabbed the barrow's handles, guided it around and raced into the daylight. In the eastern sky at his right, the sun warmed the earth and bounced off the water pump, and ahead and to his left were the stables the hay needed to be. Dropping it off, he sped through a brief stretch of grass before vaulting over a fence into an enclosure. His father nodded, handing him the leads of two cows.
"Milk these. And we'll deal with that leak later."
"Yessir!" He saluted before taking the leads.
The beefy man grinned, ruffling his hair before leaving the field via a gate to give the goats some water. After those morning tasks were done, the two males headed into the house northeast of the main barn. Cupping his hand over his mouth, the older man gave a hearty roar of "WHERE'S MY BREAKFAST?"
"Outside! Hurry before it escapes the coop!"
Oscar grinned, shaking his head as his aunt emerged from the kitchen with plates balanced up the length of her arms. Beaming at him, she rested them on the table, giving a solid thwack! to the back of the older man's head.
Toasted bread, bacon, eggs and sausages was the order of the day. Slathering butter onto his slices, Oscar shovelled a triple-decker sandwich into his mouth, savouring the salt and crunch and spices of the whole affair.
"Heh. This wolf we're raising. Soon we'll have to build you your own farm!"
"Oooor… I can take over this one and you can move into Mantle with Uncle Ozpin!"
The man playfully growled, pouring some honey onto his toast. "Told you to stay 10 feet from my son, G.,"
"Someone needed to be the fun twin!" His aunt retorted.
After they'd eaten and washed up, everyone headed out to handle the matter of the leaking tank stationed behind the house. Thankfully, the line running between the tank and the pump at its southwest had shown no sign of damage upon inspection. The sturdy man began cranking the pump handle, beginning the rotation of who would bring all the buckets they could find, who'd check the water levels and who'd mix the concrete. Once all the water was drained, they'd clean, patch and re-line the receptacle.
His father's arm flexed and relaxed steadily, not a beat missed, not an ounce of pain felt for hours on end.
"Don't need it, boy."
"I could help even more if-,"
"But not here. You want Beacon."
His words were leaden balls he carefully manoeuvred. Oscar could hear the anger, but there was mostly tiredness.
"Came back to help G. 'cause you needed me, and Beacon didn't. 'Sides, there's pain the semblance, and even missions can't block."
"…I…think I can do it, Dad. I…want to fight. I know how a lot of it works, and it won't matter if there's a million better than me if none of them are where they're needed when they're needed… and I am."
His father's bicep dropped. A nod. "Different, you and I."
"Well, I am adopted."
"And I got good taste. Listen up."
He sat down with a heavy thump, staring up at the boy wanting to be a man. The boy who, despite years of reading old books he thought no one knew he had, didn't quite understand the world stretching its claws to him. He and his sister had had quite the task in co-parenting him, but it would be even harder for them to watch him head out there. Whether it be his life, or even just that spark in his eyes, he was afraid of losing his son. He couldn't help the sharp inhale thinking of everything he'd been through- everything Oscar might have to go through.
"You'll have to make decisions as a Hunstman one day. Can't be the same person as before training. And, you won't be the only one to handle the consequences."
Oscar looked down, and nodded once. Ernest, unflinching.
"You want it, you'll get it. Show me what you got after."
"Yes, dad."
After hours at the tank, they'd finished and were resting up. Oscar climbed the ladder to his attic bedroom above the barn to get ready. His aunt entered, and smiled.
"You're tense."
"Yeah…"
"This staff…"
She closed her fist around the weapon leaning against the wall. "You etched this, and trained your muscles to be what you wanted them to be. When you were unsteady, you made mistakes, no?"
He nodded.
"Nerves are natural, but they are only one part of you. Control them, and they can even be another tool. They can tell you when you're doing something that will make you even greater, or more terrible than you were before."
She tossed it to him, and headed out, her long, dark braid swinging behind her. Deciding he needed some air to loosen up, he headed out to the field.
He'd been sitting with his back to the main barn's front door. Staring at the grass, he processed everything he knew about his dad's fighting style and how he could manage it. A long shadow blackened the green blades, leading to a dark figure backlit with the afternoon light.
"Ready, boy?"
"As I'll ever be."
Oscar stood and his father led the way east to their sparring grounds- a patch of field between two beech trees. The man turned to him, and he gripped his weapon. It was times like this where he wasn't truly scared, but he was reminded his father could be quite intimidating. At an overwhelming eight feet, with that hardened look his eyes, he wouldn't deny the slight shakes he got when squaring up for their sessions.
Rolling his shoulders, he backed up a bit in the direction of the northmost tree. Each stared down the other, assessing the best possible angles of attack. A slow smile crept across his dad's face, and he got a sinking feeling before the beast of a man charged.
Immediately on the defensive, he darted back to avoid those meaty fists. As he jumped to avoid a particularly low blow, his father grabbed his legs with both hands. Pulling him to the ground, he used his body as an axis to whirl the boy around counter-clockwise, and fling him into the southward tree's branches hammer-throw style.
Steadying himself on the branches, he scrambled down to the much more solid trunk and propelled himself off into a flying kick using both bent knees. Seeing that a mile coming, his father put his arms up in a block, forcing the boy to crouch against his forearms and rebound off. But a dash forward by his father delivered to him a furious uppercut in the stomach. A fist slammed against his back and sent him to the ground.
"Little slow there, Oscar."
The teen's eyes sparked in irritation as he rolled left to evade an incoming punch. Quickly standing, he sidestepped a grab, moved his grip to the lower end of the staff and thrust the point into the man's right side, thwacking him once more for good measure. The man easily squared up again, turned to him, bent his arms, and swiped at his head, alternating between elbows. There'd never be a way for him to outmatch his dad in power, so he knew he'd have to open him up somehow.
Problem was, he was running out of energy.
Their silhouettes advanced and retreated against the backdrop of the setting sun, one swiftly darting around its lumbering, powerful sparring partner. But both were slowing down- soon, there would be a winner and a loser. It would have to be now, before he was totally exhauste-
A headbutt had him reeling, seeing stars, staggering as his father laughed. Anger and frustration surged, but he stepped back and calmed a bit, the beginnings of an idea forming. Moving in, Oscar lowered his stance and directed horizontal sweeping attacks at his stomach and waist. Terribly inconvenient for a man of his height. He'd have to crouch to defend (constricting his breathing), or he could-
A roundhouse kick- just as he'd hoped. Sliding under the path of the kick, he ended up behind the giant, and...
There.
His father's legs were planted too wide apart from that move and the fatigue. Attempting to cover for it, the man tried to swing his right arm back. But he was a bit too slow. A rush of excitement gave Oscar the energy he needed. He focused on the vulnerability that was clear as day, and it all slowed down for this one moment.
Bending his knees, and shifting his right foot back, Oscar lunged, directing a flurry of jabs to the back of his father's knees and thighs, and one last powerful thrust to the lower spine knocked the man onto his stomach. Smug, he poked that well-muscled back a couple times, satisfied when his opponent chuckled.
"Did good, kid."
A floaty, elated feeling in Oscar's chest that almost cancelled out the tiredness. His father rose, back to him and face to the sunset. "Did good."
Seeing as the light was fading, they headed inside to wrap up the day. A warm meal of leftover chicken soup later, his father cocked his head in the direction of the back door. Aunt Gretchen flashed Oscar an encouraging smile as his father headed out. Curious, he placed the bowl in the sink, and found him looking up at the dusk sky, arms crossed.
"Careful out there. Can't get yourself killed after that fight you put up…"
Oscar glanced up at him, seeing a mix of worry, resignation and cautious optimism. "You don't really like this, do you?"
A sigh. "Keeping you here's a waste. Effort and potential."
The man looked down on an excited, nervous, determined face. "…Love you, Ozzie-boy."
"Love you too, dad."
The pair looked up at the fragmented moon together. One day, he'd no longer be able to call him that. The man knew that the boys wanting to be Huntsmen grew up faster than most. Many of them fell away, but the ones that endured were the ones that held onto the very energy burning behind his son's eyes. A long, whooshing release of air from his lungs, and Hazel's shoulders relaxed just a bit.