I do not own RWBY or any of the characters.

One Final Second Chance

Warmth. A gentle, flowing tide of warmth. It rocked him gently, like an infant in his mother's arms. It comforted him. It stilled the thoughts swirling through his head, and it dulled the pain that blocked his senses. He let out a long, slow breath. It felt like so long since he'd been warm. Since he'd been calm. He could almost smile if he had the strength. Almost. but then, he couldn't smile. Now wasn't the time for that. he was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to not remember. Or, was this death? Was this what happened when he reincarnated? He felt tired. Exhausted, even. Was this how it always went? Was he supposed to drift off to sleep, and lose himself in the bliss of that rest? If he decided to just leave his eyes closed, to allow the comforting embrace of temporary oblivion claim him, would he wake as someone else, some where else, and with no memory of what had been?

"Such a cruel fate," He sighed, opening his eyes and staring out at the warm, white void he found himself in. "More a curse than a blessing. Live, die, repeat. Love, lose, forget. Over and over."

Faces swam before him in the void, people he'd loved in his past lives, both romantically and platonically. A sea of those he'd lost. A sea of those he'd killed, failed to protect, or left behind. Those he'd never see again. So many of them.

"Why did you give me this fate?" He asked the void. "What did you think I could accomplish like this? What did you think I could do? What was there for me to do besides die over and over. What beyond lose all that I care about again and again? Where was I supposed to succeed?"

Slowly, the people before him began to fade, leaving him alone once again. He sighed. Such a cruel fate indeed. Alone suited him just fine. He had always been alone. He'd been so alone that he'd created himself a companion. Or rather, he'd replaced the person he'd loved most with a companion he'd created. But really, what was he to do? Where was his alternative? Where was his guiding light? His path toward success? Where was the brightest Star that was supposed to guide him to his destiny? Where was the ray of sunshine to light his way? How was he supposed to know what to do, how to succeed, if he wasn't even allowed to remember what he was?

He sighed, looking down where his feet were resting on the nothingness below him as if it were solid. He walked forward, not keeping track of how far, or if he walked straight. He simply walked. As he did, memories filtered through his head. The whispers of voices, the ghosts of smiles, flashes of words. Nothing remained, and when he tried to grasp onto the memories, he found his own starting to slip. He couldn't remember the color of his pants. Or the color of his hair. He couldn't remember the names of his friends, or of the girl whose gold eyes he remembered wanting to see again. He couldn't remember what he did for a living, or how he did it. He couldn't even remember his own name.

A door swam into view ahead of him and he reached out, turning it and pushing it open. He stepped into a kitchen, brightly lit by the sun. The light was reflecting off of everything, blurring his view slightly, though he didn't mind. This wasn't real anyway. Not the door he pushed closed, not the little girl he lifted into his arms and hugged tight to his chest, and not the beautiful woman who greeted him with a kiss before staring at him with those beautiful golden eyes. This couldn't be real, because for it to be real, he'd need to know their names.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt his dream beginning to fade. First the kitchen, then the daughter. The wife smiled sadly at him and reached out to wipe his tears away, only to fade just before making contact. He couldn't remember. He should know her. He should know why the thought of her not being real was a cold, serrated blade of ice sawing into his heart. He should know what his own name was. But he couldn't He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember his age. Was he twenty? Eighteen? Eighty? Two? He couldn't recall.

"Who am I?" he asked the void. "Where am I going? What do I do?"

"You're Fox Winters," a soft voice said behind him.

He turned, seeing a girl standing before him. He couldn't remember her name, but she had beautiful blue eyes, and a warm smile. He recognized her face, but he couldn't remember her name.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Ava," she smiled. "I'm your best friend. You want to know who you are, right? I can show you."

"You can?" he asked.

"Yeah," she smiled, offering her hand. "All you have to do is take my hand."

He nodded, reaching out, only for pain to wrack his whole body, sending him staggering away, tears flooding down his face. "It hurts!"

"I know," she smiled sadly, tears of her own sliding down her face. "I know it hurts. You've gone through so much. So much more than you should have had to. So much more than you could bear. But if you want to know who you are, you have to bear with the pain for a little longer."

"Is it worth it?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know if it'll be worth it. But I know that you have friends."

"I do?" he asked, eyes widening slowly.

"Yes," she smiled. "You have so many friends. Me, Wulfe, Ruby, Yang, Oscar, Jaune, Pyrrha, Weiss, Nora, Ren, Qrow, Penny. You have someone who loves you, Blake. The others, they're all waiting for you to come back to them. Can't you feel them? They need you to wake up. To be okay. Can't you hear them?"

He looked around, the whisper of voices just barely registering in his ears. He looked to her hand, the voices seeming to be coming from her palm.

"It's going to hurt," she said. "And you're not going to like everything you see. A lot will scare you. You'll regret a lot. But you won't be alone this time. You'll wake up surrounded by the ones you love this time."

"What about you?" he asked. "Will you be there?"

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "This is as far as I can go. But you'll be okay. You'll have Blake and the others."

He raised a hand but hesitated. "What if I decide I don't like it? Can I come back here again? Can I find you again?"

"No," she smiled. "You won't be able to come back here ever again. And I don't think you'll be able to find me again."

His face fell, but he nodded, resting his hand in hers. A tidal wave of agony screamed through his body, images and memories flashing through his mind. So much time. So many lives. So much pain. Loss. Death. And then, there was light. Happiness. Peace. And then, there were those beautiful gold eyes.

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