The rest of the house is asleep upon their return. Despite Ren's insistence that the school paid for a hotel, the Arcs easily convince JNPR to stay with them for the night. Quietly, Jaune and Amarilla drag in mattresses from the rooms of two of the Arc sisters who have already left home and, without a single word from Jaune, Amarilla volunteers to go sleep in their eldest sister's bedroom.

"Add it to the list of things you owe me," she says smugly to Jaune in the hallway as she grabs her toiletries. "You can't miss it. It's the notebook on my bedside table. Put it in right under 'shortened your grounding' and 'didn't murder anyone at the bar on your behalf'."

"I will make it up to you," Jaune promises, grabbing extra pillows from the hallway closet.

"Good. Because my rain checks will still be valid when you're 85."

Jaune moves a pillow under one arm and hugs his sister suddenly. "Thank you. For everything. Really."

Amarilla snatches the pillow and smothers Jaune's face in it, grinning. "Go be a sentimental nerd with your friends."

Ren strips down and collapses into Amarilla's bed, staying awake only long enough to comment that all the anatomy charts are going to give him nightmares. Jaune sits on the mattress on the floor next to Pyrrha, using his own bed as a backrest. Nora sprawls out across both their laps with an exaggerated purring noise. Laughing quietly, Pyrrha pats Nora's head. Jaune twists around to pull out a modest stack of board games, playing cards, and a handheld console from under his bed.

The three of them play Compost King and Go Fish and Hungry, Hungry Huckles. Jaune talks a little about school at Pyrrha's insistence, though all his stories are deemed boring by Nora. He teaches Pyrrha how to play his favorite handheld video game, watching over her shoulder proudly as her score climbs. Nora peruses through his long box of comic books and reads through his early issues of X-Ray and Vav. Neither of them admit to being tired when Jaune periodically asks. He believes Nora more than he believes Pyrrha.

When his training alarm goes off, the girls jump and Ren startles awake.

"Sorry, sorry!" Jaune apologizes, jumping up from the floor to smack the device off.

"Training time?" Ren asks groggily.

Jaune rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry."

"Don't let us interrupt," Pyrrha says earnestly. "You should still get your practice in."

"We'll join you!" Nora announces. Ren is cognizant enough to hush her for being too loud.

"But you guys must be exhausted—"

"Nonsense," Pyrrha says. She gets to her feet, looking more awake than she has in the last hour. She grabs her duffel bag from the foot of the bed and heads for the bathroom, Nora in tow. "There's always time to train."

Ren makes a noise that could be a curse word and blindly reaches for his own bag.

"Ren, you don't have to wake up for this," Jaune insists.

"Nora's gonna blow your house up," he mumbles with conviction. He's sitting up a moment later, eyes half shut, trying to find the sleeve of his shirt.

As Jaune panics internally, Ren gets fully dressed and the girls return in their own hunting attires, weapons in hand. Then the inevitable question arises.

"Jaune? Where's your gear?" Pyrrha says.

He rocks back on his heels, hands deep in his jean pockets. "It's...um...it's downstairs."

"Go get it, slowpoke!" Nora teases.

Jaune stares at his feet. "I can't."

Ren raises a brow. "Why?"

Might as well get it over with. Jaune sighs and leads the way for his team to his father's study. The door is locked. He gestures to it helplessly.

"It's in there. With all my dad's other stuff," he explains.

"Is that all?" Nora chirps, rearing Magnhild back. Ren catches the head of the hammer in both hands to dissuade her from swinging.

"Then what have you been training with?" Pyrrha asks curiously.

Flushing hot with shame, Jaune scuffs his shoe on the wooden floors. "I've been using an old pitchfork," he confesses. "And the lid of our compost bin."

His team doesn't say anything right away, so Jaune forces himself to look up and meet their eyes. He's not sure what kind of rejection he was anticipating, but the proud look on Pyrrha's face is anything but disappointed.

"You're not...upset?" he chances.

That startles Pyrrha. "Why would I be upset? It offers good resistance, right? And the lid is heavy, like your shield?"

"I weigh it down with rocks sometimes," Jaune says, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Pyrrha smiles and nods. Ren raises a brow. Nora rests her hammer across both shoulders and looks at him weird.

"Jaune...why did you think that would make us mad?"

"Not mad, just... " Jaune gestures to the three of them aimlessly, and then it all tumbles out. "You've all got custom weapons and real hunting clothes and just, you guys are amazing at fighting! Meanwhile I can't even practice terribly with gear that isn't mine..."

"Don't say that," Pyrrha interrupts. Her expression is placating: pointed but not stern. "I practiced with a wooden sword and shield for two years before my trainer even let me hold a rifle. And I started with an air-propelled one at that."

Jaune blinks at her. "Really?"

"Ren and I started with even less!" Nora says, rolling her eyes with a smile. "We would've killed for a barn and something to swing around that we didn't have to dumpster-dive for and assemble ourselves. Right?" She nudges her partner's hip with her own.

"We all start somewhere," Ren agrees, bumping Nora right back.

Pyrrha reaches for his hand, and Jaune gives it to her without a second thought.

"You found a way to make it work. Just like we all did," she says. "We just started earlier. That's all."

At a loss, Jaune stares at the floor again, deciding whether he's more mortified by this rather obvious revelation or by his previous embarrassment. When Pyrrha gives his hand a squeeze though, he can't resist a smile.

"Go get your hoodie," Pyrrha instructs, lifting her other hand. The fuzz of her Semblance glows for a second, then his father's office door clicks open. "We'll get your stuff."

Jaune jogs out to the barn, back in his hoodie, gloves, favorite jeans and worn sneakers. His heart feels lighter, impossibly so. He finds Nora doing flip tricks with his preferred pitchfork. Ren is leaning against the stairs to the hayloft. Pyrrha is standing beside him, holding Jaune's pieces of armor and Crocea Mors.

"I didn't realize it was part of an entire suit of armor," she says as Jaune takes the chest plate from her, weighing it happily in his hands before fastening it on.

"Oh, yeah, it's a whole set," Jaune says, snatching up the shoulder guards to fasten into place. "Everything else looked really uncomfortable so I only grabbed the stuff that would keep me from dying."

"The helmet would have helped during initiation," Ren remarks. Jaune ignores him, grinning stupidly wide when he finishes with his other shoulder guard and Pyrrha presents him with Crocea Mors.

He hugs the sword to his chest, clinking it against his armor pieces. He kisses the handle and coos, "I missed you so much, baby."

"Dork," Nora calls over, catching the pitchfork out of the air and planting it firmly in a hay bale.

Jaune draws out the blade, opens his shield with a satisfying accordion of metal.

"Alright, captain. What's first?" Ren asks, pushing off the column.

"Geez, I don't know." Jaune says, looking between the three of them. "What do you guys want to do?"

"Show off!" Nora says, at the same time Ren suggests, "Training forms."

Jaune looks over at Pyrrha for the tie-breaker.

"How about our team combos?" Pyrrha suggests after a moment of thought. "Since we have you here, we might as well take advantage."

"Great! Knight Storm first," Nora announces, aiming her grenade launcher at Crocea Mors. Jaune ducks behind his shield.

"Warmups first!" he shouts, frantic. Being at the receiving end of Magnhild was never fun. He hears Nora pout and peeks over the edge of his shield as she lowers her weapon. "And quiet combos. My family is still asleep in the house."

Ren drops the clips out from Stormflower and Pyrrha empties out the bullets from Milo. Nora grumbles as she sets aside her grenades. The disappointment is only momentary. In the blink of an eye, she's off to the races. Knight Storm requires the grenade launcher. Thunderstruck just requires Nora's Semblance. Much to the chagrin of Jaune's burnt hair ends and his view of the barn roof from the ground.

"Gotta build your tolerance back up, boss man," Nora chirps.

Jaune moans and Pyrrha kindly offers him a hand up. He gently waves her off. With his weapons still in hand, he kicks-up back to a standing position. His landing wobbles with the extra weight of his armor.

Pyrrha beams at him. "I know I didn't teach you that."

"That's 'cause you never fall down," Jaune jokes, twirling Crocea Mors in one hand — another trick he learned from following the rabbit hole of Pyrrha's training tutorials. A sword and pitchfork have different balances, though, and Jaune ends up accidentally flicking it at Ren.

They practice late into the night. Jaune gets the best workout he's gotten since his Ursa run-in and the best training since leaving Beacon. They run drills and combos and Jaune's "garbage" formations. Ren taps out early, to no one's surprise, and Nora accompanies him to bed when he refuses to leave without her. Jaune watches them go as he takes a break to stretch.

"Hey, Pyr? Nothing's...happened with Ren and Nora since I left, has it?"

Pyrrha stops her transformation drills with Milo in-between sword and rifle. She glances over at Jaune. "No, I don't believe so. They're the same as they've always been."

Jaune watches out the barn door as teeny-tiny Nora gives Ren a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the house. "For real?"

"For real," Pyrrha promises.

Jaune shrugs and rolls out his shoulders. "Just my eyes then."

Pyrrha finishes shifting her weapon into a short sword and taps it against her shield in invitation. She smiles in anticipation of Jaune's reluctance. "Simple strikes and parries, I promise."

"Don't go easy on me now, coach," Jaune says, grinning. He collects Crocea Mors and takes a ready stance across from Pyrrha. "I'll have you know, some of the scarecrows I fought were black belts."

Pyrrha most definitely goes easy on him. He uses his environment to his advantage — hopping across hay bales, lunging for his pitchfork to deflect a blow when Pyrrha knocks Crocea Mors out of his hands — and he beats his personal record by landing a grand total of six hits on her. As he sweeps up Crocea Mors, Pyrrha teases him about changing weapons; he quips that the niche of hunters with cool three-pronged weapons is already occupied by Neptune Vasilias, then ducks under her answering swing.

Their match ends what feels like an eon later with Pyrrha pinning him into a corner, her sword at his collarbone as the scroll in his pocket flashes its Low Aura warning.

"That was wonderful, Jaune!" she says proudly, taking a few steps back as Jaune slides down to the floor, spent and panting.

"But I didn't… do anything…"

"You never asked to stop. Not once."

"...Oh," Jaune says. He struggles to stand and takes Pyrrha's offered hand. "Not aloud anyway."

Pyrrha laughs, returning her weapons to her back. "Really, Jaune. Don't sell yourself short."

"I can't." He grins lopsidedly. "You won't let me."

Flushed from the exercise, she puts her hands on her hips. "How are you feeling?"

"A little hot," he admits. "I haven't trained in the armor in a few months." He pushes back his sweaty bangs with a little laugh. "Was there anything else you wanted to do before we called it a night?"

Pyrrha assesses him. Jaune tries to look less exhausted than he really is so she won't feel the need to tap out for his sake. He's pretty sure Pyrrha hasn't even broken a sweat.

"We could… Could we try, um..." she trails off sheepishly. "Ruby says that you were designing a team move for us before you left?"

"Arkos?" Jaune says. Pyrrha nods. Jaune fidgets with his weapons, blushing. "Oh, uh, sure. I never really worked out the kinks in it, but we could give it a shot?"

Pyrrha smiles. "I'd love to."

Jaune talks her through the idea: a shield-to-shield front-flip aerial launch. He draws a diagram in the dirt, and Pyrrha nods along as he explains, offering practical suggestions and making sure the moves are defined clearly. When they've reviewed the physics to death, he suggests they give it a try. Pyrrha sets up at the far end of the barn while Jaune readies himself in the middle. He braces his shield and gives Pyrrha the signal. She sprints at him.

She must come in too high or too fast, because when their shields collide, Crocea Mors bounces back to slam Jaune in the face, and both he and Pyrrha go skidding across the barn floor.

"It's okay. I'm okay," Jaune says over Pyrrha's frantic apologies. He massages his nose tenderly. "I've got a chronic case of dumbass, but I'm fine. I promise."

Pyrrha gingerly pulls his hand away from his face and crouches over him, looking between his eyes. She leans in so close, Jaune swears he can count the individual flecks of green in her irises.

"Your pupils seem to be dilating fine," she says in relief, sitting back on her heels.

"Oh, good," he jokes. "Concussion averted."

Pyrrha helps him sit up. "We should have waited until your aura recovered, Jaune, I'm so sorry."

He chuckles awkwardly and rubs his neck. "I guess Arkos still needs more work, huh?"

Pyrrha smiles apologetically. "I'm sure we'll get it one day."

"I'm sure we will..." A yawn interrupts him.

Pyrrha eyes him knowingly. She stands. "Shall we call it a night?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Jaune agrees grandly, standing as well.

Out of the blue, Jaune's scroll goes off, cutting through the pleasant silence and making them jump. He fishes it out of his pocket and finds Ruby's face on the screen.

Jaune exchanges a look with Pyrrha. It's almost dawn; Ruby never got up before noon if she could help it.

He answers the scroll and puts it on speaker. "Hello?"

The only answer is loud garbled static.

"Rubes?" Jaune asks, louder.

The cut calls off abruptly. Jaune calls back, but it goes straight to voicemail. Pyrrha retrieves her scroll from her pouch and tries as well. No response.

"What mission was RWBY assigned to?" Jaune asks.

Pyrrha frowns at her phone, then looks at Jaune nervously. "Something about saving the world."

Pacing his bedroom back and forth, Jaune dials Ruby again. No answer.

"You don't think...anything's happened, do you?" Pyrrha asks as she shoots Blake a message.

"Probably a butt dial," Nora suggests cheerily, still wide awake. "I do those all the time."

Jaune pivots and walks across the length of the room again, this time dialing Weiss. No answer.

"It's exceptionally early," Ren says, tracing Jaune's movements with the one eye he's managed to pry open. "They could be sleeping."

Jaune makes another turn, his finger over Yang's glowing contact photo, when Pyrrha catches him by the shoulder. "Talk to us, Jaune."

"I just got this feeling…" he mumbles, staring at the scroll. "It's stupid, I know, but it feels… Well, why would she call me? If she needed JNPR, she'd call you, right? If it was serious, she wouldn't call me. ...right? Unless…"

He looks each of his teammates in the face, chewing his lip. The answer floats between them. Unless Ruby knew his team was with him. Unless she knew that his town was closer to Beacon than whatever outskirts Ruby was assigned to.

Ren sits up in Amarilla's bed. "I'll call a car."

Team JNPR moves like clockwork. Nora and Ren re-dress in their gear; Pyrrha packs everyone's bags; Jaune sneaks downstairs to grab everyone some food for the trip. They all meet at the front door as the first light of dawn starts to creep over the horizon and a very sleepy taxi driver pulls up in the Arc's driveway.

"There's some leftovers from last night in here, but I added some chips in case...you..."

He stops at the sight of his own duffel bag over Ren's shoulder, the handle of Crocea Mors sticking out where the zipper won't close. His teammates are watching him, expectant.

Jaune feels his heart swelling and sinking at the same time. "Guys—"

They all start talking at once.

"We don't know what's waiting for us back at Beacon. We could use the extra backup—"

"—don't want you because you're good or bad, we want you because you're you and we—"

"—and Pyrrha can duplicate Crocea Mores, and we'd be gone before anyone wakes up, and we could still make it to Vale to kick butt—"

Jaune holds up both hands to brace himself from the onslaught and keep them from waking his family. When they trail off, Jaune shuffles from foot to foot and stares at the door frame.

"I can't," he says softly, "you know I can't."

Pyrrha steps towards him, reaching, but Jaune steps back.

"I'm not good enough, Pyrrha."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't try," she says. She plants herself in front of him, overflowing with that same determination he saw at the foot at the airship.

Jaune's laugh is hollow. "I'm trying to keep you safe. I'm trying to keep myself from being a liability. Is that not trying enough?"

Ren and Nora are staring at him, pleading, and Pyrrha looks like a Beowulf couldn't knock her over if it came at her full speed and Jaune's heart is breaking all over again that he can't be what they need him to be.

"What do you want, Jaune?" Pyrrha says softly. "Stop thinking about us, what do you want?"

Wordlessly, Jaune glances down at the scroll in his hands, still open to the recent calls list. Ruby's face, bright and eager, smiles up at him. He looks at the closed door leading out back to the barn.

"I...I want to be a hunter," he whispers. It's the first time he's said it to himself in a long time. He hadn't been able to get the words out with his dad and he hadn't been able to say them to his reflection since returning home. Saying them now, with his team, feels like he's thrown a stone through a glass window. His arm shakes as he clenches the scroll in his hands. "But I can't—"

"Jaune—"

"I can't run away again."

He surprises himself with the steadiness of his voice. He looks back into Pyrrha's face, into Ren and Nora's, and tries to turn the thrumming feeling in his chest into words. "I'm going to do it right, guys. I can't keep pretending to be someone that I'm not, and I'm not...I'm not happy." That's the first time he's said that out loud. "I'm not the world's most amazing hunter; I'm not good enough to keep up." He puts on his most determined look. "But I'm going to keep training. I'm going to study my ass off. And when Beacon applications open for next semester, Ozpin's gonna find my name at the top of the pile for your partner auditions, Pyrrha."

Pyrrha's steadiness dissolves into something close to hesitation. She tries another step closer and this time, Jaune stands his ground. She's eye to eye with him as she says, "You know you don't have to prove yourself to Ozpin. Or your father or to us."

"Especially not to us," Nora emphasizes, completely serious.

Jaune smiles, bittersweet. "But I have to prove it to myself, Nora. I have to prove I can do it on my own, just like you did. I want to do right by the Arc name. Besides," the smile turns genuine, "I wouldn't miss the look on Cardin's face when I walk back into class for the world. "

Ren is frowning ever so slightly. "You're sure this is what you want?"

Jaune nods. "It is."

"You could do all that training with us knocking you around instead of some boring scarecrows, you know," Nora suggests, but she's smiling.

"You underestimate scarecrows."

Pyrrha looks between him, Ren and Nora, and the car outside. She clasps her hands at her waist. "There's nothing we can do to change your mind?"

Briefly, Jaune hesitates. For a moment, he pictures going back to late-night training in the barn with a pitchfork on his own. He pictures the stares at school and the hounding he is no doubt going to receive in triplicate because of his outing with his team. He remembers his father's cool stare and almost changes his mind on the spot, almost runs to the taxi in a jolt of impulsiveness.

The moment passes. Jaune shakes his head.

"I'm going to do this right, Pyrrha." He notices the chain on her diadem has gotten twisted with her hair and reaches up to fix it. "No one's gonna be able to say it was just luck."

His hand falls to her shoulder, and that, at last, coaxes a smile from Pyrrha.

Ren hands Jaune back his bag with an amused look. "You are aware next semester applications open in a month, yes?"

Jaune stills in adjusting the bag over his shoulder. "Uh ...I did not."

Nora smacks his arm. "Well go get training, slowpoke! No time to waste!"

The taxi drivers honks once, short and loud, and JNPR spins around to shush him before he wakes the Arcs. Nora lifts Jaune off the ground in a bear hug, then waits for Ren to give Jaune a squeeze before following him out to the car, leaving Jaune with Pyrrha as she nimbly digs through her bag.

He huffs a little laugh as he watches them leave. "It's not the daring escape from Casa Arc that Nora was probably hoping for, but—"

In the blink of an eye, Pyrrha has pulled something from her bag and pressed it into his hand. Uncurling his fist, Jaune's heart skips a beat.

"Pyrrha...Pyr, I can't take these," he stammers in disbelief.

He pushes the two Vytal Festival tickets back at her, but Pyrrha won't take them. "Yes, you can."

"But— But your family in Mistral! They'll want to—"

"Jaune." Pyrrha reaches for his hand and folds his fingers over the tickets. She stays there, holding his hand in both of hers. "You're the only person I want there."

The warmth of Pyrrha's hands chases the argument right from his head. He knows the moment she pulls away, he's going to miss her desperately, so he puts his other hand over hers to keep her just a little longer. Pyrrha squeezes his hands reassuringly and Jaune squeezes back.

"I won't disappoint," he promises.

Pyrrha smiles and, almost too swiftly for him to realize it's happened, pecks him on the cheek.

Then she's pulling back, her fingers slipping from his as she turns and all but sprints to the car to keep the sleepy taxi driver from honking again. She isn't even ten paces away and already Jaune aches. A voice in the back of his head whispers that he's made the wrong decision, that it's not too late to run after her.

As Pyrrha slips into the passenger seat of the car, Jaune can't fully see her. But he hears Ren when he rolls down the window and says, "We look forward to reviewing your application, Jaune."

"Kick serious ass!" Nora whisper-shouts at him.

The car pulls away with his team quietly shouting their goodbyes at him. The sun peeks over the trees in the distance, bathing the landscape in a harsh orange as the car rolls down the Arcs driveway and down the road to the airship dock. Jaune stands at his front door, pack still over one shoulder, watching the car until he can't see it anymore.

It dawns on him that he's either just made the smartest or stupidest decision of his life and can't tell which it was.

His body, mind, and heart all feel like they'd been used as a chew toy for an Ursa Major, though, so the deep thoughts will have to wait. Trudging back inside, he puts the tickets in his pocket and pulls Crocea Mors from his bag to carry her lovingly over one shoulder. As much as he'd like to pass out in bed, he needed to put his gear back before his dad got up for the morning. He needed to work on his defense to his father as well, but that could wait until he got a couple of hours of sleep before school.

But when Jaune opens the door to his father's study, he freezes.

His father is awake and reading at his desk. He glances up at Jaune's arrival, looking about as startled to see his son as Jaune is to see him. Feeling his stomach bottom out, Jaune glances down at the mud and hay covering his great-grandfather's armor, at the new scratches in Crocea Mors from where they'd come into brutal contact with Milo and Acouo. His mind spinning, he scrambles for words to defend himself, to dissuade this horrible revelation.

Mr. Arc takes the reading glasses off his face slowly, schooling his face into an expectant look.

Jaune opens his mouth, his jaw trembling, then closes it when no words come. His hand is a vice around the handle of Crocea, as if his very body is already refusing to relinquish the weapon. He feels paralyzed and hates himself.

Mr. Arc closes his book and stands. Quietly, he walks over to the presentation case in the corner with his hands clasped behind his back. He stares at the glaringly obvious missing pieces in the suit of armor and refuses to look back at Jaune.

"After the last time the armor was…stolen," he says, resting on the word enough that Jaune feels the shame bubble up to his throat, "I had a silent alarm installed. It's linked directly to my scroll."

Jaune swallows hard. He gulps and stutters, "Dad—"

"Crystal's father said something interesting to me the other day as well," Mr. Arc continues conversationally. "Said that his daughter and her friend had a run-in with an Ursa earlier this semester. It could have been very messy, if their glory-hound of a classmate hadn't attempted to fight the Ursa single-handedly."

The word comes out softer now, escaping Jaune in a broken sound. "Dad…"

"Well?" Mr. Arc asks. Jaune can't find anything else to say. When several minutes go by in silence, Mr. Arc raises his voice without turning. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

God, Jaune hopes his father can't hear how his armor clinks with how hard he's trying to keep from shaking. He's unprepared and off-balance, but he couldn't get it wrong if it was the truth, right? His team is counting on him. Jaune takes a deep breath.

"I'm a hunter, Dad," he starts, quietly, keeping his gaze firmly on the side of his father's face. "I'm sorry I can't be the son who's happy looking after my family like you want me to be. It's not me. I know you think I want it for the fame or the glory or the attention, but— Dad, I want to be a hunter because it's who I am."

His father's voice is monotone. "You are not a hunter, Jaune."

"Yes, I am," Jaune says, louder. "Maybe I'm a terrible hunter now, and maybe I'm a long way from who I can be, but I am a hunter and if you think I'm not then—!"

Crocea Mors drops to his dominant hand as if moving on its own, the sheath unfurling into shield against the brace of his arm guard and his front foot goes forward and his stance widens in challenge.

"Then stop me," he dares. His heart hammers in his ears and adrenaline buzzes in every joint. The practical part of him is fully aware that he's running on zero sleep and a serious beat-down from a four-time tournament champion and that his father has ten times as many years of experience. He refuses to indulge that part. He stands his ground. Ready.

Mr. Arc glances at his son, betraying neither surprise nor humor. He crosses back to his desk, facing away from Jaune and looking up at the empty brass hooks over the fireplace. An outline in dust and soot betrays where the family heirloom is supposed to sit.

"You didn't go with them."

Jaune blinks. Blinks again. "What?"

"You had the perfect opportunity to go with them. You had your weapons. You had their full support and an important mission to help on, and you stayed. Why?"

Jaune's grip on Crocea Mors tightens. "A true hunter stands by the consequences of his actions."

Mr. Arc says nothing. Jaune stays at the ready, heaving in anticipation and not daring to move.

His breath hitches when his father reaches for his weapon.

"She came at you too high, son."

Jaune stares at his father with wide eyes as the older man calmly collects his remaining gear and travel bag from the corner of the room.

"If you're going to launch a six-foot, armor-clad Amazon any kind of distance into the air," Mr. Arc says, "your shields need to connect precisely at your centers of gravity or she's going to decapitate you before the Grimm can."

It takes Jaune embarrassingly long to realize what his father is saying. He almost can't bring himself to chance a smile. "You mean—?"

"You're also not using your aura to your advantage," Mr. Arc continues, gearing up in front of Jaune. "There's no reason you should be putting such effort into an offense. If you can outlast them, let them tire out before moving in." He sighs. "Really, Jaune, I'm going to have a word with Ms. Goodwitch."

Crocea Mors clatters to the ground as Jaune throws his arms around his father, their armor clanking loud against each other.

"Thank you," Jaune chokes out, holding on tight. "I'm going to make you proud."

And for the first time Jaune can ever remember, his father's arms come around him too, patting him reassuringly between the shoulder blades. "I have no doubt."

Jaune sees his father off on his assignment with the promise that this stays their secret until he can return and talk to his mother. Jaune's heart sings as he takes the stairs back up to his room two at a time. He clears his bedside table to settle his armor in a place of honor and wonders if his sisters will kill him for attempting to hammer some hooks above his bed so early in the morning. He gets into his onesie and sets one of the Vytal Festival tickets on top of his chest plate. The other he sets, very visibly, on top of Amarilla's bedside notebook.

Despite being awake close to 24 hours, Jaune can't fall asleep. He feels like Nora's electrocuted him again. Grinning stupidly wide, Jaune closes his eyes and impatiently waits for the exhaustion to set in.

He can't wait to tell Pyrrha. Honestly, he wishes he could tell her now. But if there was trouble after all in Beacon, Jaune doesn't want to interrupt. If there wasn't trouble, his team was probably catching up on the rest they hadn't gotten spending the night with him. Still, he wants to share this with them. Especially Pyrrha, who will no doubt beam at him and laugh and tell him how silly he was being because of course his father loved him. Of course he deserves a second chance and so much more.

Jaune misses her so much already, it's like there's empty space inside his chest despite the joy. He misses how her hands felt in his as they danced and walked back to the house and said goodbye. He recalls how Pyrrha's eyes creased in worry when she checked him for a concussion and misses that too. He misses how she made fighting look so effortless. He loved the sound of her voice, and her kind advice. He loved Pyrrha's hugs, and Pyrrha's laugh, and Pyrrha's… and Pyrrha.

Jaune's eyes fly open. It drops on him like a shard of the moon.

Oh. Oh.

Author's Note: For those of you who found this story on ff and not Ao3, consider yourselves fortunate that I didn't put you through the months of waiting I put my poor Ao3 fans through. The goal now is to finish the final three chapters in two week intervals by the end of April. This'll put me roughly in the 13 month window of when I originally posted this story. Fingers crossed!