Date written:

(I) August 21, 2016 – September 11, 2016 (21 days) (4,155 words)

(II) September 15, 2016 – September 26, 2016 (11 days) (2,795 words)

Chapter Word Count: 6,950 words

Posted on FanFiction: October 2, 2016

A/N: This has been a really tough chapter to write, more so because I feel like I'm dragging the events a bit. I mean, I intended to move on to the next arc after this chapter, but it seems one more is in the works. Maybe a lot shorter than this, but maybe I can offset that with a little something I'm churning up. I can't be sure of that right now.

In any case, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and that the next one wouldn't take so long to write.

One more note: RWBY Vol. 4 Trailer is coming out soon. GET HYPED!

/ — — CHAPTER 6 — — \

Red

-o- -o- -o- -o- ( I ) -o- -o- -o- -o-

"We'll be talking about this later, Yang, so go wash up and get some more rest."

"Okay," she said, thankful for the reprieve. She honestly thought she'd be interrogated the moment she was up, but Dad was still Dad, it seemed (or rather will be, coz time-travel is an absolute mindfuck for verb tenses). The ever-doting parent. "I wasn't joking about the aspirin, though."

"Right, top shelf in the medicine cabinet. Hello. Ivory? What is it? Problem at the school?"

She put her glass back in the sink and again switched on the tap.

"If not Signal, then why'd you call?"

She turned the tap off and picked up the glass. She heard Dad murmuring something to the caller, but by then she was doing her best to ignore the stream of words. This was a private conversation she doubted Dad wanted her to hear, so she double-timed getting out of the kitchen. The pulsing headache might've also helped in this decision. It prodded her temple incessantly.

She climbed up the stairs, shaking her head for a second when the pain pulsed through it like a tangible strike of lightning (and oh how she would like to say that was a hyperbole, but she drew the comparison from her experience back in Signal with a girl who forgot to tune down the voltage of her stun rod). She hurried to the bathroom. There was a pain relief pill in the medicine cabinet with her name on it. The migraine got worse once she was looking at her reflection, her skin paler by a few shades, which made the bags under her tired eyes a lot more noticeable. Opening the pill container proved its own challenge, as it was optimally designed for two hands—one for holding, the other for pressing down the cap while turning it—but she later realized that getting just one pill out became a grueling test of her patience. Though she was careful, three pills instead of one dropped out and splashed into the glass she set on the sink's counter.

Yang gritted her teeth, on the verge of crushing the medicine container. She wanted to. The pain in her head was absolutely unbearable, and if she weren't so fucking tired she'd take out her frustrations at the punching bag, but right now, the plastic bottle was a good alternative. It'd be easy, too. Just squeeze, squeeze, squeeze the ever fucking shit out of this goddamn bottle and she'd feel better about everything. She'd feel better and the pain would go away. She'd feel better and oh fucking God how she wished she could poke out those annoying red eyes in the mirror and—

She stopped and set the medicine bottle on the counter (not too gently). She inhaled deeply and exhaled deeply. Inhale. Exhale. With a shaky hands, she turned on the tap and splashed her face. Calm was eluding her, a contrast to the headache that was hell-bent on making her head experience an aneurysm.

Heh, an aneurysm at the young age of seventeen. Yang turned off the tap and wiped her face on the towel hanging at the back of the bathroom door. Fitting. I already feel too old for this.

She resealed the medicine container and then chugged her aspirin drink without another thought. So she had three pills in her system now, whoop-dee-fucking-doo. It wouldn't kill her. As long as it stops the headache—which she could feel growing in intensity for every heartbeat that pulsed the blood in her veins—then she's fine to take as much as she needs.

The rest of her sure as hell was in need of relief. She had woken up in bed feeling the prick of a million pin needles all over her body, even on the arm whose phantom still haunts her (and pains her, because you know, phantom pain, haha badum tss) to this day. It was less getting up from bed and more like dragging herself out of bed after a merciless yesterday filled with physical exercises that challenged her muscles to their limits. She could've slept in, could've snuggled deeper in her pillow and let the aches pass away with the passage of sleep and time, but questions kept her up. She had realized a minute after awakening that Qrow saved her from the Grimm, carried her back to her home, and patched and cleaned her up. Qrow saved her life.

This was the third time now. As thankful as she was for her uncle, she was also mad at him. It sounded stupid, but she hated being saved like that, more so when it was multiple times by the same guy. It made her seem weak, made her seem like she couldn't look after herself. And a look to her right side would point out that she was those things, but she didn't, refused to even put a millisecond of thought into it, because it would only make her angrier at someone who didn't deserve such. This was irrational thinking at its finest, lashing out like a cut live wire. She knew this, understood this, but more often than not, her feelings could not be swayed by thought, no matter what logic was applied. Having a short fuse tends to make one used to rationale being splattered with red, blind and disoriented, as the unpredictable Rage assumes control for a short while.

The new dents on the medicine container proved the Signal and Beacon professors right: she needed more self-control. But it was easier said than done.

She set the now empty glass down on the counter and walked back to her bedroom. Her ears picked up the loud conversation between Qrow and Tai downstairs, somehow louder but like the first horrible journey downstairs, she would be unable to discern their words till she was about six or seven steps away from the ground floor landing. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but Qrow had started retelling the events in Qrow's point of view—from the Branwen ghost children to the golden phantom arm that went corporeal for no apparent reason—and when he got to the point of eggshells cracking, the great emphasis of it, got her recalling her own experience with that sound.

The bright light, the feeling in her right arm again, the satisfaction from the belief of pushing a Grimm's face in, and the subsequent tornado of rolls, hits, and tumbles that got her sailing to that clearing. Her headache throbbed, shooting a salvo of pain straight into the front and back of her brain. With one hand massaging her temples, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and the stairs under her groaned like a bull frog's mating call. The conversation below halted almost instantly, and she wished she could groan out her frustrations like the old wood. She sighed through her nose and descended to the ground floor. The coffee table was littered with empty liquor bottles, making her wish the two guys had woken her up so she could join in and forget—just forget and forget, even if it was just for today. Her thirst came forth and she settled for fresh water instead. She got water, the pin needles in her brain were acting like pogo sticks, she was too irritated by the pain to have a very civil conversation with her Dad, and she was saved from any further inquiry with a faculty call.

Back to the present and some ten steps away from her bedroom door, Yang expected Qrow climbing up by now to ask her about what happened to her in that clearing, but she was still alone in the second floor. Baby Ruby was playing in daycare and her little doppelganger was learning in kindergarten.

She had the whole floor to herself and her bed was calling for its owner to come lay on it. Downstairs had gone quiet—or at least their conversation had stopped for the time being—but she was not in the mood to think about old men problems. Her head felt like it was about to split in two, and she honestly wished sleep would take her the moment she collapsed onto the mattress, anything to skip the hours spent suffering through this pain.

A small thought came to her when she entered the bedroom: Why do I have a headache anyway?

She lay down on the bed, closed her eyes, and breathed deep, in and out. The thought died a quiet death afterwards. And it seemed her wish for instant sleep came true, because as far as Yang remembered, she opened her eyes again to see the sunrays through her window taking on a deep orange hue. Her head felt lighter, better, which was good, a drop of good inside a bucketful of bad, but at least it was something to cast a bright (yet very dim) side on a very shitty day.

That was until something wet and rough crossed up her cheek. "Gah!"

Yang reeled back, surprised more than disgusted, but the wet tongue's owner refused to let up and pursued her cheek. The owner barked and panted between several licks, its tail Yang could feel wagging with glee as she caressed its back gently.

"I'm up, Due," she said, keeping her lips away from the corgi's relentless tongue attack, "I'm up. Sheez." She sat up, trying to sound admonishing but the grin on her lips couldn't be contained. Due backed off, looking pacified, although his tail had yet to stop moving crazily about like a gushing fire hose. "What's up, boy? Haven't seen you all day."

Due barked and jumped off the bed. He half-ran towards the opened door, looked back, and barked again.

She got the message immediately. "Need to do your business, eh?"

Due panted with his tongue out.

The headache... was still present but muted. She was unsure how many hours she had been asleep, but she was certain it had been the whole day. Which meant—

Hunger growled inside her stomach, making Due jump with a yelp and perk his ears up for any other signs of a monstrous intruder, although his tail-wagging and excited panting hadn't ceased. Almost like he thought more of it as a game than the presence of a threat.

"Come on, boy," Yang said, getting off her bed with a loud groan escaping her dried up lips, "let's get you outta the house so I can eat in peace."

Due showed her a miffed look. Yang chose to ignore it.

When she came down to the ground floor and halfway from passing the kitchen and living room archways, she looked back at the living room, orange light casting shafts of blinding light through the room's main (and quite wide) window. Through squinted eyes, she saw the empty alcohol bottles were still on the coffee table, untouched since the last time she'd seen them. It made her pause, look around, listen on the background noise around her. Apart from the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen behind her, Due's pants, and the quiet groans of the living room ceiling fan that someone forgot to turn off, nothing else registered in her hearing.

"Tai," she called, stepping into the living room, finding it empty of life, and turning off the ceiling fan herself. "Qrow."

No one answered. She called their names again, but got the same answer.

Did they go out somewhere?

She about-faced and looked at the kitchen clock hanging like a decorative jewel above and between two square windows that she often pictured as giant shining eyes of a Jack-o-lantern when she was a kid.

Dawn would give the windows that eerie lantern shine, but now all she saw was a forest basking in the last half-hour of sunlight before night completely started its graveyard shift. The hands on the clock pointed to 6:35.

A persistent prodding in her head seemed to be telling her that the current time was important, but this wouldn't occur to Yang until it was in hindsight. As it was now, she chucked the feeling up to her headache trying to build up again.

Due barked and looked at her with anticipation.

"Oh, yeah," she said, scratching the back of her head, "outside business."

The dog responded with a dash to the front door.

They must've left a note somewhere, she thought. I'll look for it after letting Due out.

But when she reached the foyer, Due was sniffing the front door. He didn't so much as look at her, all of his attention solely on the door. His tail wasn't wagging anymore, too.

"What's—"

Due bared his teeth and growled.

Of all the years he had lived with them, Yang could only remember three separate times when the usually quiet dog growled as menacingly as he was now. He'd bark at strangers and threats, but growling was a rare thing for the corgi to do without proper cause. The first instance was a massive wave of Grimm lurking close to their home when she had been six and coming home from school. The second was when she invited a boy over to play video games and just for that but the boy thought otherwise. The third was on the Grimm attack that took his life.

An empty house, untouched liquor bottles in the living room, and the clock telling her that it was way past the time the kids would be back.

It was little to go on, very little, but that odd feeling gnawing inside her had found a voice at last and it was screaming with abandon, hoping to be heard in time. It was telling her danger now stood behind that door, telling her danger had come for her when she was alone.

Yang swallowed a lump in her throat. "H-Hello?" she said, hoping that whoever was on the other side hadn't heard the slight hitch in her voice. She took a deep breath and cracked her knuckles with her thumb.

Thanks for the habit, Uncle Qrow…

She made her way to the front door. A loud groan underfoot made her jump back, her heart going into a hammering frenzy. Due was the same, though his was more neurotic than Yang would believe, and the perfect image of a Zwei predecessor that could stare into the hated gaze of a Grimm without flinching was shattering into pieces before her.

The old floorboard. Just the old floorboard.

It didn't matter to Due; the noise got him spooked and whatever facade he put up to try and scare the anomaly behind the door had ceased to exist now. She had seen him stare down dozens of Grimm before, never flinching like this, never looking fearful like this. This fact only fueled her own fears.

Due was too high-strung for Yang to even think of calming him down. He looked more than likely to bite out of instinct than seek comfort from anything that would touch him. His growls had quickly dissolved into whimpers as he stepped away from the door.

Was that good or bad? Good, because she could now go outside without fear of setting the fear-laden dog off, or bad, because whoever was behind that door could come in with nothing to stop it but a whimpering corgi and a tired, pained, hungry little cripple.

Yang kept taking deep breaths, swallowing spit, and sometimes using said spit to instead moisten her lips. She was not tired. She was not useless. No more. Not anymore. One hand closed into a fist. Never again.

Without warning, her instincts screamed with fear. Something in the air changed—she didn't know what, didn't know how, just that something changed, like a lightswitch swiftly changing comfortable light into dark, unseeable shadows. It was like Aura manifested itself into a black hole, swallowing light and leaving behind a void that was free for darkness to occupy.

It was an oppressive, suffocating feeling that had Due scurrying away from the foyer as fast as his little legs could run. Yang wished she could do the same, but the familiarity of this feeling and the remnants of her shattered pride made her stand her ground. Foolhardiness of youth, maybe? Well, while she was afraid and unprepared for a fight, she refused to back down. Not now, not ever.

A lost memory nagged at her, demanding clarity but it was an order her mind failed to fulfill. Her headache worsened in an instant, as if all the pain receptors in her brain simultaneously activated, and it took quite an effort to grit her teeth and constrict her own throat lest the agony formed into either screams or whimpers. Who—or what—was out there would be listening in, and no way was she going to show even an iota of weakness to it.

She heard knocking, but was it the front door or the throbs pounding in her temple? She stepped forward, ignored the groan (from the old floorboard or from her own lips?), and leaned on the wall to right of the door. Her vision swam. The sunset hue plastering the walls deformed into what looked like lava. She shook her head, blinked a dozen times, bit back the coughs squeezing her throat. Deep breathing did no good other than convince her she needed a hot shower after this.

Focus, dammit!

She gave little thought to what she was about to do. The pain and exhaustion was making it hard to think, like taking a final written exam with a high fever, but a small part of her understood that grabbing the door handle with the intent of turning it and pulling it in was a very bad idea. So why wasn't she erring on the side of caution and stay away from the danger? Was it pride? Was it stupidity? The metal was cold against her shaking hand. She clenched it tight—the left crushing the cold with its heat, the right digging its phantom nails into its equally phantom palm.

Bad idea. BAD IDEA!

She ignored that cowardly thought and opened the door. The shadow the sun cast on the cottage stretched all the way to the boundary of the dense forest, the shape of it deformed to such an extent that the chimney, located at the middle of the cottage's longest wall, had migrated closer to the front entrance, veiling the rest of the dirt road leading away from the house in gradually thickening shadows. And that same road was empty of people or Grimm, which had been her next suspect for the oppressive feeling.

It's gone, she thought as she took two steps outside and felt a light breeze moving from north to south. The pressure, the powerful presence of danger, had disappeared the moment she opened the door. Even her headache was gone. From bad to peace in an instant. How?

Then a new disturbing thought came up: Am I losing my mind?

More than a few times this past month Yang had been asking herself this question. The reality before her had done its best to have her question everything she saw, from the 12-years-removed people she knew to the missing limb that won't stop acting like some Schrödinger's cat. It would've been the simplest explanation to everything thus far since she woke up from that bitter defeat with the midget. But, like life itself, the answer wouldn't be that straightforward. The pain, the joy, the sadness, the comfort, the ups and downs of being in this time, they were all real as far as she was concerned.

And if that were the case, then this current situation was not a figment of her imagination. Due reacted violently, but he did it to try and keep his overwhelming fear in check. Something had spooked him, something tangible, something real. And now it was gone without a trace.

It wasn't a satisfying answer, but it at least grounded her and her senses.

It couldn't have left without any sort of trace, though, Yang thought, hoping she was right about this. If not, it would be another mystery to add into the pile of shit she would have to crawl through for who-knows-how-long. She looked left, then right, instinctively swatting away a lone wind-swept leaf from hitting her face.

If that hadn't happened she might have missed the body slouching at the corner of her home. At least it looked like a body at first glance, a body roughly covered in a crimson red sheet that made Yang think of a mummy that continued bleeding through all of its pores even after embalming and burial. It was also small, like a child, and wasn't moving.

Yang looked around her again. She swallowed nervously. She gave her knuckles some thumb-abuse again, but no pop. Her eyes tracked back to the slumped body, still there, still unmoving. Someone came here when she was alone in the house and dropped this off. For what? For what reason?

"Maybe it's not what I think it is," she murmured to herself, watching the wrapped object as if afraid it would come and snap her neck the moment she blinked. "Maybe it's just some stuff the neighbors borrowed. No one answered the door so they just left it here."

But why cover it in a red sheet? Her mind asked. Why a red sheet at all?

It would be easy to step back inside the house and wait for Tai or Qrow to come back. Maybe call them up immediately, just in case. But if she did that, she would never get her mind off the red sheet in the interim. Besides that, she'd look like a scared little girl again because a human-shaped object covered in red fabric had her asking for help. No way did she want that, not after all the shit she'd been today and the past month.

What's the worst that can happen, anyway?

A scare, maybe? Was she afraid to find a corpse beneath that sheet? A child—

Mini-me should've been home by now. Ruby too.

—corpse?

Her eyes widened. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Can't be."

Her imagination was running wild. Just running wild, that's all. There was no way for that child-sized bump to be a body, especially not the body of who she thinks it'd be.

She belatedly noticed her legs had run wild as well, bolting towards the corner of the house within a second and no deceleration in mind until the last second. Her right shoulder bumped and skidded on the cottage's logged wall. Instead of pushing herself back, she leaned more onto the wall, hoping there was enough friction to help her bare heels digging into the moist dirt to make a full stop. Yang tripped forward, face heading straight onto the red sheet, and then managed to reassert her balance before her face made contact. Heart hammering in her chest, she slowly leaned back and experimentally sniffed the air. No smell of decay, so it wasn't a corpse.

What if it was a really fresh kill?

She bit her lip, clenched her fists.

Stop it. It's not a corpse, it's not a fresh kill. Stop being so morbid!

She eyed the area again, but the sun was on its final farewell for the day, shadow gradually overcoming the light. Hesitation and fear gnawed at her senses again. Yang wished for and dreaded their departure. It seemed silly to have such thoughts, but irrationality had been a constant companion of hers since she got here, so why was she still so surprised of its presence in her life?

Yang grabbed the red sheet with a shaky hand and slowly pulled it down.

Tufts of blonde hair poked out.

She gasped and continued pulling the sheet down…

Please don't be dead please don't be dead please don't be dead please don't—

Pain penetrated her head like a gunshot. The sheet came free from her hand as she went down on her knees, using said hand to grab her head as if it were the only way to lessen the pain. She closed her eyes. This headache wasn't normal. It was coming and going as it pleased, and it was starting to really annoy her.

Yang took deep breaths, but it did nothing to lessen the pain. The best she could hope for was for her pain receptors to grow numb at some point. Or maybe just wait for the wave to pass, because if there was one thing that comes and goes like clockwork, it was waves. And just as she hoped, it was disappearing, her head regaining peace and clarity as she reopened her eyes.

"Auntie… Yang?"

Little Yang was thankfully alive, but—

When Yang looked at her younger doppelganger, instead of seeing lilac, all she saw was a smaller pair of eyes that were red like roses.

-o- -o- -o- -o- ( II ) -o- -o- -o- -o-

There is nothing new under the sun.

"Yang!"

She woke with a jolt, almost tipping off from the sofa's arm she sat on and onto the living room floor. She regained her balance, shook her head, and rubbed her still tired eyes. Pain had come to greet her in the waking world, like an ex-boyfriend who refuses to let go, but compared to the kind of hold it had on her nerves once upon an hour (or maybe two) ago, the dull throbbing was as much of a relief as no pain at all.

Who knew swallowing a whole bottle of aspirin was a great help?

Clearing her eyes, she saw Dad dashing towards her.

Well, not her her, but the young one sleeping soundly on the sofa. His shout hadn't disturbed her, and Yang thanked that bit of mercy, the sight of those shining red eyes still at the forefront of her thoughts and concerns. Dad knelt down and took a few moments to just watch her sleeping form. His face contorted, as if unsure of which emotion to mainly express, but his smile was forever in view, his relief almost palpable. He hovered above little Yang's head and pecked her in the cheek.

And like the little devil she knew she'd been, little Yang squirmed, faced the other way, and continued to snore quietly.

Yang tried not to laugh, and so did Dad, yet she could somehow tell that trepidation stained his laugh just like hers was, a sort of nervous release she thought fitted better with Weiss whenever she was tasked with cleaning duty. They looked at each other and the mirth—or what bits of it was there to begin with—dwindled in seconds. The joy and relief were not gone, just suppressed, because both he and she understood that more pressing issues have higher priorities. And in this case, each of them had information the other wanted to know, both pertaining to the beginning and end of the sleeping child's strange kidnapping. It almost seemed surreal to think about it…

Yang had carried her doppelganger back inside and let her sit in the sofa, giving out specific instructions to not move from that spot while she went upstairs to grab her Scroll and call Dad or Qrow. By the time she got back to the ground floor, Dad's Scroll continued ringing in her phone's receiver and her 'cousin-niece' had gone back to sleep. When Dad finally picked up, Yang was hard-pressed to get a word in due to how panicked and out of breath he was. She was amazed he could still talk so rapidly. Their verbal exchange was a mix of unfinished phrases that were steadily getting more frantic as they started building a picture from the tidbits they shared with each other. In the end, Dad said he'd return home, post haste, and Yang, after going back up to raid the medicine cabinet again, decided to stand guard over her younger self while she waited for his arrival. She held fears of the kidnapper coming back and retaking little Yang, and the reasoning part of her brain got sidetracked by the Painkiller Tsunami that had arrived to swallow and submerge her senses. She thought she'd just let her eyes close for a moment, just a moment, just one fleeting moment, and—

Yang blew out a breath swarming with unreleased nerves and frustrations.

"What exactly happened while I was asleep?" she whispered to Dad, despite already having a good picture of the events. She just needed confirmation. And details.

"It's hard finding a place to start, really," Dad murmured as he stood back up. Realizing something, he looked over his shoulder, towards the archway that had a good view of the kitchen. He mouthed "Qrow!" and gestured a 'come here' with his chin.

Said uncle came into view, walking out of the kitchen and into the living while holding a large glass of water.

Dad arched an eyebrow, crossed his arms.

Qrow shrugged. "I was thirsty. What did you think I'd do, dehydrate myself to death?" He offered him the glass. "Here's yours."

A moment of hesitation, with Dad being half-miffed and half-thankful, but in the end, he took the glass and chugged it till the last drop. He sighed heavily and set the glass down on the coffee table, which still held onto the myriad of whiskey bottles the two men had consumed earlier this morning (or was it afternoon?).

Speaking of consuming…

The moment she realized her plans to sate her hunger were pushed back to prioritize tending to her doppelganger was also the moment her stomach decided to voice its complaint again. It growled with unrelenting ferocity, one could almost mistake it for a Beowolf's. The two men reeled back, staring at her stomach and then at her reddening face.

"I hadn't eaten since breakfast," she reasoned, trying not to pout. God, it was just like being in Team RWBY again. Their faces almost matched Blake's and Weiss's when they first heard the growl of her tyrannical organ. She couldn't even get support from her own sister, because Ruby was busy smothering her face in her corgi pillow to hide her laughter.

Qrow snorted, finding the deactivated holovision the most interesting object in the room.

Dad coughed, maybe to get her attention but more likely to mask his own amusement.

"Qrow, you don't mind whipping up a sandwich for Yang, do you?"

Qrow snorted. "Calling me here then making me go back? Make up your damn mind."

"Yeah, yeah," Dad replied, smirking, "back to the kitchen with you, slave."

Qrow was already walking out the living room, waving one hand above his head, although if not for present company (Yang 1 and Yang 2), he might've flipped Dad the bird as his departing gesture.

"You want to, uh," she said, pausing as she looked down at her sleeping little self, "send her to bed or—"

"It's fine," Dad said, his voice slightly tight. "I don't wanna lose sight of her for a second."

Now at least her earlier fears weren't as paranoid as they were before.

"Do you know who tried to kidnap Yang?" she asked, and her eyes narrowed when Dad stiffened up. A tell. A really big tell right from the get-go.

His eyes drifted from her to Young Yang, who snored calmly along in dreamland, and then back to her.

She nodded and they walked towards the corridor, but never leaving the view of the living room. It was unlikely for the kidnapper to attempt another kidnap, but rarely anything rational stemmed from fear and worry. Even if the odds were less than one percent, she knew Dad would still keep one eye on her at all times.

"So," she said, "who was it?"

"Hmm?"

"The kidnapper."

"You must be famished," Dad said. "How about eating that sandwich before we discuss—"

She pointed her thumb to the kitchen, where Qrow busied himself with staring at the oven toaster, an opened plastic-wrapped bread loaf set to the side of it.

"Uh," Dad said, scratching the back of his head, finding it difficult to look at her straight, "well…"

Yang set her hand down. "My stomach can wait for another five minutes. Will it really take more than that for you to tell me who the kidnapper is?"

She knew she was sounding a little condescending, but her patience was wearing thin. Dad was being tight-lipped merely to delay the inevitable. Yang would learn the details of the time she had been asleep, so that left him having control of when she would, and she disliked it. Dad might have reasons for the dodginess, but she couldn't care less about the circumstances. Someone had tried to kidnap her younger self and had succeeded, but then decided to send her back with her Aura awakened. Who exactly would do that?

Dad sighed, weariness moving out of him like a party blower—it comes out, but when the wind is gone, it comes rolling back.

"It was Raven."

Yang's throat made a sound. Both of her hands tightened into fists. She tried to say something, but nothing but quiet air left her open mouth.

"She came when Yang was leaving school," he continued, probably wanting to let it all out now before hesitation seals his lips, "and… I guess she must've introduced herself. That's the only thing I can think of that'd let Yang come with her."

She could understand that. She would most likely have done the same, maybe even bombard dear old Mom with a billion and one questions she had ever since she learned Summer was really her stepmom. What else would she have felt at that time, she wondered. Maybe elation for seeing her back and picking her up from school like a real parent. Maybe sadness for knowing that she hadn't been there since she was born. Maybe curiosity, because she would want to know all about the situation between her, Dad, and Summer.

"Qrow and I searched everywhere for her," Dad continued. "Qrow was convinced Ray was already long gone with Yang, but"—he took a glance back at the sofa, where Young Yang continued dreaming dreams in ignorant bliss—"I never believed it. Somehow I knew she was still in Patch. Somehow I just… knew." He shook his head, shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why didn't you let me help?"

He shook his head again, the corners of his mouth curved down. "You were dead on your feet, Yang. You'll just—"

He stopped, looked away.

You'll just slow us down.

You'll just be a liability.

It was left unsaid, but the reason was clear as day. She had been quite out of it, that morning, more concerned with sleep and solitude than anything else going on around her.

Yang gritted her teeth behind her tightened lips, wanting to rebuke Dad despite the rational part of her agreeing to his decision.

Useless.

The word echoed within her.

Liability.

Reckless.

Inept.

Pathetic.

She closed her eyes, took deep quiet breaths. The conversation stalled, but more than anything, Yang wanted them to move past this topic, so she spearheaded into one that immediately came to mind.

"Yang's Aura is unlocked."

She felt a tidbit of regret for bringing this up, but then again, if she were to hide this fact till the very last second she'd be no better than Dad. The miniscule regret was stomped out completely.

"What did you say?"

"When I found her outside, her Aura had already been unlocked." She turned towards the living room, watching the subtle rise and fall of Young Yang's torso. "It happened to me too, you know, sleeping like a log."

Of course, she had her Aura unlocked at ten, not five, and by a professional Huntsman teacher who took the process slowly, not a strange and mysterious mother who might've done a rushed job, thus in all likelihood, would do more harm than good. Unlocking the Auras of children below the age of seven was frowned upon for a reason.

"How are you sure? How can you be sure?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip gentle but firm. Fear spread over his face, like a badly done makeup job.

She closed her eyes, channeled her Aura and some of her anger into them, and then opened them again. "These looked right back at me. And I've had them since I got my Aura unlocked."

Dad looked at her eyes, blinking, mouth open. He stepped back, shaking his head, and cast another worried glance at the living room, where little Yang sleepily rubbed her eyes, yawned, and got comfortable for more hours of sleep.

"Dammit, Raven," he murmured, one hand going up to grab his temple. He inhaled deep, words eager to come out through gritted teeth, but he sighed instead, maybe thinking that his words wouldn't reach its recipient even if he were to shout them atop Vale's CCT tower.

"It's temporary," Yang said. "I mean, I had red eyes all the way till the next morning, but it's not permanent, so—"

"So she did this to you, too?"

"Huh?"

"Raven." Dad walked towards her, his voice turning unpleasant. "Did she take you away for a while just so she can unlock your Aura, too?"

She blinked, then looked down at the ground, mind awhirl. "No," she said lamely, "she didn't. I… I got mine unlocked at school when I was ten."

"Then we can't be sure that everything'll be all right with Yang." He paused a little. "And this opens up a big question."

"Why was Raven here in Patch," Qrow said, coming out of the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches in one hand and the red sheet she left outside in the other, "and why did she feel the need to forcibly unlock Tiny's Aura?"

Before either of them could respond, Uncle set the plate on the hallway table and said to her, "But more than that, I'm quite interested on how exactly she knew about you specifically."

"Raven might've been spying on—"

"I'm not ruling that out, Tai. Ray's a goddamn voyeur at times."

Dad looked away from them, arms crossed and a bit of pink fluttering his cheeks.

Okay, eww on the mental image that brought.

"But," Qrow continued, "we got something new to consider about her." He held up the red sheet and turned back onto her. "You said you found Tiny under this?"

"Yeah," she answered, looking between the sheet and her uncle. "So?"

He shook his head. "This isn't a sheet." He held the fabric on two ends and spread it out.

Yang's eyes widened.

"It used to be a cloak."

"Ruby," she muttered, and both men snapped their attention at her. "I thought I'd recognize it anywhere." But with night earnestly crawling up the sky and most of her attention centered on what was under the cloak than the cloak itself, she couldn't really be faulted for missing that detail. Moreso when the cloak in question had its hood completely torn out and its tail end cut up to about the length that would reach her fifteen-year-old sister's knees. What drew the most recognition from the fabric was the cross-shaped pins still clinging to the edges of where the hood used to be.

Qrow sighed. His shoulders sagged. "Kid," he said, eyes growing very weary, a look that was putting definite fear in Yang, "I really wish the stuff I found was just coincidence, but…"

"What stuff?" she asked, her voice sounding almost robotic. It was a lot to take in right now. Was what Qrow holding really Ruby's cloak? Her Ruby's? Or was it just mere coincidence—

Coincidence. All coincidences. It has to be. It has to be!

Qrow fished something out of his pocket. "I found these next to the cloak. Tiny must've been holding onto them, but let 'em go when she slept, maybe."

An apple-shaped pendant—

It's my mother's pendant, so for the last time, Ruby, I'm not lending it to you to trace an apple!

—and a long black ribbon—

I'm still not comfortable without them. Just give me time, Yang, please.

—rested on his hand. They reminded her of mementos Huntsman gather to give back to the fallens' family.

"Recognize these, Yang?"

She didn't answer, couldn't. Her throat tightened up, implications swam furiously inside her head, and it took a great amount of control to keep tears from falling out. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to admit, even to herself, that the fate of her teammates were not as fortunate as hers had been. She never wanted to admit that Ruby…

Oh God, Ruby…!

"Hey! Yang, wait!"

She bolted up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door shut, locking it, and then pressing her back against it. Her breath labored, her eyes staring at the guest room ceiling, she felt something roll down her cheeks.

"Goddamit," she said, sniffing, "here I thought I wasn't gonna cry…"

When she tried to rubbed her eyes, she finally realized she had taken Ruby's torn cloak with her. The scent was faded and mixed together with grass, mud, and the general unpleasantness of the Valean wilderness, but it was the strawberry-scented shampoo her sister would always use. Or maybe it was just her imagination, a memento to sense and savor, a memento that wasn't red like roses and blood, a memento that wouldn't conjure up images of a girl she saw grow up be torn apart by monsters of darkness.

And as the first pounding of Dad's fists on her door vibrated onto her back, Yang cried her sorrow into her sister's cloak.