Piece of Mine

by YouWouldntUnderstand

Team RWBY never formed. Blake and Yang have lived their separate lives and never met. They are stable as they are, but when their fates are mysteriously intertwined, Blake and Yang are forced to interact and rebuild their new, fractured existences around each other. It's a disturbing predicament, but nobody ever said switching bodies would be easy.

3. Chapter 3: Nightmares and Not-Dreams

Chapter 3: Nightmares and Not-Dreams

It was funny how much Yang missed her right arm. But, like, in a way that wasn't funny at all. Even the most menial tasks were suddenly awkward with her left hand, and just yesterday Yang had face-planted against the floor because she'd wanted to catch herself with her right limb getting out of bed, only to painfully realize—yet again—that it was in a cast, utterly unable to save her from falling. It was terribly inconvenient and annoying. Almost a week had gone by since the near-fatal fight, and Yang was already restless and sick of waiting for her arm to heal. And she was sick of being at home.

As a means of reaching out to the world, Yang sat at her kitchen's table, slouched over her scroll as she texted her two favorite redheads. Or, at least, the one redhead who only wanted to have red hair and the other redhead who probably didn't have real red hair, considering it was so red. Unfortunately, texting with her left hand was slow and frustrating. There were two positions Yang felt comfortable typing with: the one with the scroll lying flat against the table with her good hand hunting and pecking or with it propped up in her good hand with her thumb slowly finding the right keys. Neither was truly comfortable, though, and she ended up switching between them frequently.

At least she wasn't in pain all over anymore. That was definitely comfortable. The first two days had been sufficient for Yang's aura to heal her remaining bruises and strained muscles. Her arm was the only pain remaining. A big, dumb, heavy pain that got in the way of everything. She had run out of meds at the beginning of the week, but it wasn't too bad in all honesty. Despite her arm occasionally throbbing, this was better than it had been. As much as being high on pain medication had been kind of comical, Yang definitely preferred being her regular, not-constantly horny self. The libido still existed, but it was back to its normal, non-bragging state.

Yang eventually finished her text to Ruby and shot it off, regretting it almost immediately because it was kind of a lie.

Yea sure, maybe once I'm totally healed. We'll see how it goes

Ruby had asked if Yang wanted to go on a mission with her sometime, once the healing was over. Normally, Yang would have loved to. It had been almost a year since she and Ruby had done any hunting together. But…well, Yang hesitated now, and the thought of getting back in the field seemed…daunting. She may accept Ruby's offer sometime—eventually, after Yang ironed out whatever problems had almost gotten her killed. But for now, a mission was one of the last things on Yang's mind.

Medication and aura don't heal everything, Yang. Stress is the biggest obstacle for injuries like the ones you have now. You should come out with Jaune and I and have bubble tea.

Pyrrha was a doll, but Yang couldn't be bothered to click on the link she sent that followed her text. It was to some holistic wellness website. But Pyrrha cared, and she was probably right.

Blarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh, Yang texted back.

You're a dinosaur. A big, baby dinosaur.

Fight me

Come have bubble tea, and we'll see what we can do.

FIGHT ME

It wouldn't be fair for you lol. But seriously, tell us if you want to come. Jaune and I would love to have you, but we need to know soon so we can get going.

Yang's phone buzzed twice.

Yay! Ruby replied before continuing in a new message. Also, does Zwei need fud?

This was getting ridiculous. Yang didn't have enough hands to juggle two conversations.

She sighed and got up from her chair, going over to check the cabinet where they kept their dog's bag of food. She lifted it, determining that it was pretty light. The sound, however, must have alerted the good boy in question because ten pounds of excited corgi came galloping from the living room to hop around Yang's legs, barking.

"No, Zwei. You already have food in your bowl. Stop being so loud." Yang nevertheless kneeled beside the dog once she put the food away and scratched him behind the ears. Zwei stopped barking, short tail wagging, looking at the brawler with his adorable brown eyes. Yang continued petting him for a moment, taking comfort in the little guy's presence. At least he didn't care about Yang's inability to use her right hand. Or her fear of facing the creatures of Grimm again. He was a dog, and he'd love her no matter what.

The front door opened just then, and Yang got back to her feet as Zwei immediately raced towards the entrance to greet Taiyang, who, after closing the door behind him, started removing his boots. Zwei licked his hands in spite of Taiyang's attempted resistance.

"Hey, there, honey. How are you feeling?"

Yang returned to the table and dropped back into her chair. "Handicapped," she mumbled, sullenly beginning to type a slow response to Ruby, telling her that Zwei needed another bag of food.

"All day?" he wondered, walking into the kitchen and stopping to regard Yang with mild pity. Zwei followed him, as if expecting something.

She really didn't like people looking at her that way. Yang was known for being strong, for looking after those she cared about, for being the life of the party. Pity was unbecoming of her. "Pretty much." She hit the send button and then looked at her father with an effort to be curious. "How'd your day go?"

This spurred Taiyang into motion again. He started looking in the fridge and in the pantry. "Oh, the usual. The kids are smart and want to learn all kinds of hand-to-hand combat techniques already." He stood back and caressed the stubbles at his chin for a second. "I'll say, though, that they're getting harder to keep under control." He slowly shook his head. "It all starts at home…"

Yang arched her eyebrows. Taiyang was a gym teacher at Signal for middle school students. He liked his job and had never really complained before—not that Yang had heard, anyway. And even this wasn't so much a complaint as it was a remark on degrading parenting skills these days.

Ironic, honestly, coming from him. But Yang didn't want to slap that back into his face. She didn't really know what to say, though, without making some kind of comment, teasing or not, about the way he had raised her and Ruby.

Taiyang sighed, letting the subject go, and regained some pep. "Wanna help me make sandwiches?"

Yang narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had become blind during his lessons today.

But Taiyang only grinned, trying to be encouraging. "C'mon, lazy! You can make sandwiches with one hand. Or hold stuff for me. You aren't completely useless."

"Gee, thanks, dad," she drawled but rose to her feet again anyway. She found that her gratitude wasn't totally sarcastic, though. It did help her feel a little less incompetent to actually do something productive, and even if she and her dad sometimes had minor hiccups, Yang liked spending time with her family.

What she didn't like, though, was being expected to remain a functioning member of society with only one working arm. The nerve. With a smirk, Yang moved from the table to the far side of the center island, grabbing the acacia cutting board that still had crumbs on it from the last time they did this and washing it off quickly in the sink. As she did so, and as her dad retrieved all the ingredients he would and wouldn't need, Yang heard Zwei. His little feet plicked along the wooden floor until they didn't, and then Yang saw him. He had jumped an inordinate height to get on top of a high bar stool on the other side of the island, leaving only his head to peek over the granite counter with an excited dog-smile.

Yang made a face at him. "What do you want?"

"I want a turkey, ham, and cheese," Taiyang said, head in the fridge. "Because it's been a long day, and I deserve it."

"And if you didn't deserve it?" said Yang. She moved over to do the one other thing she could do to help—namely, opening the mayonnaise jar by placing it under her bad arm and twisting the lid with the other—before going over to sit beside Zwei. She scratched his head. He didn't seem to notice.

"Then I'd still deserve it." Taiyang turned from the fridge and waggled a package of cold-cut turkey at his daughter. "You should know better than anyone the effort it takes to keep children under control when they don't want to be controlled."

Yang checked her phone and shot off a text to Pyrrha.

U go without me this time. We'll all go when Mr Warden lets me out of prison, which was followed by a subsequent, :(((((((((

With a self-amused smile, she looked up at her father. "Well, rook, if you find yourself in too much trouble, you can always ask me for pointers."

"Not much pointing you can do right now."

"You," Yang squinted at him, suddenly self-conscious of her sling, "…aren't wrong."

Taiyang chuckled, looking down at what he was doing with the ingredients. However, as soon as he did this, Zwei waggled his little butt in anticipation before leaping up onto the island counter. It took him a moment to struggle himself up there, but he did, and as Yang thought about telling him to get down, Taiyang said, "You know that Aster boy? The twelve-year-old who lives down the road?"

"Sorry. I try not to keep track of twelve-year-old boys."

Zwei had moved between the sink and the cutting board. His tail was wagging. Taiyang did not see him.

"Well, I was teaching Self-Defense, and Benny," he looked up at Yang, "that's the kid's name," he looked back down at the bag of bread in front of him, "decided he wanted to try sparring." He placed two slices of whole-wheat bread on the cutting board beside him without looking and threw his arms up in a shrug. "And once that idea got out, everyone wanted to try it."

While Taiyang focused on opening one of the ham packages, Zwei walked over to the closest slice of bread, leaned down, and ate it. Yang rested her exasperated but near-laughing face in her hand. She did her best to hide her smile behind her fingers.

"Well, because everyone there could put up their auras, I decided we could at least give it a try. What could go wrong, right? I've been teaching for twenty-something years, so I had this under control."

He placed four slices of ham down on the cutting board, two for each sandwich. Unfortunately for him, only the first two made their way on to bread. The second two hit the wood with a light slap, and they were quickly gobbled up by that mini, portable vacuum of a dog.

"Wrong," Taiyang said, waving a piece of turkey at Yang. The blonde had thought this was in response to Zwei, but it was actually part of his story. The dude was clueless. "I tried explaining the concept of sparring to the kids: Don't go one-hundred-percent speed, you get a point if you get a hit, and only do the moves I show them. But they didn't want to do that. They just wanted to fight."

He placed the turkey, the cheese slices, and two leaves of lettuce on the would-be-plural sandwiches, which Zwei once again ate. Taiyang did not seem aware of anything but his story, so much so that if Yang pointed Zwei out, she wasn't sure the words would compute for her dad. Therefore, Yang supposed she could let devious dogs trespass. While her dad was looking at her, she reached out and patted the back of that distracted dog in front of that apparently blind dad.

After Taiyang added a couple tomato slices, and as he was spreading mayonnaise over the half-existent top slices of bread—that is, as he was spreading mayonnaise across Zwei's outstretched tongue—Taiyang's tone fell to disappointment. "So, Benny decided he would take on the Watergrave girl. Mostly everyone else was doing slow punches and soft kicks, and it was really fun, honestly, but then Benny decided to slug April, and April decided to kick him back."

Taiyang closed the first completed sandwich, which Yang made sure to grab immediately, and set his hand down near the dog. "The nurse had to come and put him in a wheelchair. April shattered his aura like it was nothing." He sighed deeply. "I don't know Yang. Is it the kid's fault or the parents'? Is it the cartoons or the expectations?"

Yang took a big bite of her sandwich. Because her mouth was full of food, and because her phone had just buzzed with Pyrrha's reply, all Yang did was shrug and check her message. :DDDDDDD, Pyrrha had written. Text us if you want anything. We'd be happy to bring you some! Love you! Yang, deciding she was not opposed to the idea of bubble tea, took Pyrrha up on that offer. She then watched as her dad tried to close his own sandwich, only to find the fuzzy form of fur, happiness, and iron-clad digestion.

"Zwei!" Taiyang shouted, almost whining, immediately disheartened.

Yang took another bite of her sandwich. Her dad set Zwei down on the ground, only to have him bark with glee and run around in circles. "You know," Yang said, swallowing, "there aren't only two options, dad. Here's a pointer: Don't talk about kids you're trying to bond with behind their backs. It doesn't reflect well on you, and they can smell it from a mile away."

"…But my sandwich."

"A little bit of self-awareness goes a long way," Yang stood, taking her sandwich, scroll, and dog with her. Of course, Zwei only came to heel in search of her sandwich, but Yang liked to think he was loyal. "Now, I'm gonna go watch more movies 'cause that's all I can do anymore."

Taiyang was practicing deep-breathing exercises, and Yang was walking away. Justice tasted good.

---

Ozpin's office was more than a little distracting. This was only the third time Blake had been here, and the newness of the clockwork gears, the vista of Vale, and the green tint to everything had not yet worn off. The silver-haired headmaster sat smiling behind his desk, waving Blake over as she entered.

"Professor Belladonna. Welcome. Please, have a seat."

Had Blake not chosen to wear these specific ankle boots, this meeting would have been a little less awkward, but, as it was, every click of her heels seemed to echo in this wide room. But she kept calm—like always—even if hearing Ozpin call her "professor" threatened her composure. He waited for Blake to cross the room, not breaking his smile in the slightest, even when it took her a moment to get settled in her seat. Blake placed her bag beside the chair, cleared her throat, looked at Ozpin, and crossed her legs—to appear relaxed when she really wasn't.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, actually. I wanted to know how you're finding Beacon now that you're working here." He leaned back in his chair, taking his coffee with him before sipping at it. "I understand it's a bit different studying here than working, and I want to make sure your transition is as smooth as possible."

Blake nodded, giving it some thought. She had been in a single dorm on campus while earning her graduate degrees, and that hadn't been bad at all—finally having a place to herself with Silver had been a relief. And once she had been hired as a teacher, she had been given a small apartment near the academy. In this regard, nothing had really changed except her surroundings. It was true that teaching was making itself out to be a far different world than studying, but everything had been going smoothly, all things considered.

"Thank you, Headmaster—"

"You can call me Ozpin now, you know," he interrupted her kindly.

"Ozpin," Blake tried again, but it was difficult for her to wrap her mind around the change. The familiarity didn't seem right. "Um, again, thank you, but I'm enjoying my new role and home. I haven't experienced any issues to speak of."

He waited a moment, giving Blake time to continue with an arched eyebrow, but when the Faunus did not take his offer, he reached over and pulled a glowing screen out of thin air. "Splendid," he said, eyes glued on the screen's contents. "Then we must discuss your classes. Intro to Ethics, World History Since The Great War, and Novels of Vytal. All very lovely classes." His eyes flicked to Blake, peering over his tiny, brown spectacles. "You aren't finding teaching such different courses too strenuous, are you?"

His tone felt conversational, but Blake felt like her answer would be fairly determining, if not now then later. "No, sir. I have a firm grasp on everything I'm teaching at the moment. I do not think I am qualified to speak for Philosophy, Literature, or History in broad senses, but I know my specializations, and I am strong in what I understand."

"I do not doubt it." He smiled, warmly perhaps. "And I believe that once you work your way through the system and we find the budget for the classes you want, your understanding will only grow. But tell me: You would let Professor Goodwitch and I know if these different classes are stretching you too thin, wouldn't you? I know we are asking a lot of you with covering these classes, but we are prepared to move you to two—or even one—department to lighten your workload."

Blake paused again, trying to chew on this question and the inside of her cheek. Before she had been hired, Professor Oobleck had been the only History professor, and Professor Port had taught Philosophy—which, as the students claimed, had not been great. Blake read a lot, had a degree in History, and had dealt with enough morally grey situations in her life to figure some things out, but she could not claim to be a true master of any of those fields. She taught at a combat academy—not a university—and was a capable teacher in her specializations with a strong fighting ability. Could she teach all three? Yes. Could she teach all three well?

The silence stretched on for a few more seconds, and Blake finally relented, admitting hesitantly, "I suppose I'm…a bit surprised that I was hired at all. I'm infinitely grateful and appreciative, of course, but you've seen my history and background. I'm not exactly the ideal role model—especially not for the courses I'm teaching."

Ozpin smiled again, a twinkle in his irises that almost looked like pride. "Quite the contrary, Ms. Belladonna. It is because of your history and background that I hired you—that, and you were an excellent student. I think you more than qualify for the role."

Blake paused, stumped. "I don't understand," she stammered.

"You are a very different person than you were back in the White Fang, Blake," he replied, his tone gentler. "I see in you someone who has learned from her mistakes and who is searching to amend for the past, someone who can help and inspire others in ways not many people could. You are young, and yet you already have so many incredible life experiences to share, and I encourage you to do so, to use your knowledge and acquired wisdom and set a precedent of justice and goodness—not just for the Faunus but for everyone."

"Oh…" Blake looked down at her lap, heat creeping up her neck. That was undoubtedly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. She had no idea how to respond, touched by the magnitude with which Ozpin thought she could impact the future of Remnant's guardians. She had never really thought it could be that much, never really considered actually sharing her shameful past in detail with her students, but if the very headmaster of Beacon Academy, himself, believed it would truly make a difference…

"Headmas—O-ozpin, are you sure about this? I committed crimes. I've done things that should not see the light of day. What if some of my students get the wrong idea?"

Ozpin put his mug of coffee down on the desk. "Ms. Belladonna, confidence is gained with practice and time. But as it is, I trust in your skills as a teacher to transmit your ideas in such a way that your students see and understand your perspective. I do not believe I made a mistake in hiring you so early. Do you?"

Blake did not answer right away. She did mull over everything he had just told her, though, and eventually she found the courage to look him in the eye. Perhaps she would need some time to convince herself that none of this was, in some way, an egregious lack of foresight, but for now, she did feel a little more secure in her too-loud boots. "I may need some time to think about what we've discussed, but I don't think you've made a mistake, no."

Ozpin smiled again, enigmatic and knowing like he usually was, but he seemed satisfied now, too. "I'm glad we agree. I look forward to seeing your progress and hearing your voice at our monthly staff meetings, Professor."

Understanding that this marked the end of their conversation, Blake grabbed her shoulder bag and rose. Ozpin did, too, and outstretched his hand towards her. She managed to return his smile, albeit a bit tightly, and took his hand to give it a brief shake. "Thank you. Have a nice evening…Ozpin."

"You as well, Ms. Belladonna. Say hello to Silver for me."

Blake's smile became somewhat amused, and she did give Ozpin a bit of a funny look, but they both knew his comment was simply meant to lighten the mood. She said nothing, merely turning and heading out of his office, somehow feeling a little more confident and ready to take on her career.

The rest of the academy was abuzz by this point with the end-of-day cheer and relief that came from classes finally being over. As Blake made her way down into Beacon's main hall, she found herself nearly trampled by the remaining outbound students and the slowly but unstoppably strolling teachers. Everyone was chatting like it was a Friday, which it wasn't, and everybody was happy like it was summer, which it was. Blake eased in to the flow of foot traffic and found a little space all for herself as she approached the hall's exit, leading to the orange glow beyond.

"Professor Belladonna!"

But it seemed the day wasn't quite over. Blake turned around, finding Team AFTR—with Argent leading the charge and Tope, Faraday, and their fourth teammate, Rock, following after—heading straight towards her. It was kind of intimidating, really. They had a purpose written in their eyes. Well, Argent did.

"Hi…" Blake drawled, not used to…whatever this was.

Argent stopped before Blake with a click of her heels. Her teammates stood behind her, and the traffic diverted around them. Despite this being the end of the day, Argent's cascading silver hair was just as perfect as the way she had styled it this morning. Blake, meanwhile, felt and probably looked a little frazzled. "Professor Belladonna," Argent said, "we didn't get the chance to tell you because we were in a bit of a hurry, but we wanted to tell you that your History class today was really great."

That was surprisingly sweet. "Oh, well, thank—"

"And we wanted to know how your weekend was."

"—you." Blake stared at the group. "Is there some sort of catch here? Because if you're looking to get boosted grades—"

Faraday and Argent's eyes grew wide, the latter with offense. The laid-back Tope and the stoic Rock, however, did not budge. "Heavens, no!" Argent said.

"No, we promise, Miss Belladonna!" said Faraday, her posture shrinking. "We just wanted to know how your weekend was because…"

"Because we think you're a nice, relatable teacher, and we want to be friends with you."

How in the world did they get nice or relatable out of Blake's demeanor? Whatever the answer was, it needed to be rooted out by the next semester because Blake would not be having that. As it was, she looked to Team AFTR, and specifically the girls before her, with more than a bit of confusion. "Argent, Faraday, you know teachers can't be friends with students. That's—"

"Unethical?" Tope asked, his smile either goofy or proud.

"Uh, sure, but I was trying to say that it also goes against my contract." Argent and Faraday seemed disappointed by this, especially Argent. "I'm sorry. You seem like a nice group, and I don't mind you asking me questions like that, but I could lose my job if we become friends."

Argent took a moment and nodded while Faraday shuffled back to join Tope and Rock. But after the moment was over, Argent puffed out her chest in determination and said, "Well, we'll be friends after we graduate. Then you won't have to lose your job."

Blake blinked. "Y-yeah, I… I hope so, too?" She didn't.

A wave of satisfaction seemed to wash over Team AFTR—so much so that all the determination and consternation in Argent's features were replaced with a beam. "I'll hold you to that, Ms. Belladonna! We're gonna make you proud and be the best students we can."

However, as Argent regained her confidence, Faraday stepped back up and tugged on her arm. "Come on, Ari… I don't think that means she wants to be friends."

She had said this quietly, perhaps in an attempt to be subtle and save Argent's reputation, but Blake's cat ears flickered towards the noise, picking up every word and making her want to refute Faraday's claim despite it being completely true. Faraday got her way, though, and began moving Argent back. The blue-eyed girl, however, looked over her shoulder at Blake as she was being pulled away further into the main hall—for some sort of team meeting, Blake supposed. "Have a good night, Professor Belladonna! See you tomorrow!"

All Blake could do was sheepishly wave back.

By now, most of the other students had made their way back to the dorms, and whatever teachers were left stood by the double doors leading to the main hall's rightmost exit, exchanging plans and pleasantries. Once Blake was able to catch her breath and put that near-crisis behind her, she moved towards and past those other teachers and out into the humid summer evening, away from all her new-job drama.

Blake had liked Vale summers since she came here as a teenager, and when she returned later as an adult, they were one of the most important factors in her ability to relax. The way the heat licked along her collar and up to her jaw, while a relatively cool breeze soothed her nerves and made her white blouse flutter, reminded her of Menagerie. Her exit did not lead her out to the main entrance, with its fountain and ponds and eager children, but instead the shortest route home. It was a path that faced the trees, a path bordered on its outer edge by colonnades not dissimilar to those out in front, and a path that put shade between the Faunus and the sunset. It left Blake alone with her thoughts and the heat.

Ozpin said her insight was welcome, that her weaknesses were actually her strengths. For the life of her, Blake could not entirely believe either. Perhaps he would be right and the students would reap the benefits of her perspective, but Blake struggled with both. She knew where the White Fang had gone wrong, and she thought she knew what was right for herself, but to teach these things to students almost seemed wrong. It was not her job to drive imperatives on her students or enforce her will. She was not meant to lead them to her conclusions; instead, it was their conclusions she sought, and she knew the only way to get the students to a point where conclusions could be made was to arm them with the tools to find answers, not with the answers, themselves. But she could not figure out how to do that, even if Team AFTR was already in love with her teaching method, apparently.

Blake's thoughts distracted her for most of the distance she needed to walk. Eventually, a smaller cobblestone trail branched off from the larger, school-encircling path, and Blake took it, adjusting the way her bag's strap fell over her shoulder as she headed under the colonnade and into a short wooded allée.

On the other side was the teacher's village. There were a little over thirty houses in total, each given their own front and back yards and a decent square-footage for the teachers to call home. Blake's house had the unfortunate problem of being one of the last ones built. While this meant it was newer and better equipped than some of the earlier houses, it meant she had a further walk to make everyday, being that the village had been designed with only five houses in mind before being expanded further and further into the woods for the now thirty-something buildings that housed only twenty-four teachers. Fortunately, Beacon had recently built a nice, quiet shortcut from the main trail to the street with the newer houses. This was the way Blake went.

The trail continued to have trees on both sides, blocking the view to the first row of houses to offer privacy. The orange rays of the setting sun still filtered through the leaves and branches, and Blake thought this was always the nicest part of the walk. She could hear the birds chirping and a squirrel chattering further off, too, and if she tried hard enough, she could just make out the sound of one of the water streams trickling down into the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs, not too far from the village's location.

There was another sound, though, one that did not belong. Jogging footsteps, coming closer. Blake turned in time to see Professor Sycamore—Dane—approaching. He grinned at her as he neared, and Blake could only recall their previous awkward interaction and wonder why he felt comfortable approaching her again. Nevertheless, she slowed, allowing him to catch up, but did not stop walking.

"Hey, Blake!" he greeted, matching her pace once he was beside her. "Mind if I walk with you? I live nearby, since I'm pretty new, too."

Blake had kind of meant to enjoy the weather on her own, but she supposed she could at least try being friendly. "Sure, you can walk with me." She really didn't know what to talk about, though, and his presence pressured her to find something to say. Although not her smartest decision, she opted to open her mouth and see what came out—but they ended up speaking at the same time.

"So, how did your—"

"So, um…"

Dane chuckled a little while Blake quietly died in mortification. "You go first, sorry." He motioned towards her.

"No, it's okay. I actually didn't have that much to talk about." In fact, she wished she could pull out Gambol Shroud and shoot herself. That seemed more pleasant than drowning in embarrassment.

"Oh, that's cool. I was just gonna ask how your day went." He sounded like he was still smiling, trying to be friendly, not at all getting caught on her social ineptitude.

Blake didn't understand why people were so intent on asking her how her day and weekend went, though. It was too…nice. She didn't trust it. Also, she was terrible at small-talk. Humiliatingly so. "It was good. I, um… What do you do when students want to be your friends?"

Indeed, Blake went straight for the personal questions instead—because that was so much more comfortable. What am I doing?

Dane seemed momentarily surprised, but he took the question in stride and answered, "Well, I treat some of them like friends, kind of, in school. But I don't see them outside of school, if that's what you're asking." He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "Some students giving you trouble already?"

Blake didn't answer right away. The more they spoke, the more she found that she did not care to divulge any part of her life to him. There was nothing wrong with him, of course—quite the contrary, he seemed quite all right, but Blake just…couldn't. She was reticent. "Not really. I was just wondering. I'm sorry, that was a bit out of the blue."

"Hey, don't fret it. So, I heard you studied here at Beacon. Have you always been in Vale?"

The back of Blake's neck felt like it was burning. They were out in the open now, heading up the road her home was located on. It would take them another three minutes or so to reach it. She didn't know how to tell him she wasn't interested, that some of her past experiences made her wary, that his mere insistence on talking to her caused her to feel a little trapped. Was her body-language not closed enough? Or was he just incredibly oblivious? …Or did he not care? "No. Have you?"

"Good question! I traveled a lot, that's for sure. I've been in Atlas, in Mistral, and I even visited Vacuo for a while. I wanted to see what Menagerie was like, too, but I wasn't allowed."

Blake's cat ears were beginning to lean backwards. He sounded genuine, but why would he ever want to visit an island populated by a people that would distrust him entirely? There was also a tiny voice at the back of her mind wondering why he thought it was okay to mention Menagerie as if it was a special thing to her, a Faunus. It was, coincidentally, but she had never told him this and she felt like he was pushing a boundary he did not have permission to. Still, for all it was worth, Blake tried to silence that little voice, tried to push past her unease. She was supposed to be over that part of her life, supposed to be stronger now. "Why Menagerie?"

Dane shrugged. "I like traveling and seeing places." He paused, as if giving his reply some thought. But then his eyes widened and he waved his hands at her. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean anything by that, promise."

Blake knew he was telling the truth. But she didn't answer, didn't know what to say, unsure how to turn the conversation around. Instead, she turned onto the walkway to her home's entrance, and Dane followed her, probably trying to clear the air. Unfortunately, he only raised alarm bells in Blake's mind.

"Blake, wait. I mean it—I'm sorry." He gently touched her arm, as if trying to make her stop.

And Blake did stop. She faced him, eyes narrowed. "Please don't touch me."

Dane took a step back, eyes wide. He nodded.

"I accept your apology. It's fine." Blake attempted to relax her stance, but she could feel the tension in her nape and shoulder blades. She didn't like this. Yet she could see that Dane was truly not trying to harm her, and she did not feel it was fair to treat him too harshly just because of her own inability to set boundaries before they were crossed. This was only her fault. "Thank you for walking with me. I hope you enjoy your evening."

"Yeah." Dane nodded again, putting one of his hands in his pocket. "Thank you as well. And for what it's worth, I'm still sorry. I hope you have a nice evening, too. See you."

"…See you," Blake murmured, and he turned, continuing on his way up the road. She didn't watch him go, going to her front door to swipe her scroll in front of the digital locking mechanism, and then went inside, closing the door behind her.

She leaned against the door, shutting her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath in. She slowly exhaled. Of course there were certain things that brought to mind bad memories. But Blake had left the White Fang some eight years ago. She had freed herself from that, had freed herself from Adam, the man who had mentored and watched over her and treated her like his pet. She should know better than to let prejudices or irrational fears control her behavior. It wasn't okay.

Blake heard quiet, padded paws trot over to her, and something soft brushed against her calves. She opened her eyes and looked down, finding Silver staring back up at her with large aquamarine irises. The cat put her paws on Blake's thighs, letting out a concerned meow.

"I'm all right," Blake murmured, rubbing Silver's head and ears gently. "Thanks for asking."

Silver only pressed into the caresses, remaining silent. Blake rolled her eyes.

Their night together was the same as it ever had been: relaxing, solitary, and filled with shows and a gourmet vanilla bean ice cream. Silver enjoyed every moment and lick of it. But as Blake hugged her purring cat closer, and as her eyes glazed over while looking at her laptop's holoscreen, she found her mind wandering. It was cumulative, this inevitable spiral—nothing specific had caused it. Today was just off, and with the stresses of school starting, everyone asking her the same few questions, and that recent dream—plus her conversation with Ozpin about the White Fang and Dane's untoward attention—Blake was not in a good place.

As she drifted off in her bed later that night, her mood did not recover. Allusions became memories, and every moment of discomfort manifested into something thoroughly stressful.

She could still hear his voice as if it were yesterday. Years later, his ghost still haunted her.

"Blake, sit with me," Adam said as she entered his tent. "I wanted to talk to you."

The tent was larger than most in the encampment and it was set in the middle. The inside was dark, lit only by a couple dim lanterns on the far table, and, despite its size, this place felt cramped. No matter how many people surrounded them outside, Blake knew she was very much alone with her mentor, this man she had once called her dearest friend.

"I'd rather stand," she replied, keeping a carefully composed expression.

He nodded, slowly, as if acknowledging, but he moved towards her, and the closer he got, the more tension Blake felt in her spine and neck. Adam didn't stop in front of her, though. He merely brushed past her shoulder, and Blake was acutely aware of him behind her somewhere. She heard the sound of two empty glasses clinking after he seemed to rummage for something in one of the bags left in the corner of the tent. She didn't budge, but her heartbeat was accelerating. It was hard to tell what he wanted, what his temper might make him do if she pushed him too far.

"I don't know what's happened between us, Blake," she heard him say, as if he were sad about it. He stepped into her field of vision again, and he stopped this time, but the Grimm mask hiding his upper face made it impossible to tell where his gaze lingered. Blake shifted uncomfortably. There were two wine glasses in one of his hands, glimmering in the light of the lanterns, and a blood-red bottle in the other. "I've done so much for you. I just want things to be right."

A sharp sting of guilt coursed through Blake, just like every time he reminded her of this. It was true—he had done so much for her. He had been there when Blake had no one else, had taught her how to fend for herself and face the atrocities of the world. He had made sure she always had shelter to return to, food to eat, clothes to wear. She shouldn't have been treating him with any kind of coldness.

"I want things to be right, too," she found herself agreeing, but she wasn't sure she meant it in the same way he did. Not anymore. But she couldn't let him know that, couldn't tell him they no longer were on the same page. She feared what he would do if he found out, and she was ashamed of straying so far from what he wanted.

Adam paused, towering above her without saying a word, and then he finally said quietly, "I know you do."

Blake swallowed with difficulty. There was always a tiny voice at the back of her mind that whispered he already knew she wanted to leave, that at any moment he would confront her about it and punish her for her ungratefulness. It was unsettling to look at him and have no idea what was going through mind, and even if she did her utmost to put forward a composed demeanor, she still felt exposed under that soulless Grimm regard and those empty, black holes where eyes should be. She did not respond.

Adam moved away, though, and set the cups on the low table in the middle of the tent. He motioned for Blake to come closer, and she obeyed reluctantly. He said nothing for a while, taking his time pouring wine into each glass cup, and with each hollow glup glup glup, Blake grew more and more anxious. She didn't know what to say, or if there was anything he expected her to admit, and the pressure made her wish she could curl into a ball and fade from existence.

One at a time, Adam's gloved fingers curled around one of the cups just as it was halfway filled, and then he offered it to Blake. "At least have a drink with me, my love."

She didn't want to. She hated drinking, and he knew this. Alcohol affected her too easily. "Adam, please—"

"Take it, Blake," he interrupted her, biting.

Her cat ears lowered flat against her head, but she didn't have the courage to stand her ground. She took the glass from Adam, and those dark pits kept boring into her, his lips beginning to twist into a slight snarl, and Blake brought the cup to her lips and took a sip, enough for Adam to be satisfied with her. The wine was coarse and bitter, and Blake could barely stomach it, but she forced it down nevertheless.

Adam's worsening grimace relaxed into a somewhat gentle, small smile, and he took his own cup to have a drink as well. "That's it, Blake. Not so hard, was that? I'm proud of you." He paused again, as if thinking, making the wine swirl in his glass. He then stepped towards her yet again, and the scratched leather of his gloved hand touched her cheek as he cupped her face softly. "Don't be scared. You know I love you too much to truly hurt you."

Blake could hardly keep herself from trembling at the contact. She wanted to believe he wouldn't cause her any pain, that he did love her, that what was inescapable would be fulfilling and wonderful, but she didn't recognize this man anymore. She still clung to who he used to be, to the memories of his care and tenderness, and a tiny part of her longed for him in this manner, but she couldn't. This would tear her apart. She was already ripping at the seams.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and his fingers were caressing the side of her face now. Blake's heart was pounding in her chest, any attempt at speech catching in her throat. His graze wandered, fingertips trailing down her jaw, tracing the side of her lips and throat and collarbone. Now it was her breathing that became difficult to keep calm, and when Adam's touch started following the rise of her chest, Blake couldn't stand it anymore and tried to take a step back, to get away from him.

But Adam clamped down on her arm, firm and unyielding, forbidding Blake from going anywhere. "Don't," he growled.

Her eyes widened in alarm, and Blake faltered, nearly dropping her cup. He was so close to her, his painful grip like a vice. She didn't know if the alcohol was already beginning to affect her, but she felt her hold on her control slipping, the sides of her vision darkening.

"You sadden me so much, Blake," he told her, quiet but angry. His hand released her, but he only moved in closer, his lips grazing the top of her head with a kiss before touching one of her cat ears. "Why don't you love me?"

"I do love you," she quickly protested, shaking, panicking. She couldn't find the strength to escape him, and her heart was beginning to throb in her head, making it nearly impossible to concentrate.

Adam kissed her temple, his hand coming to rest on her waist. "I could take you whenever I wanted, darling," he whispered. "Right now, if I were so inclined. I'd make sure you'd enjoy it, too." He kissed her cheek, his lips moist. Blake was lightheaded, her body going numb. Did he somehow poison her drink? "You're mine to please, to do as I please. But I won't—not tonight. I'll wait for you to come to me, Blake. You'll see that I only want what's best for you."

He had never kissed Blake on her lips, but Blake could swear she could taste the alcohol on his breath as her mind hurdled through oblivion. The foggy evening and the kerosene lamps became stillness and midnight darkness. The cold of autumn became the irritating stuffiness of summer. And Blake was no longer a teenager. She was awake, staring up at a dark ceiling she could not see the color of—far away from Adam.

---

Yang awoke with a start, sitting up and breathing heavily. Her entire body was pulsing, heartbeat forceful and panicked. She looked around, searching for some semblance of normalcy, but found that this was not her room—even worse, she remembered the mirrored closet and the Haven Academy pennant on the wall and knew this was someone else's room. The same someone else as the girl from her out-of-body experience. Except it was night now instead of day, and Yang had never had a repeat dream, and her life was no longer in danger, and everything still felt so real.

A sound in the bed made her attention jump to whatever had caused it, finding a form wriggling beneath the covers that were not her own. Although Yang was beginning to realize that this dream may not have been just a dream—considering the undeniable realness of the freaked-out heartbeat, the soft and cool bedsheets, and the overbearing tank top that stuck to not-her skin—but whatever that was supposed to mean, it would take Yang time to figure out. In the meantime, she would lift the edge of the covers, lean down to check, and find an angry, hissing cat pouncing towards her.

Yang jumped out of the bed, dodging the furious beast as best she could. She had expected her arm to sting, and she was prepared to deal with the pain, but, thankfully, reality hit her just then as her butt hit the hardwood. She looked at her—or not her—arm and realized that the Petra Gigas fight had never happened to this girl's body, and so her arm was healed. Or healthy. Whichever.

The cat, that stupid cat from before, with its grey fur and shining eyes, stood on the edge of the bed, almost majestically with the moon at its back and with its lowered, predatory stance but frightening, too, with its raised hair and tail. Yang did not bother thinking if the cat could kill her. All she knew was that it apparently wanted to.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Yang said, scooting as far away from the cat as she could. "Chill!"

The cat hopped down from the bed, graceful but threatening. Yang could hear its talons clicking along the floor as it began inching forward.

"Listen. Hey! Listen to me. We can make a deal." Yang kept scooting away until her back hit and rattled the mirrored door behind her. She had nowhere to run. "Do you like tuna? I can get you tuna. I know a guy who sells really good tuna, and I can get it for you on the cheap."

The cat did not pause because of Yang's offer, ignoring it at first and taking another five steps forward, but it did pause nevertheless and began sniffing the air. Slowly, the hair on its back lowered, and so too did its tail, and eventually the cat padded over to Yang and sat down next to her. It meowed questioningly.

Yang took a moment to calm herself, just staring at the little beast as it did nothing. Whatever was going on, Yang's body—or not Yang's body—was doing it's darnedest to freak her out. But nothing was actually wrong, which made Yang deeply suspicious—of everything. Everything felt real—the fear, the sensations, the cat's presence, and even the clarity and general continuity of everything—and everything made sense. This didn't feel like a dream at all, either. If Yang never had recurring dreams, didn't feel like she was dreaming or like this was another near-death experience, if everything felt real and continuous, and, if her last experience here was any indication, there is no conscious means of escape from this reality, then… Uh-oh.

This wasn't a dream. This was…real life. Like, really real life.

Oh boy. That meant… Oh boy. So, if this was real life, Yang reasoned, then all this stuff around her—the cat, the pennant, the house, and the boobs—were real life, too. This being real life also meant that this body—this body that was clearly not Yang's—was also real life. With a deep, dreadful sigh, Yang came to two shocking conclusions:

She should never touch this girl's boobs again. Ever.

She was literally possessing some real-life girl's body right now.

Whatever this was, be it magic or aliens or divine intervention, Yang realized that the cause didn't matter. What mattered was that this was happening. This possession was real, it was present, and there wasn't anything Yang could do until… Well, her last visit had shown that she would eventually return home, but when or how were questions she didn't have answers to and, for the sake of her already shaky wellbeing, questions she didn't want answers to. Yang figured that if she was going to be here, she was going to be here. She took a deep breath in, let a deep breath out, and while the horror still remained in the itsy-bitsiest corner of her mind, it had largely vanished.

Yang and this girl's body would make it out okay. She would make sure of that.

All things considered, though, this wasn't too bad for an unexpected, potentially demonic possession. It was completely weird and impossible, but it wasn't, like, awful. At the very least, Yang was not being attacked, not in any danger, and she had a working right arm. The downsides were the racing heart and body covered in sweat paired with what little sensibilities she had—there was no dealing with the sweat in any reasonable way because Yang didn't want to intrude on the other girl's life that much. She had decided to not touch the boobs, after all, and taking a shower here would probably be a lot worse than just touching. Plus, it turned out she could see in the dark—yay!—and smell pretty much everything—including the sweat, which wasn't all that bad, actually—and those were things she had to live with for now. Not awful at all.

The cat meowed again.

Coming down from the realization that her reality was freaking bonkers and relieved that she wasn't about to be mauled, Yang said, "No, sorry, kitty cat. I don't know where your mom is. But as soon as I stop possessing her body and being a total creep, she'll be here to take care of you."

The cat then stood, Yang being ready to read its enigmatic but profound body language, and walked out of the room.

"Right. Of course. Cat."

Now that Yang was alone and starved for the furry attention that would distract her from this possession, she tried to make the best of her situation. She slouched and released all the defenses she had built up, pressing against the closet and looking out at where the cat had left, through the opening in the room. Everything was a milky sort of grey color. Occasionally, she could see other colors, but everything was clearest with that greyness. It was really cool. After a little bit, her heart rate began to slow, and she happily started drumming on the very real floor.

Yang took a moment to close her eyes and think of home, trying a little weakly to get herself back into her body, but, like last time, any effort she put forth failed. Yang figured she was stuck here for the time being. That wasn't a bad thing, necessarily, but she really didn't want to intrude in this person's life anymore. The owner, she suspected, was suppressed way down in some part of the brain, just waiting for Yang to leave. To the owner, this whole thing must have seemed cruel, and Yang sympathized with her completely. But, at the same time, this was not Yang's fault, and there was nothing she could do to help it.

Therefore, Yang decided she needed a towel and a drink and stood up.

"Cat!" she called out, leaving the room and deciding to test her night vision in the dark house she vaguely remembered. The living room was empty. She sing-songed, "Oh, kitty!"

This girl's voice was not made for singing. Or for emotion, really. There was something automatic in this body's composition that made sure any high, piping "Eee!" made at a hissing cat became a low, dignified "Ahh!" It was like the body was saving face—kind of remarkable, really, but Yang still wanted to sing-song to that cat yet couldn't because the body she possessed made the noise sound so dull. So monotone.

Nevertheless, said cat came trotting up to where Yang stood. "Mrow."

"Good. I'm glad you're here. So, uh, another deal for you." The cat sat down, awaiting Yang's offer graciously. Yang was impressed. "I don't wanna be here. Your mom probably doesn't want me here, either. But for whatever reason, I can't go home, so I'm stuck with you until someone sends me back. In the meantime, we're gonna keep things chill. No fights, no biting, and no sprinting around the house like I know you cats like to do." The cat's regard flattened, almost offended. "You aren't leaving my sight. But I'm also not leaving yours. We gotta be on our best behavior until your mom arises from whatever demonic slumber she has been subjected to, and we gotta hold each other accountable. Does that seem reasonable?"

Yang was talking to the cat too much. She was in this body she didn't know and this place she wasn't familiar with, and the adventurous side of her wanted to break away and see more—experience more—of this life she had no claim to. Maybe she could find something here that could help her…do something. Maybe go home, maybe figure out what was going on. Something. But as the cat meowed again, Yang realized why she had been talking to it. Maybe it didn't completely understand her, but it was good to have company, and said company helped take the edge off this entirely weird situation. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. Or maybe Yang was actually crazy. Either way, this cat was all right, even if it had wanted to eat her.

She reached down and tried to pet it. The cat walked away again.

"You're supposed to stay in my sight!" Yang clenched her fists and started marching after the cat. It is to say that she only started marching after the cat and not "marched after the cat" because, after a point, she did not continue. The cat had walked past the demon-slumber-girl's bathroom, in front of which Yang had the idea of getting a towel. The two then left each other's sight, their bond broken immediately.

Yang turned the light on, finding that the greyness of her vision clarified to show crisp, clear colors. Unfortunately, the bathroom was only a plain, white-and-taupe deal. Even though it felt lived-in despite its cleanness and assorted toiletries, it still had that hotel bathroom vibe that made Yang feel uneasy. It was just…where someone else lived. It did, however, have a walk-in, glass-door shower that definitely made this house seem fancier. And it kind of interested Yang. Whoever lived here had a pleasant taste.

Beside the door was a rolling rack of towels, and Yang decided these would be better suited to her situation and less invasive than a full shower. She picked up one of the smaller-but-longer hand towels instead before leaving. She shut the light off, her vision returning to grey, and figured she could stick with this super-awesome night vision stuff for the time being.

Beginning to wipe herself, Yang wandered across the hall into what turned out to be the living room. Like last time, it was full of boring books and no holoscreen. The sectional around the coffee table looked comfortable, though, and it was the only thing keeping Yang from second-guessing the possessed girl's taste. Across the room, on the far left wall, was a window with blackout curtains almost completely hiding a sliver of pale blue moonlight.

Yang pulled the curtains aside, curious. The night was dry and bright, a full moon shining from behind wispy, smoky clouds that only skirted past the light. It bathed all the trees in blue as they shivered, shaking from the wind and collectively building a crashing hiss of branches and leaves. Yang was surprised to have heard the sound, insulated as she was within the house. Her Faunus ears wiggled towards the wide window before her, embracing the noises of the earth and searching for sounds from the pale gravel road or the modest rows of darkened homes before her. She felt cold looking out at this sight, uncharacteristically so, and as she wiped away whatever sweat remained on her collarbone and clung to the heating aura that had thankfully followed her here, she felt lonely. She did not know why, but a pang of isolation rang through her like a deafening bell, and she frowned.

She did not recognize the neighborhood. Yang did not belong here. That was abundantly clear. This girl lived by herself with a jerk of a cat, and she seemed to lead a quiet life, devoid of entertainment worth mentioning. Her body even felt tense, as if there were a constant pressure in her shoulder blades and neck. And for all intents and purposes, Yang felt like she had just woken from a nightmare, one she had no recollection of. It must have been pretty bad, though, for her to have sweated so much and taken so long to calm her breathing and heart rate.

Yang frowned a little and then turned away from the window, immediately catching reflective round eyes staring back at her from the coffee table. She nearly jumped out of this foreign skin—kind of wished she had, actually, and gone back to her own—and narrowed her eyes at the cat. "You're evil." This prompted Yang to believe the cat was causing all of this.

But the cat remained silent, idly swishing its tail, and Yang decided to ignore it, walking by while uncomfortably drying off this chest that did not belong to her. She didn't linger too long on it, just wiping it enough so it wouldn't be so icky—making a very ginger point of not touching the boobs—and headed for the kitchen. This time, she heard the padded paws following behind her.

Yang reached around herself to dry her back, and then she draped the towel around her neck. Her eyes quickly darted around the kitchen, and then Yang found what she was looking for in the corner: the fridge. She made her way over, grabbed the handle, and then carefully opened it to peek inside. Light flooded into the kitchen, colors returning to her vision once more, and Yang was glad to find a bottle of water on the top shelf. There was also an unreasonable number of tuna cans—and the blonde kind of hoped it was solely for the cat, but Yang strangely found herself craving some and was forced to understand that, no, they weren't just for the cat. Yang didn't like tuna. But this feline Faunus girl did.

Said cat came into her sight again, at the bottom of her feet, and looked up at her with aquamarine eyes. "Mreow?" it wondered.

"Yeah, I know. We made a deal." Yang grabbed the bottle of water and one of the cans of tuna and was about to close the fridge, but then she thought better of it and grabbed another can. This was ridiculous. She shut the fridge, plunging the kitchen in darkness once more, but her vision immediately adapted. Yang found herself staring at the fridge's door, and she paused.

There was a note. With a scroll code on it. And she could read it. It said, 'VIB096834363.' That was a Vale service carrier. She had heard somewhere that being able to read things in dreams was impossible. This was yet another thing that confirmed she was not dreaming, although she was already confident in that fact; but still, it was nice to be reassured. Or not. Further, this meant she was still in Vale, which was also reassuring because it meant she wasn't all that far from home. Below the number, in a precise but hurried cursive, were the words 'New code. Remember it!'

Yang absolutely would commit that code to her memory. And the first thing she would do when she got back to her body would be to message this girl and probably apologize profusely for possessing her.

It was going to be a tough code to remember, though. VIB096834363. VIB096834363. VIB096834363. She would burn it into her memory if she had to. She would remember it so hard that even the girl she was possessing would remember it. If anything, at least it would be convenient for both of them…

After taking a long drink from the water bottle, Yang began searching the drawers for a can opener. She found the utensils easily and grabbed a fork and continued her rummaging, eventually finding the can opener in a secondary drawer not too long after. Meanwhile, she repeated the scroll code in her head and sometimes under her breath, too. It was weird—she felt like she could focus much easier with this brain.

The cat was brushing itself against Yang's calves again and again, circling around them, tail snaking amorously around her knees, excited at the sound of the cans opening. Yang slowly shook her head, expecting to gag when the smell of fish reached her nose, but instead her mouth watered and she found herself looking forward to the treat. This was so bizarre. Nevertheless, amused at the cat's impatience, Yang placed one of the cans down on the floor and watched for a moment as the grey feline settled into a loaf of fur to eat.

Satisfied with this sight, Yang took her own can of tuna with her fork and water bottle, and headed back into the living room. She sat down on the sectional, finding that it was just as comfortable as it looked, and pulled her feet up on it with herself, leaning into one of the cushions beside her as she began eating this stuff she shouldn't like. It was surprisingly relaxing to sit in the moonlight, and although the tension didn't leave her shoulders, she did start finding some peace of mind. Her clothes were still a bit damp, but her skin had mostly dried off and she felt calmer. The wind outside was a strange lullaby to these sensitive cat ears, and when Yang was done eating her tuna, she put the can and her fork down on the coffee table and finished her bottle of water, too.

VIB096834363. VIB096834363. VIB096834363.

She felt quite a bit better now, actually. That tuna had really hit the spot. Again, what even? But if it had helped, then Yang supposed that was all that mattered.

That grey cat trotted into the living room soon after. The brawler watched as it first jumped on the coffee table, going over to investigate the finished can of tuna, and then it hopped onto the couch and got directly up in Yang's face, on her lap.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, challenging the cat with a narrowed stare. It seemed to know things. Evil things. Necronomicon things.

All the cat did in response was bump its head against Yang's chin, small paws on her upper chest. She sighed in disbelief and gave in, passing her fingers through the soft fur until the cat began turning in circles, kneading her thighs here and there and finally curling into a decidedly not-evil ball. It started purring, a loud rumble that reminded Yang of marbles on a wood flooring. This, too, was interestingly relaxing, and she didn't stop her idle caresses.

VIB096834363. VIB096834363. VIB096834363.

And then she stopped her idle caresses.

---

At last, Blake sighed. It had been a dream. A bad one, but she was all right.

She reached back with her left hand and pulled a pillow out from behind her, dropping it tiredly on top of her face. The gentle smoosh always seemed to help her relax. She then pulled the blankets off a little, too, in order to cool herself down.

Whatever had happened today—or yesterday, as it were—had hit a little too close to home. That dream was one of her reoccurring nightmares starring Adam Taurus, the man who groomed her, corrupted her, and destroyed her ability to trust. Blake thought she had gotten better about avoiding them. She found herself resenting Dane for his persistence earlier, even though, at the same time, she felt the need to apologize to him again. He was a sweet guy who only wanted to be kind to her, and comparing him to Adam was completely out of line. She would take some time tomorrow and meditate on why she had conflated the two, but, for now, Blake needed to calm herself.

Beginning with a few deep breaths through the cotton pillowcase, Blake told herself she was home. She was older, wiser, and safer than she ever had been. Adam was dead, and she had seen to that, herself. In through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth.

Blake felt that she had relaxed, finally, and surprisingly quickly, too. As she reached up to check her pulse on her neck, she found her skin was soft and warm. Her heartbeat was strong and confident. As good as all of this was, calming down had never been this easy for Blake. And she had never thought her skin was particularly noteworthy.

She removed the pillow from her face and re-realized that the ceiling was dark, along with the rest of the room. Blake blinked and still found darkness. There was some amount of moonlight that kept things from being pitch black, and there were infrequent red or green lights on the walls and ceilings, blinking intermittently, but what startled Blake was that she could not see everything—there were shadows instead of foggy greyness. She blinked again, and her vision did not recover.

"Silver?" she asked, finding her voice an embarrassingly nervous high pitch.

No meow came.

Something was wrong, worse than a nightmare. As Blake tried to roll out of her bed, she felt a shock of pain jolt up her right arm and through the rest of her body, causing her to fall. She hit the arm again, landing on top of it and crushing it into her chest. "Arh!" she choked out, breath leaving her. She felt fire coursing through her veins, and something about that fall made her grit her teeth and want to bounce right back up. But she did not. Instead, whatever adrenaline coursed through her was ignored because there was carpet on the floor. This was not home.

Blake had to kick her sluggish mind into overdrive. If she wasn't home, where was she? How had she gotten here? And why was her arm in so much pain?

After that nightmare, Blake couldn't quite shake the uneasiness that settled into her, and fearing the worst, she forced herself to her feet with the help of her good arm. She still had difficulty seeing in this darkness, but she could at least guess that this seemed like a regular bedroom. Wincing, she made her way to the closed door and paused for a moment, leaning against it and straining to hear any abnormal sounds.

But she heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not the wind outside or the quiet trickle of water running through her house. Everything was quiet. This did not make Blake feel any more secure.

Nevertheless, she needed to see her surroundings and assess her situation. So, holding her breath, Blake reached over to the wall and turned the light on.

She immediately spun around, blinded, half expecting she would have to defend herself against someone, but it seemed she was alone in here. Everything was just bright. Heart pounding, Blake remained where she was against the door, allowing her eyes to adjust. She blinked several times, distressed at the loss of her normal vision. Was she drugged? Was that why she couldn't see properly? She had never experienced such fogginess before.

But as her eyes adjusted, Blake found that the difference wasn't awful, per se. It didn't reassure her in any way, of course, but, really, nothing was hazy or completely unclear. Her vision just felt…less precise. And she apparently couldn't see in the dark right now, which was also cause for stress.

It was one thing to dream about Adam. It was another to dream about this. And it was a whole other problem to go from dreaming about Adam to then dreaming about this. Blake was probably having one of the worst nights of her life. She highly doubted she would be able to function in the morning.

A vague wave of pain went through her right arm again, and Blake looked down at it. It was in a cast. And it felt broken. This was incredibly unpleasant.

Something else caught her attention, though. The clothes she was wearing. An orange tank top with short black shorts. Blake suddenly felt naked and ashamed, but that wasn't the most pressing issue on her mind.

She didn't recognize her body. The proportions were larger, more muscled. And her skin was tanned. As a new kind of panic began to grip her, Blake searched the room for a mirror, not comprehending what could possibly be going on. She had to find a way to wake up. In certain regards, this was worse than her nightmares about Adam.

Her eyes landed on a bureau not far from the bed, where a mirror stood against the wall. Blake cautiously walked over to it, and took a step back in alarm when someone else stared back at her.

For a moment Blake's mind couldn't understand that her reflection was, in fact, her. The girl might have moved when she moved, blinked when she blinked, breathed when she breathed, and her right arm was also in a cast, but she was nothing like Blake.

However, this was a mirror, and the Faunus was forced to assume that whoever this person was, it was her now—at least, this was her dream-self. Not literally—at least, not in the sense that Blake had ever wished she looked like this, specifically, but…

Well, Blake stepped closer to the mirror, both disturbed and somewhat fascinated. A wild mane of thick, slightly curly and ruffled golden locks framed a striking face, lilac eyes adorned by long blonde eyelashes. She had the kind of beauty that was both young and friendly but also mature and sensual, innocent laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and almost full lips that seemed conflicted on whether to be pouty or mischievous. There was something warm and inviting about her features while simultaneously being unabashedly alluring and confident.

This girl was built stronger than Blake. Although clearly muscular and generally bigger—but not that much taller—her figure was also feminine in all the right places—the size of her chest, the slimness of her waist, and the width of her hips were enough to make any woman envious…or perhaps covetous. Blake didn't dare uncover anymore skin, but her neck definitely felt hotter and her eyes widened a little at the definition in this girl's midriff—abs that Blake had wanted for years. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from staring.

However, Blake then noticed herself biting her lip and was immediately embarrassed to be ogling this body that was, apparently, her own. It was highly inappropriate. She wasn't even a Faunus anymore—which was probably the most frightening part, honestly, and it explained the underdeveloped senses. Further, there were more urgent things to investigate, such as her current predicament.

Okay, enough. Blake turned away from the mirror, much to her own regret—and horror at even feeling regret—taking in the room. The bed was against the wall in the corner, a window above it. There was a closet in the wall facing the foot of the bed, a carpet on the wooden floorboards, and apart from the bureau and a chair next to it, there was no other furniture. The bureau, however, had framed pictures on its surface.

This body was the common denominator between all the images, but they were group photos with other people who Blake did not know. One man kind of looked like her dreaming-self, though. She didn't understand. Another person that was in most of the pictures was a young girl with short, red-tipped hair and silver eyes. Blake honestly did not recognize any of these individuals, but they were all smiling and they all seemed happy.

Determining that these images were unhelpful—and mildly suspicious, if Blake was honest—she decided that she would have to explore whatever was beyond that door. This dream was inexplicably realistic and conjured details she could not find the origin of, and a large part of her remained wary and nervous because of these factors. Maybe she could find some clues within this dream that would help elucidate why her mind clung to it to begin with.

Blake walked back to the door and took a deep breath in before slowly exhaling. She turned the light off, plunging the world back into darkness, and waited until she could at least see a foot or two in front of herself before grabbing the knob. One of her teammates back at Haven had told her one time this was how human vision worked. And it did. Blake then carefully turned the knob, opening the door as quietly as possible, wincing at every small creak the hinges made.

So far so good, though. There was no one on the other side, and Blake tentatively stepped into what seemed to be a narrow hallway. She kept her ears open, straining as much as possible to hear any alarming sounds. Blake definitely missed her two furry feline appendages. She felt naked, more than a little powerless, and completely alone right now. It was impossible to tell if she actually was alone in this place, though. And Blake didn't exactly want to try investigating any other closed doors. There was a window at the right end of the hallway that allowed her to see three doors here, although the one closest to her on the opposing side was open halfway.

To Blake's left, the Faunus could just make out the outline of a staircase going down. Heart pounding, she crept towards it, hating how her steps were not as silent as she had trained them for years to be. She started descending the stairs one at a time, holding the handrail to keep some weight off her feet, cursing her casted right arm.

She made it to the bottom in one piece, though, and apparently without alerting anything or anyone. Blake found that she could see a bit better down here where more windows allowed moonlight to filter in and illuminate her way. She was in a kitchen, with a heavy door that undoubtedly led outside on the other side of the modest dining table.

Whatever this place was, it wasn't some weird warehouse or secret base for some shady organization. It was just a regular home—probably a cabin, if all the wooden floors and walls were any indication. Blake was tempted to go outside anyway, to escape this feeling of being trapped, but if this was a dream—and she was beginning to think it was actually another vision of some sorts because it felt too real and far too unprompted—then she figured outside wasn't where she would find clues.

Blake's gaze wandered to her right, past the island and the kitchen table, and found an archway that seemed to lead into a living room. It appeared that this downstairs area was all one big, open space for the most part. She cautiously made her way towards said living room, but it was darker there where the rays of the moon couldn't reach. Did Blake dare switch on a light? She again cursed her lacking night vision.

Blake took another calming breath in and then decided she didn't have much of a choice. Plus, if all of this was taking place in her mind, then she couldn't actually be hurt if anything happened, right? It wasn't much of a comforting thought, but Blake still managed to find a tall lamp in the corner and ran the risk. With a click, there was light.

The living room was just as modest as the kitchen, with a couch facing a holoscreen set against the far wall and a long, rectangular coffee table separating the two. There were three other armchairs, all of the furniture placed on a large rug. A fireplace adorned the back wall, rock masonry around it, more framed photos placed on the mantle above. It was quite a warm and cozy area, actually—familial and, while not especially fancy, rather inviting to behold. Blake's gaze landed on something that caught her attention—there was a bookcase on the wall to her left, all by itself. She approached it, finding that some of the shelves were used to store a collection of movies and games—most of them electronic, some of them actual board games. But the bottom two shelves contained books.

Blake pulled out a few, raising her eyebrows when she saw that they were leather-bound storybooks for children. She checked some of the others, finding more short stories. Finally, though, she picked out a larger book that was not like the rest—it was a textbook on basic mechanical engineering.

She really didn't know what this meant. Whatever this was—a dream or a vision, it mattered little at this point—Blake couldn't comprehend what her brain was trying to tell her. None of this was familiar or relevant in any sort of way—in fact, it was all so far removed from Blake and her entire life that she didn't understand how she was even imagining any of it.

Blake suddenly heard a creaking noise upstairs, followed by a few footsteps moving above. Her heart rate immediately accelerated, and she put the book back in the shelf just as she heard a door opening. Her gaze darted around her surroundings, searching for a good place to hide.

"Yang?" came a man's voice from the staircase, calling out in a hushed tone. "Why are you awake? It's the middle of the night. Do you need anything?"

Blake looked down at herself again, panicking, trying to figure out what her relationship was with this man. Were they in love? Were they married but in separate bedrooms? There were no proper hiding areas, and this man sounded genuinely concerned. She had no idea who Yang was, but taking a wild guess and chance, she decided to reply with this higher-pitched voice that betrayed her fear too easily, "N-no. I'm fine. Going back to bed now!"

"Okay. Well, do you need any help while I'm up?"

"No—no, thank you. Um, I'll be upstairs in a moment…"

"Oh, okay. That's good." Blake heard the man's footsteps creak on the floor above and the previous door begin to whine shut, but the noise stopped again. "Honey, if you're going to make anything for food, make sure to put things away after. We don't want another moldy cheese incident, after all!"

Blake's—or not-Blake's—brows furrowed. Maybe this was her husband, but something in the way this man addressed her and their shared past made Blake think this could be a father-daughter relationship instead.

But as the man began laughing, Blake unfortunately laughed, too. It was a forced noise that she felt was her only protection in this dream that could become a nightmare at any second. The joke wasn't funny or existent, but if her maybe-husband-maybe-dad laughed, then she would laugh, too. "Sure thing!" she affected. "I will definitely be sure to do that!"

"All right. Sweet dreams, then, sweetie."

Barf.

Blake heard the man's footsteps disappear and his door close. For all intents and purposes, he was gone and out of Blake's life. She waited a few seconds, just to be certain of his absence and making sure her unreliable human senses did not fail her at such a critical time. He was asleep again, or at least inconsequential to the dream. Being a tidy sort, she habitually checked the storybook and engineering tome to push them into perfectly imperfect alignment—just as they had been before—and switched off the lamp. She did not breathe this entire time, and then she decided to ascend the steps.

She could have left just then. The front door had been in the kitchen, not a far distance from the stairs, and surely she would wake if she sprinted past the bounds of this dream. Well, not surely, but more surely than if she ascended the stairs and fulfilled the dream's apparent narrative purpose. But going back to sleep was the less stressful option, and, if any of her past dreams had been any indicator, it would be just as good of a way to wake her up.

But, then again, this could be another vision—like the previous dream with the Grimm. Everything certainly felt as real as last time, if with far less pain, and Blake was sufficiently weirded out, so this very well could have been such an event. If this was the case, then fulfilling the purpose of this scenario might lend her insight to other crucial areas of her life, like her self-definition or how she could deal with Dane.

Either way, she climbed the steps with bated breath and footsteps unbelievably loud. She winced at the top step as it creaked, but this only spurred her on faster. Her maybe-husband-maybe-father's door was closed, hidden among all the doors that were not her room or that once-ajar door that was still ajar, so she felt no shame in rushing over to where she had come from. She was loud, scared, but certain that this was what she needed to do.

That is, she was certain. Upon reaching her door, Blake felt an unmistakable calm wash over her, as if she were drowning from this dream and accepting her end gracefully. But she did not die, nor did she feel like she would. Her head felt light, and her mood felt good, and as Blake tried to step into her dream-body's room, she failed. Her knees buckled. She fell face-forward. Her body sprawled across the room's threshold. Blake tumbled through oblivion.

For a moment, she was lost. There was a distinct falling sensation paired with an impatience that made her feel like she wasn't going anywhere. It was a feeling that put her right on the edge of nausea, seconds before a headache and one inhale away from a sneeze. But then she woke up, eyelids flying open and a spasm jolting through her body.

Silver jumped off her lap and hissed. But this only lasted a second before she asked, "Meow?"

Blake's body—Blake's body—felt heavy and as if it did not want to leave the canyon it had pressed into her living room sectional. It was as if she had just been nodding off but something had made her wake up suddenly, in a new place and with an angry cat who only liked being the little spoon, never sitting on her owner's lap. Well, Silver wasn't angry anymore, but the situation was still alarming. As Blake's mind scrambled to catch up with her, she remembered that she had fallen asleep in her bed. Now, however, she was staring at the moon. The curtains were pulled open, Blake's feet were curled up under her, and her tired but freshly awake eyes strained at the amount of light beaming through the open window.

"Mreow?"

Blake looked down and saw her cat jump from the floor onto the couch. Silver was standing next to Blake, judging her.

"Uh, hi," managed Blake, looking again at the window. When had she opened the curtains? Why? It had become apparent by this point that, indeed, that dream had been another vision, which, like the last time, had caused Blake to do things without her knowledge.

Silver walked over and pressed her head against Blake's belly. She purred.

There was a tuna can on the coffee table beside an empty water bottle with no coaster underneath it. Blake began scratching her cat's ears. She could taste the tuna in her mouth, still, and it wasn't a very appealing experience. Blake definitely liked tuna, but waking up to the taste of tuna she hadn't gotten to eat was distressing to say the least.

On top of that, she felt sticky. Her brow was a bit sweaty, her tank top was clinging to her chest, and when she reached up to feel her hair, it felt a bit damp near her skull. Blake stayed where she was for a moment, registering her awakening and the general disorder of her situation while she continued petting Silver. Something had gone wrong, and no matter what it was, Blake could only focus on cleaning up for now. Solutions would come in the morning.

After a minute, Blake shooed Silver away and stood, feeling her bones and joints uncharacteristically fight against her. She stretched, looked dolefully down at the remnants of her apparently wild, blackout night, and moved them into her kitchen's garbage can.

And then she noticed the other can of tuna, open on the floor. Silver followed Blake into the room and began pushing the little blue can beneath one of the cabinets, but Blake picked it up before Silver could hide it any further. Being that she was already frowning, Blake sighed. She rarely gave Silver tuna. Whatever had happened, she must have been out of her mind. Silver whined as Blake put the can near the trash, and, deciding that not everything needed to be dysfunctional tonight, Blake placed the tuna back on the floor for Silver to finish.

Meanwhile, she decided, she would take care of this sweat.

Blake left the room and took a long, cool shower. Normally, she hated being under the water, but tonight she needed to get away from everything. First the nightmare, then the vision, and finally the house in some state of apparently drunken disarray. None of it made sense, particularly not the latter two problems, but Blake had no idea how to deal with the visions or how to make them stop. She might see the school counsellor eventually, but, for tonight, she needed to get back to bed. She had class in the morning, and she knew she would be so entirely exhausted as it was. When she turned off the faucet some twenty minutes later, she decided office hours would be cancelled tomorrow. She would nap during that time and then, when she got home, she would fix everything.

Silver, as it turned out, did not eat much more of her tuna, but Blake continued to leave it out because Silver didn't like her approaching it and because Blake didn't have the energy to care. Instead, she carried her clothes to her hamper, left them there for tomorrow, and, with a towel keeping her warm, returned to her room. Before she could find new pajamas, though, Blake noticed a flashing light on her scroll.

Normally, Blake would let any notification wait until the morning. Nothing was more important than sleep, especially considering how little time she had left until her classes. But something was off tonight. Something was weird.

She padded over to her nightstand, took a seat on the bed, and picked up her scroll. Once the light had finished blinding her and souring her mood, Blake saw the notification, and a pit formed in her stomach.

It was a text message from an unknown sender.

Hey. So, there's no way around this. This is gonna be an awkward question but here goes. Do you have a little grey jerk cat, a fridge full of tuna, and a Haven Academy pennant?

Below this was a second text from the same person, having arrived ten minutes later.

Sorry. Wrong number.

Blake's heart went through a series of emotions. First, she felt horrified because this level of detail could only have come from a dedicated stalker. Second, she felt annoyed, figuring that this must have been a prank text from one of the students or other teachers. Third, she felt nothing as the weight of this text message settled over her. And finally, the weight hit her, and that pit in her stomach deepened and turned, pulling itself into a knot and causing her breath to catch nauseously.

Her fingers could barely support the weight of her scroll, and, shakily, she replied.

Yes? Who is this?

There was no response. Blake, despite her wishes for sleep, stayed up another hour waiting for another text. All the while her eyes were trained on her screen, watching, anticipating. This whole night had been weird, and the texts had been the worst part of all. Blake shut her scroll off and stared up at the ceiling. Whatever was happening—and something was happening, and it was mortifying—it would have to wait for tomorrow. Blake didn't know if she was being haunted or stalked, but she needed to sleep. So, for her own reassurance, she pulled Gambol Shroud out of her nightstand's drawer and placed it on top, a bullet chambered and safety off.

For the time being, she would force herself to forget the texts. She had children depending on her, and she could not wait any longer to prioritize them. Blake closed her eyes and fell asleep thirty minutes later, thinking of the vision.

---

look, i get it. this is rated m for mature. you expect swearing. or gore. or hardcore, potentially ultra-kinky sex. but frick no. as i have explained to you before, i am as vanilla as Häagen-Dazs vanilla bean ice cream. and i have standards to uphold, lives that depend on me. if i started swearing or killing or having sex, what would the children think? from focus group testing, i can assure you that children would think the following, ranked in order of most popular thoughts on the topic of my swearing, killing, or sexual activity to least popular:

"why"

"please"

"ok"

BUT BASICALLY, YOU'LL KNOW WHY THIS IS RATED THE WAY IT IS. BUT EVENTUALLY. BUT FOR NOW, I HOPE Y'ALL'LL HAVE A GOOD REST OF YOUR WEEKEND AND DRINK LOTS OF WATER. ALSO, MAYBE TRY A SASPARILLA. IT'S GOOD FOR YOUR BLOOD.

See you in the next chapter, mes petits dauphins.