Chapter 8: The Kneeling Drunkards Plea

"Lord have mercy on me! Was the kneeling drunkards' plea."

A student had died. Killed in the line of a duty they were too young to bare.

Team Cardinal was coming back, picked up by a bullhead in the area after their original had crashed. Glynda had been awake for nearly thirty-seven hours. She would push through; she had to.

It was her duty.

A part of her wondered when that had become a mantra and not just an excuse.

To lose a student… it was inexcusable. By all means, this mission shouldn't have been a threat to them.

And yet they had lost Dove Bronzewing.

Ozpin, of course, had gotten with James to try and get some of those capable of hunting down the culprits. Cultists. Such a loaded word.

Which had left her to pick up the pieces. The poor boys who had to go out there and be reminded what they were training to do for the rest of their lives.

Gods. The bullhead was due to arrive any minute now. She needed to get to the landing pad. She began to walk out toward it. Already, she could see a bullhead preparing to land and a medical team on standby.

The bullhead landed before she arrived, and the medical team quickly rushed into the airship.

It wasn't the first time she had to see a similar scene. And although she prayed to the Gods it would be the last, part of her knew it wouldn't be. Two medics slowly walked out, a stretcher between them and a sheet-covered body lying on top.

The sight was like a dagger to the heart. A first-year student, her student.

Then, the team themselves stepped off of the bullhead and onto the landing pad. Cardin, the once prideful, almost arrogant young man, was now hunched over as if a weight had been placed upon his shoulders. Sky looked more like a frightened animal than the almost flighty and lighthearted boy who had left.

And then there was Robin. It looked like they had attempted to clean him off. However, blood still soaked his vest and coat, which now looked more red than blue. His eyes didn't seem to register nearly anything.

However, past all the blood, past the pain. Past the shock written on the boy's face. She saw the nothing. She saw the empty hole where Robin used to reside. The boy had often liked to joke that he was her favorite student. She had told him off for that attitude, time and time again.

But she did care for him. How could she not? She was his teacher, and he was a student who, despite his flaws, kept trying. And now part of her worried that was gone.

All of this left her with one question ringing in her mind.

-2-

"How did this happen, kid?" Qrow's voice rang out, snapping Robin out of his stupor.

It didn't take long after they had arrived back at Beacon for Robin and his team to be snapped up by the faculty and brought to different rooms to be questioned. Cardin had been taken with Dr. Oobleck; Sky had been taken with Professor Port.

He had been left to be interrogated by the two who had been given the job of hunting down whatever remained of the cult out there. Qrow Brawnen and Winter Schnee, who had taken the fastest bullhead out of Atlas on the orders of Ironwood.

"I told you everything I knew," Robin said, his voice blank.

"You told us a summary," Winter said. "But none of the details."

Neither of his interrogators seemed to want to be here. Interrogating a boy, or even near each other.

"Do you know how they were supplied? Did they loot from the towns, or was it just the ritual killings." Winter asked.

A noise came from Robin's throat, something almost like a hiss. "I don't know, and whatever they had, it's gone now."

Qrow leaned forward over the table. "Listen, I know you don't want to be here. We don't want to be here. But you want to get even with those bastards? You help us make sure we get them all. Names, faces, appearances. Anything. Because that's the only way we stop them for good."

"The only person whose name I learned was Hamelin's." At the mere mention of the name, he feels every muscle at once in his body. Shifting and pulling at the radius and ulna on his left arm, forcing his hand into a fist. Veins in his forearm bulged until they were pulsing with what felt like congealed gasoline.

All he would need is a match. Just one fucking match, and the entire thing was going to explode into balefire.

And–

Something cracked. His muscles relaxed, not quite holding him up the way it was before. Not quite a slump, but not entirely straightened. He looked at Qrow, into the man's pale red eyes, and he sighed, his lungs empty, which forced him to spend time breathing in. To spend time pulling his tongue in the right direction to mimic human speech, an actual conversation.

All he could manage was a tired impersonation. "He's the only one whose name I learned, and he's dead now. I killed him."

Something in Qrow's face twitched, and the older man leaned backward in his chair. Even Winter seemed a bit nonplussed. However, she quickly recovered.

"Was he working with anyone? Or for anyone?" She asked, her tone slightly softened.

"He had his cult, but…" Robin paused for a moment. "Any of them that were in that cave, they're already dealt with."

Something on his face must have shown as she still looked at him expectantly.

Robin continued. "Well, he claimed to worship a Goddess and that this Goddess used Grimm to purify unclean souls from the world."

Qrow leaned forward again, looking intently at Robin. "Did he mention a name?"

"I don't think so," Robin said truthfully, and then a moment passed. "I think he said it was Salem." A lie; the man had never told her name, even in his most deranged ramblings, but it was obvious enough to Robin.

Winter looked confused for a moment, then leaned backward, a hand upon her earpiece. Qrow, to the side, swore silently.

"Anything else? Identifying features of the group, maybe?" Qrow asked.

"All of them were clad in golden masks shaped like snarling Grimm. Different from White Fang ones, though." Robin said

An eyebrow crawled up on Qrow's face. "How do you know?"

"I've got history with them; I know the difference," Robin said.

"Oh, so it's not just my idiot nieces picking fights with the Fang." Qrow let out a sigh. He then stood up and took his flask from his belt. It looked like he was about to drink, but a grimace passed over his face, and he offered it to Robin.

"Here. Day like you've had, you need it." Qrow said

Robin took it without hesitation and drank deeply. Then, blanched slightly. It tasted like a weird vodka. He passed the flask back to Qrow, all while Winter looked on aghast.

Qrow began to walk out. "C'mon, ice queen. The longer we wait, the longer they can cover more ground."

Winter looked at Qrow's retreating form and then looked back to Robin. She paused for a moment, then spoke. "We will find them."

Robin was left alone in the room, nothing but the burning from the alcohol Qrow had given him to keep him company.

-3-

A better man would have done something different.

He had been here before; Robin always came back here—the bar. He still hadn't bothered to commit its name to memory. It's the best seat in the city to kick your feet up and forget. Of course, usually, he was alone. He preferred it that way.

This time, Dove's ghost was with him.

In a very in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost kind of way.

His hands were different these days. Once upon a time, they hadn't been so calloused. Once upon a time, they had belonged to just another person, another human. A kid with dreams of making it home. Of making it big at… something. He was working on what his big it would be, but he was sure he'd get there one day.

Nowadays?

A better man would have something profound to say.

All Robin could do was sit alone, numb in some forgotten corner of a forgotten bar. Drinking his sorrows away, sometimes picking at the unnaturally thick, calloused skin of his hands. The aggressive scabs from where he had broken the skin, bashing a man's brains in, tearing a human in half, and finally grabbing Hamelin by the face and…

The hands that killed Hamelin, the hands that failed Dove, didn't belong to a human, which fit. When he really focused, the callouses and scabs almost looked alive—the hands of a monster.

A better man would have felt something about that.

But Robin was not a better man; better men didn't murder in cold blood. Better men tried to save people instead of killing who knows how many to chase down some revenge. Better men don't feel nothing when they've done such awful things.

He was so caught in his own thoughts he didn't notice someone approaching until they sat down at the table next to him. His mind dimly realized it was Yang as she spoke. "Everyone back as Beacon is worried. Nobody knew where to find you. Your teammates thought you might have gone out drinking, but they don't know where you go."

His only response is to take another pull from his drink.

She stilled for a moment. Then began to speak. "I know you've… been through a lot. If you want to talk about it…" She trailed off as if unsure of how to continue. It was weird seeing Yang, of all people, act reserved.

Robin felt a multitude of emotions, but more than anything, he soured. As if the idea of pity or a shoulder to cry on was an almost offensive idea. He shook his head and let out a breath. "With all due respect, no." And then another pull of his drink, some cheap whiskey.

Again, she began to speak. "I know… I know you lost a friend-"

He cut her off this time. "No. I didn't lose a friend, that's the problem. Dove was a lot of things to me—teammate, roomie, asshole, joker, mentor, and so much more. But we didn't become friends. And now I'll never get to know him. I was supposed to. That's what these teams are for, right? Friendships that will last a lifetime."

His voice caught as he let out a strangled, desperate noise, as if he wanted to cry but couldn't. He continued on, quieter this time. "He would be alive if he had someone on his team that he could trust. But he couldn't trust us to be safe. Because of me."

Silence dominated the table after he finished speaking. Robin drank another pull as they sat, with nothing else to do but listen to the lyrics of some song. He hadn't ever heard it before, but that wasn't exactly new. Every song he had heard in this shithole was new to him and never in a good way.

Part of him wondered if he would ever hear a familiar song again or any music from home. Or if they'd just remain, slowly fading in his skull. A song no one on this planet but him would ever know.

The current song came to a close, and a new one came on—one about a man returning home to see his family. As he listened, he felt the edges of his eyes prick. It couldn't be tears; he wouldn't allow himself to break like that.

Words came from his mouth unbidden. "I remembered your words. In the moment… in the moment I realized he died. They kept rattling around in my head, and I couldn't tell you why. Maybe they were fresh on my mind."

Her face twisted into despair at his admission, but as his eyes burned, it was hard to see. Eventually, though, he felt her reach a hand out and lay it on his shoulder.

Something in him cracked as he allowed his muscles to relax, and he let his head drop into his hands, hot tears freely streaming down his face.

Yang remained silent and simply began making soothing motions on his back. He didn't know how long he was there, how long he allowed himself to break.

He felt his face, he probably looked like a mess. Snot and tears. He threw some liens on the table and staggered off into the night, Yang trailing behind him silently.

Probably just to make sure he didn't toss himself off a bridge.

He wiped his face on his arm, and grimaced as he saw what was left behind. "You… you can go now. I'll make it back to Beacon. I just needed… a moment."

The concern on her face somehow grew. "Robin… you said I don't know you, and I don't. Not in any of the ways you think matter. But there are people who care about you. And people that need your help as well. Go back to Beacon. See your team. What you're going through, you shouldn't be doing it alone."

"Honestly, Yang?" He said through a sniffle. "I appreciate your concern. I couldn't and won't knock it. I'm not nearly macho enough to pretend like it's not meaningful."

His back straightened, if only slightly. "But I can't count on you either. I could list the names of the people I've lost and throw out names you wouldn't know. It wouldn't really matter. You're another face, another ghost fighting tooth and nail to corporealize. I respect it, I do, but I'm starting to think, for me, there's only two ways out of this, and in both of them, I die."

Yang's face twisted. She had been through a similar song and dance before. Time and time again.

Robin turned away but paused as she spoke in an equally angry and defeated tone. "Fuck that."

"Huh?"

"Fuck. That. I'm not some ghost, and you aren't going to die. You're going to be the boy who survives and doesn't have to hurt anymore. To be someone who'll let people help you." She continued.

Robin stood and stared before a small but intensely sad smile crossed his face. "For both our sakes, I hope you're right."

AN: And now back to your regularly scheduled programming. Mostly, with an extra dose of sadness. Anywho, this chapter is brought to you by the essay I've been procrastinating on that's due today. Hopefully y'all enjoy, call out any mistakes, and as always have a wonderful day!