Chapter 9: One Foot in the Grave

"'Cause the day I saw the grave, I just knew I'd misbehave. Going out there every night, drinkin' whiskey, shootin' dice."

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

The clock on the wall continued to tick in the silent room, the same as it had for the past half hour. In the chair across from his, Goodwitch let out a sigh.

"You do realize even if you don't talk; you are still required to stay here for the full hour." She said.

"I do, ma'am," Robin said, leaning further back into the comfortable chair.

"We didn't assign you to mandatory therapy to make you feel bad, Robin. We're trying to help." Goodwitch said slowly.

Robin lazily gestured in the air with his finger. "So why did they get you professors doing it?"

"Each professor on campus is a qualified counselor. Headmaster Ozpin felt it would be best for students to be able to talk to a familiar figure if they needed to." She said.

He waved her off. "Well, I think I'm good. I know a lot of folks just blurt things out as a form of free therapy. Hell, I do it sometimes, but I don't need distractions, not anymore. All that's doing is gilding the lily with fool's gold and letting things fester. These is my demons; my plan is to learn to love them, and maybe they'll leave me, too, just like everyone else. Foolproof plan." He forced a smile.

Something crossed her face before being strictly stifled under a professional mask. "Do you have any experience with therapy, Robin?"

"Some, you'd be my fourth therapist. My first one killed herself. The second one got a divorce. And the third one is some chatbot I've been trauma dumping on." He said with a straight face.

Glynda leaned back, "Mr. Dubois-" She slipped into a professional tone for a minute before shaking her head. "Robin. Could you put into words what you're feeling?"

"Nothing." He said slowly. "Absolutely nothing. But that's the problem, ain't it?"

"That depends. The fact that you worry about the absence of something is a feeling all of its own. What bothers you about that?" Glynda asked.

Robin sat up in his chair. "We're a social species. That's why we form bonds, teams, religions, nations, what have you. We need each other to function, no different than sleep or shelter. We need each other."

He took a shuddering breath, his tone picking up pace. "But I found out something while I was out there. Those basic human things we all need?" He almost punched himself as he pounded his chest. "That stopped. Little by little, but I'm afraid where it'll go. Humanity doesn't die in a single gasp. There's no one action that turns a good man into a monster overnight. It's all these…!"

He gestured vaguely like he was trying to strangle the air before giving it up with an "Agh!" noise. All the while, Glynda watched on.

"Y'know?" He asked, his voice taking on a desperate pitch. "You know what I'm saying? It's a war of attrition. A battle of inches. Death by a thousand cuts. I beat a man's head in with my bare hands. I killed who knows how many others in a mindless rampage. I crushed a man's skull with my hands, and the damndest thing is? Y'know what it is?"

He laughed—a humorless, frantic noise. His eyes went wide, like he could feel himself going insane and just wanted a way out. And that's so, so funny. His speech continued to pick up a frenzied tone. "I didn't feel anything. Well, no, that's a lie. I felt relief. I felt glad. It was over, y'know? I felt sad and angry that Dove was gone, but I only really figured that out afterward. I didn't feel anything a normal person should have after all of that. All those things humans are designed by God almighty to feel and behave when we do evil, and I didn't feel anything…"

Glynda blinked, stunned into silence by Robin's rant. She recovered before long and stared down at the boy. "I know it's not easy, Robin… you're afraid. So very afraid. And you have every right to be. But you can't let that fear consume you. You can't be afraid of a future you don't know. Before this mission, I saw a young man who, despite his attitude, was good-hearted and one who kept pushing forward. I know, despite everything, you are still that person. Don't let fear win."

"Things fall apart," Robin said softly, his tone having calmed. "The center cannot hold."

He shook his head. It was more of a twitch. His muscles tensed and relaxed with the movement, the same ones that held his excuse for a body together. "I know what you're saying. I just-I don't know. Feels wrong. Not, like, not what you're doing. Just that you can see me and think I'm one of the good ones, worth anything in this mess I've made." "

He bit the inside of his cheek before continuing. "Because when I look in the mirror, all I see is a man who killed in a rage. The man who, if things happened like that once more, would be back in that same butcher's shop, covered in that same blood, convinced at the moment he's doing the right thing and then feeling nothing when it's all over."

Glynda gave a sympathetic smile. "That's part of the human condition, Robin. We always feel as such after going through a traumatic event. As if it somehow makes us lesser. But that's just a part of you; it's not the whole thing. Your connections, the lives you have impacted, and continue to do so. They mean so much to who you are as well. And Mr. Dubois… I want you to choose to have a positive impact; it's a choice, and every person has the capacity to choose. I want you to choose to protect people. Not avenge them. To lift them up. To shelter them. You may feel like you simply are the way you are, but you are not. You can choose to be better. Make the choice, and then follow it through."

Robin looked down at his hand and formed a fist as Glynda talked and watched as flesh and veins strained. "Y'know," he finally began and sighed. "There's this Mistrali art. Kintsu-something or other. They take broken pottery, put the pieces all in a row, and then seal the cracks with gold. It's about finding beauty in negative space, taking what was ruined and turning it into something gorgeous and gold and whole in the aftermath. A lot of people talk about it in relation to people. That's the story, at least."

He gestured vaguely. "But that's not what it really is. They don't use gold to fix broken things. It's all moonshine. They use molten lead or iron or some other cheap, toxic material. When it's setting, still semi-liquid, they dust it with fool's gold. In the end, you have a broken piece of pottery. You put it together with poisons. And then dusted a fake shine over it to make folks think you made golden, gorgeous art from what were shattered. I ain't about to pour molten lead into the cracks and dust it with fool's gold. Sure, it might look gorgeous and fixed, like the damage was repaired. But it's all moonshine. All fake."

He looked up at the clock; their hour was up. He stood from his seat and turned to walk out the door. "I do wish you were right. The world would be a better place if everyone had your headspace. It'd be nice to think, as Hemingway once wrote. The sun also rises. Most people are content to believe that. I wish I were, but all I'm getting is some Teletubby friendship horsecock. It takes more to find the will to carry on. Were it so easy to just make myself smile and decide that's worth fighting for."

He let out a sigh. "I need more than lead and fool's gold to be anybody worth caring for again."

-2-

Robin missed it when everyone hated him. As he walked through the hallway toward the cafeteria, he could see everyone throwing glances at him. They weren't even being subtle anymore; you'd think he had contracted some tropical disease.

And whenever he would meet their eyes, they'd hastily apologize, give their condolences, and scamper away. It was bothersome and confusing, he didn't even know half of these people, and the other half treated him like the scum of the earth for being a part of CRDL before this.

He did his best to ignore everyone and everything as he walked to the cafeteria. Let the stares and half-hearted apologies bounce off of him.

His peace and quiet only lasted long enough for him to sit down with food. Chicken wings, yay, his fucking favorite. Certainly far more entertaining than the woman who stood next to him.

Wait a minute, when did someone get next to him? He thought as he tore into his food, eh, it probably wasn't a problem. Even as she cleared her throat, attempting to get his attention, he dug into his food.

Seemingly tired of his ignoring her, the woman finally spoke in a breathy voice. "Robin Dubois, was it?"

He turned to face the woman, and the realization hit him. Ah, shit. Cinder Fall stood across from him, looking down at him with a smile.

"What do you want?" He said, voice flat in the face of her obviously forced cheer.

"Why, I just wanted to offer you my condolences for your loss. Losing a teammate is never an easy affair." Her voice remained light, dripping with false pity. It made his blood boil.

"Well," He began, voice hard. "You offered them; you can go now."

She made a disapproving tut, and Robin could see heads beginning to turn toward the two's conversation. The only question on his mind was why she was doing this. Cinder wouldn't start stirring up trouble without a reason.

She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and his entire body tensed up. "I saw the blood when you were getting off the bullhead. There's no shame in doing what you had to in order to survive."

The entire cafeteria went silent as eyes turned toward the two. He could see looks of shock and some confusion on the faces of team RWBY and JNPR where they sat. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." He said.

She smiled slightly. "Right, of course… it was just your injuries. No need to lie. I asked to help the medics, but they let slip no one was injured."

Robin stared at her arm, at her. There was something in his head, he thought. Something that knew he couldn't start a fight with her in the open. It was drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears.

He could end this now. No one would know that he had saved them, but he would. He could take down the bitch right now, and all it would take was a few good hits. The blood in his veins coursed like congealed gasoline. He grit his teeth and took in a breath. His body felt like it was on fire, stinging pins and needles across his muscles. The faintest smell of ozone filled the air.

He let himself exhale, hot breath retreating from his lungs as he began to speak. "You got the space of three breaths to explain just who the fuck you are and why you're talkin' like that," he said dangerously. Something like surprise and joy flashed in Cinder's eyes before it was crushed back under the fake sympathy. "I don't like feelin' things, and I'm feeling a whole mess of things I don't really know how to express without violence."

Her response was interrupted by the appearance of Yang; when did she get here? "Let it go," Yang said, looking at Cinder. "If he wants to talk, he'll do it with the people he actually knows. Not some stranger coming up to him at random."

Cinder flashed a smile. "Of course. I understand." Finally, she backed off, walking out of the cafeteria.

"Come on," Yang said, "You can sit with us for today." She walked off to her table, and eventually, Robin found himself following and sat down at the table.

The silence was tense as he sat. No one was talking; all were staring. It was enough for him to want to rush out of the cafeteria entirely. Eventually, it was Nora who spoke.

"So," She said in a chipper tone. "Whatcha eating under there?"

Robin blinked. Had he missed something there, blanked out of the conversation, maybe? He couldn't have; most of em were still staring at him like a circus freak. "Under where?" He finally asked.

She smirked. "You're eating underwear? Ewww!"

He really just fuckin fell for that, didn't he? The oldest fucking trick in the book. He groaned and let his head hit the table, as the staring finally stopped as chuckles spread around. It was enough, a distraction for the moment, if nothing else.

For the first time since he got back to Beacon, the pressure in his gut lessened. If only slightly.

AN: Hello Gadies and Lentlemen. Got this chapter up after a while. It was fucking painful, very angsty first half which sorta emotionally sapped me from writing for a bit, but it serves it's purpose. I also got sucked into another project, a collaborative one, so look out for that on the horizon, also also rewatched edgerunners and been replaying cyberpunk, might write a story in that setting some day, what do y'all think? Anyway hopefully y'all enjoy, call out any mistakes, and as always hope you have a wonderful day.