Volume 3, Chapter 8: Starman

"I'm scared of heights, I'm scared of freefall, I'm scared of the impact. But when it's done, it's done."

Another day, another mandatory therapy session. Robin cracked an eye open from his position lying on a couch. Across from him sat Goodwitch, writing something down on a piece of paper obscured by a clipboard.

Robin was of the opinion that this was still unnecessary and was just the school saving face. Let Ozpin say he's doing something and not just letting his students run off. A load of bullshit; if he put in silver contacts, he wouldn't have to go through this shit.

"You've been unusually quiet today," Goodwitch noted, finally looking up from her clipboard. "We're ten minutes in, and you have yet to start a rant."

"What? Is it a crime for a man not to have something to say?" Robin said.

Goodwitch stared at him like he said an intensely unamusing joke. "You always have something to say, Mr. Dubois. What's on your mind?"

"I'm plotting on how to sue Ozzy for discrimination," Robin said blank-faced.

Goodwitch met his gaze for a moment before sighing. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Ozzy-" Robin began.

"Please stop calling him that," Goodwitch said.

"Freedom of speech is a right everyone should be able to practice, anyway. I have a case; he clearly has a bias for silver eyes. Ruby doesn't have to go to mandatory therapy." Robin said.

"I'm sure he'd be very amused by your theory," Goodwitch said. "Now, if you don't mind. If you are willing to answer, I have a few questions prepared this time."

Robin offered a shrug. "Hit me."

"How are classes?" Goodwitch asked.

"You'd know, wouldn't you? Probably got access to all the transcripts, 'cause I know Ozpin ain't doing his paperwork properly, spends too much time lurking around the halls at night like a ghost." Robin said.

Goodwitch gave him a reproachful look, and he held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. It's fine. I'm doing better. Grades are picking up. It's working for me at the moment."

She nodded and wrote something down. "How is your hobby going? Ozpin shared that you were making a notebook about Grimm."

He made a vague gesture at nothing. "Ain't made much progress on it recently; been busy."

A slight frown crossed Goodwitch's face. "Well, try not to let it fall entirely by the wayside. It could save your life one of these days."

Robin stared for a moment and made a vague, noncommittal noise instead of responding, drawing a sigh from Goodwitch as the silence dragged on. Suddenly, the professor straightened in her seat, glaring at him. The worst part was that it was hard to tell if it was intentional or not. The lady was way too intense sometimes.

She broke the silence first with yet another question. "At the start of the year, you were a loner in some respects. You were with your team primarily and wouldn't branch out."

Robin nodded his head in an almost sage-like manner. "That's true. Unfortunately, people have a habit of sticking themselves to me like barnacles. Don't quite know why."

An eyebrow raised on her face. "Do you think you haven't done anything on your part? Any changes to your behavior? Your outlook?"

Robin offered a shrug. "Ain't like I changed in any way that matters, I just... I been remembering how to live properly and..." He trailed off.

"And?" She asked.

He hummed for a moment and then waved her off. "Don't matter. End result is the same. I'm still here. I'm still losing blood."

"Holding onto a bit more of it, I would hope. Someone can only lose so much." Goodwitch said.

Robin laughed for a moment. "You'd think, but I can't find where the well ends. I dig, and I dig, and I dig, but there's almost more. Always a second wind. Third, fourth, fifth, maybe more."

Goodwitch let out a long-suffering sigh. "What's this really about, Robin? Put aside the double-speak for once."

He was quiet for a long moment, bringing himself to sit upright on the couch instead of lying back on it, intertwining his hands, and letting the additional sensory input distract his brain for just a moment. "I'm scared," he finally admitted, his voice cracking slightly.

Goodwitch's eyes met his for a long, silent moment until, eventually, her eyes softened slightly, and she put the clipboard to the side. "Take all the time you need."

Robin stared forward, not at Goodwitch, not at anything in particular. Just staring. "I keep finding my feet, just for me to get knocked down again and have to rebuild. Pushing onward out of some fucked up sense of spite or stubbornness, but now…"

He paused to take a long, shuddering breath, his whole body shaking along with it. "Now I'm worried. After Dove-" His voice cracked, causing him to pause momentarily before pushing onward. "After Dove, things weren't going well. Even now, things aren't the same. They're different, but we're trying to be better. And now, some things are starting to feel good again?"

"And that scares you," Goodwitch said, a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. Yeah, it scares the shit out of me. I'm always waiting for the next hit, the next time I get knocked down. And I don't know if I want to have to find another second wind." Robin chewed on the inside of his cheek, another minor distraction for his mind.

"It's not wrong to be afraid, Robin. It never is. If Ozpin were here, I'm sure he'd give you some speech about it. But I will instead ask you to look within yourself and decide if that fear is worth compromising the present for. Prepare as you can if it brings you comfort, but don't hurt yourself for something you can't do anything about." Goodwitch said.

Robin bit down on the inside of his cheek hard, tasting blood for a brief moment as aura rushed to the wound, a strange itch as it stitched together. "What if I can do something about it?"

Goodwitch tapped her pen on the arm of her chair. "Then I would ask you to consider its consequences. It's the condition of the young to grow disillusioned with the world and become overly focused on what they can sacrifice for it. However, the work of ages is not created with a single event. It is a seed that has been watered and cared for over a lifetime. I would ask you, Robin, if you were being trained because we want you to die or because we want you to live."

Robin crossed his arms. "Dying seems part and parcel of the job. I ain't seeking it out or nothing, but Huntsmen die; it's the way of things. It started with the first of us before we were even called huntsmen, and so it's the way for all of us. One thing I can do before I kick it is try and make the world a bit of a brighter place."

"Robin... while you are correct that we walk hand in hand with death, that is not all we do. That is not all we are. Huntsman doesn't have to die to make the world better. They are allowed to stop once they have given enough. I have had the pleasure of knowing those who have gotten to retire, Robin. They are not lesser. There is an ending that lies beyond the grave. That is not a price we ever want you to pay."

Two ways out, and in both of them, he dies. The errant thought popped into his mind before he forcefully dispelled it, physically shaking his head as if to shake the idea out of his mind. "I know my limits," he said, almost blankly. Uncomfortably. "But I've been thinking a lot about things. They're not new thoughts. In fact, I reckon they're awful old. More like jump-starting the jenny in my noggin, ya feel me?"

Goodwitch's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you mind expanding on that? Have you had these sorts of thoughts for a while?" She paused momentarily as if she wanted to say more but was holding back.

He looked away. "Sometimes I want to matter. I know I don't. I'm a wayfarer. A rambler. I'm a guy who all too often plays the hero to suit some other goal."

Robin made a vague gesture. "I'm sure Oz told you 'bout it so you could keep it in your file on me or whatever. It's what I wanted to, want to be, like every other boy in the world with a sword and a dream. But I know I ain't suited to it."

Goodwitch pursed her lips. "What determines a person's worth, in your own words, Robin? What makes them matter?"

"Their effect on the world. You could have all the talent, all the fame, all the strength, and it don't matter for shit if ya ain't using it proper. It's the kind of thing someone has got to do. Supernatural abilities don't mean squat unless you're using 'em."

"So, is Miss Xiao Long not important then?" Goodwitch asked.

"Yang?" He asked, suddenly taken off guard. "What's she got to do with this?"

"By your own definition, a person's worth is intrinsically linked to their effect on the world, correct? What has she done? She has been involved in an assault charge related to a nightclub, endangered civilians' lives in a case of reckless vigilantism, and maybe even more. By all means, looking at the record of her actions, she has had no positive effect on the "world." So. Is she not important?"

"Now that's just being unfair." Robin frowned. "She's good people, got a hell of a lot more potential than me."

Goodwitch rotated her pen in her hands."Ah. So, potential matters? The future of what a person does weighs their importance in your mind?"

"Course it do. You can't go asking everyone to have a major effect on a world from birth."

"So then, when does a person's worth become unchangeable? When is their future set in stone in your mind? For Yang, you give her potential, and that is enough? That's the reason you ascribe worth to her? Or is it because she has been nice to you? Think of a random person on the street; would you declare them unfit because they have no potential impact?"

Robin stared at her for a moment. "Alright, I get it; I see what you're doing."

"What is it that you 'think' I am doing, Robin?"

"You," He said, pointing a finger at her. "Think I'm wrong, so you trying to poke holes in my shit."

"Am I poking holes?" She asked, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. "Or am I simply asking you to think through your own worldview? Give it some honest thought. And please, be serious about this. Look at the world around you and ask you to value it. The people you care about. Why you care about them, consider that your homework, Robin."

Robin stared at Goodwitch for a long time. The old clock ticking in the back of the room before slowly letting out a sigh as he almost seemed to deflate. "Alright, fine." He said, almost sullenly, like he had a choice; she woulda just kept on his ass till he gave in regardless of what he said.

Goodwitch nodded and then picked her clipboard back up. "Now that the topic of the next session is set, have you had any relapses with alcohol? As you are aware, the effects of alcohol on your body in the short term can often be…"

As she continued on, Robin couldn't help but think about the future and what he knew was going to happen—just when things were starting to look up. He shouldn't be so surprised. Things fall apart, the center cannot hold. Still...

Robin Dubois can't help but feel dread.

AN: Hey there, been a while ain't it? Got hit hard with a slump this summer, trying to get back into it now. Ain't my best work, but just easing back into things. As always, call out any weird shit, mistakes, or whatever. And have a wonderful day.