Note: A little late to the upload on this one. Had a lot to cover and it didn't come out right the first time, plus I was sick literally all of last week. Still gonna try to keep weekly uploads to stop my readers from suffering. Anyway, enjoy.

Pyrrha felt there was something to be said about her being less comfortable within the City of Atlas than inside the walls of the Academy. On the surface, it didn't make much sense at all. When she first arrived in Atlas, she was struck by its oppressive structure, the militarization of its teachings, and the strict, ever-present watch of her professors that would drill her down and punish her for the slightest transgressions in form. In Atlas Academy, she could not leave. She could not breathe, like a great collar had been slowly tightening around her throat. There was none of that within the Upper Shelf of the City. There were normal people, normal faces. The cold had been strongly mitigated to only a dull chill. The streets were decadent even, each building bristling with life, however stoic. And yet, months within the Academy walls had made it familiar. The constant watch from the school guards was distinct from the paranoia of the unseen security cameras mounted on every corner. There were no smiles in Atlas Academy; all the ones she passed on the street seemed forced. The guards, for all their brutality, were there to protect them. Here, she was the outsider, the threat, the prey.

Everything was white in the City of Atlas—yet it was as if he could see the blood that was spilled to create its purity.

Focusing on the mission was her only respite from her thoughts. She had never stalked anyone before. Even the term sent a chill down her spine. Protection, she told herself. She was here for Team RWBY's protection, whether they wanted it or not. She, Jaune, and Ren had been following the opposing team for several hours, always staying well out of their line of sight, yet never too far to lose track. They had seen the girls streaming from various storefronts, get into entanglement with local security forces, and all around draw a constant bullseye on their backs. It made Pyrrha's job easier, since the Huntsmen were usually so busy with Yang's blustering that they didn't pay her team much thought. Whenever someone approached them, questioning what three teenagers were doing all by themselves, Pyrrha provided them with an identification badge Ozpin gave her. Huntsmen-in-Training. They were left alone afterward.

When Winter and Weiss split off, there was only a brief debate as to who should be followed. Team JPR eventually stalked—followed—Yang and Blake to the dining district on Bleak Street. It was over an hour ago that they saw the two enter Sushi Palace, a restaurant that seemed, by all means, closed. They stopped at a café located across the street. Their table was located by the front window, letting them continually monitor the building while they ate and rested. Monitor they did.

One hour.

And no signs of life.

Pyrrha hadn't touched her sandwich. It was an Atlasian specialty, according to the sign. Slow braised buffalo on a baguette. Yet, she wasn't hungry. Her eyes remained glued to the restaurant across the street, waiting for Blake and Yang to reemerge. Next to her, Jaune and Ren chatted amicably.

"Now this is cooking," Jaune moaned in bliss. "Man, it's been forever since I've actually eaten something tasty."

"Atlas had a revolution in cooking after the Great War," said Ren. He ate his sandwich with a knife and fork. "It was part of the cultural migration from Vacuo, plus the expansion of technology to let them grow a larger variety of food."

"Well, it's a revolution in my stomach," Jaune said through a mouthful. "Pyrrha, you should really eat something."

"I'm fine," Pyrrha said quickly.

"If you won't eat it, maybe we should wrap it up," Ren suggested. "We can bring it back to Nora. I'm sure she would love to eat something other than cafeteria food."

"Great idea," Jaune said, though he waited for Pyrrha's inevitable blow-up. Nora didn't trigger the same kind of reaction that RWBY did, but even a fool like him could see his teammates didn't particularly care for each other. He didn't really buy Pyrrha's argument for why she couldn't come. If their mission was to protect Team RWBY, leaving their second-strongest fighter behind seemed like a bad idea. Yet, he didn't question it… not out loud.

"Something's wrong," Pyrrha said distastefully. "They haven't finished their lunch yet."

"Sushi sometimes takes a while," Ren said, trying to calm her. "Especially if they are busy."

"But no one has entered that restaurant either. It's just… quiet."

"Do you think it was a trap?" asked Jaune.

"I doubt Yang and Blake would willingly walk into a trap," Ren suggested. "Maybe they contacted the place ahead of time and asked for a private reservation. They are famous, after all."

Pyrrha grimaced. "Yeah… maybe."

Her green eyes remained glued to the place across the street. She observed its darkened windows, its barren exterior, and the stillness of it all. She felt her gut churn. An urge overcame her. She stood up from the table.

"Pyrrha?"

Pyrrha walked out of the café with an unsure step. She pulled her winter coat tightly and crossed the street, checking not just for oncoming vehicles, but any cameras, police, or unknown criminals that may be stalking her. There was nothing to suggest that Sushi Palace was a gathering spot for crime; all of her searches in the past hour had indicated a very successful, respected establishment. But that terrible sense in her gut wouldn't go away. She needed to be sure. She heard Jaune exit the café behind her, but she ignored him as she walked up to the windows. She pressed her hands to her forehead and gazed inside.

"Pyrrha, you aren't being very stealthy," Jaune said worriedly, sprinting up behind her. Pyrrha narrowed her gaze, focusing on what was within.

She saw nothing—a literal nothing. They were gone.

Ruby pointed at the map of the City of Atlas, her teammates surrounding her. Her Scroll projected the image of the mountainous Kingdom, and each of the many complex layers that descended deep into the hot stone. She zoomed in.

"This is where Sienna agreed to meet you. Sushi Palace. It's in the Upper Shelf, which is where Jacques is permitting you to tour around."

"The Exodious District in the Upper Shelf is the richest district in Atlas," Weiss explained. "Most of the elite in Atlasian society live there. High-end shops. Premier luxury locations. It's also going to be the place we're hounded the most. The vast majority of Exodious has had its security forces rented out to private security companies, and they're going to be a lot less lenient with our behavior than anything state-sanctioned, given our status as Huntresses." Blake opened her mouth to make a snide comment, but Weiss interjected. "Yes, har har, capitalism worse than dictatorship."

"Not what I was going to say… but true," Blake shrugged.

"You talked to Stiltskin then?"

"Briefly," Blake explained. "I still don't really feel comfortable sending out our plans over text, even if Penny is supposedly covering for us. I kept the details light."

"Which are?" asked Ruby.

"I confirmed he'll be in his shop, and that he'll open it up for us," Blake stated. "I just told him we'd be visiting. It'll be easier to explain Winter's situation to him in person anyway."

"It also makes it riskier if he can't help us," Weiss noted.

"He can help. I promise." Blake dragged her finger across Ruby's Scroll, and the map shifted to show them deeper into the mountain. "Stiltskin's shop is located on the Third Rung. The quickest way there is to catch a subway at Ignis Station. It'll take about half an hour to get there. Assuming we have an hour meeting with Sienna for lunch, meeting with Stiltskin after, then getting back… Weiss, you'd probably have to distract your family for a few hours, minimum."

"That's not going to be too hard," said Weiss. "Father's meals tend to be rather extravagant."

"Running to the station won't be a problem then, assuming you don't get accosted by anyone. Once we're at Stiltskin's, we confirm with him that he can heal Winter—and more importantly, when," Ruby continued. "I doubt Sienna is going to give us much time, and we'd want to use Stiltskin while he is still in Atlas. We won't be able to reach him in Mistral."

"Ideally, he'd be able to help Winter immediately," Blake reasoned. "Maybe he'll need a week to study and prepare, but the fewer times we have to sneak out, the better. We bring Winter right to him, he fixes her up, and then we're out of there by the weekend."

"We can't just wait around in Stiltskin's shop for days, though," Weiss pointed out. "You two will have to continue touring around and posting. Father will suspect something if you go quiet."

"Yeah, but that won't be too hard. Right, Yang?" Blake looked to her teammate for affirmation, but Yang was strangely silent. "What's wrong?"

Yang placed her finger on her chin. "Well… I was just thinking. Remember when we went to Vale, Ruby, and Penny followed us around?"

"Yeah," said Ruby. "But she won't bother us."

"Right. But someone else could," Yang explained. "I mean, we're going out on our own again. I doubt Ironwood is happy just letting us go around drawing attention to ourselves, especially because of all the problems we caused last time. Plus, Atlas is like a surveillance state, isn't it? Anywhere we go, people are going to find out, right?"

Ruby pursed her lips. That… was actually a solid point. Their plan was, to be fair, rather outlandish. Using a body morpher to heal Winter Schnee's brain damage. She doubted that even if someone stalked Blake and Yang, they wouldn't piece together what they were doing. Still, the idea that someone could follow them raised too many problems. What if someone reported their suspicious behavior to Jacques? What if, god forbid, Glynda Goodwitch broke down the door to Stiltskin's shop while he was trying to heal Winter? Too many variables. Not enough time.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Then… we'll just have to make sure no one follows you."

"And how do we do that?" asked Weiss.

"Shit, I wish Neo still owed us a favor," Yang muttered. "She could just create a projection of us and have people follow that."

"We are not going back to Neo," Ruby protested. "Never, ever, ever again."

"Fine," Yang grunted. Within another moment, her face lit up with excitement. "Wait a second. I've got it. We're going to need some kind of disguise, right?"

"Yeah," said Ruby.

"Yes," said Weiss.

"Um…" said Blake.

"And we're going to be in a luxury district, right?" Yang grinned proudly. Her teammates caught on quickly. Blake's eyes went wide with terror.

"Oh."

"Really?"

"Please, no…"

Yang threw her arms in the air. "Shopping!"

Blake threw her head back in agony. "Goddammit!"

Sienna didn't ask questions when Yang and Blake asked to leave early, nor did she question when they wanted to depart out the back entrance through the kitchen. It was how she arrived, after all, being the only guaranteed way to avoid the cameras. She also didn't question when the two disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes, nor their appearances when they left. Anonymity was key.

If anyone saw the two famous Huntresses when they arrived at Ignis Station, they likely wouldn't have recognized them as the Heroes of Vale. Yang's distinct mane of blonde hair was currently bundled under a large purple hat and tucked beneath a very dark trench coat. Her face was covered in a heavy scarf that was pulled up to her nose. She wore a pair of tinted glasses that did well to hide her heterochromia. Blake Belladonna, known for wearing black, black, purple, and more black, would never be caught dead wearing a puffy red jacket and a brown wig in a ponytail, yet that was what those in Ignis Station saw. Her sharp eyes were covered with heavy shades, and the extra layer seemed to make her twenty pounds heavier. They did stand out among the bustling Atlasian crowds; their brighter colors and youthful movements were quite different than the stuffy, melancholic attire most of the citizens wore. And yet, no one thought of them as anything more than bratty, disrespectful teens, trying to stay equally fashionable and toasty in the freezing weather. Yang could hardly hide her smile beneath her scarf.

The subway arrived three minutes late. When the two boarded the train, they sat in a nearly empty car, keeping to themselves. Yang looked around the pristine area, taking note of the camera in the corner. She kept her head down as she nudged Blake in the arm.

"I think we're getting away with this."

"We look ridiculous," Blake moaned.

"We look like other people. Besides, you look pretty good as a brunette."

"If you say so."

"You know, I don't get why you don't like dressing up more," Yang asked. "I mean, your whole thing is sneaking around. You'd think you'd appreciate the fun of changing your appearance."

"Weird, huh?" Blake said sarcastically. "Almost like I once drastically changed the way I looked and have been super uncomfortable in my own skin ever since."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine," Blake sighed. "I was never big into dress-up when I was a kid either, to be honest. Ilia was always the one most interested in that stuff. Kind of bullshit, actually, considering."

"Considering what?"

Blake reacted with surprise. "Oh yeah, I never told you. Did I?"

"Uh, probably not."

"Ilia's Semblance," Blake told her. "She could shapeshift."

"Wait, seriously?" Yang gasped. "That's awesome."

"Yeah, well, she sucked at it," Blake laughed, remembering more innocent times. "She had the power to change into someone else, but like… only their face. Not even their voice, or their eye color. Just their face, but on her body. It was totally useless. Maybe if she practiced it, she could have gotten better, but she never did. That was the ironic bit—she already looked Human. She could blend in anywhere outside of Menagerie. What's the point of even hiding yourself then, you know?"

"Huh," Yang said slowly. Ilia was a difficult topic for Blake, but she thought she noticed a smile start to form. She continued with caution. "So, like… did she ever use it all?"

"Nope."

"Not even when you two were in the White Fang?"

"Not once. Again, she was horrible at it. She was the one who introduced me to Stiltskin's work."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She kind of looked up to him," Blake explained. "Not that she really understood his work. Ilia was fortunate enough not to know why people want to change. But at one point, she thought he was cool. He could do something she couldn't. And she is a chameleon Faunus, after all—I don't know, maybe something resonated with her."

"But… when he operated on you…"

Blake shrugged. "Of course, she wouldn't approve. All she ever wanted was for me to be myself. This, well… this is the furthest thing from the real me, isn't it?" Blake looked down at her own hands. Whatever echo of a smile was present a moment ago vanished from sight. Yang felt like she pushed too far, though if Blake was truly upset, she didn't stop her. It was just more of the same. They didn't need to linger on those thoughts anymore. Yang gently rested her hand on top of Blake's. She pulled down her scarf so Blake could see the earnestness in her smile.

"I think this version of you is plenty real," Yang promised, "and I think she's pretty great."

The smile returned, just for a flickering moment. But it was there. Yang held her hand in silence for the rest of the train ride.

Stiltskin's shop wasn't anything of interest, at least from the outside. It was located within a string of worn, residential buildings pressed up against an overhanging wall of stone, whose dark brown seemed to seep into the structures themselves. It wasn't labeled well, either. A simple sign in plain text hung above its entryway: Straw to Gold. A second sign hung up in its window: Not taking customers. Blake checked the surrounding streets. She saw almost no one, save for a few wandering, sniffling men who paid them no attention. Blake walked up the small stairwell to the entrance, and once she was sure they were not being followed, she opened the door.

The interior of Stiltkin's office was small. He had rented a space only fifteen feet in width, and once she entered, a blast of stuffy air hit Blake in the face. The walls were plain and the room was near-featureless, save for a large desk in the middle of the room that took up most of the space, and two red, plastic chairs pressed up against the wall, each unstable on mismatched legs. There was a carpet on the ground quickly rented from a local thrift store that hadn't been properly vacuumed yet. More crucially, there were cardboard boxes everywhere, stacked on one another, overflowing with papers and books, many of which had become scattered on the floor. There was a door behind the desk that Blake only theorized led to an actual operating room, one she hoped was more sterile. She removed her shades and approached the desk, Yang treading behind her. There were several more books on the desk, one opened halfway, revealing a diagram of a human arm. Or, perhaps, non-human. Blake gently picked up the book to read its cover. The Physiology of Faunus, Vol. 2.

As Blake read the cover, Yang noticed a small bell on the desk. Instinctively, she smacked her hand against it.

There was a shuffle from the backdoor, a quick flurry of papers—and then, he stumbled out into the open. His face was like that of his photos: the mismatched eyes, the spikes embedded in his skull, the hollowed cheeks, and the decorated teeth. His clothes were plainer than they expected—a simple turtleneck that hid all of the modifications from his neck down. And, like his photographs, he had an infectious smile, and his eyes lit up upon seeing Blake's face.

He spoke with a slight slur, yet his joy carried his words far. "Belle Kataliana."

"Good to see you, Rami," Blake waved.

"Oh, come here, come here." Stiltskin wandered around the desk, his arms spread wide. Blake, surprisingly nonresistant, welcomed his embrace. "How have you been, child?"

"Been hanging in there."

"You look so well." He pulled back and patted her on the shoulders, only to notice Yang standing beside her. "And who is this?"

"This is my friend, Yang."

"Hello," Yang waved. She wasn't expecting Stiltskin to hug her either, but he did. She politely squeezed back. For such a spindly, strange man, he was quite good at hugging.

"You look absolutely wonderful, Belle," Stiltskin sighed as he pulled back and leaned on his desk. "How has everything been? Have you been enjoying your new life?"

"You know, it's been… a lot," Blake admitted. "A lot of public attention."

"Really? You'll have to tell me about it."

Yang put her hands on her hips. "Wait, do you not know?"

"Know what?" Stiltskin suddenly clasped his hands together. "Oh, yes, that's right! You know, you have to imagine my shock. I was sent this video of the Pelts, Skins, and Scales Society, and I wasn't planning on watching it. I put it on in the background over my music, and who do I see, sitting there among these stuffy academics? My greatest work, completely undetectable. Remarkable, truly remarkable. You must have been busy to get yourself on that stage."

"You seriously don't know what Blake was doing these past few months," Yang realized.

"Blake?" he questioned.

"Long story," Blake intervened.

"Oh, a new identity," Stiltskin reasoned. "I don't pay much attention to the news, I'm afraid. It's all politics and biases and nasty things. Current events don't really interest me—I'd much rather focus on perfecting my craft. Belle, Blake, Yang, come, come! I want to see how you've been healing."

Stiltskin led Blake and Yang into the backroom, and once inside, they were finally able to see the scope of his operation—which wasn't much more than what they had already seen. The backroom was somehow more cluttered with boxes and books than the front, and the walls were absolutely covered in notes, diagrams, x-rays, and pages torn from textbooks and crudely stapled against posterboard. The only notable addition in the room was a geriatric chair, much like one would see in a doctor's office or any more respectable place than this. There were also some hooks on the wall where Stiltskin had hung his winter coat, and Blake and Yang followed his lead, disrobing down to their usual attire. Blake threw her wig onto one of the cardboard boxes and sat on the chair as Stiltskin cracked his knuckles.

"Apologies for the mess," he said gently. "I'm merely testing out the space. There's a lot of work that needs to be done before it can open. I don't even have the plumbing installed yet. Needed a space where I wouldn't be hounded by the authorities. They tend to be so... stingy when it comes to these things. Here, here, hold out your arms."

Blake did as she was told, and Stiltskin lightly grabbed her wrists. He guided her arms, bending them, extending them, moving them above her head.

"Any joint pain? Tightness?"

"Nope."

"How about your knees? I had to shift the position of your kneecap slightly. That usually leaves some lasting soreness."

"They've been holding up well."

"Grin for me. Stick out your chin."

Blake showed him her teeth, and he leaned in to examine them.

"Your gums are a little swollen," he noted. "Editing your fangs could cause infection."

"Well, I'm overdue for a dentist visit," Blake cracked. "And flossing is for losers."

"You haven't lost your humor. Okay, lay down for me."

As Blake followed his instructions and Stiltskin continued to double-check his work, Yang awkwardly wandered around the room, looking at all of the notes he had plastered against the wall. When Blake said he did his research, she meant it. She noticed a large cluster of documents sticking out from the rest. Sketches and blueprints for modifications. Fingers in need of re-growing. Deep tissue damage that needed to be reformed down to the bone. Facial reconstruction. Amputated limbs. Hair dye. Yang admired the hefty research, though she turned away from the more graphic photos of actual surgery that were hiding just beneath the notes. Blood in action movies? Fine. Blood in real-life combat? Manageable. Surgeries? Something about that just upset her.

"You've been keeping busy," Yang said, trying to sound positive. "These for your patients?"

"That wall?" Stiltskin clarified. "Just patient. One really bad case I just finished up the other week. Poor thing. Bad, bad car accident."

"Yeesh," Yang groaned. "How much did that cost?"

"Oh, they didn't pay for it," Stiltskin explained. He finished looking over Blake, and she sat back up on the chair. Stiltskin wandered over to the wall, letting his fingers trail down his notes. "I always appreciate tips when I get them, but my methods are free. As long as a person needs my help, I'm going to do whatever I can to assist them. The details of their private life and finances are irrelevant. To deny someone the sanctity of their skin because of currency… well, that's rather vicious, isn't it?"

"So… you just give people whatever body modifications they want? No payment? No questions asked?"

"I always ask questions. I just don't pretend I have superior answers," Stiltskin said confidently. "Flesh is, in so many ways, our greatest enemy. It's our flesh that determines how others confine us, and how they will discriminate against us. When it breaks, we lose the freedom to go where we choose. As we grow older, it betrays us and rots, even as our minds remain. And it's so out of our control. I think that is something deeply unfair. How we choose to live with our bodies is something we recognize to be important, so much so that we respect the burial wishes of the dead even when they no longer know or feel. And yet, so many people seem fine to restrict others to what their flesh forms them into, even when it's beyond their wishes… or control. People don't choose to be blind or deaf, or a man or woman."

"But they choose to come to you," Yang said, understanding. Stiltskin nodded.

"To respect another person, I think, fundamentally, is to respect their right to their own flesh. I think that control is everyone's right—Human and Faunus, good and evil… rich and poor. I've been asked to sell my services to all Four Kingdoms. I could make millions. But that wouldn't be very right of me. So, I go where I'm needed. And that's here." He gestured broadly to the clutter surrounding them. "It just needs some tidying."

As Yang nodded along, Blake stretched out her legs and stood up from the chair. She was glad to see Stiltskin, and hearing him speak his vision was an affirmation that they were on the right path. When she came to him to become Human, he never challenged her, even if, hell, he probably should have given what she was going to do. He was a decent person trying to do a decent thing, and that was hard to come by in Remnant. It made what she was about to ask of him all the more bitter.

"Speaking of needing you, Rami," she said uncomfortably, "we didn't just come here because I wanted to catch up. We need your help."

Stiltskin raised his pierced eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

Blake finished explaining her case. Stiltskin reclined on the medical chair, his fingers interlaced on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. He squinted, deep in thought. Blake scratched the back of her head.

"So, yeah. We were hoping you could fix that."

"And it's kind of urgent," Yang added. "Like, as soon as you possibly can."

"Hmmmm." Stiltskin pressed his fingers to his lips. "That might be somewhat tricky."

"Please," Blake begged. "This is way more important than I could even begin to explain."

"Oh, believe me: my resistance isn't from an unwillingness to help," Stiltskin said clearly. "This obviously sounds like a very tragic case. It's just… tricky."

He repeated that word. Blake did not like that he repeated that word.

"Tricky how?"

"The brain is the most complicated organ in the human body," he explained. "There are various injuries that I don't have the power to heal. Specifically, psychological trauma, spectrum disorders, attention disorders… things like that. My Semblance works by encouraging growth of cells within a patient's body, and guiding it through a rapid, self-healing process. Think sort of like… the development of fetuses within the room. It's why I can only really heal physical trauma, or change other properties where genes already exist."

"But Winter's is physical trauma," Blake countered.

"Yes, but it's complicated. My job is to guide the body to heal itself. That's not very hard with things like arms and legs, where we have very clear models of how things are supposed to work and operate. But brains are immensely complicated. There are 86 million neurons forming one hundred trillion connections. What makes someone the person they are is a very densely, interconnected web of those connections. Making sure they all grow properly requires careful planning. I would need scans, medical records, or at the very least a good chance to examine them. Otherwise, it would be like trying to navigate a dark labyrinth, where every dead end could lead to disastrous consequences."

"Well, how would you get these scans?" Blake asked.

"I would need my equipment."

"And that is?"

"Back in Mistral."

Blake gritted her teeth. "Goddammit."

"Okay, forget the scans then," Yang said quickly. "What if you just looked over her wounds and tried to heal her blind? I mean, you said it's mostly the body healing itself, right? Maybe it knows what to do?"

Stiltskin sighed. "I mean, it is possible to do a blind morph. I've done it before, but never on a brain. Now, based on what you're saying, there should not be too much work to be done. If she is mostly functional, the damage cannot be that severe. Even if it was, brains are highly mailable. There would be many theoretical connections that, while not returning her to her original condition, would still be enough to improve her. Actually…" He paused, thinking again very studiously. "Hmmm… I would need to examine her. Bare minimum, I would need to see what the extent of the damage is. I would have to actually look at her brain. If it's light… maybe. I wouldn't need any equipment for that, and if you really need this urgently…"

"What would you have to do?" Yang asked hesitantly.

Stiltskin didn't sugarcoat it. "I would have to cut her open and physically examine her brain."

Yang recoiled. "Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious," Stiltskin replied. "I know it sounds bad, but it's actually quite standard. I would sterilize the room to prevent infection. My Semblance is useful for more than just healing. I'm able to cut open flesh by dividing the space between cells, rather than directly slicing through cellular walls. It makes the cuts clean, precise, and far easier to heal. I would open her up, peel back the layers, see the damage, and then close her back up. I'd help her wounds heal, and you would never be able to tell the difference."

"Well, yeah," Yang protested, "except for the fact you'd be performing open-skull surgery on someone. That just… I don't know. Blake, do you trust this?"

"I mean, it's technically not worse than what we were already asking," Blake admitted. "We always knew this was going to get messy. We were already asking someone to screw with someone's brain. And if it would make doing the job easier—"

"It would make doing the job possible," Stiltskin said firmly. "If I don't know what I'm doing, I can't help her. I can never promise there won't be complications, but I have done similar things before in far worse conditions than this."

Blake crossed her arms and sighed. She tried her best to reason with herself that this idea still had merit. Did she trust Stiltskin's abilities? Absolutely. The results spoke for themselves. And of course, failure wasn't really an option anyway. Far more blood was on the line than that which was within Winter's skull. She spoke aloud, trying to reason herself through it. "All right, so… we find Winter. We bring her here. We knock her out. You open her brain, see what's up, close it, then do your thing. Assuming you can actually repair her, how long will this all take?"

Stiltskin mused on the possibilities. "It's hard to tell without knowing the extent of the damage. No matter what I would have to work carefully to ensure the brain is functioning correctly. However, I can work straight through the night, and if it is as minor as you suggest—I can get you out of here by the weekend."

Blake breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's a positive, at least."

"There is one more thing though," Stiltskin added. "You said we would have to knock her out. That isn't possible, for two reasons. One, my equipment is back in Mistral. But secondly, patients have to be awake when performing brain surgery. I need to be able to check her reactions to ensure I'm not pushing her beyond her limits."

"She has to be awake?" Yang said, stunned. "Can we at least knock her out while you're, like, cutting her head open?"

"If you don't want me to do anything but observe, that's fine. But during the procedure itself… she's going to have to be awake."

"Okay, then," Yang sighed. "So, if you don't have any equipment, we'll just have to knock her out the old-fashioned way, I guess." She hesitantly pulled her Scroll out of her pocket, preparing to send a text. She still had a million reservations, even though Stiltskin's confidence and vision soothed some of her worries. In the end, it didn't matter what she thought. There was only one person who could consent to operating on Winter.

And she was not going to be happy.

Weiss was able to excuse herself to go to the bathroom. It was a needed reprieve. The constant taunting from Whitley wore thin on her nerves, and Winter's silence in its face only reminded her of the cost of living with her family. While she claimed to need to use the restroom, she actually retrieved her Scroll from her coat pocket and checked for updates. She saw one, from Yang.

She did not understand it.

When she was in the bathroom, she called her teammate.

Yang explained slowly.

Weiss listened carefully.

Then, Yang mentioned something else.

And within the bathroom walls, that which lay furthest from the dining room and deep within an unused wing of the mansion, Weiss screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Look, I know this sounds bad," Blake said over the speaker, though Weiss was having none of it.

"Sounds bad?" Weiss exclaimed. "You want him to slice my sister open and hold her brain in an unsterilized room with no medical equipment? And you want her to be awake? That's insanely bad. Why didn't you lead with that?"

"Well, I kind of wanted to ease you into it," Yang admitted. "And knocking her out is going to be a problem too if we don't have anesthesia or anything."

"This is crazy. This is fucking crazy," Weiss ranted. She knew she shouldn't have trusted Blake. When did trusting Blake bring her anything of value whatsoever? Semblance healing? Fine. She could reason to herself that this was acceptable. It was even majestic, angelic, from a certain point of view. But actually seeing her sister's head sliced open, her scalp rolled back and grey matter exposed for everyone—doing that in a small, dingy medical space with someone who wasn't even professionally trained—it triggered a deep revulsion in her. The full brunt of their foolishness was hitting her, and the doubts seeped in until they consumed every part of her thoughts.

"Weiss, listen to me," Blake said slowly. "I'm not going to pretend like this is optimal… or even sub-optimal. But this is the only way we'll be able to heal Winter. You said it yourself that she would do whatever it took to take her life back."

"Yes, but—"

"Let me finish. This thing that he's asking—he's done it on me, okay? Do you think my operations were done in a fucking doctor's office? It was all underground stuff. He cut me open, too. But it worked. You couldn't even tell that I was operated on, and clearly, I survived. She's going to be fine. We're get this place cleaned, we'll be careful, and we will make it work. We have to make it work because we don't have a choice anymore. If we don't heal her now, who will? When will we get another chance at this?"

Weiss held back another scream. Instead, she spoke coldly. "Yang… do you really approve of this?"

"It doesn't matter if I approve of this," Yang answered.

"I know. But I'm asking. Do you approve?"

Yang groaned. "I approve of whatever we have to do to get Winter healed. If that's some open-brain-slicing stuff… fine. Like, what else is the alternative?"

Weiss didn't have any alternatives, and that only made her want to scream more. She felt helpless in a way that only the Schnee Manor was capable of bringing out of her. The awful truth was that Winter's suffering was inevitable. She would either die by their hands in a feeble attempt to save her, or she would continue wasting away as a shadow of what she used to be. That emptiness that she showed in the dining room—that was her normal. Her expectation. If Weiss did anything but go along with Blake's ideas, that would be her future. She couldn't let that happen. No good, moral part of her would see her sister rot away.

And yet… Gods, was this what she had to reduce herself to? Was she now forced to become a butcher just to give Winter a better chance at life? It made her sick to her stomach. It was bad enough she had to force Winter into this against her will, but to hold her down, see her scream as Stiltskin carved through her head… she didn't know if she could take that. She didn't know if anything was worth that.

"This… if this doesn't work," Weiss warned.

"It will work."

"No, listen carefully," Weiss said. "If this doesn't work, Blake… if you get my sister killed… I want you to understand this. I am going to kill you. I don't mean that metaphorically. I will kill you, right there on the spot. Don't even worry about what Sienna or my Father. Do you understand me?"

Blake said nothing for a long while. Eventually, she answered with a straight tone that informed Weiss that she took the threat seriously.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."