Disclaimer, I don't own any of the copyright intellectual properties shown in this fic. I am merely writing this for fun.

For What It's Worth

1.1

Cold fingers grasp the stem of the wine glass with a gentleness that one would find baffling from the woman holding it. Deep scarlet-colored fluid slosh around the bowl of the glass with enough momentum that the tips of the wave reach the rim of the glass. Despite the momentum forced upon the fluid it wasn't enough to spill over. By Oum the woman would never do that, she'd need all the alcohol to forget the events of today, tomorrow, and pretty much whatever day made her remember her marriage.

Willow Schnee, matriarch of the Schnee Dust Corporation, sat in her personal garden in the early hours of 9:30am wine glass in hand. To any sane person drinking this early would raise eyebrows at such behavior but to the residents of the Schnee Mansion, this was normal. Continuing to slosh her wine glass, quick unwelcome thoughts came to the woman.

Thoughts of the man she refused to call her husband would be in a meeting at this hour, probably signing something that would make the company billions but lessen the health quality of the workers if not outright kill them. Again.

Her eldest Winter would be leading her own unit at the military academy in their morning training or something of the sort. Probably eager to get a promotion so she could separate her name from the family's. As if being Ironwood's personal assistant wasn't enough.

Weiss the middle child should be in Beacon Academy by now trying to fulfill her childish notion of being a huntress. Ever since she passed her father's exam to attend Beacon Academy months ago she'd been doubling her efforts to perfect her craft in swordsmanship until the day she went to said academy. In a rare show of affection, Willow had been horrified when she'd learned about the specific details of the test Jacques forced on Weiss. She'd stood up from the table she was drinking at fueled by a maternal rage that harm had befallen one of her children. Willow had wanted to go straight to the bastard who'd ruin her life, slap him the hardest she could without the assistance of Aura and berate the man for being such a pathetic worm. As quickly as the motherly rage entered her body it was gone in an instant. What was the point of it all she'd ask herself. Sure her husband had been a pathetic horrible man but at least he had the decency to be truthful to his nature. Willow was just as guilty as the man. Instead of doing what her rage wanted she'd instead sat back down and opened another bottle.

As for her youngest?

Truth be told it had been years since Willow had an idea of what Whitley Schnee had been up to. The last time she'd look at her son's face sober he'd still been learning to read and struggling to speak sentences. His arms were raised high, the universal sign for kids who wanted to be carried by their parents. A smile of broken teeth caused by too much consumption of sugar adorned Whitley's face. Memories of his voice calling out to her echoed in her mind, louder at first then softer and softer until she was finally alone again in her head.

Willow's vision had gone blurry for a moment. She wiped her eyes before she'd pretended she was a decent human being. This was always the hardest part of drinking the first glass of the day. She acknowledges that some part of her desperately wanted to end this destructive habit but Willow was a realist. This wasn't ending anytime soon even if she gave effort.

She'd spent too much time musing over her thoughts this morning. Willow placed the rim of the glass at her lips, it was time to forget.

SKREEEEEEEEE!

BOOM!

Before Willow could take her first sip of alcohol something had crashed in her garden a few feet in front of her. Had it not been for the near deafening screech of the jet thrusters of whatever fell then Willow would have noticed that she had unconsciously activated her Aura after almost two and half decades. She also would have noticed the high-pitched shriek that came out of her lips as she instinctively ducked for cover.

As the whirring noise cut out and the dust of the soil came back to the ground an eerie silence fell upon the garden. For a moment nothing came out of the newly made crater.

With the shock gone and Willow consciously aware of the fact that she would have been dead if she was a few feet farther from her original seat, adrenaline crept over her body. Grabbing the now-broken bottle of wine as a makeshift weapon Willow prepared herself.

And yet…

Despite the threat inside the crater she couldn't muster the will to defend herself. Her mind couldn't muster the strength to consciously activate her Aura. The idea of calling on her semblance, the same one as her father, filled her with shame.

Was this it? Was this seriously the way she'd finally escape the pathetic excuse of her existence? At least Willow could commend the consistency of it all.

Dropping the broken bottle Willow straightened her back. She might as well face this with whatever remaining dignity she had. If she still had any left.

If Willow was being honest then she didn't really know what she was expecting to come out of the crater. She definitely wasn't expecting a robotic humanoid shape to climb out of it. With the robot's back turned against her, its head began moving as if to scan the area. Weirdly enough with the way it moved its head, it gave off the impression that the robot was unimpressed. As if being here was a disappointment in it of itself, rude.

Bits of sparks flew off on some parts of the armor, especially at the head. Based on how uncomfortable the head looked, Willow could guess that the headpiece was somewhat broken. Her guess was further proven as broken incomprehensible synthesized sounds kept coming out of what she assumed to be the mouth. Before she could make a sound both hands of the robot grabbed the top of its head and with a pained groan of metal against metal, ripped the headpiece clean off.

Even with the robot's back against her Willow could easily tell the flock of white hair that belonged to the pilot. Even if she hasn't seen it properly for over a couple of years.

"Whitley?"

The now identified pilot visibly froze as if he'd been caught doing a crime. Still as he was, Whitley let out a sound of audible frustration before turning around to face her. Much like her son, Willow couldn't help but let out a sound of her own albeit hers was one of surprise. She may have not been seeing her son often these past few years but from the last she saw of him, probably about a month ago, then she'd know he had an almost short and scrawny physique. That was not the case.

The skinny child she saw last month was nowhere to be found. The usual clean styled hair Whitley was known for was gone, replaced with oily disheveled hair. Any remaining baby fat that should've been on his cheeks was also gone. It looked as if his face was firmer than what a teenager's face should be.

The last she saw of him she still had to look down to make eye contact with him although not by much. Now she had to actually crane her neck by a bit to see his face. Even with the unusual armor her son was wearing it was clear that he had physically grown at an abnormal rate.

The biggest change was his eyes. Gone was the mischievous arrogance she'd always seen in his eyes. Two bloodshot tired eyes stared back at her, eyebags of concerning size adorning each one. Regardless of their appearance, an air of focus and determination oozed out of them. Worst was that it was clear her appearance was a danger to this new purpose she'd never seen from him.

Whitley opened his mouth to say something but closed it immediately. Willow wanted to say something as well but for the first time found herself afraid of interacting with her son, as if she was talking with someone else entirely. Which given the scenario wasn't far off.

Whitley opened his mouth for a second time but it seemed words were failing to form. An oppressive awkwardness fell on the two as they looked at each other. Willow faced a conundrum at that point wherein she badly wanted to say something but also wanted her son to just go away. Her fears of being the one to break the ice intensified and had it not been for their location then Grimm would've arguably appeared.

Thankfully for Willow, it would be her son who would end this awkward silence.

"Mother…?"

The word sounded so foreign coming from Whitley despite the blood shared between them, it felt like some exotic Mistralian spirit she'd drank once before. Willow saw how her son's face scrunched a bit as he said it. Giving her the impression that he had spoken a curse instead of a word that should have been attached to affection. By this point after years of severe alcoholism nothing could've bothered Willow much. Alas, she'd be lying if she didn't admit that seeing her son's reaction to a word hurt her a bit deep inside.

"Whitley…?"

The fact that her son's name also felt foreign to her just dug the pit of shame in her even deeper.

"You look," She surprised herself by continuing. Her words struggled to be cohesive as they came out "different from before…"

"I AM different."

Whitley's reply was immediate and punctuated. Making her involuntarily take a step back. He also involuntarily flinched at the accidental hostility of his reply. If he felt bad about it then he didn't bother apologizing.

Mother and child were at a severe loss on what to do next. It was expected of her son to be resentful of her, but flinch as he might even Willow could see the unbridled anger in his eyes. Looking down at her, his eyes telling her that she was directly interfering with something of great importance to him.

It would seem that another bout of oppressive silence would engulf the two but thankfully for both, that would not be the case. Willow had no idea what her son was wearing but some part at the back started violently sparking. Whitley started flinching again but didn't move a bit. Without thought Willow went forward instinctively wanting to remedy whatever was happening to her son.

She only stopped when Whitley's armored hand jerked directly at her face, stopping her. The negative emotions she felt before when it came to her son were gone as her motherly instinct was raring like never before. Yet she couldn't find herself to disobey her son's command knowing that doing so would just make things worse.

With a highly audible popping sound accompanied by bright sparks, the issue at his back finally stopped. Although no longer flinching, Whitley's face was far from comfortable.

"That looked like it hurt."

"It did."

"What?! Then we need to-"

"Mother!"

Willow never got to finish voicing her worry with how demanding his tone was. No longer flinching in pain, her son's face was back to looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"It seems that I've interrupted your…work." He said the final bit with contempt. "And I apologize for interrupting you. I'll be on my way now. I'm capable of taking care of myself so no need to worry." He couldn't help but scoff the last bit.

Had Willow been a Faunus then she would've heard another remark from him spoken quietly. Thankfully she was spared from giving a reply this time as Whitley abruptly turned around and walked towards the exit of her garden.

With her son gone, she looked at the ground where her bottle would've been.

'Still broken.' What a shame.

The glass she was about to take a sip from was also long gone. The fluids she badly wanted had long integrated with the soil of the garden.

'Might as well have Klein get me another one.'

As Willow propped a chair and sat down she mused at what had just transpired in her garden. She felt embarrassed that she'd immediately assumed that her end was finally here just because something crashed in front of her. Even more embarrassed at her willingness to just accept it. She kept calling herself a romantic but in reality was still a hopeless romantic.

'Wait a minute,'

.

..

…

'Whitley crashed!'

Which meant that her son was way up in the air to have created such an entrance. She was so caught up in her emotional problems that she forgot to address the obvious Grimm in the room.

'By Oum's name what was my son wearing?!' If what she saw was anything to go by then the only logical conclusion was that it was Atlesian military equipment. She couldn't think of anything or anywhere else Whitley could have gotten that… was it a suit!? The only other person and place she could think of was the builder in Mantle, but he only specialized in prosthetic limbs as far as she could remember.

Rich as her family may be she seriously doubted Ironwood would sell advanced equipment to her son. Especially with Winter knowing the ins and outs of her General's dealings. Her eldest child would've charged head first into Grimm lands before she'd give her brother military equipment to be used as a plaything.

The roller coaster ride of emotions she was forced to experience this morning was too much for her. The hangover from yesterday decided that now was the right time to rear its head. With the adrenaline gone and a severe headache kicking in, Willow decided that sleeping in was a far better thing to do than drink.

"Stupid stupid stupid!"

Any servants that came across Whitley's path immediately went away with how furious he'd look. Even if he had the reputation of being kind to the servants they still wouldn't risk it crossing the young heir's path. His suit that sparked now and then also was a good motivation to not get near him.

His trek eventually reached the basement of the family mansion. There he immediately went to his personal wing out of the limousine parking space. It wasn't actually his personal space but no one dared say no to a member of the Schnee family. In reality, his so-called personal wing was just a massive storage room where random broken parts of appliances were kept until they were eventually thrown away.

For any member of the Schnee family, such a room would have been atrocious, and it would have been the same thing for Whitley until about a month ago. Now such a room was heaven for the young heir. This storage room had better treasure for him than any bank vault or Dust mines in the Remnant.

Combined with the power his family name had and the insinuation of unlimited supplies then Whitley Schnee was without a doubt the strongest Tinker of Remnant. Then again that wasn't saying much since he was the only one with this ability on the planet.

Whitley hadn't bothered hiding his newly built power armor as he walked. The whole of Remnant would've known what he was capable of eventually. Attempting to hide his mechanical prowess would've just given him unnecessary stress. Which was in ample amount just from interacting with his family.

The mechanics working in the basement openly gawked at his suit. Their reactions to his power armor were enough to make him drop his angry demeanor. Which was also another reason he made no attempt to hide his Tinker abilities.

Attention. He badly craved attention, even if it came from the common folk.

Upon entering his personal room now dubbed his workshop, Whitley locked the entrance to it. Alone he gave a deep troubled sigh.

"That was stupid of me." He said to no one in particular. The echo of his voice was rather comforting to him. "What was I thinking? Immediately trying the jet systems after working on it all night. Heh, I pretty much deserved that crash. Too bad it just had to be in front of her."

He pulled out a sticky note and wrote on it. "Note to self, do not under any circumstances try out anything you have invented after a fugue. There we go." With the message written he stuck it at the top of his personal, tinkerized computer.

With that out of the way, he went towards the armor station and began the process of using his tools to remove his power armor. Had he not crashed then the exit settings of his armor would've worked but that obviously wasn't an option. At least the armor lock systems proved to be effective, or else that woman would've seen her son's mangled corpse.

He shivered at the thought, a lesson had been learned this morning. If it meant avoiding another accident like this then good. If it meant avoiding an unnecessary interaction with his family then better.

As the final pieces of his armor came off, Whitley stood straight and looked at his surroundings. The silence was both welcoming and deafening. With the tinker fugue finally over his senses began to pick up over the micro details he had ignored the past two days. His greasy unkempt hair was starting to get in his vision, he was beginning to smell the dark oil stains all over his undershirt. The damp sweatpants he wore by then had lost any comfort it had from two days ago. The growling of his stomach had taken him out of his musing. He couldn't tell which was stronger at this point. His hunger or his exhaustion? Maybe both were working in tandem to bring his collapse much faster.

When was the last time he had eaten a proper meal? Probably the day before he had triggered which was alarmingly about a month ago. Walking over to the part of the room that held a makeshift faucet and mirror, Whitley took his undershirt off and began washing his face. Scrubbing intensely to remove the ever present stench of oil and soothe from his upper body. Drying off with an arguably clean towel after he was done.

The hand mirror beside the faucet was small and although unintentional he did get a glimpse of his body. The word of that woman rang in his head unwelcome. Regardless of how he felt about her, she was right, he was different. His scrawny frame was gone all thanks to the constant moving and building he'd been doing these past month. In truth, the last time he actually had a decent, real meal was the day after his trigger. After that he'd kept nourished for the whole month by consuming some sort of tinker made flavorless gruel that was made from the meals Klein had left at the front door of his workshop. Whitley had placed all of the food into one blender, tinker made of course, ground them with a solution his powers had provided. The result was a disgusting slop that had the consistency of overly wet, torn up cardboard. Admittedly it actually had a flavor from the start which was horrendous and it had only become flavorless after a month of drinking it. Which wasn't exactly an upgrade. Thankfully drinking a cup's worth of it was enough to energize him for a day.

It was also this very slop that was responsible for the significant body transformation he was going through. Whitley may have been lacking the physical cues of hard muscle but the general outline of his body was firmer than most healthy adult males. His height was also affected because he was pretty sure he was almost as tall as Winter. It was also the reason why he had to wear pleb clothes which he sorely admitted were far more comfortable to wear than all of his suits. He had unfortunately overgrown the clothes that fitted a person of his status, forcing him to wear the standard issued clothes for the male servants staying at the mansion's dormitories. He was certain that if paired properly with exercise then Whitley would start resembling those male models that were sometimes invited in the many galas the SDC hosted.

Unable to control the growling in his stomach Whitley grabbed the pitcher containing the nourishing slop, pinched his nose and began drinking it. Not bothering to get a cup. He shivered as he finished gulping down the slop, placed back the pitcher and attempted to go to his computer. Key word being attempted as his eyelids forcefully shut themselves and his foot collided with a toolbox on the side.

The slight pain was enough to wake him in and as much as he wanted to continue tinkering Whitley knew he was at the end of his wits after being awake for 48 hours straight. Probably even longer than that. Tinkering could wait, the fact that his power armor worked after coming straight from the drafting board was enough to coax him to sleep. Success was still success after all.

Walking past the computer he continued to a quiet corner of the room. There he laid in a hammock made of conveyor belts which was nowhere near comfortable to his real bed but did its job.

As he shut his eyes and slowly drifted to sleep, Whitley's mind thought of mechanical marvels he'd be able to create once he woke. From the common laser guns and space faring technology and even new sources of energy never seen on Remnant, he thought of it all. Ultimately his final thought before losing consciousness was that of the broken bottle of alcohol he had accidentally destroyed crashing into his mother's garden.

No one, not even Whitley would know aside from Oum that a soft small smile would be on the boy's face as sleep finally took him.

AN: Thank you for giving me your time to read this fic. I admit I'm still a beginner at writing and I hope this introduction of a chapter isn't too bad. As such I am prepared to accept your valid criticisms in an attempt to better my writing. Or not, it's a free world. You do you buddy.

Speaking of which, please expect chapters 2 and 3 in a day or two since this is pretty much an intro to what I want from this story. Funnily enough I wrote this in between classes in Uni to avoid 'boredom' (not doing coursework). Hopefully I can entertain all those who decide to give this fic a shot in the future. Thanks again and see you soon...I hope.