First oneshot. I know I'm clogged right now, but I think writing these out will help get my creative juices flowing again. Just oneshots and short stories with no plans to continue them. If anyone wants to adopt them, feel free. These are just done while I'm trying to get around Writer's Block for my main fics.
Someone reviewed my other fic and said I never finish my stories (though he also praised me as one of the top five RWBY writers, which was an ego boost). That's why these are oneshots and short stories. Just something for me to write up some fun stuff without weighing myself down with more ongoings.
I'm open to other ideas so long as they're oneshots. I imagine future updates will also be shorter.
This story: Jaune is genre savvy and knows how the narrative rules work. He also knows he's nothing more than cannon fodder. Watch his attempts to avoid the death flags and try to live another day.
For anyone interested in making a commission, email me at: storylover543 gmail . com
Jaune Arc understood the rules of life better than most. At first glance, he was your average, underprepared, undertrained militia member, the kind who fumbled with his sword as often as he drew it. His helmet sat slightly crooked on his blonde mop of hair, and his shield - a battered old thing that had probably belonged to his great-grandfather - looked more ornamental than functional. To the world, Jaune Arc was the very definition of cannon fodder.
But Jaune knew better.
He had spent years watching. Studying. Thinking about how things worked. And somewhere along the line - whether by divine insight, sheer paranoia, or far too many secondhand Huntsman stories - Jaune had come to a horrifying realization:
The world was a narrative.
It wasn't just random bad luck that his squadron always faced Grimm alone. It wasn't a coincidence that townspeople like him died seconds before the Huntsman arrived, just late enough to give the hero that extra oomph of righteous fury but too late to keep casualties to zero. It wasn't bad timing that the captain, just three years from retirement, had been ripped apart mid-sentence during Jaune's first real patrol.
The rules were simple:
Huntsmen were heroes. Grimm were the threat. The townsfolk, the militia, the expendable extras? They were the stakes.
And Jaune was not okay with that.
He leaned against the shaky wooden watchtower of Domremy, arms crossed as he scanned the distant tree line. His rusted blade sat nearby, mostly for show. He didn't even pretend to stand tall and proud anymore. What was the point? Standing tall made you look heroic, and looking heroic got you killed faster than anything. He knew how the world worked. He'd seen it firsthand. No one believed him, but he knew the truth.
Take the captain, for example. Matthias was his name. The man had been a gruff, sturdy sort, the kind you wanted to follow into battle - dependable, strong, respected, and tough but fair. The ideal of a small-town militia hero. But Jaune had known the second the man started talking about his wife back in their little cottage and how he was just 'three years away from retirement' that the man was doomed. Jaune had tried to tell him.
"Sir, I wouldn't talk like that," Jaune had muttered, shielding his face behind his crooked helmet.
The captain had given him the usual glare of irritation, "Arc, what are you talking about?"
"I'm saying...guys like you don't make it."
"Guys like me?"
"The strong, dependable ones. The kind we follow into battle. You're too likable, sir. You're setting yourself up for something tragic. You're going to say something hopeful, the Grimm will show up, and..." Jaune mimicked an explosion with his hands.
The captain had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're rambling, Arc. Now get your head out of the clouds and focus on the patrol. I gotta make sure to get home in time. My little girl's about to say her first words, I just know- "
He hadn't finished the sentence. He couldn't. The Beowolf had appeared from nowhere, jaws snapping, and the captain had gone down with a single scream. Jaune still remembered standing frozen, his heart hammering, as the Huntsman arrived mere seconds later, swinging a gleaming, overly complicated weapon and dispatching the Grimm like it was nothing.
That day had solidified it for Jaune. They were extras. Background noise. The opening act in a much grander never told anyone else after that. It was pointless. He'd tried explaining it to Jax once, his closest "friend" in the militia. He'd laid it out clearly: "The world runs on narrative rules. Guys like us don't win. We're just here to lose so the heroes look cool. Just stay quiet, keep your head down, maybe we'll both make it to retirement!"
Jax had stared at him for a long moment before laughing, "You're a weird guy, Jaune."
Weird or not, Jaune had seen enough to know the truth. People like him - poorly armored, barely trained militia who couldn't even afford cool weapons - were walking punchlines. His sword wasn't even sharp, his shield rattled when he walked, and his helmet smelled like cheese.
"Guys like me," Jaune muttered to himself, "Die first. But not this time."
He had made a vow. A solemn, unshakable vow: Jaune Arc would not die a nameless victim. He would not go out screaming, clutching his chest dramatically so some fancy Huntsman could shout, "Noooo!" and go supernova on a Grimm. He would not be part of someone else's tragic backstory.
Jaune's eyes scanned the horizon for the hundredth time that day. The Grimm were out there. They always were. The narrative couldn't function without them. He had no doubt that somewhere in the forests beyond Domremy, a Beowolf was lurking, waiting for the perfect time to pounce. Probably a big one, too. Something with extra horns, redder eyes, maybe scars on its face. Something that screamed 'mid-tier boss fight'.
The kind of Grimm you send in to kill a few extras. Like him.
Jaune shivered. He could almost hear the ominous music swelling in the distance. The longer it stayed quiet, the worse it would be when the attack finally came. That was another thing he'd noticed about the rules. If it was too quiet for too long, something bad was definitely going to happen. If someone said, "I think we're safe now," they were absolutely going to die. If someone offered up a personal story - anything remotely touching or hopeful - Grimm were already on the way.
He wouldn't let himself fall for those traps. No personal stories. No speeches. No heroics.
Jaune picked up his shield and sword, giving both a long, appraising look. It was bad enough that he didn't have plot armor - did he have to be so under-equipped, too? He sighed and muttered to himself, "If I ever get a weapon like a Huntsman, it'll probably be made of wood. Or string. Or it'll just break when I swing it."
The wind rustled through the fields, the tall grass swaying. Jaune felt a chill run down his spine. Something's coming. He could feel it.
If he were a Huntsman, this is when he'd say something clever. Something cool like, "Well, let's get this over with." But he wasn't. He was Jaune Arc. And his survival depended on knowing his place, "Not today," he murmured, tightening his helmet, "Not this time." He backed toward the village, keeping his shield up. Jaune wasn't afraid of the Grimm. He was afraid of what the story wanted him to be: just another nameless casualty.
But Jaune Arc was going to live. Even if it meant hiding, ducking, and waiting for the actual heroes to show up. Surviving is winning, he reminded himself. And if that made him a coward, so be it.
Jaune had a system. A routine. A carefully curated list of steps he followed every day to keep himself alive in a world that wanted him dead for dramatic effect. He had no illusions about his place in the grand narrative of life. Guys like him didn't get cool speeches, plot armor, or last-minute saves from daring Huntresses with flashy weapons.
But Jaune wasn't going to let some cosmic storyteller toss him in the Tragic Backstory Pile™. No way. He had a list. And if the other militia recruits thought he was crazy? Fine. Let them. At least he'd make it to tomorrow.
Rule #1: Never, ever stand at the front.
The guy at the front? The guy who shouts, "For Domremy!" or some other heroic nonsense while charging into the Grimm? Yeah, that guy dies first. Every. Single. Time. Jaune had seen it happen during his second real patrol. Marcus, a big guy with a bigger axe, had roared his war cry and sprinted right at the Grimm like a Huntsman-in-training. Five seconds later, Marcus was a smear on the ground. The Grimm didn't even slow down.
Jaune stayed near the back now. Not dead last - dead last also got you killed when the Grimm flanked - but carefully tucked in the middle surrounded by bodies. Middle-ground guys survived just long enough to run when things got bad.
Rule #2: Never talk about your family.
Jaune learned this one the hard way. The moment someone brought up a wife, a kid, or their dear old mom baking pies back home, they might as well start digging their grave. It didn't matter how innocent the comment was. Something about family made you important enough to kill off.
One time, Elias - Jaune still remembered his name because of the screams - had gone on and on about how he couldn't wait to get back home and see his newborn son. He had a whole story about building the crib himself and how the kid would probably grow up to be a warrior. Jaune had tried to warn him, "Stop talking," he'd hissed, "You're jinxing it. Stop right now if you wanna see your baby boy again!"
Elias had laughed and called Jaune paranoid. Ten minutes later, a Nevermore had swooped out of the sky, carried Elias off, and dropped him somewhere beyond the treeline. They never found the body.
Now, whenever someone in the militia started with, "You know, back home- " Jaune clamped his hands over his ears and hummed loudly. He wasn't risking it.
Rule #3: Keep your helmet on, your mouth shut, and your shield up.
Narratively speaking, Jaune knew he wasn't important. Important characters stood out. They had spiky hair, cool capes, weapons that turned into six other weapons, or - at the very least - striking dialogue. Jaune was smart enough to keep his helmet down over his face. Anonymity was survival.
You would think it would be the opposite - that sticking out guaranteed a degree of plot armor like the Huntsmen - but that wasn't true. Uniqueness was a plus when you had awesome outfits, weapons, and superpowers. Unique cannon fodder were singled out. You wouldn't remember the guy with the helmet and no dialogue, but you would remember the guy with no helmet who talked about his girl back home. They were prime motivation material for any Huntsman who needed righteous fury.
As far as he was concerned, the helmet made him a generic, nameless NPC. It was his camouflage. If a Grimm looked his way, they'd think, Oh, he's just part of the scenery. Not worth the effort.
The shield helped too. It wasn't much - just old wood and metal - but it covered half his body, which meant half as much of him could be ripped apart.
Rule #4: Don't make speeches.
Heroic speeches were an instant death flag. If someone started yelling things like, "We can do this! Stand together!", the universe decided it was time for a tragedy. Jaune had seen it happen to the captain that replaced Matthias. Gregor was his name. He'd been shouting orders, rallying everyone, when a Beowolf came out of nowhere and ripped him clean in half. It literally ignored everyone else on the way to him to bisect the guy.
Jaune kept his pep talks limited to phrases like, "Nope," "Run," and "Let's not do this."
Once, Jax - poor, clueless Jax - had looked at Jaune and asked, "Aren't you supposed to motivate the troops, man?"
Jaune had stared at him and replied, "Why motivate people to die faster?"
Jax hadn't asked again.
Rule #5: Avoid places that look dramatic.
Jaune could smell a dramatic setting from a mile away. Abandoned villages? Nope. Forest clearings? Definitely not. Suspiciously quiet farmland at sunset? He wouldn't set foot there for a hundred Lien.
Dramatic places were Grimm magnets. They always appeared in the most cinematic way possible - crawling out of shadows, smashing through walls, or materializing behind you during the most inconvenient moment. Jaune went out of his way to stick to boring terrain. Bland dirt roads, overcrowded marketplaces, and sunny hillsides were his safe zones.
He'd once spent an entire patrol walking around a creepy old barn just because the wind made the door creak ominously, "Why tempt fate?" he'd muttered.
Rule #6: Always have an escape plan.
Jaune's motto was simple: If you see a Grimm, run. If you hear a Grimm, run. If you think about a Grimm, start stretching - because you'll need to run soon.
It wasn't cowardice. It was strategy. Huntsmen could fight Grimm because they had the tools for it - guns that turned into swords, swords that turned into guns, guns that turned into bigger guns. Jaune had a rusty sword and questionable cardio.
Whenever the militia captain - the fourth one, and he didn't even want to remember what happened the third - scolded him for retreating too quickly, Jaune would mutter, "Live to run another day, sir!"
"You mean fight," the captain would growl.
"No, sir. Run."
He wasn't disciplined for it. The man tried to make a speech and a Grimm worm sucked him down to the earth like a noodle.
Jaune's eyes scanned the horizon again from his spot in the Domremy watchtower. The rules rattled in his head like a mantra, steady and practiced. Don't stand at the front. Don't talk about your family. Keep your helmet on. Don't make speeches. Avoid dramatic settings. Always have an escape plan, "Follow the rules," he whispered, "And you get to see another sunrise." He had other rules, of course. Over two dozen. But these were the most important for day to day survival.
For now, Domremy was quiet, but Jaune knew better than to trust the silence. Quiet didn't mean safe. Quiet was just the universe building tension.
And Jaune Arc would not be its next casualty.
Jaune was having a good day. Well, as good a day as one could have while clinging to survival in a world governed by narrative causality. The sun was shining, the watchtower didn't creak ominously under his weight, and the Grimm were quiet. Too quiet, perhaps, but Jaune was...relatively safe inside the walls. Still, he made sure to keep close to any buildings just in case random Nevermores arrived, driven by the sudden need to add a little tragedy to the story.
Then the summons came.
"Arc! Captain wants you in his office. Now."
Jaune froze mid-step, his boot halfway off the ground. His blood ran cold. Summons were never a good thing. Best-case scenario? He was getting another lecture about 'militia morale' and 'being too negative' (Jaune preferred to think of it as being savvy). Worst case?
Worst case, it was a plot thread.
Plot threads were Jaune's greatest fear. Plot threads dragged unlucky, under-equipped extras like him into stories far too big for their survival. He was not protagonist material - he had a crooked helmet, an old sword, and no tragic backstory. He wasn't a rising hero, or a last survivor, or even a comedic relief sidekick. He was background noise. Expendable scenery. And he liked it that way. With any luck, he'd be the extra who made it to the end credits cheering for the hero.
Still, you didn't say "no" to the captain. Not unless you wanted a reprimand, which itself was probably a small death flag, given how captains never seemed to last long around him. The door to Captain Rickton's office loomed like the mouth of a Grimm. Jaune swallowed thickly and knocked, "Jaune Arc reporting, sir."
"Get in here, Arc!" Jaune pushed the door open cautiously, half-expecting ominous music to start playing. Captain Rickton sat behind his desk, his chair creaking under his bulk, but Jaune's eyes immediately snapped to the other person in the room.
A girl.
A girl with bright silver eyes, a wide, cheerful grin, and a red hooded cloak that swirled dramatically as she turned to face him. She looked like something straight off a Huntsman recruitment poster - like someone who woke up every morning with theme music playing in the background, "Oh, hi!" she said, waving enthusiastically, "I'm Ruby! Ruby Rose. You must be Jaune!" Everything about her, even her voice, screamed 'I'm the hero of this story'.
Jaune stared at her. His helmet wobbled as he turned to Rickton. Then back to Ruby. His stomach sank like a lead weight. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. The rules came swirling back in full force.
Rule #7 (which he had never spoken aloud because just thinking it was dangerous): If you meet someone with a flashy outfit, dramatic weapon, and protagonist energy outside of them saving the day at the last second - RUN.
Jaune had never met an actual Huntsman-in-training before, but Ruby Rose didn't even need to introduce herself. Her entire energy radiated 'main character'. That red cloak practically screamed 'designed to stand out'. She had a massive mechanical weapon strapped to her back, something that looked like it could transform into a dozen different shapes and shoot fireworks while doing it. Jaune could already see the death flags piling up around him.
Jaune's legs twitched. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn around, leave the room, and keep walking until he hit the next kingdom. Unfortunately, Captain Rickton was already speaking, "Arc, you're guiding Miss Rose to that cave we've had reports about. The one in the northern woods."
Jaune's brain short-circuited, "W-What?"
"You heard me. She needs a guide, and you're it."
Jaune's jaw dropped. He pointed shakily at Ruby, who gave him a friendly, clueless smile, as though she weren't singlehandedly derailing his entire survival plan, "Sir, with all due respect...why me?"
Rickton leaned back in his chair, frowning, "Because you know the woods better than anyone else. You've been dodging patrol duty for months, so you're the only one who hasn't been mauled, carried off, or eaten yet. Consider it your turn to do something useful." Dodging patrol duty? Excuse him, Jaune called it tactical survival awareness. But he was too stunned to argue.
"Sir," Jaune tried one last time, his voice desperate, "Can't we send...I don't know, Jax?"
"Jax's still limping from that Ursa incident," Rickton replied, then squinted at him, "Why are you arguing? You're barely clocking in the time. You're lucky I haven't fired you yet, boy." Would that he could do that. You'd think getting fired would be the best thing that could happen to him, but he knew the truth. The last one who got fired - some guy who didn't even pretend to care about keeping up appearances - lasted only a couple days before he was somehow enslaved by bandits. In the middle of the night. Inside the town. With no one seeing it. And the bandits didn't take anyone or anything else, just him.
No, the only options he had were peaceful retirement or somehow getting plot armor. And he wasn't getting the second one.
"Because doing things gets people killed!" Jaune blurted. Then, realizing how that sounded, he quickly amended, "Er, sir."
Rickton ignored him and turned to Ruby, who was busy inspecting Jaune like he was a mildly interesting side quest, "Arc'll get you there and back, Miss Rose. Right, Arc?" Jaune could only make a faint choking noise in response.
Ruby grinned brightly, apparently oblivious to Jaune's growing pallor, "Great! This'll be fun!"
Jaune almost fainted. Guiding a Huntsman. No, not just a Huntsman - a Huntsman-in-training. A girl whose very existence radiated dramatic potential. That cave wasn't just a cave anymore. It was a plot device. A setting. A death trap designed to show how cool Ruby Rose was when she effortlessly sliced through whatever monstrosity lay in wait.
And Jaune? Jaune would be there to die first, to highlight just how serious the stakes were and be her first taste of the tragedies fightimg Grimm could have..
This was it. This was how it ended.
As they left Rickton's office, Ruby chatted cheerfully beside him, her weapon clanking lightly on her back with every step. Jaune didn't even hear what she was saying. He was too busy muttering his rules under his breath like a prayer.
'Don't stand at the front. Don't talk about your family. Keep your helmet on.'
Ruby tilted her head at him, "Hey, are you okay? You look kinda pale."
"I'm fine," Jaune replied robotically.
"You sure? You're sweating a lot."
"I'm fine."
"Okay..." She shrugged, unfazed, "So, tell me about this cave! I heard there's Grimm in it. Have you fought a lot of Grimm before?"
Jaune's eye twitched.
Rule #8: Never admit you're bad at fighting. It'll only make the universe put you in a situation where you have to prove it.
"I...I've survived a lot of Grimm," Jaune said weakly. It wasn't a lie.
Ruby seemed satisfied with that, "Cool! Oh, this'll be so much fun!"
"Yeah," Jaune mumbled, his voice hollow, "Fun."
He was doomed.
Jaune was doomed. Absolutely, unequivocally doomed.
It wasn't Ruby Rose's fault, he reminded himself as she skipped a few paces ahead, her red cloak swishing with every step. How could he blame her? She didn't know. She had no idea about the cruel narrative rules that governed their world, about the invisible hands that shaped every twist and turn of their lives. She didn't see the signs - how the universe practically screamed "death flag" every time she opened her mouth.
No, this wasn't her fault. But Jaune still wanted to cry.
The cave wasn't far, just an hour's walk north of Domremy through a suspiciously quiet forest. The sun shone warmly through the trees, and birds chirped happily overhead, as if the world weren't actively laying the groundwork for their deaths. Jaune trudged along beside her, his rusted sword bumping against his leg and his old wooden shield weighing heavy on his back. He kept glancing nervously at the treeline, half expecting a Grimm to leap out at any moment.
Ruby, meanwhile, hadn't stopped talking since they'd left, "So, Jaune! Can I call you Jaune? It's nice to meet someone my age who's out here protecting people. That's so cool!" She beamed at him, her silver eyes shining with innocent enthusiasm, and Jaune bit back a groan. Rule number nine, he thought bitterly. Never look cool. Looking cool gets you killed.
"It's...not that cool," he mumbled, "Trust me."
But Ruby just laughed like he'd made a joke, "Oh, come on! You're part of the militia, right? That's brave! I bet you've fought all kinds of Grimm."
"Sure...you could say that."
Ruby didn't seem to hear him, "So, do you have family back in Domremy? I mean, you've got the Arc name - big family, right?"
Jaune nearly tripped over his own feet. 'No, no, no! Rule two!' He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he frantically waved a hand, "Nope! Nope, not talking about family!"
Ruby blinked at him, confused, "Huh? Why not?"
"Because it's...bad luck."
She tilted her head, the way a puppy might when hearing an unfamiliar sound, "Bad luck? How could talking about your family be bad luck? They're our motivation!" Maybe her motivation. Heroes could talk about their families all the time without having to worry about getting decapitated mid-sentence!
Jaune clamped his helmet down tighter over his head, muttering under his breath, "Because the minute you start reminiscing about your sister's pie recipes, or how your mom used to tuck you in at night, a Nevermore shows up and carries you off."
"What was that?"
"Nothing!" Jaune yelped, "Forget I said anything."
Ruby shrugged it off like she shrugged off everything else that made Jaune's soul scream, "Well, I think it's nice to have family waiting for you. I'm sure they're proud of you."
He groaned softly into his gauntleted hand, 'She's still talking about them. The flag's been planted. I'm done for.'
She hummed as she walked, unbothered by his misery, and after a moment she asked, "So, what about dreams? Any big goals?"
Jaune flinched again, "Dreams?"
"Yeah! You know, things you want to do. Places you want to see. Me, I wanna be a Huntress!" she said brightly, as if that weren't abundantly obvious already, "I mean, I am one technically, but like...a real Huntress. Saving people, fighting Grimm, making the world a better place."
Jaune rubbed his temples beneath his helmet. Rule ten: Don't share your dreams. Dreams got people killed. Dreams made you significant, and significance was the last thing a guy like him needed. It was almost as much of a death sentence as talking about family. He didn't have any lofty ambitions. He wanted to wake up tomorrow. That was enough.
"I don't have dreams," he muttered, trying to kill the topic.
Ruby stopped walking and turned to look at him, "Aw, don't say that. You've gotta have something you want! I mean, even just little stuff! Like...don't you wanna take that helmet off? I bet it's hot under there."
Jaune froze in place, gripping the sides of his helmet as if she'd threatened to take it from him by force, "What? No. No way. The helmet stays on."
Ruby laughed, "It's not like we're fighting anything right now. I'm just saying, you'll probably feel more comfortable."
Jaune shook his head vehemently, each motion making the helmet rattle a little, "Comfort kills, Ruby."
"What does that mean?"
"It means helmets save lives. Shields save lives. Staying anonymous saves lives. You're not taking this helmet off me unless a Beowolf swallows my head whole."
Ruby stared at him for a moment before giggling behind her hand, "You're kinda funny, you know that?"
Jaune slumped forward, despair curling in his gut. She thinks I'm funny. That was bad. That made him memorable. Memorable cannon fodder got bigger death scenes. Jaune had seen it a hundred times before. Some guy cracks a joke, everyone likes him, and then - bam! Instant tragedy! No one cared when the quiet guy in the corner died, but when it was the comic relief? Oh, that was enough.
"Hey," Ruby said suddenly, her voice soft and sincere, "You don't have to worry, you know."
Jaune blinked at her, suspicious, "What?"
"I'll protect you," she said cheerfully, giving him a blinding, heroic smile, "If any Grimm show up, I'll take care of it! You don't have to be scared." He stared at her in disbelief. She meant it - he could hear the sincerity in her voice. This bubbly, oblivious girl with her oversized weapon and protagonist energy was promising to protect him. A death flag just shot up so fast in his mind that he could practically hear it flapping in the wind.
He groaned and clutched his face, "You don't get it."
"Get what?"
"This!" He gestured wildly at everything around them - the forest, the clear blue sky, her, "This whole situation. You showing up with your fancy weapon and red cloak and promising to protect me. This is how it starts! I'm the expendable guy! The one who gets picked off so you can get your moment of righteous vengeance!"
Ruby blinked at him, clearly confused, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," Jaune muttered, dragging a hand down his face, "You're the hero. You don't need to know. The universe works for you."
Ruby gave him a funny look but didn't argue. Instead, she turned back toward the path ahead, humming a cheerful tune as she walked. Meanwhile, Jaune trudged after her, his helmet tilted so low that he could barely see. He couldn't even be mad at her. She was sweet, in her own way. She didn't know any better. But Jaune knew the truth: the forest wasn't quiet because it was peaceful. It was quiet because something terrible was waiting. And the universe had paired him up with Ruby Rose, the walking embodiment of a plot thread.
As far as Jaune was concerned, they were already living in the prologue of a very violent tragedy.
And he was absolutely, positively doomed.
Jaune was still alive. Somehow. Against all odds. He sat slumped against the cold, damp wall of the cave, his wooden shield cracked in half and his rusted sword lying uselessly at his side. His breathing was ragged, every gasp sharp and uneven, and sweat poured down his face, soaking the inside of his helmet.
It was a miracle. No - worse than a miracle. A fluke. If the Grimm's claws had been an inch lower - just an inch - he wouldn't be panting against a cave wall. He'd be a smear on the ground, another nameless casualty feeding Ruby Rose's heroic journey. Years later she'd think about him off-hand, that poor militia soldier who died so horribly, and then vow to herself that she'd save everyone she could. He would be nothing more than a statistic. A motivational story.
His whole life had flashed before his eyes, and frankly, it hadn't been a very interesting one. But he was here. Alive. By sheer luck, or fate, or maybe the universe getting lazy. Jaune was too relieved to question it.
He'd survived the Death Cave.
He let his head thunk back against the stone wall as Ruby Rose, the tiny engine of destruction that had dragged him into this nightmare, dusted herself off and wiped her scythe - a massive, deadly contraption that was far too flashy for any sane person to wield - against the ground.
The last Grimm had finally dissolved into black mist, leaving behind only silence and Jaune's pathetic gasping, "Woo!" Ruby exclaimed, stretching her arms above her head like she'd just finished a light workout, "That wasn't so bad, huh?" Jaune wheezed. He tried to say something - anything - but the only sound that came out was a choked squeak. Ruby turned toward him, beaming, her silver eyes bright and chipper, "Jaune! Oh my gosh, you were amazing!"
Jaune froze mid-wheeze. No. No, no, no. That tone in her voice. The one people used when they thought someone was 'brave' or 'heroic'. It was the kind of tone that planted flags. Big ones. Bright, red flags that said, "This guy's important enough to kill off later for emotional impact!"
"W-What?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.
Ruby clipped her scythe to her back and skipped over to him, her smile wide and earnest, "I'm serious! I'm so happy you were here with me. You were so brave!"
Jaune's blood turned to ice.
Rule #11: Never, under any circumstances, let anyone call you brave.
Bravery got you killed faster than anything else. Being brave meant doing something reckless and noble, which in turn meant your death would be meaningful. The moment someone slapped 'brave' on your forehead, you were marked for tragedy. Jaune had avoided it his entire life. And here Ruby Rose was, handing it to him on a silver platter. He could practically feel the universe sharpening its knives, salivating at the thought of killing him off later for even more dramatic impact.
He hadn't survived. This was a stay of execution.
"N-No, no, I wasn't- " Jaune stammered, raising a shaking hand, "You've got it all wrong! I'm not brave. I'm not."
Ruby laughed lightly, dropping into a crouch in front of him, "Oh, come on! You came all the way out here even though you were scared. That's what bravery is, right? Doing something even though you're afraid."
Jaune wanted to scream, "No!" he shouted, his voice cracking, "That's not bravery! That's unfortunate circumstances! There's a difference! I tripped and fell in here, I didn't come in willingly!"
But Ruby wasn't listening. She was on a roll, and nothing was going to stop her now. She clapped her hands together and grinned at him, "And you were such a good guide! I don't think I would've found this cave without you." Jaune's head dropped into his hands, his whole body trembling with barely contained despair. Why was she doing this to him? He survived! He'd made it! Against every single narrative rule he lived by, he was walking out of this cave alive. And now she was undoing it!
"Stop," he whispered weakly, "Please stop."
But Ruby wasn't stopping. She wasn't even slowing down, "You even stood your ground against that big Ursa! I saw you!" she said, positively glowing with praise, "Holding up your shield like that - I mean, wow! That takes guts!"
"I was cowering." Jaune whimpered, "I was actively cowering."
"You didn't run," Ruby countered cheerfully, "That's what matters!"
Jaune lifted his head to stare at her, face pale, his helmet wobbling slightly from the movement, "Running would've been smart," he said flatly, "Running would've been the correct choice."
Ruby just laughed again, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, "Well, I'm glad you didn't. I couldn't have asked for a better guide, Jaune. I'm glad we met."
And that was it. That was the moment Jaune almost cried. This was how it started. Every Huntsman story he'd ever heard, every tale told in Domremy about brave militia who held out just long enough' or 'fought valiantly before the end', all of them began with words like this. Cheerful praise. A pat on the shoulder. Someone important saying, "I'm glad you were here." It was a death sentence. A narrative noose tightening around his neck. The guys who Huntsmen singled out to praise were doomed sooner or later.
Jaune pushed himself up with trembling arms, barely able to stand as his knees wobbled, "I...I need to leave. I need to go home, right now."
Ruby stood too, brushing dirt off her cloak and smiling brightly at him, "Oh, don't worry! I'll walk you back to Domremy. You've done enough for today!" Jaune swayed where he stood, clutching at the cave wall for support. Done enough? She thought this was done? Oh, no. This wasn't done. This was the setup. The tragic second act waiting to happen. The world wasn't going to let him go home just because Ruby Rose said so.
As they stepped out of the cave, Jaune tilted his head back and squinted at the treetops, half-expecting to see a Nevermore circling ominously overhead. There was nothing. Not yet. But he could feel it.
This was far from over. The universe didn't let guys like him walk away from moments like this. Ruby had practically hung a sign around his neck that said 'Brave and Noble Companion'.He might as well have a giant target painted on his back.
And as Ruby hummed a cheerful tune beside him on their way back to town, Jaune whispered a single, defeated sentence under his breath.
"I'm so dead..."
For two whole weeks, Jaune was a wreck.
Not just a regular kind of nervous wreck, either - no, he had reached levels of paranoia previously unknown to mankind. Every shadow in the treeline was a Grimm stalking him. Every creak of the watchtower was the universe building tension. Every overly quiet day was a setup for a surprise attack. Even the wind whispering through Domremy's streets felt like it carried ominous foreshadowing. A foreshadowing to his terrible, painful death.
Jaune had barely slept. He'd barely ate. He flinched at every sound, gripped his shield even when off-duty, and avoided conversations like they were the Grimm themselves. Rule after rule rattled through his mind like a broken mantra: Stay anonymous. Don't talk about family. Don't stand out.
And for a while, it seemed like his efforts were working. The days passed with no catastrophe, no attacks, no overly cheerful Huntresses dragging him into death caves. Slowly, painfully, Jaune allowed himself to think - just think - that maybe he'd escaped. Maybe the universe had moved on to torment someone else. It had been two weeks. Surely, he thought desperately, if he was going to die dramatically, the window had already passed. Ruby Rose had already found someone else to be her sacrificial lamb.
It was the first mistake he'd made in weeks.
The summons came just as he was halfway through chewing a stale piece of bread, standing in the militia barracks. The door creaked open, and Jax poked his head in, wearing an expression of absolute pity, "Cap wants you in his office. Again."
Jaune froze mid-chew, the bread turning to ash in his mouth. The room spun slightly, "No," he said weakly, "No. I'm not going. I refuse."
"You don't really get a choice, man," Jax said, scratching the back of his neck, "He said right now. And you look like you haven't slept since last week, dude. Might wanna freshen up."
Jaune was already spiraling, mumbling to himself as he grabbed his crooked helmet, "This is it. This is the end. I knew it. I knew it. I thought I was safe - that's the problem! The universe loves when you think you're safe!"
Jax blinked, "You okay?"
"No, Jax, I'm not okay. I'm about to get plot-threaded again!"
Jax just shrugged, "You're weird, man."
When he arrived, the office door loomed larger than it had two weeks ago, which Jaune hadn't thought was physically possible. It felt like walking to the gallows, like doom had been carved into the wood grain of the frame. His knuckles hovered near the door as he whispered frantically under his breath, "Maybe it's fine. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he just wants to yell at me again about morale." He'd take the lecture. Lectures were safe...mostly.
He knocked.
"Come in!" called Captain Rickton's gruff voice. Jaune pushed the door open, already bracing for impact. He stepped inside, his helmet rattling slightly on his head, and froze.
Ruby Rose was there.
"Jaune!" she greeted cheerfully, bouncing slightly on her toes, "Good to see you!"
Jaune nearly screamed. No. Not her. Not again. The sight of her red cloak alone was enough to send him into a minor existential crisis. But it got worse. Standing next to her was another girl. Pale, poised, and practically radiating importance. Her pure white hair was swept back into an elegant ponytail, her clothes looked fancy enough to buy Domremy twice over, and her icy blue eyes fixed on him with a judgment so intense that Jaune immediately felt smaller. Like a worm under a magnifiying glass.
She arched a single perfectly manicured brow, "This is him?"
Ruby nodded enthusiastically, "Yup! Jaune Arc! He's great. Super brave, super helpful, and he knows the area like the back of his hand! Won't find anyone better!" Jaune's jaw dropped. His stomach did several flips and landed somewhere near his knees, "Jaune," Ruby continued, clearly oblivious to his internal implosion, "This is Weiss Schnee! She's one of my teammates from Beacon and my partner!"
Weiss Schnee. He knew that name. Everyone knew that name. The Schnee Dust Company. Big city wealth. Fancy dresses. The kind of person who didn't just appear in backwater villages like Domremy unless there was something important going on. He knew her too, of course. He made it a point to check on the big names in Remnant - so he could stay as far away as possible from them. Big names meant big stories. Big stories meant lots of cannon fodder to up the stakes.
Weiss regarded him with an expression caught somewhere between skepticism and disdain, "I've heard a lot about you, Jaune Arc," she said crisply, her arms crossing, "But I will be the judge of your worth, not Ruby's biased praise."
Jaune's brain short-circuited, "Huh?" was all he managed to croak.
Captain Rickton cleared his throat, clearly unbothered by the insanity unfolding in his office, "Arc, Miss Rose here specifically requested you as a guide for their next excursion. Miss Schnee will be accompanying her this time. There have been reports of a pair of Goliaths running around and we need to head it off."
Jaune turned slowly to look at Rickton, his face pale as a ghost, "Sir...no."
"Yes."
"No, I can't. You don't understand-"
"You're going, Arc. Miss Rose requested you." Jaune swayed on his feet, the world tilting around him. His throat worked soundlessly, trying to form words, trying to explain to someone that this was a terrible idea. Ruby alone had nearly killed him with praise and cheerfulness. Now there was Weiss Schnee, who looked like she might grade him while he died. This wasn't just a death flag - this was the universe raising an entire death banner over his head. Not one protagonists, but two!
"Jaune?" Ruby asked, tilting her head curiously, "You okay?"
He opened his mouth to respond. Then everything went dark as Jaune fainted on the spot, his helmet clattering to the ground.
The last thing he heard was Ruby's concerned voice asking if he was alright and Weiss snarking that this wasn't a good start.
Poor Jaune. He knows how the world works, but to everyone else, he's just a crazy guy who reads too many comic books. And now Ruby's latched onto him. Time is ticking. Either he gets plot armor or finds some other way to keep the narrative from axing him to make a point.
Next oneshot idea: Ruby and Weiss get dragged into a slasher movie, Texas Chainsaw Massacre style. Except they still have Aura while the Slasher villains don't. Cue reversal and curb stomp.
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