Nobody Can Save The World Alone

“We were thinking that it might be nice to have a day out, Just us, just the family. It would be good to go out and get to know each other.” Willow’s voice was tentative, but Tip had already straightened in his chair. It really would be nice, to get to know them better, this family that he couldn’t fully remember. He felt slightly suspicious, though, as to the timing of this. Usually, they’d scheduled these sort of things in advance, how could they have known he’d be free?

Oh, wait. No, they’d have asked James, of course. Winter would have done, anyway. It hadn’t passed him by that Willow had been careful not to address him by name, either. That was nice of her, though he doubted she’d call him Tip any time soon.

… he rather doubted most people in Atlas ever would. That was still strange, too, he kept running in to people who’d known him, or rather the sickly child he had once been. It had been fine in Vale, he’d known that most people would know him as Ozpin and that, at least, had been his choice in part. But here? They didn’t know he was Ozpin… they all saw the boy he used to do.

Maybe he could fix that, one day? He felt himself biting his lip and looked away, suddenly nervous. Going out into the city as a family unit, again… being seen, would it place a target on his family’s backs? More than it was already, that was?

But Willow wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She cleared her throat pointedly, trying to get her brother’s attention again. Whether Tip would enjoy the day out was another matter entirely, but he was going, whether he wanted to or not.

Tip got up, rather reluctantly, hands groping for the wooden sheath he tended to use to store Long Memory. The cane was too recognisable, and although he’d promised himself that he’s stop using the piece of stylised wood, it was another layer of protection. As long as nobody connected him to who he really was, he’d be okay.

The movement hiked his shirt sleeve up an inch or so, revealing skinny wrists and accidentally reinforcing Willow’s plans for the day. It really was rather shocking, seeing him walk around in ill fitting clothing when there was just so much money that could be used to fix that particular oversight. But then, the fact that Tip was so very against spending any of it would probably have confirmed, if confirmation had ever been needed, that he really was her brother.

He wasn’t going to be given a choice, though. The stores they’d gone to last time still had all his measurements on file, it would be easy enough to add another half inch to the sleeves. Maybe they could even get a few of them to be slightly oversized, for him to grow into? Not that they needed to save money, but Willow rather thought he might appreciate it.

It was still hard, sometimes, watching her brother like this. He was so young, so real… so like the baby brother she’d tried so hard to protect. She knew others saw it, too, had heard the whispers as surely as he must have done. She’d seen some of the blogs that had been put up about him, the few times she’d gone looking, though part of her hoped that he hadn’t seen all of them. He was just… no, no he wasn’t really a little boy, was he? He just looked like it.

Little boy or not, though, he would always be her baby brother.

“When you said that you wanted us to have a day out, you never mentioned anything about shopping!” Tip was annoyed, looking over all the materials the shop clerks kept pushing at him. Clothing was expensive, he didn’t really need any. But, looking up at the flinty look in Willow’s eyes, he knew better than to say anything about it.

That they had his measurements on file was just rude, though. Surely they had to be aware that he didn’t need that much clothing? It had been bad enough that Aunt Em had bought him a few things while they were in Mistral, but… the sheer amount of clothing was insane. Where would he even store it all? How could he ever wear even half of it before he grew out of it? Although, maybe he could pay her back now?

“You need clothes, baby brother. You’re growing out of the clothing you’re wearing, and our family does have a reputation to keep up. Besides, why are you so worried about spending a bit of money? You know that we certainly have it to spare.” Willow was almost certain Tip wouldn’t say anything in public, but she still really wanted to know just who had fostered such an utter lack of self confidence in him. He’d been the head of Beacon Academy, surely he had to know that appearances mattered? But then again, all she ever remembered him wearing as an adult were versions of the same identical suit. Did she want to know where all the money was going? No, no, probably not.

Tip groaned. “Only if you let me donate the things I won’t wear. This much is just… it’s too much, Willow.” Her glare increased, but Tip felt better having actually said something. Spending this much money just felt wrong, and even worse, he got the feeling this might not even be all of it. That the shop had refused to take his measurements out of their files was… well, rather worrying. Why could he almost hear Qrow laughing at him over this?

“No, Winter. No, it really isn’t too much.” Willow said, voice sad. There were times when she really wished she could go and throttle those in Vale that had given her brother so may issues around money and this was certainly one of them. Oh, their family was far from perfect, and she would be the first to admit that they had their problems, but money had never been one of them. The way Winter was growing, well… maybe he was right, that he would grow out of them long before they wore out, but why should that mean he didn’t have them? Besides, it would make the Schnee family reputation even worse, if one of their members went around in rags.

She probably couldn’t technically call them that, really. But Tip’s clothing was mostly made of simple materials, easily torn, easily destroyed. They weren’t even that warm, which with Tip’s health issues was rather more worrying than she really wanted to think about. He’d been happy enough to let them buy Oscar clothing, why was he so different? His health mattered too, dammit.

Tip ducked his head, unwilling to look Willow in the face. He hadn’t meant to upset her! He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done, but Glynda had been just as upset with him in the past, when he refused to do something that they thought was important. Maybe that was a part of having a sister, that they worried about you? He really should get in contact with Glynda, but what could he even say to her, if he did? He was mostly helpless like this, far too young to be taken seriously. If he’d still been an adult, Willow wouldn’t have treated him like… no, no she really would, wouldn’t she?

He scowled, hearing Weiss laughing at him in the background. At least one of them was amused? She wasn’t making any move to help him though. Worse, she’d made her own suggestions as to possible outfits, though at least they’d all been in relatively good taste?

Not that the same could be said for everybody/ He didn’t even want to think about the suggestions Whitley had fired at him, but then his nephew still didn’t seem to like him very much. At least most of them had been green, well, technically at least. One or two of them had made him incredibly glad for the fact that his glasses were tinted, though.

That was fair enough really, he knew that it had to be beyond strange, to suddenly have an uncle, much less one that was visually younger than him. He couldn’t blame Whitley, he was a decent enough kid, under all the conditioning Jacques had left behind.

Winter hadn’t come with them, had claimed that James had a mission for her. He envied her that, he would have given quite a lot to get out of this, though at least Willow seemed happy? She was the only one, really, but still, he wondered. The spark that showed occasionally when she was like this, had that been what his sister had been like all those years ago? Before Jacques, before everything had gone so wrong? Dead or not, he was certain that he’d never forgive the man for everything he’d done to his family.

And the worst bit of all of this? This was just the first store. He knew he had a room at the manor, had been shown it once, but surely the items in there were more than enough? He really wasn’t comfortable having too many belongings, he didn’t really need them. But it made the others happy, to give them to him. He sighed dejectedly. There were reasons he really shouldn’t let them do this, but a lot of them fell apart when he examined them more closely. It might be a waste of money, but he knew, now, just how much of that there was to waste. He might not feel like he deserved any of this, but though he’d told them as much, it just served to make them sad. He might be dead in a year or two, but though he could see the heartbreak in their eyes at the thought, they’d told him that it would just be there for the next one.

If there was a next one, Ozzy had been oddly smug about that, hadn’t let Tip have any real knowledge of just what would happen, if he actually died properly. Though, with the threat to Oscar, he really didn’t think he overly wanted to know any more than that.

It was just one day, and with the sheer amount of new items, surely they wouldn’t notice if a few of them got redistributed? He hoped so, at least, though he knew better than to try it immediately.

This had to be the last of these trips for awhile, surely? Once he had everything that they thought he’d need, they’d stop? At least until he grew again?

“Don’t worry, little brother.” Willow said, sounding very smug. “I did promise we’d visit the book store later.” She had, in fact, promised that. As a bribe, it could have been worse, even if Tip didn’t particularly like thinking of it quite like that. Part of him had missed having siblings, but as he stared at the mountain of clothing in black and green and gold and blue and silver, he still felt slightly despairing. Even if he could, he doubted that anyone would ever see anything other than sickly little Winter, wearing all this.

All the commiserations, all the assurances that Jaune had been a hero, had ordered Nora to take a boy across the bridge, not to wait for him… it didn’t matter. Oh, he didn’t blame the child for needing rescuing, whoever they were had obviously needed the help, and besides… oh, they hadn’t told him, really, but he was very aware it was probably the little boy Jaune had been so very protective of. It fit, Jaune had been as protective of his sisters. Most of the time.

Oh, but the girls weren’t taking their brother’s status well, not at all. He remembered, distantly, being so very angry that Jaune had falsified his transcripts. He’d still gotten into Beacon, though, and that was nothing to sneeze at. But he wished he could just be proud of his son, not have his heroism constantly forced down his throat. There was a reason most heroes ended up… well. Yes.

It could have been worse, he supposed. Taiyang had lost both his children. The Belladonna’s had only had one to start with. But that didn’t matter, nothing mattered in the face of that overwhelming, all encompassing grief.

He’d see it, once, with his father when Reuben had been kidnapped. When the other children had disappeared too. Had seen it in the washed out, devastated look in their parents eyes, the haunted questions… the hollow place where a child had been and might never be again. He saw that in the mirror, now. He’d never, ever wanted to look this much like his father had.

Maybe there would be a miracle yet. There had to be at least one, right? The message had been so very sure that they were just vanished, that they weren’t dead, though it hadn’t explained how whoever it was had known, or just who had sent it. The Belladonna’s had probably got the same message, though they didn’t seem to want to say anything, to share it. It was strange, being this close to people he hadn’t known before. Bonded by their loss, their shared pain. He hadn’t gone looking for the survivors, though he knew he probably should.

What could he say to them? How would he be able to tell them that he envied them for still being here… but that he didn’t blame them for what had so clearly been Jaune’s choice. He was sure that the children would blame themselves. Nora, Ren. The Pine siblings that he’d only ever heard about. He’d met Jaune’s teammates over scroll, but he’d never even seen a picture of the younger boys. Em’s nephews. Oh, that had been an interesting meeting, too. She was familiar in a way he still couldn’t place, but again, that was probably the grief. Her nephews were alive though, safe or at least relatively so, here in Vacuo. She, at least, might still have gotten her happy ending.

Would it have been different, maybe, had Prism been there for his son as Qrow Branwen had been there for all of them? Would he have been able to stop things? To protect them? But no, he hadn’t been an active Huntsman in decades… and it was useless to dwell on maybes.

He probably should look up Jaune’s friends, though. Those kids deserved to know that he was more or less on their side. Nora and Ren didn’t have parents of their own, and though the younger boys had their aunt, he’d gotten enough context clues to infer that they were orphans too.

From the way Jaune had spoken of all of them, well… if they needed a family, it was the least he could do to honor his son’s memory.

Nora was, in a word, bored. Tip had been being supremely rude and hadn’t actually given anyone the list of those that had hurt him yet, and Ren was off somewhere doing something she wasn’t sure of. Breaking up had sucked, but they both needed to find out who they were individually. There were reasons, even if she had to remind herself of them at times, but… hey, he was probably off training. Maybe she should go and find him?

No, no, that was the old Nora. The Nora that had never been without him. She didn’t need him. … she totally needed him.

She heard a cough and turned, blinking as Tip appeared next to her. Huh, all she had to do was think about him, neat!

“Oh, hey, Pocketsized! Whatcha want?” If nothing else, this was likely to be a good distraction for her. Itty biity Oz was good at that.

Tip didn’t answer immediately, his head was cocked to one side, as though he was listening, before he shook his head with a frown.

“Apologies, Nora. I had the strangest feeling, just now.” Tip sounded distracted, his eyes far away. That had been happening more and more, since they’d lost the others. Oh, he’d told them that it was normal, that he was fine, but Nora really wasn’t sure she actually believed him. Would telling them that he was okay when he wasn’t count as a lie? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she worried for him. This sucked, it wasn’t the kind of distraction she’d been looking for.

It had been hours, now, since either of them had seen Ren. Oscar had trailed in awhile ago, bouncing with tales of the mission he’d been a part of, happy in a way that seemed so rare now. Tip had grinned, obviously ecstatic to see that his brother was this delighted, though there was a shadow to his eyes. Everybody knew he’d rather be out there with them, than stuck here playing politics with the various surviving council members. Everybody knew, too, that nobody was going to allow him that choice. Tip was far too much of a target now, too vulnerable and far too irreplaceable to risk. That sucked, too. At least Nora could go and fight to relieve stress, but not Tip. Not now.

Nora wondered what it was that Tip had noticed, that she’d missed, though. That happened pretty often, too, though everybody was more or less used to it by now. She rather thought it had happened while he was still the Professor, too, though it had been much easier to hide while he was still an adult. Ozpin had always seemed to know too much, though, rather like Tip did now. It was comforting, in a way, that that at least hadn’t really changed.

Ren returned several hours later, refusing to tell the others where he’d been, though he seemed happy enough. Whatever it was seemed to have put some of the sparkle back in his eye though, and Nora had to admit that that was a good thing. She still wished she’d been wherever it was with him, but that was all part of finding themselves. She had to remember her decision, though sometimes it hurt. She had to be Nora without Ren, he had to learn to be Ren without Nora.

Was this what Qrow felt like, she wondered, not for the first time. After all, he was in an impossible position when it came to Tip, far worse off than they were. No, no, it could be worse, she supposed.

It was getting dark when they heard a soft knock at their door. The sound seemed strangely hesitant, as though whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure that they really wanted to be there. From the look on Tip’s face as he levered himself to his feet though, this was the event he’d been expecting. Was it a friend of his? Nora was pretty sure they’d met just about all of those by now, but you never really knew when it came to Tip. As Ozpin, he’d seemed to know most people, and in Atlas… well, even people he didn’t know seemed to know him.

What would that be like, to know everybody? Nora shook her head, ridding herself of the thought as she and the other two stood up, too. Whoever this was, meeting them sitting down probably wouldn’t make a good first impression.

The door opened slowly, a dark shrouded figure stood on the other side. Their body language too seemed strangely nervous, though as they shrugged their hood back, Nora realised that she knew them. She’d seen him before, on scroll calls Jaune made to his parents. This was Jaune’s father, then... but why was he here now? Was he here to yell at them, to try to hurt them? Blake’s parents had seemed accepting enough, at least after Tip reassured them that he didn’t think their daughter was dead, but Tai had been a different matter entirely. Where would Prism Arc land, on the scale? And would he, too, try to hurt Tip?

Tip had been their professor, was very much the wizard, yes, but as she took in the way he slumped, all Nora could really see was her friend. Was the little boy they’d gotten to know, the one that wasn’t Ozpin, not really.

“Hello, sir.” Tip said, tone defeated. Whatever was coming, he had to be ready for it. He hadn’t saved Jaune, hadn’t been able to, too frozen in his unreasoning terror at seeing the thing Cinder had become. If the man decided to take things out on him, could he really blame him? No, of course not.

Prism shot the boy as much of a smile as he could manage under the circumstances. This wasn’t Nora or Ren, and he didn’t think it was Oscar. Was this Pocketsized, then? He’d never actually met the youngest of Jaune’s friends, though he’d hard their voices often enough, He’d greet him properly later, though. Just getting here had taken a lot out of him, but he needed to be here. He needed to see Jaune’s friends, to check that they, at least, were alright. His son wasn’t, would never be, but Jaune had cared so much about his team, about his other friends.

As he scanned the room, he noticed the distance between Nora and Ren and something ached in his chest. They’d been so close before, was this another consequence of the terrible events that had cost him his son? Had cost so many of his son’s friends? He noticed the bandages around the neck and wrists of the older of the two strangers, too. Was that from the same event, or something older? He’d never really thought to ask, thinking he’d have years to meet and get to know these children. Maybe he still could, eventually? Not now, not tonight. But eventually?

He turned his gaze back towards the boy at the door, who wasn’t looking at him. He seemed to be twisting his fingers nervously, which Prism couldn’t help but emphasise with. He was almost sure this was the boy that Jaune had saved, though he hoped that he didn’t blame himself too much. It made sense that they would have been friends, though he rather thought that his son might have saved a stranger almost as easily. Jaune had been a leader, had made a choice. Could he wish it had been different? Absolutely, but it was still the choice that had happened, He’d had time to start to accept that, too. Maybe.

He knew the boy from somewhere, he was certain of it. Maybe it was from Jaune's stories? He looked almost as miserable as Prism did, these days, but then there was a palpable aura of grief over all of these children, of Jaune's friends, that matched his own. That fact, that they were obviously mourning too, was what gave him the strength to introduce himself.

“Hello, children. My name is Prism Arc, I’m Jaune’s father. I’m happy to meet you, though I do wish it was in other circumstances.” He smiled sadly, making his way over to the nearest chair. “Do you kids mind if I sit?” He asked, glancing around again. “Only old bones do tend to ache.”

“Of course, sir.” Came a voice, the same as the one that had greeted him. The boy still looked deeply uncomfortable and Prism’s heart couldn’t help go out to him. As the others settled back into chairs of their own, he watched as the youngest limped his way over. That looked painful, surely that wasn’t recent, too?

It was only as he passed him that Prism finally, horrified, realised just why he’d seemed so very familiar. His mind had gone over what had happened that night all those years ago enough times to recognise him anywhere, his semblance letting him retread the memory at his leasure.

“Winter?” He hissed, horrified. He couldn’t be, though, surely he’d know? But there had been those rumors out of Atlas… how could James never have told him? Oh, they weren't close, not anymore, but... he'd lost people, too, to that damn kidnapping ring.

The boy flinched, misery turning to a sort of weary acceptance, his face briefly seeming much older than Prism thought that he should. The pain was still there, though, shadowing eyes just as familiar as his face was, now.

If this was truly Winter, truly the friend he'd lost? Well, that changed things, didn't it? Maybe Prism would finally find out just what had been so important, that day?

All the commiserations, all the assurances that Jaune had been a hero, had ordered Nora to take a boy across the bridge, not to wait for him… it didn’t matter. Oh, he didn’t blame the child for needing rescuing, whoever they were had obviously needed the help, and besides… oh, they hadn’t told him, really, but he was very aware it was probably the little boy Jaune had been so very protective of. It fit, Jaune had been as protective of his sisters. Most of the time.

Oh, but the girls weren’t taking their brother’s status well, not at all. He remembered, distantly, being so very angry that Jaune had falsified his transcripts. He’d still gotten into Beacon, though, and that was nothing to sneeze at. But he wished he could just be proud of his son, not have his heroism constantly forced down his throat. There was a reason most heroes ended up… well. Yes.

It could have been worse, he supposed. Taiyang had lost both his children. The Belladonna’s had only had one to start with. But that didn’t matter, nothing mattered in the face of that overwhelming, all encompassing grief.

He’d see it, once, with his father when Reuben had been kidnapped. When the other children had disappeared too. Had seen it in the washed out, devastated look in their parents eyes, the haunted questions… the hollow place where a child had been and might never be again. He saw that in the mirror, now. He’d never, ever wanted to look this much like his father had.

Maybe there would be a miracle yet. There had to be at least one, right? The message had been so very sure that they were just vanished, that they weren’t dead, though it hadn’t explained how whoever it was had known, or just who had sent it. The Belladonna’s had probably got the same message, though they didn’t seem to want to say anything, to share it. It was strange, being this close to people he hadn’t known before. Bonded by their loss, their shared pain. He hadn’t gone looking for the survivors, though he knew he probably should.

What could he say to them? How would he be able to tell them that he envied them for still being here… but that he didn’t blame them for what had so clearly been Jaune’s choice. He was sure that the children would blame themselves. Nora, Ren. The Pine siblings that he’d only ever heard about. He’d met Jaune’s teammates over scroll, but he’d never even seen a picture of the younger boys. Em’s nephews. Oh, that had been an interesting meeting, too. She was familiar in a way he still couldn’t place, but again, that was probably the grief. Her nephews were alive though, safe or at least relatively so, here in Vacuo. She, at least, might still have gotten her happy ending.

Would it have been different, maybe, had Prism been there for his son as Qrow Branwen had been there for all of them? Would he have been able to stop things? To protect them? But no, he hadn’t been an active Huntsman in decades… and it was useless to dwell on maybes.

He probably should look up Jaune’s friends, though. Those kids deserved to know that he was more or less on their side. Nora and Ren didn’t have parents of their own, and though the younger boys had their aunt, he’d gotten enough context clues to infer that they were orphans too.

From the way Jaune had spoken of all of them, well… if they needed a family, it was the least he could do to honor his son’s memory.

Nora was, in a word, bored. Tip had been being supremely rude and hadn’t actually given anyone the list of those that had hurt him yet, and Ren was off somewhere doing something she wasn’t sure of. Breaking up had sucked, but they both needed to find out who they were individually. There were reasons, even if she had to remind herself of them at times, but… hey, he was probably off training. Maybe she should go and find him?

No, no, that was the old Nora. The Nora that had never been without him. She didn’t need him. … she totally needed him.

She heard a cough and turned, blinking as Tip appeared next to her. Huh, all she had to do was think about him, neat!

“Oh, hey, Pocketsized! Whatcha want?” If nothing else, this was likely to be a good distraction for her. Itty biity Oz was good at that.

Tip didn’t answer immediately, his head was cocked to one side, as though he was listening, before he shook his head with a frown.

“Apologies, Nora. I had the strangest feeling, just now.” Tip sounded distracted, his eyes far away. That had been happening more and more, since they’d lost the others. Oh, he’d told them that it was normal, that he was fine, but Nora really wasn’t sure she actually believed him. Would telling them that he was okay when he wasn’t count as a lie? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she worried for him. This sucked, it wasn’t the kind of distraction she’d been looking for.

It had been hours, now, since either of them had seen Ren. Oscar had trailed in awhile ago, bouncing with tales of the mission he’d been a part of, happy in a way that seemed so rare now. Tip had grinned, obviously ecstatic to see that his brother was this delighted, though there was a shadow to his eyes. Everybody knew he’d rather be out there with them, than stuck here playing politics with the various surviving council members. Everybody knew, too, that nobody was going to allow him that choice. Tip was far too much of a target now, too vulnerable and far too irreplaceable to risk. That sucked, too. At least Nora could go and fight to relieve stress, but not Tip. Not now.

Nora wondered what it was that Tip had noticed, that she’d missed, though. That happened pretty often, too, though everybody was more or less used to it by now. She rather thought it had happened while he was still the Professor, too, though it had been much easier to hide while he was still an adult. Ozpin had always seemed to know too much, though, rather like Tip did now. It was comforting, in a way, that that at least hadn’t really changed.

Ren returned several hours later, refusing to tell the others where he’d been, though he seemed happy enough. Whatever it was seemed to have put some of the sparkle back in his eye though, and Nora had to admit that that was a good thing. She still wished she’d been wherever it was with him, but that was all part of finding themselves. She had to remember her decision, though sometimes it hurt. She had to be Nora without Ren, he had to learn to be Ren without Nora.

Was this what Qrow felt like, she wondered, not for the first time. After all, he was in an impossible position when it came to Tip, far worse off than they were. No, no, it could be worse, she supposed.

It was getting dark when they heard a soft knock at their door. The sound seemed strangely hesitant, as though whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure that they really wanted to be there. From the look on Tip’s face as he levered himself to his feet though, this was the event he’d been expecting. Was it a friend of his? Nora was pretty sure they’d met just about all of those by now, but you never really knew when it came to Tip. As Ozpin, he’d seemed to know most people, and in Atlas… well, even people he didn’t know seemed to know him.

What would that be like, to know everybody? Nora shook her head, ridding herself of the thought as she and the other two stood up, too. Whoever this was, meeting them sitting down probably wouldn’t make a good first impression.

The door opened slowly, a dark shrouded figure stood on the other side. Their body language too seemed strangely nervous, though as they shrugged their hood back, Nora realised that she knew them. She’d seen him before, on scroll calls Jaune made to his parents. This was Jaune’s father, then... but why was he here now? Was he here to yell at them, to try to hurt them? Blake’s parents had seemed accepting enough, at least after Tip reassured them that he didn’t think their daughter was dead, but Tai had been a different matter entirely. Where would Prism Arc land, on the scale? And would he, too, try to hurt Tip?

Tip had been their professor, was very much the wizard, yes, but as she took in the way he slumped, all Nora could really see was her friend. Was the little boy they’d gotten to know, the one that wasn’t Ozpin, not really.

“Hello, sir.” Tip said, tone defeated. Whatever was coming, he had to be ready for it. He hadn’t saved Jaune, hadn’t been able to, too frozen in his unreasoning terror at seeing the thing Cinder had become. If the man decided to take things out on him, could he really blame him? No, of course not.

Prism shot the boy as much of a smile as he could manage under the circumstances. This wasn’t Nora or Ren, and he didn’t think it was Oscar. Was this Pocketsized, then? He’d never actually met the youngest of Jaune’s friends, though he’d hard their voices often enough, He’d greet him properly later, though. Just getting here had taken a lot out of him, but he needed to be here. He needed to see Jaune’s friends, to check that they, at least, were alright. His son wasn’t, would never be, but Jaune had cared so much about his team, about his other friends.

As he scanned the room, he noticed the distance between Nora and Ren and something ached in his chest. They’d been so close before, was this another consequence of the terrible events that had cost him his son? Had cost so many of his son’s friends? He noticed the bandages around the neck and wrists of the older of the two strangers, too. Was that from the same event, or something older? He’d never really thought to ask, thinking he’d have years to meet and get to know these children. Maybe he still could, eventually? Not now, not tonight. But eventually?

He turned his gaze back towards the boy at the door, who wasn’t looking at him. He seemed to be twisting his fingers nervously, which Prism couldn’t help but emphasise with. He was almost sure this was the boy that Jaune had saved, though he hoped that he didn’t blame himself too much. It made sense that they would have been friends, though he rather thought that his son might have saved a stranger almost as easily. Jaune had been a leader, had made a choice. Could he wish it had been different? Absolutely, but it was still the choice that had happened, He’d had time to start to accept that, too. Maybe.

He knew the boy from somewhere, he was certain of it. Maybe it was from Jaune's stories? He looked almost as miserable as Prism did, these days, but then there was a palpable aura of grief over all of these children, of Jaune's friends, that matched his own. That fact, that they were obviously mourning too, was what gave him the strength to introduce himself.

“Hello, children. My name is Prism Arc, I’m Jaune’s father. I’m happy to meet you, though I do wish it was in other circumstances.” He smiled sadly, making his way over to the nearest chair. “Do you kids mind if I sit?” He asked, glancing around again. “Only old bones do tend to ache.”

“Of course, sir.” Came a voice, the same as the one that had greeted him. The boy still looked deeply uncomfortable and Prism’s heart couldn’t help go out to him. As the others settled back into chairs of their own, he watched as the youngest limped his way over. That looked painful, surely that wasn’t recent, too?

It was only as he passed him that Prism finally, horrified, realised just why he’d seemed so very familiar. His mind had gone over what had happened that night all those years ago enough times to recognise him anywhere, his semblance letting him retread the memory at his leasure.

“Winter?” He hissed, horrified. He couldn’t be, though, surely he’d know? But there had been those rumors out of Atlas… how could James never have told him? Oh, they weren't close, not anymore, but... he'd lost people, too, to that damn kidnapping ring.

The boy flinched, misery turning to a sort of weary acceptance, his face briefly seeming much older than Prism thought that he should. The pain was still there, though, shadowing eyes just as familiar as his face was, now.

If this was truly Winter, truly the friend he'd lost? Well, that changed things, didn't it? Maybe Prism would finally find out just what had been so important, that day?

All the commiserations, all the assurances that Jaune had been a hero, had ordered Nora to take a boy across the bridge, not to wait for him… it didn’t matter. Oh, he didn’t blame the child for needing rescuing, whoever they were had obviously needed the help, and besides… oh, they hadn’t told him, really, but he was very aware it was probably the little boy Jaune had been so very protective of. It fit, Jaune had been as protective of his sisters. Most of the time.

Oh, but the girls weren’t taking their brother’s status well, not at all. He remembered, distantly, being so very angry that Jaune had falsified his transcripts. He’d still gotten into Beacon, though, and that was nothing to sneeze at. But he wished he could just be proud of his son, not have his heroism constantly forced down his throat. There was a reason most heroes ended up… well. Yes.

It could have been worse, he supposed. Taiyang had lost both his children. The Belladonna’s had only had one to start with. But that didn’t matter, nothing mattered in the face of that overwhelming, all encompassing grief.

He’d see it, once, with his father when Reuben had been kidnapped. When the other children had disappeared too. Had seen it in the washed out, devastated look in their parents eyes, the haunted questions… the hollow place where a child had been and might never be again. He saw that in the mirror, now. He’d never, ever wanted to look this much like his father had.

Maybe there would be a miracle yet. There had to be at least one, right? The message had been so very sure that they were just vanished, that they weren’t dead, though it hadn’t explained how whoever it was had known, or just who had sent it. The Belladonna’s had probably got the same message, though they didn’t seem to want to say anything, to share it. It was strange, being this close to people he hadn’t known before. Bonded by their loss, their shared pain. He hadn’t gone looking for the survivors, though he knew he probably should.

What could he say to them? How would he be able to tell them that he envied them for still being here… but that he didn’t blame them for what had so clearly been Jaune’s choice. He was sure that the children would blame themselves. Nora, Ren. The Pine siblings that he’d only ever heard about. He’d met Jaune’s teammates over scroll, but he’d never even seen a picture of the younger boys. Em’s nephews. Oh, that had been an interesting meeting, too. She was familiar in a way he still couldn’t place, but again, that was probably the grief. Her nephews were alive though, safe or at least relatively so, here in Vacuo. She, at least, might still have gotten her happy ending.

Would it have been different, maybe, had Prism been there for his son as Qrow Branwen had been there for all of them? Would he have been able to stop things? To protect them? But no, he hadn’t been an active Huntsman in decades… and it was useless to dwell on maybes.

He probably should look up Jaune’s friends, though. Those kids deserved to know that he was more or less on their side. Nora and Ren didn’t have parents of their own, and though the younger boys had their aunt, he’d gotten enough context clues to infer that they were orphans too.

From the way Jaune had spoken of all of them, well… if they needed a family, it was the least he could do to honor his son’s memory.

Nora was, in a word, bored. Tip had been being supremely rude and hadn’t actually given anyone the list of those that had hurt him yet, and Ren was off somewhere doing something she wasn’t sure of. Breaking up had sucked, but they both needed to find out who they were individually. There were reasons, even if she had to remind herself of them at times, but… hey, he was probably off training. Maybe she should go and find him?

No, no, that was the old Nora. The Nora that had never been without him. She didn’t need him. … she totally needed him.

She heard a cough and turned, blinking as Tip appeared next to her. Huh, all she had to do was think about him, neat!

“Oh, hey, Pocketsized! Whatcha want?” If nothing else, this was likely to be a good distraction for her. Itty biity Oz was good at that.

Tip didn’t answer immediately, his head was cocked to one side, as though he was listening, before he shook his head with a frown.

“Apologies, Nora. I had the strangest feeling, just now.” Tip sounded distracted, his eyes far away. That had been happening more and more, since they’d lost the others. Oh, he’d told them that it was normal, that he was fine, but Nora really wasn’t sure she actually believed him. Would telling them that he was okay when he wasn’t count as a lie? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she worried for him. This sucked, it wasn’t the kind of distraction she’d been looking for.

It had been hours, now, since either of them had seen Ren. Oscar had trailed in awhile ago, bouncing with tales of the mission he’d been a part of, happy in a way that seemed so rare now. Tip had grinned, obviously ecstatic to see that his brother was this delighted, though there was a shadow to his eyes. Everybody knew he’d rather be out there with them, than stuck here playing politics with the various surviving council members. Everybody knew, too, that nobody was going to allow him that choice. Tip was far too much of a target now, too vulnerable and far too irreplaceable to risk. That sucked, too. At least Nora could go and fight to relieve stress, but not Tip. Not now.

Nora wondered what it was that Tip had noticed, that she’d missed, though. That happened pretty often, too, though everybody was more or less used to it by now. She rather thought it had happened while he was still the Professor, too, though it had been much easier to hide while he was still an adult. Ozpin had always seemed to know too much, though, rather like Tip did now. It was comforting, in a way, that that at least hadn’t really changed.

Ren returned several hours later, refusing to tell the others where he’d been, though he seemed happy enough. Whatever it was seemed to have put some of the sparkle back in his eye though, and Nora had to admit that that was a good thing. She still wished she’d been wherever it was with him, but that was all part of finding themselves. She had to remember her decision, though sometimes it hurt. She had to be Nora without Ren, he had to learn to be Ren without Nora.

Was this what Qrow felt like, she wondered, not for the first time. After all, he was in an impossible position when it came to Tip, far worse off than they were. No, no, it could be worse, she supposed.

It was getting dark when they heard a soft knock at their door. The sound seemed strangely hesitant, as though whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure that they really wanted to be there. From the look on Tip’s face as he levered himself to his feet though, this was the event he’d been expecting. Was it a friend of his? Nora was pretty sure they’d met just about all of those by now, but you never really knew when it came to Tip. As Ozpin, he’d seemed to know most people, and in Atlas… well, even people he didn’t know seemed to know him.

What would that be like, to know everybody? Nora shook her head, ridding herself of the thought as she and the other two stood up, too. Whoever this was, meeting them sitting down probably wouldn’t make a good first impression.

The door opened slowly, a dark shrouded figure stood on the other side. Their body language too seemed strangely nervous, though as they shrugged their hood back, Nora realised that she knew them. She’d seen him before, on scroll calls Jaune made to his parents. This was Jaune’s father, then... but why was he here now? Was he here to yell at them, to try to hurt them? Blake’s parents had seemed accepting enough, at least after Tip reassured them that he didn’t think their daughter was dead, but Tai had been a different matter entirely. Where would Prism Arc land, on the scale? And would he, too, try to hurt Tip?

Tip had been their professor, was very much the wizard, yes, but as she took in the way he slumped, all Nora could really see was her friend. Was the little boy they’d gotten to know, the one that wasn’t Ozpin, not really.

“Hello, sir.” Tip said, tone defeated. Whatever was coming, he had to be ready for it. He hadn’t saved Jaune, hadn’t been able to, too frozen in his unreasoning terror at seeing the thing Cinder had become. If the man decided to take things out on him, could he really blame him? No, of course not.

Prism shot the boy as much of a smile as he could manage under the circumstances. This wasn’t Nora or Ren, and he didn’t think it was Oscar. Was this Pocketsized, then? He’d never actually met the youngest of Jaune’s friends, though he’d hard their voices often enough, He’d greet him properly later, though. Just getting here had taken a lot out of him, but he needed to be here. He needed to see Jaune’s friends, to check that they, at least, were alright. His son wasn’t, would never be, but Jaune had cared so much about his team, about his other friends.

As he scanned the room, he noticed the distance between Nora and Ren and something ached in his chest. They’d been so close before, was this another consequence of the terrible events that had cost him his son? Had cost so many of his son’s friends? He noticed the bandages around the neck and wrists of the older of the two strangers, too. Was that from the same event, or something older? He’d never really thought to ask, thinking he’d have years to meet and get to know these children. Maybe he still could, eventually? Not now, not tonight. But eventually?

He turned his gaze back towards the boy at the door, who wasn’t looking at him. He seemed to be twisting his fingers nervously, which Prism couldn’t help but emphasise with. He was almost sure this was the boy that Jaune had saved, though he hoped that he didn’t blame himself too much. It made sense that they would have been friends, though he rather thought that his son might have saved a stranger almost as easily. Jaune had been a leader, had made a choice. Could he wish it had been different? Absolutely, but it was still the choice that had happened, He’d had time to start to accept that, too. Maybe.

He knew the boy from somewhere, he was certain of it. Maybe it was from Jaune's stories? He looked almost as miserable as Prism did, these days, but then there was a palpable aura of grief over all of these children, of Jaune's friends, that matched his own. That fact, that they were obviously mourning too, was what gave him the strength to introduce himself.

“Hello, children. My name is Prism Arc, I’m Jaune’s father. I’m happy to meet you, though I do wish it was in other circumstances.” He smiled sadly, making his way over to the nearest chair. “Do you kids mind if I sit?” He asked, glancing around again. “Only old bones do tend to ache.”

“Of course, sir.” Came a voice, the same as the one that had greeted him. The boy still looked deeply uncomfortable and Prism’s heart couldn’t help go out to him. As the others settled back into chairs of their own, he watched as the youngest limped his way over. That looked painful, surely that wasn’t recent, too?

It was only as he passed him that Prism finally, horrified, realised just why he’d seemed so very familiar. His mind had gone over what had happened that night all those years ago enough times to recognise him anywhere, his semblance letting him retread the memory at his leasure.

“Winter?” He hissed, horrified. He couldn’t be, though, surely he’d know? But there had been those rumors out of Atlas… how could James never have told him? Oh, they weren't close, not anymore, but... he'd lost people, too, to that damn kidnapping ring.

The boy flinched, misery turning to a sort of weary acceptance, his face briefly seeming much older than Prism thought that he should. The pain was still there, though, shadowing eyes just as familiar as his face was, now.

If this was truly Winter, truly the friend he'd lost? Well, that changed things, didn't it? Maybe Prism would finally find out just what had been so important, that day?

She was old and she was dying, and though he’d known about it before, it seemed so much more immediate now than it had then. Back in Vale, he’d been able to tell himself that she’d had a good life and a long one, far longer than most Maidens ever got. He’d let himself believe James when he said she was safe, that she was happy.

But how could she be, really? Locked in a sterile hospital room, kept away from everybody who knew and loved her? He knew that Atlas’ hospitals were good, but they were still hospitals Still sterile and barren and… nowhere he could see the bright, beautiful woman Fria had been being content.

She still had friends, and he was certain that they had to have some way to keep in contact with her, if only because James was still alive… but even then, being shut up like that… he shuddered. He didn’t really want to think about the parallels there. His own health, without his aura, might have necessitated something similar, at one point. He was glad that he at least had no memory of that.

He was shaking again, he realised. Was that because he was about to enter a hospital room? See the closest thing this version of him had had to a mother? Or was it because he knew, now, just why Fria had always felt so familiar? He’d thought it was the Winter Maiden powers, but… but it hadn’t been, had it? Or not fully. After all, Cinder had never felt that familiar… and nor had Raven. Or not in the same way. Had he remembered her, recognised her somehow? Were the memories he;d lost the only thing missing? After all, Willow had always given off that same sense of familiarity, though he’d ignored it.

… so had Nicholas, those times they’d actually worked together. Tip hadn’t made anything of it at the time, but in retrospect… well. Maybe some tiny part of him had recognised his kin, even though he couldn’t remember them? That made the fact that they hadn’t gotten along all that well even worse than it had been, though. Willow had told him his father had loved him, but he knew that Nicholas had very much not trusted Ozpin. It didn’t really matter, though. Nobody could change anything about it now anyway.

Biting his lip, worrying already about the consequences, Tip slowly opened the door.

Fria knew that she was likely to get a visitor, though the message informing her had been strangely lacking in details. She suspected that this might not be the young woman James sent so often to see her, the grand niece that she’d never really known. Not that Winter knew that, of course. It still hurt Fria, sometimes, to think of the prim, proper young woman as Winter. Oh, it was very much her name, of course, but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t been her nephew’s name first. Maybe that was a tiny part of why she’d kept away for so long, the guilt of the fact that she could save neither of her nephews, for all that she had loved them both fiercely.

Maybe it was Ozpin? Or rather, whoever he was now? That would be nice, she’d missed the young man she’d almost seen as a son. She’d heard what had happened of course, even in here there would have been no way for her to avoid hearing the news of what had happened to Beacon, to Ozpin. Even the young lady had talked about it, and Fria had grieved him, for all that death was rather more temporary when one was the wizard.

She shook herself as she heard the door open. She’d know soon enough, though she rather fancied that it really was him. The wizard always had had a certain feel to him, a tingle that itched at the part of her that was the maiden.

As quickly as she felt it, it was ebbing, maybe she’d imagined it. Hells, maybe she was imagining this visitor, too.

But no, there was a small figure hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain. Strangely, they even looked like Ozpin, or at least a little bit. The coloring was the same, even the way the boy seemed to worry at his lower lip, nervously. So definitely the wizard, then. Why did they look so like Ozpin had, though? She knew what the reincarnation process was supposed to accomplish, and this wasn’t it.

For a second, she wondered if the news was wrong, if he had actually survived when Beacon fell, but he couldn’t have done. Why would he have turned himself into a child, it made no sense. No, it wasn’t Ozpin, it couldn’t be.

“Hello, little one.” She murmured, trying to keep her voice level as she smiled at him weakly. “You wanted to see me?”

“… hello.” The boy said, after a second of pause, blinking up at her as though trying to memorize her features. That was unusual, though she had very occasionally had male visitors whenever James saw fit to allow it, most of them had recognised her. She’d known them, too, but she still couldn’t be sure that she knew this boy.

“… do I know you?” Fria continued, after it became obvious that the boy was too focused on her to ask. Maybe he was a Titan student? He was too young for Atlas, but she couldn’t be sure any more that she could easily tell a child’s age. It had been so long since she’d taught, been around young minds.

“I… think you might have done. A few times, actually.” Tip replied, looking worried. Would she even remember the child that he’d been? Or, worse, would being told cause something terrible to happen in her weakened state? And, oh, but Fria was so old, now. He’d known, of course he’d known, but it had been several years since they last saw each other face to face. She’d been stately, then, still the Fria he’d always known [and for longer than he’d ever thought, apparently, no…] but now? Now she was old and alone. It felt so wrong, seeing her like this.

Fria’s eyes sharpened at the statement, feeling more like herself than she had in a while in the face of a new puzzle. He was too young for them to have met before, which seemed to confirm that he was Ozpin’s current incarnation, but the more she studied him, the more familiar he seemed to become. He looked like Ozpin did, though, although it was possible she was hallucinating it. That wasn’t how the reincarnation process was meant to work, maybe seeing her old friend superimposed over this new child was wishful thinking? Probably…

“… Ozpin?” She tried, tentatively. If she was wrong, she could always blame it on her age.

“Hello, Fria.” The boy responded, confirming the feeling that she had thought was partially just her mind playing tricks. She smiled, ignoring how her partially atrophied facial muscles ached from the movement. Oh, it was so very good to see him again! Although, come to think of it.

“Why do you still look like you used to?” She asked, eyes still sharp, a sudden suspicious note to her tone. She still might be imagining this, mightn’t she?

Tip winced. It wasn’t an expression many people had ever seen on his adult face, though Fria had. “There was something of an accident, when Beacon fell’, he admitted tersely. “I woke up as a child in the rubble, I tend to go by Tip at the moment. Well, sometimes.”

“And the rest of the time you’re Oz?” Fria continued, her doubts easing slightly. Ozpin had been in a lot of rather bizarre situations over the years, so this was starting to feel plausible. Even if it was her imagination, at least it was entertaining?

“Not exactly, no.” There was pity in Tip’s eyes now, as he tried to work out the easiest, gentlest way to tell her that she was his aunt. He swayed slightly as a sudden memory hit him like a hammer, though it had been happening more and more in Atlas.

“Aunt Fria, you tickle.”, he remembered giggling, staring at his beloved aunt as she entered the room. The memory was brief, fragmented, but a child would have described the feeling of a maiden as a tickle rather than a tingle, wouldn’t they?

He sent a silent thanks to Ozymandias for the help, though he couldn’t be sure his predecessor had actually had anything to do with the suspiciously timed flashback. It was better to thank him, though, considering he’d just grumble in the back of his head if he hadn’t. No, Ozzy, he knew how to be polite!

It was worth a try, though he knew that whatever happened now, he was likely to break the heart of somebody he’d grown to love.

“Did you know?” He asked, almost conversationally, voice trembling as he spoke. He didn’t want to do this, it felt too cruel, but the thought of her never knowing. Of her dying, maybe, never knowing that he was still alive? That Winter, her Winter had lived? No. No, he couldn’t do that to her.

“Know what, Ozpin?” She replied, worried now. She’d seen his eyes flash that familiar gold, what had he seen? Did he know, just how close she was now, to the end of her life?

“The maiden magic tingles like static, when we’re in the same room.” Tip continued, trying not to react to the fact that she’d called him Ozpin. So few people did now, even amongst those that knew who he’d been.

“But a child, feeling that? They would say that it tickled, instead.” He finished, eyes soft.

Fria, on the bed, froze, staring at the boy that was many things, but never actually a child.

She’d misheard, she had to have misheard. But hadn’t she thought, over the years, just how much Ozpin had almost looked like her nephew?

“Winter?” She whispered, half in disbelief, half a prayer. Her eyes blurred with tears as she stared at him. It was impossible, had to be impossible, but. But what if it was true, if she’d been in the same room as her nephew all these years and yet never seen it?

How could she not have seen it?

“Hello, Aunt Fria.” Tip, Ozpin, no… Winter, replied, voice soft.

All Fria could do was open her arms, tacit invitation for the nephew to embrace her.

Oh, this was probably a dream, she rationalised as she held him. But, at this moment? She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She was old and she was dying, and though he’d known about it before, it seemed so much more immediate now than it had then. Back in Vale, he’d been able to tell himself that she’d had a good life and a long one, far longer than most Maidens ever got. He’d let himself believe James when he said she was safe, that she was happy.

But how could she be, really? Locked in a sterile hospital room, kept away from everybody who knew and loved her? He knew that Atlas’ hospitals were good, but they were still hospitals Still sterile and barren and… nowhere he could see the bright, beautiful woman Fria had been being content.

She still had friends, and he was certain that they had to have some way to keep in contact with her, if only because James was still alive… but even then, being shut up like that… he shuddered. He didn’t really want to think about the parallels there. His own health, without his aura, might have necessitated something similar, at one point. He was glad that he at least had no memory of that.

He was shaking again, he realised. Was that because he was about to enter a hospital room? See the closest thing this version of him had had to a mother? Or was it because he knew, now, just why Fria had always felt so familiar? He’d thought it was the Winter Maiden powers, but… but it hadn’t been, had it? Or not fully. After all, Cinder had never felt that familiar… and nor had Raven. Or not in the same way. Had he remembered her, recognised her somehow? Were the memories he;d lost the only thing missing? After all, Willow had always given off that same sense of familiarity, though he’d ignored it.

… so had Nicholas, those times they’d actually worked together. Tip hadn’t made anything of it at the time, but in retrospect… well. Maybe some tiny part of him had recognised his kin, even though he couldn’t remember them? That made the fact that they hadn’t gotten along all that well even worse than it had been, though. Willow had told him his father had loved him, but he knew that Nicholas had very much not trusted Ozpin. It didn’t really matter, though. Nobody could change anything about it now anyway.

Biting his lip, worrying already about the consequences, Tip slowly opened the door.

Fria knew that she was likely to get a visitor, though the message informing her had been strangely lacking in details. She suspected that this might not be the young woman James sent so often to see her, the grand niece that she’d never really known. Not that Winter knew that, of course. It still hurt Fria, sometimes, to think of the prim, proper young woman as Winter. Oh, it was very much her name, of course, but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t been her nephew’s name first. Maybe that was a tiny part of why she’d kept away for so long, the guilt of the fact that she could save neither of her nephews, for all that she had loved them both fiercely.

Maybe it was Ozpin? Or rather, whoever he was now? That would be nice, she’d missed the young man she’d almost seen as a son. She’d heard what had happened of course, even in here there would have been no way for her to avoid hearing the news of what had happened to Beacon, to Ozpin. Even the young lady had talked about it, and Fria had grieved him, for all that death was rather more temporary when one was the wizard.

She shook herself as she heard the door open. She’d know soon enough, though she rather fancied that it really was him. The wizard always had had a certain feel to him, a tingle that itched at the part of her that was the maiden.

As quickly as she felt it, it was ebbing, maybe she’d imagined it. Hells, maybe she was imagining this visitor, too.

But no, there was a small figure hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain. Strangely, they even looked like Ozpin, or at least a little bit. The coloring was the same, even the way the boy seemed to worry at his lower lip, nervously. So definitely the wizard, then. Why did they look so like Ozpin had, though? She knew what the reincarnation process was supposed to accomplish, and this wasn’t it.

For a second, she wondered if the news was wrong, if he had actually survived when Beacon fell, but he couldn’t have done. Why would he have turned himself into a child, it made no sense. No, it wasn’t Ozpin, it couldn’t be.

“Hello, little one.” She murmured, trying to keep her voice level as she smiled at him weakly. “You wanted to see me?”

“… hello.” The boy said, after a second of pause, blinking up at her as though trying to memorize her features. That was unusual, though she had very occasionally had male visitors whenever James saw fit to allow it, most of them had recognised her. She’d known them, too, but she still couldn’t be sure that she knew this boy.

“… do I know you?” Fria continued, after it became obvious that the boy was too focused on her to ask. Maybe he was a Titan student? He was too young for Atlas, but she couldn’t be sure any more that she could easily tell a child’s age. It had been so long since she’d taught, been around young minds.

“I… think you might have done. A few times, actually.” Tip replied, looking worried. Would she even remember the child that he’d been? Or, worse, would being told cause something terrible to happen in her weakened state? And, oh, but Fria was so old, now. He’d known, of course he’d known, but it had been several years since they last saw each other face to face. She’d been stately, then, still the Fria he’d always known [and for longer than he’d ever thought, apparently, no…] but now? Now she was old and alone. It felt so wrong, seeing her like this.

Fria’s eyes sharpened at the statement, feeling more like herself than she had in a while in the face of a new puzzle. He was too young for them to have met before, which seemed to confirm that he was Ozpin’s current incarnation, but the more she studied him, the more familiar he seemed to become. He looked like Ozpin did, though, although it was possible she was hallucinating it. That wasn’t how the reincarnation process was meant to work, maybe seeing her old friend superimposed over this new child was wishful thinking? Probably…

“… Ozpin?” She tried, tentatively. If she was wrong, she could always blame it on her age.

“Hello, Fria.” The boy responded, confirming the feeling that she had thought was partially just her mind playing tricks. She smiled, ignoring how her partially atrophied facial muscles ached from the movement. Oh, it was so very good to see him again! Although, come to think of it.

“Why do you still look like you used to?” She asked, eyes still sharp, a sudden suspicious note to her tone. She still might be imagining this, mightn’t she?

Tip winced. It wasn’t an expression many people had ever seen on his adult face, though Fria had. “There was something of an accident, when Beacon fell’, he admitted tersely. “I woke up as a child in the rubble, I tend to go by Tip at the moment. Well, sometimes.”

“And the rest of the time you’re Oz?” Fria continued, her doubts easing slightly. Ozpin had been in a lot of rather bizarre situations over the years, so this was starting to feel plausible. Even if it was her imagination, at least it was entertaining?

“Not exactly, no.” There was pity in Tip’s eyes now, as he tried to work out the easiest, gentlest way to tell her that she was his aunt. He swayed slightly as a sudden memory hit him like a hammer, though it had been happening more and more in Atlas.

“Aunt Fria, you tickle.”, he remembered giggling, staring at his beloved aunt as she entered the room. The memory was brief, fragmented, but a child would have described the feeling of a maiden as a tickle rather than a tingle, wouldn’t they?

He sent a silent thanks to Ozymandias for the help, though he couldn’t be sure his predecessor had actually had anything to do with the suspiciously timed flashback. It was better to thank him, though, considering he’d just grumble in the back of his head if he hadn’t. No, Ozzy, he knew how to be polite!

It was worth a try, though he knew that whatever happened now, he was likely to break the heart of somebody he’d grown to love.

“Did you know?” He asked, almost conversationally, voice trembling as he spoke. He didn’t want to do this, it felt too cruel, but the thought of her never knowing. Of her dying, maybe, never knowing that he was still alive? That Winter, her Winter had lived? No. No, he couldn’t do that to her.

“Know what, Ozpin?” She replied, worried now. She’d seen his eyes flash that familiar gold, what had he seen? Did he know, just how close she was now, to the end of her life?

“The maiden magic tingles like static, when we’re in the same room.” Tip continued, trying not to react to the fact that she’d called him Ozpin. So few people did now, even amongst those that knew who he’d been.

“But a child, feeling that? They would say that it tickled, instead.” He finished, eyes soft.

Fria, on the bed, froze, staring at the boy that was many things, but never actually a child.

She’d misheard, she had to have misheard. But hadn’t she thought, over the years, just how much Ozpin had almost looked like her nephew?

“Winter?” She whispered, half in disbelief, half a prayer. Her eyes blurred with tears as she stared at him. It was impossible, had to be impossible, but. But what if it was true, if she’d been in the same room as her nephew all these years and yet never seen it?

How could she not have seen it?

“Hello, Aunt Fria.” Tip, Ozpin, no… Winter, replied, voice soft.

All Fria could do was open her arms, tacit invitation for the nephew to embrace her.

Oh, this was probably a dream, she rationalised as she held him. But, at this moment? She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She was old and she was dying, and though he’d known about it before, it seemed so much more immediate now than it had then. Back in Vale, he’d been able to tell himself that she’d had a good life and a long one, far longer than most Maidens ever got. He’d let himself believe James when he said she was safe, that she was happy.

But how could she be, really? Locked in a sterile hospital room, kept away from everybody who knew and loved her? He knew that Atlas’ hospitals were good, but they were still hospitals Still sterile and barren and… nowhere he could see the bright, beautiful woman Fria had been being content.

She still had friends, and he was certain that they had to have some way to keep in contact with her, if only because James was still alive… but even then, being shut up like that… he shuddered. He didn’t really want to think about the parallels there. His own health, without his aura, might have necessitated something similar, at one point. He was glad that he at least had no memory of that.

He was shaking again, he realised. Was that because he was about to enter a hospital room? See the closest thing this version of him had had to a mother? Or was it because he knew, now, just why Fria had always felt so familiar? He’d thought it was the Winter Maiden powers, but… but it hadn’t been, had it? Or not fully. After all, Cinder had never felt that familiar… and nor had Raven. Or not in the same way. Had he remembered her, recognised her somehow? Were the memories he;d lost the only thing missing? After all, Willow had always given off that same sense of familiarity, though he’d ignored it.

… so had Nicholas, those times they’d actually worked together. Tip hadn’t made anything of it at the time, but in retrospect… well. Maybe some tiny part of him had recognised his kin, even though he couldn’t remember them? That made the fact that they hadn’t gotten along all that well even worse than it had been, though. Willow had told him his father had loved him, but he knew that Nicholas had very much not trusted Ozpin. It didn’t really matter, though. Nobody could change anything about it now anyway.

Biting his lip, worrying already about the consequences, Tip slowly opened the door.

Fria knew that she was likely to get a visitor, though the message informing her had been strangely lacking in details. She suspected that this might not be the young woman James sent so often to see her, the grand niece that she’d never really known. Not that Winter knew that, of course. It still hurt Fria, sometimes, to think of the prim, proper young woman as Winter. Oh, it was very much her name, of course, but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t been her nephew’s name first. Maybe that was a tiny part of why she’d kept away for so long, the guilt of the fact that she could save neither of her nephews, for all that she had loved them both fiercely.

Maybe it was Ozpin? Or rather, whoever he was now? That would be nice, she’d missed the young man she’d almost seen as a son. She’d heard what had happened of course, even in here there would have been no way for her to avoid hearing the news of what had happened to Beacon, to Ozpin. Even the young lady had talked about it, and Fria had grieved him, for all that death was rather more temporary when one was the wizard.

She shook herself as she heard the door open. She’d know soon enough, though she rather fancied that it really was him. The wizard always had had a certain feel to him, a tingle that itched at the part of her that was the maiden.

As quickly as she felt it, it was ebbing, maybe she’d imagined it. Hells, maybe she was imagining this visitor, too.

But no, there was a small figure hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain. Strangely, they even looked like Ozpin, or at least a little bit. The coloring was the same, even the way the boy seemed to worry at his lower lip, nervously. So definitely the wizard, then. Why did they look so like Ozpin had, though? She knew what the reincarnation process was supposed to accomplish, and this wasn’t it.

For a second, she wondered if the news was wrong, if he had actually survived when Beacon fell, but he couldn’t have done. Why would he have turned himself into a child, it made no sense. No, it wasn’t Ozpin, it couldn’t be.

“Hello, little one.” She murmured, trying to keep her voice level as she smiled at him weakly. “You wanted to see me?”

“… hello.” The boy said, after a second of pause, blinking up at her as though trying to memorize her features. That was unusual, though she had very occasionally had male visitors whenever James saw fit to allow it, most of them had recognised her. She’d known them, too, but she still couldn’t be sure that she knew this boy.

“… do I know you?” Fria continued, after it became obvious that the boy was too focused on her to ask. Maybe he was a Titan student? He was too young for Atlas, but she couldn’t be sure any more that she could easily tell a child’s age. It had been so long since she’d taught, been around young minds.

“I… think you might have done. A few times, actually.” Tip replied, looking worried. Would she even remember the child that he’d been? Or, worse, would being told cause something terrible to happen in her weakened state? And, oh, but Fria was so old, now. He’d known, of course he’d known, but it had been several years since they last saw each other face to face. She’d been stately, then, still the Fria he’d always known [and for longer than he’d ever thought, apparently, no…] but now? Now she was old and alone. It felt so wrong, seeing her like this.

Fria’s eyes sharpened at the statement, feeling more like herself than she had in a while in the face of a new puzzle. He was too young for them to have met before, which seemed to confirm that he was Ozpin’s current incarnation, but the more she studied him, the more familiar he seemed to become. He looked like Ozpin did, though, although it was possible she was hallucinating it. That wasn’t how the reincarnation process was meant to work, maybe seeing her old friend superimposed over this new child was wishful thinking? Probably…

“… Ozpin?” She tried, tentatively. If she was wrong, she could always blame it on her age.

“Hello, Fria.” The boy responded, confirming the feeling that she had thought was partially just her mind playing tricks. She smiled, ignoring how her partially atrophied facial muscles ached from the movement. Oh, it was so very good to see him again! Although, come to think of it.

“Why do you still look like you used to?” She asked, eyes still sharp, a sudden suspicious note to her tone. She still might be imagining this, mightn’t she?

Tip winced. It wasn’t an expression many people had ever seen on his adult face, though Fria had. “There was something of an accident, when Beacon fell’, he admitted tersely. “I woke up as a child in the rubble, I tend to go by Tip at the moment. Well, sometimes.”

“And the rest of the time you’re Oz?” Fria continued, her doubts easing slightly. Ozpin had been in a lot of rather bizarre situations over the years, so this was starting to feel plausible. Even if it was her imagination, at least it was entertaining?

“Not exactly, no.” There was pity in Tip’s eyes now, as he tried to work out the easiest, gentlest way to tell her that she was his aunt. He swayed slightly as a sudden memory hit him like a hammer, though it had been happening more and more in Atlas.

“Aunt Fria, you tickle.”, he remembered giggling, staring at his beloved aunt as she entered the room. The memory was brief, fragmented, but a child would have described the feeling of a maiden as a tickle rather than a tingle, wouldn’t they?

He sent a silent thanks to Ozymandias for the help, though he couldn’t be sure his predecessor had actually had anything to do with the suspiciously timed flashback. It was better to thank him, though, considering he’d just grumble in the back of his head if he hadn’t. No, Ozzy, he knew how to be polite!

It was worth a try, though he knew that whatever happened now, he was likely to break the heart of somebody he’d grown to love.

“Did you know?” He asked, almost conversationally, voice trembling as he spoke. He didn’t want to do this, it felt too cruel, but the thought of her never knowing. Of her dying, maybe, never knowing that he was still alive? That Winter, her Winter had lived? No. No, he couldn’t do that to her.

“Know what, Ozpin?” She replied, worried now. She’d seen his eyes flash that familiar gold, what had he seen? Did he know, just how close she was now, to the end of her life?

“The maiden magic tingles like static, when we’re in the same room.” Tip continued, trying not to react to the fact that she’d called him Ozpin. So few people did now, even amongst those that knew who he’d been.

“But a child, feeling that? They would say that it tickled, instead.” He finished, eyes soft.

Fria, on the bed, froze, staring at the boy that was many things, but never actually a child.

She’d misheard, she had to have misheard. But hadn’t she thought, over the years, just how much Ozpin had almost looked like her nephew?

“Winter?” She whispered, half in disbelief, half a prayer. Her eyes blurred with tears as she stared at him. It was impossible, had to be impossible, but. But what if it was true, if she’d been in the same room as her nephew all these years and yet never seen it?

How could she not have seen it?

“Hello, Aunt Fria.” Tip, Ozpin, no… Winter, replied, voice soft.

All Fria could do was open her arms, tacit invitation for the nephew to embrace her.

Oh, this was probably a dream, she rationalised as she held him. But, at this moment? She couldn’t bring herself to care.

All the commiserations, all the assurances that Jaune had been a hero, had ordered Nora to take a boy across the bridge, not to wait for him… it didn’t matter. Oh, he didn’t blame the child for needing rescuing, whoever they were had obviously needed the help, and besides… oh, they hadn’t told him, really, but he was very aware it was probably the little boy Jaune had been so very protective of. It fit, Jaune had been as protective of his sisters. Most of the time.

Oh, but the girls weren’t taking their brother’s status well, not at all. He remembered, distantly, being so very angry that Jaune had falsified his transcripts. He’d still gotten into Beacon, though, and that was nothing to sneeze at. But he wished he could just be proud of his son, not have his heroism constantly forced down his throat. There was a reason most heroes ended up… well. Yes.

It could have been worse, he supposed. Taiyang had lost both his children. The Belladonna’s had only had one to start with. But that didn’t matter, nothing mattered in the face of that overwhelming, all encompassing grief.

He’d see it, once, with his father when Reuben had been kidnapped. When the other children had disappeared too. Had seen it in the washed out, devastated look in their parents eyes, the haunted questions… the hollow place where a child had been and might never be again. He saw that in the mirror, now. He’d never, ever wanted to look this much like his father had.

Maybe there would be a miracle yet. There had to be at least one, right? The message had been so very sure that they were just vanished, that they weren’t dead, though it hadn’t explained how whoever it was had known, or just who had sent it. The Belladonna’s had probably got the same message, though they didn’t seem to want to say anything, to share it. It was strange, being this close to people he hadn’t known before. Bonded by their loss, their shared pain. He hadn’t gone looking for the survivors, though he knew he probably should.

What could he say to them? How would he be able to tell them that he envied them for still being here… but that he didn’t blame them for what had so clearly been Jaune’s choice. He was sure that the children would blame themselves. Nora, Ren. The Pine siblings that he’d only ever heard about. He’d met Jaune’s teammates over scroll, but he’d never even seen a picture of the younger boys. Em’s nephews. Oh, that had been an interesting meeting, too. She was familiar in a way he still couldn’t place, but again, that was probably the grief. Her nephews were alive though, safe or at least relatively so, here in Vacuo. She, at least, might still have gotten her happy ending.

Would it have been different, maybe, had Prism been there for his son as Qrow Branwen had been there for all of them? Would he have been able to stop things? To protect them? But no, he hadn’t been an active Huntsman in decades… and it was useless to dwell on maybes.

He probably should look up Jaune’s friends, though. Those kids deserved to know that he was more or less on their side. Nora and Ren didn’t have parents of their own, and though the younger boys had their aunt, he’d gotten enough context clues to infer that they were orphans too.

From the way Jaune had spoken of all of them, well… if they needed a family, it was the least he could do to honor his son’s memory.

Nora was, in a word, bored. Tip had been being supremely rude and hadn’t actually given anyone the list of those that had hurt him yet, and Ren was off somewhere doing something she wasn’t sure of. Breaking up had sucked, but they both needed to find out who they were individually. There were reasons, even if she had to remind herself of them at times, but… hey, he was probably off training. Maybe she should go and find him?

No, no, that was the old Nora. The Nora that had never been without him. She didn’t need him. … she totally needed him.

She heard a cough and turned, blinking as Tip appeared next to her. Huh, all she had to do was think about him, neat!

“Oh, hey, Pocketsized! Whatcha want?” If nothing else, this was likely to be a good distraction for her. Itty biity Oz was good at that.

Tip didn’t answer immediately, his head was cocked to one side, as though he was listening, before he shook his head with a frown.

“Apologies, Nora. I had the strangest feeling, just now.” Tip sounded distracted, his eyes far away. That had been happening more and more, since they’d lost the others. Oh, he’d told them that it was normal, that he was fine, but Nora really wasn’t sure she actually believed him. Would telling them that he was okay when he wasn’t count as a lie? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she worried for him. This sucked, it wasn’t the kind of distraction she’d been looking for.

It had been hours, now, since either of them had seen Ren. Oscar had trailed in awhile ago, bouncing with tales of the mission he’d been a part of, happy in a way that seemed so rare now. Tip had grinned, obviously ecstatic to see that his brother was this delighted, though there was a shadow to his eyes. Everybody knew he’d rather be out there with them, than stuck here playing politics with the various surviving council members. Everybody knew, too, that nobody was going to allow him that choice. Tip was far too much of a target now, too vulnerable and far too irreplaceable to risk. That sucked, too. At least Nora could go and fight to relieve stress, but not Tip. Not now.

Nora wondered what it was that Tip had noticed, that she’d missed, though. That happened pretty often, too, though everybody was more or less used to it by now. She rather thought it had happened while he was still the Professor, too, though it had been much easier to hide while he was still an adult. Ozpin had always seemed to know too much, though, rather like Tip did now. It was comforting, in a way, that that at least hadn’t really changed.

Ren returned several hours later, refusing to tell the others where he’d been, though he seemed happy enough. Whatever it was seemed to have put some of the sparkle back in his eye though, and Nora had to admit that that was a good thing. She still wished she’d been wherever it was with him, but that was all part of finding themselves. She had to remember her decision, though sometimes it hurt. She had to be Nora without Ren, he had to learn to be Ren without Nora.

Was this what Qrow felt like, she wondered, not for the first time. After all, he was in an impossible position when it came to Tip, far worse off than they were. No, no, it could be worse, she supposed.

It was getting dark when they heard a soft knock at their door. The sound seemed strangely hesitant, as though whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure that they really wanted to be there. From the look on Tip’s face as he levered himself to his feet though, this was the event he’d been expecting. Was it a friend of his? Nora was pretty sure they’d met just about all of those by now, but you never really knew when it came to Tip. As Ozpin, he’d seemed to know most people, and in Atlas… well, even people he didn’t know seemed to know him.

What would that be like, to know everybody? Nora shook her head, ridding herself of the thought as she and the other two stood up, too. Whoever this was, meeting them sitting down probably wouldn’t make a good first impression.

The door opened slowly, a dark shrouded figure stood on the other side. Their body language too seemed strangely nervous, though as they shrugged their hood back, Nora realised that she knew them. She’d seen him before, on scroll calls Jaune made to his parents. This was Jaune’s father, then... but why was he here now? Was he here to yell at them, to try to hurt them? Blake’s parents had seemed accepting enough, at least after Tip reassured them that he didn’t think their daughter was dead, but Tai had been a different matter entirely. Where would Prism Arc land, on the scale? And would he, too, try to hurt Tip?

Tip had been their professor, was very much the wizard, yes, but as she took in the way he slumped, all Nora could really see was her friend. Was the little boy they’d gotten to know, the one that wasn’t Ozpin, not really.

“Hello, sir.” Tip said, tone defeated. Whatever was coming, he had to be ready for it. He hadn’t saved Jaune, hadn’t been able to, too frozen in his unreasoning terror at seeing the thing Cinder had become. If the man decided to take things out on him, could he really blame him? No, of course not.

Prism shot the boy as much of a smile as he could manage under the circumstances. This wasn’t Nora or Ren, and he didn’t think it was Oscar. Was this Pocketsized, then? He’d never actually met the youngest of Jaune’s friends, though he’d hard their voices often enough, He’d greet him properly later, though. Just getting here had taken a lot out of him, but he needed to be here. He needed to see Jaune’s friends, to check that they, at least, were alright. His son wasn’t, would never be, but Jaune had cared so much about his team, about his other friends.

As he scanned the room, he noticed the distance between Nora and Ren and something ached in his chest. They’d been so close before, was this another consequence of the terrible events that had cost him his son? Had cost so many of his son’s friends? He noticed the bandages around the neck and wrists of the older of the two strangers, too. Was that from the same event, or something older? He’d never really thought to ask, thinking he’d have years to meet and get to know these children. Maybe he still could, eventually? Not now, not tonight. But eventually?

He turned his gaze back towards the boy at the door, who wasn’t looking at him. He seemed to be twisting his fingers nervously, which Prism couldn’t help but emphasise with. He was almost sure this was the boy that Jaune had saved, though he hoped that he didn’t blame himself too much. It made sense that they would have been friends, though he rather thought that his son might have saved a stranger almost as easily. Jaune had been a leader, had made a choice. Could he wish it had been different? Absolutely, but it was still the choice that had happened, He’d had time to start to accept that, too. Maybe.

He knew the boy from somewhere, he was certain of it. Maybe it was from Jaune's stories? He looked almost as miserable as Prism did, these days, but then there was a palpable aura of grief over all of these children, of Jaune's friends, that matched his own. That fact, that they were obviously mourning too, was what gave him the strength to introduce himself.

“Hello, children. My name is Prism Arc, I’m Jaune’s father. I’m happy to meet you, though I do wish it was in other circumstances.” He smiled sadly, making his way over to the nearest chair. “Do you kids mind if I sit?” He asked, glancing around again. “Only old bones do tend to ache.”

“Of course, sir.” Came a voice, the same as the one that had greeted him. The boy still looked deeply uncomfortable and Prism’s heart couldn’t help go out to him. As the others settled back into chairs of their own, he watched as the youngest limped his way over. That looked painful, surely that wasn’t recent, too?

It was only as he passed him that Prism finally, horrified, realised just why he’d seemed so very familiar. His mind had gone over what had happened that night all those years ago enough times to recognise him anywhere, his semblance letting him retread the memory at his leasure.

“Winter?” He hissed, horrified. He couldn’t be, though, surely he’d know? But there had been those rumors out of Atlas… how could James never have told him? Oh, they weren't close, not anymore, but... he'd lost people, too, to that damn kidnapping ring.

The boy flinched, misery turning to a sort of weary acceptance, his face briefly seeming much older than Prism thought that he should. The pain was still there, though, shadowing eyes just as familiar as his face was, now.

If this was truly Winter, truly the friend he'd lost? Well, that changed things, didn't it? Maybe Prism would finally find out just what had been so important, that day?