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“Won’t you accompany me?” Her voice is a whisper, her hands clenched tight around a rapier and a suitcase, her voice is desperation masked as hope. “Wouldn’t you like to leave?”
He grit his teeth.
She knows her brother's answer before he opens his mouth, knows it just how she knows that her defiance is justified—that her life belongs to no one but herself.
So she will not fault him for saying no.
Weiss and Whitley grew in orbit of each other. She had known what it was like to be ignored by an older sister, known what it was like to worship the ground that someone else walks on—to love and love and love without really actually loving at all. And so she had found herself doting on Whitley because she had known how it felt to want your older sister to pay attention to you. (To want anyone to pay attention to you.)
It was nice, almost.
They didn’t have the most traditional brother-sister relationship, but Whitley knew that Weiss cared about him, and had been enough for them.
And so they grew in orbit of each other, two seperate stars burning to keep the other bright.
Weiss was all Whitley had, in some ways.
Whitley didn’t have their mother, and he certainly didn’t have their father, but he had Weiss. Weiss, who would sneak into the kitchens with him on Sunday nights, when their father was too tired to notice them missing from the dinner table and most of the servants already home. Weiss, who would show him the apple trees when they were allowed outside, who would take him to see the animals in the garden when their mother was gone. Weiss, who would read to him every once in a while, who he would hide behind when their father grew angry, who would fight back against their parents in the smallest of ways.
He had Weiss.
Weiss didn’t have much of anyone, Winter was kind to her, of course—but she never really saw Weiss as who she was, she would see her little sister and think of herself as the teacher while Weiss was the student—not to mention she was always busy. (Not that Weiss had minded, any time spent with Winter was cherished, tucked away behind the bars that hid her fragile heart.) But Weiss had Whitley.
(She had him in the morning, in noon, she had him in the evenings and the days where all three blended into one—she had him.)
It was strange, how much she seemed to have him exactly. The second Winter joined the Atlas military their relationship (once calm, despite their desperation for the same things, for the same types of love) became something feral and frantic.
Their father was always angry.
It had been bad before, of course, the blistering chill that would wash over them when he raged—when something would go wrong with the company, when cousins and uncles and grandparents would go missing, when he didn’t get his way—the chill had burned them some days, had frozen them in a blissless vat of something not worth remembering.
But they had all had each other, the Schnee siblings. Winter would comfort Weiss and then Weiss would comfort Whitley and then sometimes even Klein would comfort them all.
But Winter had left them.
And their father was so very angry.
Whitley changed.
He protected her now, sometimes. When Weiss would make a mistake, would go a little too far in her quest for ultimate rebellion, he fawned over their father, stroking his ego and directing his attention elsewhere. It was rare that it worked, and Weiss would often leave with her cheek stinging and her eyes dry—her defiance and pride, brittle but still strong somehow, was the only thing that kept her from weeping. But Whitley would try again anyway, would try to get their father to leave her alone, but he never could go all the way—never stepped out of the circle he’d drawn for himself.
Which suited Weiss just fine, even if it stung a little.
(There would be a look shared after a scolding, both of their expressions matching in exhaustion and unhealthy paleness, and that would be their acknowledgement, that is what would become their new sign of affection—that look after one protected the other. The look that came after violence.)
Weiss changed a little bit too.
Though, not as much as Whitley did. She didn’t quite grow to be as honey tongued as he—didn’t quite learn to back down when she should. But she learned enough about their father for the both of them, now that she was his heiress. Weiss found the patterns, she found the difference between the things that would happen that would turn their father into a ball of cold fury and the minor annoyances that never caused much repercussion except for narrowed eyes.
And so Weiss had adapted.
She hungered, the same as Whitley and Winter, wanted so desperately for something that seemed so very out of reach—it was almost as though she was attempting to grasp at the stars themselves, attempting to draw them close, to devour them and keep them trapped in the cage that was her ribs—pressed deep into her heart.
The opportunity came with a scar, and Weiss would have been foolish not to take it.
And then Whitley would not look at her.
He would not look at her and she had not known what to do.
When she was younger Winter used to tell her that she loved him too much, that she had ought to give Whitley room to grow, that maintaining a relationship with him should be a tad more proper.
Now that she’s thought about it, thought about it with the care she’d received from the people around her, Weiss realized that she hadn’t loved him enough.
And so when she was younger, she did her absolute best to shower Whitley in the affection that he had asked for. It wasn’t a lot, wasn’t as much love as he needed to grow—but it was more than Weiss had to give, more than she had ever thought she had.
(Maybe that’s why it’s such a punch in the gut, the look on her brother’s face, the astonishment mixed with loathing and even fear.)
She looks upon him, and knowing that he would refuse her, knowing that she could never be what he needed—she tries.
And perhaps that is the difference between them.
(But that couldn’t be it, it couldn’t be it at all, because Whitley had tried for her too—with every punishment bestowed upon her like a bruise he had tried—and shouldn’t that have meant something?)
“What has possessed you, sister?” His sneer is a ghastly thing, his voice drips with disdain. “It is one thing to rush off on your own, it is another entirely to attempt to force me to—”
“I’m giving you a choice.” Weiss barely managed not to shout, though her anguished voice rang throughout the ice blue halls anyway. That was the disadvantage of an empty manor, she supposed. She had meant to be quiet, had meant for things to go smoother—but she had seen her brother, seen him sitting in the library, seen a look of fear and anger painted across his features so masterfully it was a wonder his anguish had not been made into a painting.
And so, she had been desperate. (Though she was always desperate.)
“I’m giving you a choice—Whitley, please—think for a moment, allow yourself a minute for self-reflection and see.”
She had needed her brother, once upon a time, had needed him like air—needed him to keep her sane.
(And she’s starting to wonder if it had been the same for him, if she had been the only presence in his life besides Klein that had been soft when their father would not be—and even then her kindness had come with thorns, had come with the inexperience of a loveless child.)
So she will not blame him when he says no.
“You don’t know what you ask of me.” Something flashed in his expression. “If you intend to leave then leave—you’ve already done it once, anyway.” The way he says it is sharp—wielding his words like a weapon, something to get her away from him.
Weiss wants to protest, wants to tell him that she knows exactly what she would be asking of him, but paused.
What if she didn’t?
The thought is a slap to the face, a strong force that echoes throughout her mind. What if she didn't know what he was going through? What if it was different for him—who had been alone while she was at Beacon, who must have jumped on the first scrap of affection that their father had given him?
And then what he had said afterward began to sink in. Did he really fault her for attending Beacon? Did he truly believe that she had wronged him in such a way?
Of course he did.
The guilt was crushing.
“Perhaps not.” She whispered, closing her eyes up tightly. “Perhaps our situations differ so radically that you would not dare to do what I do…” A fire barely restrains itself in her voice, her body. “But I ask you again anyway, because I love you.”
And Whitley may as well have fallen apart. His eyes went wide, the blue of them looking bright and dull at the same time, somehow soft—contrasting against the dark bruises under his eyes, the sharpness of his features.
The words had slipped so easily from her mouth, had been voiced out loud so naturally that for a moment she hadn’t known what she did wrong.
And then it registered that this may be the first time someone has said this to him and meant it.
(And then she registered that this may be the first time she’s said it to anybody and meant it.)
“I can’t.” His whisper was barely heard, a soft brush of a sentence that could barely reach Weiss' ears.
“You can.” She said.
“Father would be angry.”
“He would be furious.” She agreed, taking a hesitant step forward. “But I would never let him touch you.”
“I have to survive.” He hissed, his head snapping up to look in her in the eye so fast his hair floofs up—no longer tidy. “I would die the second I accompanied you forward, I would die the minute you looked away from me.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” She protested fiercely. “I would never let you—”
“You don’t know that, Weiss!”
“I do.” She stated, slowly moving closer to him, stopping when he flinched backward. “I know it like I know my own name, I know it like I know that I love you, my brother, and I know it like I know our father would sooner die than allow us the freedom to be who we deserve to be.”
“Well.” Whitley spat, he crossed his arms behind his back, leaning forward in an almost patronizing manner. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Maybe.” She agreed with the nod of her head. “But it’s one I’m willing to make.” Weiss smiled at him, shrugging unapologetically. “Meet my friends, you’ll find yourself in the company of much worse.”
“Is that supposed to convince me!?” He reeled back, almost laughing. Everything is charged with an emotion of disbelief, with the type of ‘this can’t be happening’ that came with forcing yourself to forget a great atrocity. “You don’t get to do this to me, Weiss.”
“I know.” She said with a nod. “But I have to try, because I love you, and it may be the most selfish thing that you’ve ever heard—but if you came with me I would be happier, and I would relish in the fact that you were safe from here, safe from the pain and torture wrought so wrongfully upon us.”
“You know I can’t leave.” He hissed. “So why would you do this? Why would you even bring me this false hope only to take it away once I refuse?”
“Well.” Weiss frowned, agitated. “You don’t have to refuse.”
“I do.” He grit his teeth, turning to look away from her, looking up at a painting of their grandfather that had been hung up in the hall—tucked away from anywhere of note. “I do have to refuse, or father would kill us both.”
“And that is precisely why we should leave.” Her frustration was beginning to grow, the anger in her tone masking the ache that was pulsing tirelessly in her chest. “Please, Whitley.”
“I am of no use where you’re going, sister.” Was his whisper. “You cannot just leave me anywhere, you cannot make me join you on your quest to self destruction, I would not be able to fight.”
“Then I would teach you, if you wanted it.” Weiss must have been begging him, by now. “I would, I—I can’t just leave you here… not again.”
“It’s my choice.” He backed away from her. “And you have not given me enough time to even consider what might happen if I were to accompany you.”
“I could wait for you.” Weiss said, though her heart stuttered at the fear that came with the statement. “I would.”
“This is the only home I’ve ever known.” Whitley protested, “Surely you know what that means?”
“This was never a home.”
“Take that back.” His voice shook. “Take that back this instant.”
“I can’t, Whitley.” She looked at him, seeing his shaking shoulders and clenched fists. “I can’t because it’s the truth, and I would not dare to ever lie to you.”
“We had each other, didn’t we?” He asked, falling against the wall. He nearly slid down, catching himself. “I was enough, wasn’t I?”
“Before, you were.” She told him. “But I never was.”
“Don’t turn this into something that’s about you.” He glared through the white strands of hair that fell into his eyes. “You were more than enough—but then you left me, you left me with them.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes, trying to hide the pain that had begun to poke and prod at her irises, making the corners of her eyes burn with unshed tears. “But trust me, there is a world much better than the one that you are living in now.”
“Then leave me to go find it.” He looked up at her, and there was something in his eyes that she had never seen before. “Go on, and leave me.”
“I am not wrong for not wanting this.” She told him, and she had to do all in her power not to make her voice sound cold. “If I learned one thing from my time at Beacon, it’s that you’re never wrong for wanting out of a situation that harms you.”
He laughed, though it was more tired than before, less angry too—though that may have just been the blatant sadness that had begun to surface on his face.
“I can’t.” There’s something in his voice, something final and defeated—something that Weiss recognizes.
He won’t change his mind.
Stubbornly, she blinked her eyes shut—trying to fight back the tears of frustration that threatened to flow. She’d known he wouldn’t say yes, known that he would cling to their father desperately, but some part of her had hoped that she would be wrong.
“I’ll come back for you.” She promised silently. “I will.”
“I doubt that.” He grit his teeth. “Now go—go before father finds you.”
So she did.
When Whitley sees her again, she is different. It feels like that’s all he’s seen of her, these days, her changes and her adaptations—the way that she’d left him behind. It makes him a little sick, the idea that his sister didn’t want to be with him like before—that he hadn’t been enough for her.
He wondered for a moment how stupid his sister had to be, to return to the manor that she had fled from over and over again—to return to him when it is clear that he is not needed. He wants her to pay for it, deserting him… but the only reason he was alone was because he’d told her to leave without him.
Whitley cleared his throat.
His sister’s companions all spin, as though expecting an attack or a monster or something else he doesn’t know—and stare in bewilderment when they are met with the almost disappointing vision of a pale boy.
“Weiss.” He greeted, voice dripping with disdain. He walked forward so that he was standing in front of her, and paid no attention to the way that her ‘teammates’ went stiff, their eyes examining him in such a way he wondered if they could see into his soul.
“Whitley.” Her eyes are wide, and she lets go of her friends as she moved to step forward—but paused, as though she couldn’t quite bring herself to go to him.
“You changed your hair.” He noted absentmindedly, reaching up and playing with the end of a long braid. It's a reflex, to play with her hair—one he hadn't indulged in since he was twelve, but he can't quite help himself at that moment—desperate for a reminder of the days that it was clear that she had loved him, that it was clear that he had been enough.
“You’re here.” She says to him, astonished, as though the idea of him coming to see her was more than she could comprehend. The way she looks at him is stupid, of course I'm here, he wants to say, I live here. He refrains, dropping the braid and taking a step back from her, trying to put a bit of distance between them. A pulse of something makes his chest constrict, but he pays it no mind, instead eyeing the outfit she had donned.
“You have a new emblem.” It’s said with a scoff, “How positively—”
“Whitley.” She whispered. “Surely you didn’t come here just to bash my fashion sense?”
“Well,” He hummed, “I can’t be blamed for your frankly atrocious sense of style, can I?”
The companions stiffen, incredulous, but he doesn’t care what they think, his eyes remaining on his sister.
“Well I suppose you can’t be.” Her lips twitch upward.
“The least you could have done was wear some sort of suit for the occasion.” He looked at her. “Honestly, you look ridiculous—if you couldn't be bothered to wear formal attire you shouldn't have bothered coming at all.”
“Yes, well you're wearing a red tie.” Her eyes sparkle with some sort of mirth.
“It was the only one I had.” Whitley lied through his teeth, and then hesitated—what exactly was he supposed to do now? The decision to get to Weiss had been a desperate one, one that he hadn’t quite thought about beyond the fact that he just had to get there. He hadn’t quite known what he was doing when he received the information that she would be at the dinner party.
“Is it?” Weiss sounded amused, now—though her eyes were still wide with something he didn’t know. “And how has your very first act of defiance faired?”
He glared, “It’s hardly my first—”
“Whitley, brother, do not pretend that I do not know exactly what you would have done without my influence as children.”
His sneer turned nasty. “Perhaps.” His fingers go to his tie, fiddling with the knot as he unconsciously straightened it. “Regardless… I—” He grit his teeth. “You know that I have not changed my mind?”
“You’re safe here, as ludicrous as the idea is.” Her eyes flicker to something behind him. “Well, safe from the grimm at least.”
“Your creatures of nightmare do not phase me.”
“Then why remain here?”
He went very still. “You know why.”
“Perhaps.” She nodded her head, her lips pursed in displeasure.
He’d forgotten what it was like to speak to her sometimes, a chess match and poker game all rolled into one. He liked to think he played the game better, but he knew the truth was that he was better at deflecting barbs and and she was best at creating them. He wondered if she’d learned something new, the way that she smiled at him—a pale shade of fondness he didn’t think he’d ever seen—supported this idea.
He glanced at her companions, and fought back a snort. They all looked wildly confused.
“Um.” One with wild curly blonde hair began. “Gonna introduce us, Ice Queen?”
Whitley frowned at the nickname.
“This is my younger brother, Whitley.” She said absently, eyes not leaving his face.
“Well, yeah—we can see that, he’s just as pale as you are.”
Weiss shot the woman an exasperated glare.
Whitley sneered.
Weiss smiled a little. “Are you alright?”
“You were correct.” Her friends were truly… something. (Nothing positive came to mind.)
“I’m right about a lot of things, so you’re going to have to be more specific.”
"Oh, sister, how brave you've grown." He rolled his eyes, fidgeting. "It's almost as though you're an actual person, now."
"How cruel of you." Weiss raised an eyebrow, her eyes crinkling. "I was thrown off by you for a moment, see—you were being too kind, up to something, brother dearest?"
He wrinkled his nose. "You're disgusting."
"Oh? How so?"
"'Brother dearest?' Come on, beloved older sister, the least you could do is get a little creative." He crossed his arms tighter behind his back. "I'd have thought those trysts of yours would have at least—"
"You know I hate that word." Her brows furrowed. "It doesn't even make sense in the context of—"
"Tryst." He glared at her. "You had a tryst. Tryst."
"Honestly, Whitley, must you?"
"I could ask you the same question you know." His words were slimy. "Must you, Weiss?"
She went silent for a moment, her eyes flickering across his face—taking him in. "You're clearly here for a reason."
"Oh how delightful of you to realize, sister. I was afraid you'd become dimwitted from your time in the streets."
"Very funny." She rolled her eyes, "Well, what is it?"
"As though you don't know." He glared. "Why are you here?"
"And here I was under the impression that you missed me."
"Oh please—" He cut himself off, for the first time noticing that his sisters companions had been shamelessly eavesdropping. “Can we speak in private?”
"Of course." Weiss responds without a second thought, surprising him by how quick she was to agree.
It makes his eyes narrow in distrust.
“Weiss—” The one adorned in so much red his eyes ached began, “—are you sure?” She watched Whitley then, her eyes silvery flashes that make his hair stand on end. The woman doesn’t look… threatening, exactly—but there is a lingering sense of unease that follows her movements, as though she believes that it was possible Whitley was something he wasn’t.
He feels very offended, and opens his mouth to begin to voice that the slight against him was entirely uncalled for—when Weiss begins to smile just a little brighter. His mouth falls closed, lips twisting at the softness in her gaze when she looks at the red one.
“It’s fine, Ruby.” She sounded a tad exasperated, but there was a softness to her voice that Whitley didn’t think he’d ever heard before.
Anger makes the back of his neck begin to flush, and he forced himself to look away before he did something he would regret.
“Come along, little brother.” She leaned forward hesitantly, taking his hand and beginning to lead him away. “Winter’s here too, if you wanted to speak with her.”
He blinked, but followed. “Why would I want to do that?” He barely knew Winter outside the things that his father had told him.
She looked back at him for a moment, “I suppose that’s fair, considering everything.”
“It’s more than.”
She nodded, though her expression tightens, as though she had just swallowed something bitter.
“Why are you here?” He asked quietly. “I know it’s not for me.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because you aren’t alone.” He said simply. “Because your friends are on edge, because you dressed like that— because you look like you’re ready to go to war.” He took a deep breath. "Because you're here too early, it hasn't been long since you were here, Weiss."
“Father has stuck his fingers in pies he shouldn't have.” She told him evenly, lowering her voice. “Something is very wrong in Atlas, and we’re here to make it better.”
“Are you?” He scoffed. "And father doing things that he shouldn't be is hardly groundbreaking news. Honestly Weiss, I thought you were less foolish than that."
“I know, but we are here to make things better.” She said, as though it was simple—as though there was no doubt to the words that came from her mouth, not a second thought to the promise she’d inadvertently made.
“At least you believe that.” He crossed his arms behind his back, fiddling with his fingers where she couldn’t see him—a sign of nervousness.
It was silent for a moment, both siblings watching each other warily.
“Would you like to help us?” She asked, voice quiet.
“No.” He shook his head, he didn't think he could bear helping those who had made Weiss leave. “But I'd like to help you.”
“Will you?” She asked, seeing through him completely, an eyebrow raised.
“I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he fought the urge to sink lower than he already was. “What you’re doing is dangerous.”
“It is.” She agreed, eyes flashing. “It’s more dangerous than I’d ever think you’d want to know.”
“But you’re here anyway.” His voice was a little desperate, warbling in his throat and reverberating in his ears.
“You approached me.” She reminded him. “I would’ve talked to you anyway, but I have to remind you that you’re the one who initiated contact first.”
“I know.” He whispered very quietly. “I wanted you to know that I wouldn’t get in your way.”
She looked at him then, looked at him with a look that Whitley didn’t think he’d ever seen on her face before. Weiss looked older, he realized, she looked like Winter did—but there was something fundamentally different about the way she presented her experience, something far more natural looking. It was hard to look away, almost.
“I love you.” She said again, and he felt as though the words were a weapon almost, as though she used them to ruthlessly tear into his body, to rip apart the little light he had. “I’ve learned to say it better than I did before, and I wanted you to know.”
I love you too.
“I can’t…” His shoulders shook. “I can’t.”
“I know.” Her expression was serious, a solemn look on her face that read like the calm before a tragedy. “But I’ll be there for you when you can.”
And then she was walking away, slipping up the grand staircase and snooping around for something he didn’t think he wanted to know about.
He wondered if he would ever feel this way again—ever feel so conflicted.
It filled him, simultaneously burning and freezing, that feeling of not knowing. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be punished either way, that he would be the victim of cruelty his mind couldn’t comprehend no matter what path he decided to choose.
So wouldn’t it have made sense to choose the one where he at least had Weiss? Had his sister with him?
But the weight of his pride and fear drew him down, clawing at his body in it’s effort to keep him pinned, to keep him trapped. He smiled, a little bitter, and wondered if this was what it was like for Weiss the first time she’d decided to rebel, if she had thought the same things, had drawn the same conclusions—and then chose to disobey the world around them anyway.
He looked up, where Weiss had just begun to disappear on the top of the staircase, and watched her pause—looking down on him.
Their eyes met, and without a second thought, Whitley moved forward to follow.