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They sleep 4 to a bed now.
It’s a tight squeeze, to be sure, especially given most of the time they’re sleeping on planes, or in empty houses as they make their way to Atlas. They all have different reasons.
Weiss gets worse and worse, the closer they get to the capital. None of them ask, but somehow all of them know. Just how all of them notice when she subtly flinches whenever Qrow raises his voice, or Jaune punches something in frustration. Yang curls tighter around her during the night, unblinking blue eyes staring over her shoulder until dawn.
Blake is always grasping hands and curling fingers, she clings to Ruby’s back, hands twisted in her shirt. She’s not leaving this time, but she’s afraid to be left alone. She’s tired of running; she doesn’t want to run after them and beg them to take her back if they decide they don’t want her, after all.
Yang gets nightmares, because of course she does. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about with relics and maidens and immortal bad guys. She dreams about Beacon, and Adam, and blood and Blake on the ground, reaching, crying, I’m sorry. Weiss shuffles closer, tucking her head into Yang’s neck just so, and her scent fills Yang’s nose, bringing her back to the tiny bed they’re all piled in.
Ruby shakes. Sometimes it’s because of the cold. She’s not used to this bitter winter, having grown up in Patch, but isn’t it just the perfect metaphor? She’s scared to sleep, afraid to wake up and find she’s lost all of them again. She hooks her leg around Weiss’s, and tries to quiet her trembling. Her team knows her inside and out, now, and they all shuffle closer to keep themselves warm.