Chapter Text
Arc 1: Symbiotic Curse
"So the councils all riled up cause of you, huh? Kind of a letdown…"
A startled jolt preceded Jaune Arc's waking, skull-pounding agony rang on wake-up like an alarm. An unfamiliar baritone voice jumped him back to life—his body screaming that it might've even been a literal resurrection.
Watery eyes took in the dingy-lit room plastered with paper notes scrawled with unreadable texts. A mixture of lanterns, candles, and dim incense were strewn about, giving off the barest hints of light dulling the pain somewhat. It'd been his weary trembling that clued him into the thick bindings, a startling realization that both his hands and feet were bound to a chair under him, with panicked struggling not budging them either.
"W-What's going on?!"
His parched throat went ignored in the panic as dried eyes locked onto the voice piping up again, as a man was illuminated sitting across from him. Dressed in a wrinkled button-up, the boy's mind glazed past the finer details, registering only really the odd dark cape he sported with the inside a bloody crimson. His beard was a faint shade of spotty gray, matching the dusty color of his slicked jet-black hair, while hawk-like red eyes gave him a once-over.
"Awake, huh? Glad to hear my break-in won't be wasted then. Niece told me there was a chance you might be out for a few weeks, but just a day or two is impressive. That's good…" An ominously timed pause passed as the man racked his beard in thought, "actually, I guess that's yet to be seen. Especially since it's my mug you woke up to and in a place like this of all places."
Jaune made to ask again, but sharp pain stole his breath as chest spasms flared a phantom pain he'd never felt before—no, wait. He had felt this before, hadn't he?
"My chest..." he wanted to paw at it so badly, yet the bindings prevented that. The old man must've noticed eyes glimmering with genuine curiosity, scanning him up and down like a tough equation.
"Your chest, huh? Must've been where he operated on you, or maybe an old wound? Rubes never mentioned either, so if you don't mind me askin which is it?"
Jaune had no clue what the first option meant, but the words terrified him to the core, even if the agonizing wisps of remembrances rushed forward. Memories carved their way like a beast's claw on scarred flesh, familiar yet agonizing.
"I-I think… my chest was ripped open? A-And something was eating me from the inside out?" His voice rasped, lost in the terror of a moment he could only scantly recall in stabbing shards. To preoccupied even to notice he'd begun coughing up a storm, dry throat cutting off his troubled speech.
The stranger had made their way over without notice, even if Jaune welcomed the cool rim of the container pushed against his lips. It was a greedy gulp he took, and that was precisely why his subsequent hacking was so exaggerated as the once burning dryness was surpassed by the wet, searing burn of the liquor he'd been given.
"Shoot, sorry kid. Whiskey's all I got but trust me, it builds character." Sporting a lopsided grin and unfocused eyes.
…He's drunk? Who is this guy?
Jaune asked as much, his voice slightly improved even if his mood hadn't.
"Huh, I didn't mention it? Must've gotten too used to being famous, heh. Name's Qrow—Qrow Branwen, at your service and trust me kiddo, you're in need of it." The man thumbed an apologetic grin on his face that Jaune, if a little desperate, found comforting.
But only a little.
"As for why it's my mug you get to see first thing. Well, guess you could say it's my fault—or more accurately, my student's. See, they begged me to step in for you against the council, that whatever happened was on their watch, thus their fault. Exaggeration? Probably, but what kinda teacher would I be if I didn't throw my weight around once in a while for my kids, eh?"
None of that explained why he was bound to a chair in a creepily lit room but did work to put fear exactly where his hope of this being one of Cardin's pranks had shriveled up and died. Guess this Qrow-guy could read the room though, if his guilty chuckle was any indication.
At least someone's having a good time…
The man plopped back into his seat and took a swig from that flask while Jaune tested the restraints again. His wrists were already blistered, lending credence to his being here a while.
"C-Could you let me go, sir? Am I in trouble? Cause if so, I've no idea what I did but I'm innocent, I swear!" Mama Arc didn't raise no criminal. But try as he might, remembering her face was a slow process, let alone whatever he'd gotten mixed up with.
Cardin's fault, all of it. It has to be!
"No can-do kid," Qrow said, looking genuinely apologetic which certainly didn't bode well for the Arc boy. "I'm only here to get a good look at what I'm gonna be sticking my neck out for. Matter of fact, I'm technically not supposed to be… well, anywhere near this seal or I guess any for that matter."
"Seal? Stick your neck out? How in trouble am I?!"
The man didn't mince words. "To be frank, very. But you got one thing right and it's the other reason I'm here. We owe you an explanation one I doubt you'd be getting if not from me. The short of it? Suffice to say, you've run into a one-in-a-me level run of bad luck." Qrow paused for a second, like he expected Jaune to react or understand some joke there. "Ah, right—you don't know me. Just uh, know that woulda killed with my nieces, heh."
…
"…A-Are you sure I can't just leave, sir?"
"Nope." Bastard took another swig of his flask before continuing, "relax, you're safe I promise. For now, at least."
Was there a chance he wasn't safe? What kinda cop—no, wait. The man before him was definitely sitting like this was a stereotypical interrogation sure, but nothing else about this spoke of him being arrested. The room was definitely not the typical interrogation room on TV. Instead, it was dark, dingy, and alarming all around with thick threaded rope being used to bind him instead of cuffs and pieces of paper scrawled with words he couldn't read, even with his newly righted vision. He wasn't under arrest, more so under duress—kidnapped! He'd been kidnapped, just like Mom said a pretty boy like him would be in the big city!
He blamed the pounding in his head, the suddenness of his wake-up, or any myriad of reasons for him not panicking before, but the minute his brain connected that he was in real danger, he took action. Jaune screamed at the top of his highschooler lungs.
"Ugh, would ya knock it off? I already said you were probably safe..."
"T-The fact you keep saying probably doesn't make it feel like I am! Plus, that's such a low bar to clear—help! Somebody help me!" his body attempted to flail around, but his suddenly sore arms barely budged the rope. Jaune's head tried to twist around to gnaw them down, readying another yell.
It caught in his throat as a crushing pressure took hold, freezing him like a dog before an irate master.
"I believe this is as good a time as any to remind you of the clock, Branwen." The shadows suddenly spoke harsh whispers to Jaune's ears, the words coming from everywhere yet nowhere specific at once. "While I wouldn't mind the extra pay, I grow tired of this."
Qrow barely reacted, digging wax out of his ear. More grateful, the yelling stopped. "Clock? Oh right. Wait, you aren't charging extra for being here, right? Li?"
Even Jaune could hear the exasperation in the shadow's voice. "Hazard pay is typical of atypical work such as this. Potentially having to utilize my Technique to restrain the boy is extra, yes. Plus, this matter is separate from our regular arrangement and off the books as well mind you."
"Aw c'mon, after all these years? At this point, we're family. Plus, wasn't it your brat who asked me to protect him? Why are you hiding anyway, you weirdo. Kid's harmless."
A frustrated sigh came from the back left corner as a figure faded into his perception, seemingly from willingness rather than Jaune spotting them. Posted up on the wall, crossed arms draped with green fabric, with pitch black hair trailing the length of the man's waist, a human shadow came into existence. Aged wrinkles spotted through a greying beard spoke to the years he'd been alive as a deadly air clung to the Mistralian monk-like figure.
"That has yet to be seen. And my son's selfish wants are his own. If you claim to care for Lie's wishes, you should have capitulated to the boy's plea to accompany you into this barrier in my stead. You chose poorly otherwise."
The banter spoke of a storied past, even if the tone was harsh, but Jaune didn't relax any even as Qrow grinned and mimed his hand in a mocking flap, like a running mouth. Were they trying to distract him? He didn't know. He didn't know anything, dammit!
"Anyway~ you're wondering where you are and all that, right? We'll let me be the one to welcome you then." Qrow must've thought this a joke, exaggeratedly opening his arms wide. Causing even the Mistrali man—Li, to roll his eyes.
"Welcome to the Vale Institute of Jujutsu sorcery, or Beacon for short. Your new home away from home—pending execution, of course."
His brain lagged at the words Qrow spoke. Things like Jujutsu Academy, Beacon, or new home paled to the lone term of execution. Yet one odd word struck a chord in his frazzled mind, catching his attention in ways it never had before, sparking wisps of memories—specifically of the exact reason he got here, which rushed back like a Tsunami.
"…Did you say Vale? I live in Mount Glenn how the hell did I manage—"
/-/
"—to get myself into this?"
"C'mon Jauney-boy, what's the hold up? Get in there!"
Oh right, Cardin.
Jaune could almost feel the massive hand roughly shove his back to topple him over through the scroll. Instead, it was nerves that caused him to stumble, catching himself on the rusty bars that had caused him to freeze in fear in the first place. His gaze trailed upwards taking in the town house sandwiched in Mount Glenn's most prestigious neighborhood—a string of condemned townhouses turned drug dens sandwiching a house sealed up after a cold case involving three missing students and a mysterious fire.
Yup, real beachfront property. Twenty years rotting here is insane, no wonder there's so many ghost stories…
"Oh uh, yeah. This is the place, right guys?" He meekly asked, trying to stall but realizing that while Cardin was a coward, he wasn't an idiot. No, that honor should go to Jaune, cause at least Cardin wasn't being bossed around for a promise that probably wouldn't be kept.
They didn't seem interested in his pussyfooting.
"I swear, get in there or those swirlies are gonna turn explosive." The bully reminded.
Very intimidating. Cardin was so threatening, mind you that the guy refused to even show up himself to supervise, let alone do this. So tough he had to promise to leave his favorite punching bag alone for a year just to get Jaune to do it instead. Refocusing on the agreement, the Arc boy swallowed as his eyes traced its dilapidated frame, an old wooden thing decayed with parts of the frame jutting out as if it were a rotting carcass. Past the gate, where the winding creaky path twisted and curled like a claw leading to the mangled maw that was it's door. From the gate, he could even see the window shattered either by age or school kids doing the same stupid dare those girls always made the meat heads try.
Get in, head to the basement, take a video, get Cardin laid, and earn a peaceful freshman year in college to make some actual friends—simple.
His quivering legs had a different opinion. But he didn't have much choice, yet even the fact that he knew the legend about the old man serial killer was fake, what with the case being dismissed on grounds of no evidence, did little to assuage his fears. Logic rarely conquered irrational fear.
"Heck, I'm pretty sure the old guy moved to Ansel. No way that sweet old butcher did all that stuff they said…" but when did urban legends ever make sense? His bullies weren't listening anyway, and so stepping through a pre-bashed open gate now made it so that past hooligans had helped him along more than that ginger and his cronies.
"Just get the video—and don't say a word while doing it, alright! Heh, I'll have Dove add my voice in afterwards."
He'll probably also have to edit out Jaune's screams, but he made a mental note to keep it down anyway. No way was he gonna mess up and miss out on that peace and quiet Cardin promised.
"If he'll even honor it..." He mumbled ruefully as he carefully made his way closer down the winding path. The only good thing was that the farther he got, the less he could hear the jeering and trepid laughter from the peanut gallery from loss of signal. But also, loss of signal—terrifying. Passing crooked dead trees and around pothole-laden cobble, he kept his eyes focused on the door as best he could. But his traitor eyes couldn't help but wander. Stealing glances at the cracked and shattered windows had him nearly freeze again. He could've sworn there'd been a shadowy scurry pass by, jostling the lone curtain.
"O-Ow!" he yelped, clutching his ear as Dove blared a trumpet of all things through his speaker. "I'm going. I'm going!" He barked as another crackly set of laughter echoed.
Jumping from the creaking of the loose floorboards, Jaune held his breath and waited for a ghost to rip the door open and scream about getting off their lawn, yet none came. Not wanting another blast to his eardrums, the blonde mustered his courage and made for the door. Worn and aged, the rusty handle looked ready to give him tetanus rather than turn as the metal nearly warped under his grip. Taking a last second to calm himself, he pushed the creaking door open and was greeted by total darkness.
"H-Hello! Anybody home?"
No reply. No sign of life or un-life attacking him either, so that was a plus. Sighing, Jaune felt his nerves soften just a tad as he pulled up his scroll, hoping to just get this stupid deal over with. Whispering an apology to any disturbed spirits, he hung up, turned his flashlight on, and pressed record.
"Hmm~"
And immediately screamed.
Out of nowhere appeared a stupid, dumb, mean old black cat of all things. Living shade meandered between his feet, yellow eyes fixed on his in an unnerving intensity, curious to the intruder in its decrepit little litter box. And a litter box was all it could be at this point, as peering back into the crypt, a glaring kink in the plan churned his stomach.
"Is there a back I can go through?" Jaune muttered, sudden vertigo rising.
He'd need one, what with the massive rotten hole that vacuumed air in as a dreary draft. Even his fear was sucked down into what had to be the basement a pull on his body like a demon beckoning him to enter. No wonder this place was condemned, cause if the entranceway was this ruined then what did that mean about the foundation? Weighing options, his mind eventually agreed with his queasy stomach that they were done here. He might've wanted the bullying to stop, but something primal was telling him that if he entered, all his problems might have a permanent cessation rather than any act on his part.
"If Cardin wants some girl's number, he can come here and die for it himself!" He'd tell him that, too—over scroll call. Or maybe in the shower after the swirly. Tons of thoughts like that filtered in his head while turning a decision to drown his sorrows in grape soda first before waving away his dreams of a freshman year without beatings.
Everything that happened after did so in a violent blur.
One minute he was turning to head out, and in the next Jaune Arc was found careening back-first into the very pit instinct had screamed to run from. All that connected these two moments was fuzzy—black and fuzzy that was. One with piercing yellow eyes that tracked him after having launched itself into the boy's chest with a supernatural force a cat couldn't possess. A girlish yelp was the last sound Jaune uttered in this world. From his perspective, the supernatural event occurred as he braced for pain, eyes screwing shut. However, to the world? It happened the instant he was swallowed by darkness, where the seventeen-year-old well and truly blinked out of existence.
All that was left was a boy's clattering scroll and the uncanny mirth of a feline culprit.