The rest of the day passed in a slow, muted blur.
After cloud-watching with Jade, Jaune retreated back into his room and retrieved his phone from where he had left it charging overnight. He pulled up the video file—the one he'd set to record himself sleeping and scrubbed through the footage carefully, dragging the slider forward and watching each moment in bursts.
At first, there was nothing unusual. Just the faint rustle of bedsheets, an occasional flicker of moonlight from the window, and the soft, ambient buzz of night.
But as he jumped ahead to the time the dream had started, presumably during R.E.M. sleep, he noticed something disturbing.
His body wasn't breathing.
Or at least if it was, he couldn't see it. His chest didn't rise or fall and neither did his limbs twitch. Not even the smallest unconscious movement. Jaune stared at the screen, watching the image of himself lying motionless on the bed like a wax figure.
It wasn't just simple stillness—it was like he was paralyzed. Like looking at a body that had been emptied of life.
'I looked dead,' he thought. 'Like something hollowed me out and made me into a corpse.'
He stared for a few more minutes, waiting for a twitch, a shift, anything that might disprove what he was seeing. But it never came.
Eventually, he shut the phone off and tossed it onto his desk. His hands lingered in his lap. It creeped him out, sure—but it wasn't technically a problem. He was perfectly alive and awake.
For now, at least.
Still, the weight of it stayed in his chest. He didn't like that the body he occupied in the dream realm—the one that moved, that bled, that could run and fight—wasn't this body. Wasn't him. Not really. And whatever connection existed between the two... it was thinner than he liked.
Another thing that he just realized, but never previously questioned, was the time difference. He tapped his chin in thought and attempted to perceive the discrepancies.
Jaune remembered the first night he had been dragged into the dream. The entire exchange with him exploring his decrepit house and that altercation with the first beowolf... it had probably, only taken... maybe thirty-minutes at most?
The second night, with him fighting the boarbatusk and him exploring the neighborhood into him heading for the train station...
That was at most... two hours? Jaune wasn't certain.
Even the fight with that beowolf pack. Less than an hour. Jaune was certain about that. No to mention his misadventure in the dream version of Ansel. He was sure that only around three hours had passed.
So why did his body only wake up after eight hours?
Another mystery that Jaune couldn't answer.
.
.
Dinner that evening was warm and lively, as it always was before a goodbye.
The Arcs gathered around the table in the kitchen, laughter already bubbling from the twins as they argued over who got the end slice of the garlic bread. Their mother shooed them lightly with a spatula while Dad finished setting out the casserole dish with exaggerated care, claiming it was "the last decent meal before another week of mystery food."
Jade took her usual seat across from Jaune. She didn't say anything, but her eyes occasionally flicked toward him, observing. Perhaps she was still contemplating their previous conversation?
"Alright, everyone sit," their mom called. "Before your father eats half the roast on the way to the table."
"I don't eat that fast," Dad grumbled as he scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Just efficient enough to out-speed all of you."
"I counted seven pieces before you even reached the table, dear," their mom said sweetly.
"Efficient," he repeated, and the table laughed.
Jaune tried to keep up with the noise and rhythm. He smiled when appropriate, nodded when spoken to, but his appetite was thin and his mind wandered. The sounds around him were warm and familiar, but they didn't touch the core of the cold knot curled in his stomach.
It felt almost wrong, eating mashed potatoes and listening to his sisters tease each other when he was only here due to the apparent sacrifice of an innocent man.
"Jaune?" his mom asked, a note of gentle concern in her voice.
He looked up, blinking. "Huh?"
"You've barely touched your food," she said. "You alright, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," Jaune lied. "Just thinking about... girls and relationships."
Jade's eyes met his for a second. She didn't call him out or push.
His dad, to his credit, didn't say anything either. But Jaune saw his eyes narrow slightly before turning back to buttering another roll.
"Right..." Mom drawled out, "Well, if you ever want to talk about anything—"
"I know," Jaune interrupted softly. "Thanks."
She nodded and let it go, passing the salad bowl to Eden, who was trying to sneak cheese from the side dish without being noticed.
The rest of dinner moved forward with the usual back-and-forth: the twins making up ridiculous songs about potatoes, Amber asking Jade about what she was looking forwards to the most, from university life in Vale, and Jade giving excited expectations for her future experiences. Jaune watched them all, smiling faintly. These moments felt more distant now—like he was observing someone else's happy memory.
'Will I even come back next week?'
He wasn't sure. Part of him didn't want to. Not out of malice or fatigue—but because Ansel that once felt like a safe haven, now reminded him of what had changed. It reminded him of that dilapidated, rotten city, of cold stone streets and blood. Of monsters in the guise of men, wearing beowolf skulls. He couldn't simply unsee it now.
That version of him that belonged to this kitchen, to these dinners, didn't exist anymore. And that saddened him.
More than he expected.
.
After dessert and dishes were done, it was time to go.
Dad packed their things in the back of the car while the girls huddled around Jaune, offering hugs and playful warnings not to "go getting all moody in Vale again." Violet gave him a flower she'd picked from the garden and made him promise to keep it in his pencil case. Celeste tried braiding his hair once again before Mom shooed her away with a laugh.
Jade stood nearby, suitcase in hand, quiet as usual.
"I'll text you when I'm settled," Jade promised their mom, giving her a lingering hug.
"Make sure you eat properly," she whispered to her ear. She then turned to him with a smile. "And Jaune, please... try not to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, alright?"
Jaune weakly smiled. "I'll try."
His dad wrapped his mom in a romantic hug, firm and long. "Bye, my love. Don't cheat on me while I'm not here to—"
His mother swatted his father arm playfully with a knowing grin. "Don't tempt me."
As they pulled away from the house, Jaune stared out the window at the fading lights of home. The twilight had softened the sky to lavender and black. The shapes of the garden, the patio and even the front porch all blurred past quickly.
The drive back to Vale was quiet.
Jaune sat in the backseat, half-dozing, half-staring at the highway lines., but he refused to sleep. Now that he knew that the dream changed based on his location... it simply wouldn't be safe to so.
Besides, every time his eyes closed to rest, he saw red—glowing runes, blood on brick and the gleam of a beowolf skull helmet.
His dad didn't pry into his odd mood, mostly focused on driving rather than conversation.
Jade, ever attuned, filled the silence with idle conversation. She talked about her upcoming semester, about how she was thinking of taking a double major—maybe from journalism or comparative literature. Their dad laughed at that, teasing her for being a nerd like her aunt.
Jaune ignored their words but the small talk and the mundane flow—it kept the silence from becoming unbearable. It gave him space to think without being watched.
Eventually, Jade leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Their dad hummed along with the radio, one hand on the wheel.
Jaune let his head rest against the window and watched the streetlights pass.
One by one.
Each moment taking him farther from home—and closer to the unknown.
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AN: He's depressed.