Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of the "Bud's Bargain Barn" hummed a dirge that matched Jaune Arc's soul. It was a soul-crushing symphony of flickering white, the beep of the price scanner, and the endless, mind-numbing Muzak version of a pop song he'd once liked. Eight months ago, he was Jaune Arc, would-be hero, fake transcripts in hand, ready to take his first step into a larger world. Now he was just… Jaune, the guy in the vomit-green vest who had to clean up aisle seven.
Getting kicked out before he'd even cleared the main gates of Beacon was a special kind of humiliation. Ozpin hadn't even given him a chance to explain. One look at the forged documents, a single, disappointed sigh, and he was back on an airship to Vale, dreams in tatters and his life savings gone. The shame had been too much to go home. So he'd found the cheapest, most miserable job he could, a dingy room above a noodle shop, and settled into his new life of quiet desperation.
The bitterness had settled into his bones like a chill. His armor was gone, sold for two months' rent. His hoodie, now perpetually smelling of industrial cleaner, was his uniform. His optimism? Replaced by a dark, cynical humor that he used like a shield. It was the only way to cope with the parade of humanity that came through the sliding glass doors.
That's when she walked in.
Yang Xiao Long was a supernova in the gray twilight of Bud's Bargain Barn. She was all radiant smile, lilac eyes, and a cascade of golden hair, clad in leather and an aura of unshakable confidence. She was looking for, of all things, a specific brand of protein powder.
Jaune watched her breeze past the customer service desk, where he was on his break, nursing a cup of lukewarm vending machine coffee.
"Excuse me!" she called out to a passing employee, her voice a cheerful bell. "Do you know where I'd find 'Goliath-Gainz'?"
The employee, a tired-looking middle-aged man, just shrugged and pointed vaguely towards the back of the store. Yang's smile faltered for a second before she spotted Jaune. She walked over, her presence making the flickering light above him seem even more pathetic.
"Hey, you," she said, leaning on the counter. "You look like you know things. The sad, terrible things. Like where the overpriced protein powder is."
Jaune stared at her for a beat. Most people tried to avoid eye contact with him. They didn't want their cheerful shopping experience sullied by the zombie in the green vest. But this girl had sought him out.
"Aisle five," he said flatly, not even bothering to point. "Next to the laxatives and the weight loss supplements. It's the store's little corner of broken dreams and unattainable body standards."
Yang blinked, then a slow, genuine grin spread across her face. It wasn't a look of pity or disgust. It was… delight. "Wow," she chuckled. "Okay, then. Grim reaper of aisle five. Thanks." She winked and sauntered off.
He thought that would be it. A weird, fleeting interaction with a beautiful girl who would now probably complain to management about the creepy checkout kid. He was wrong.
She came back to his register to check out. She plopped the massive tub of powder onto the conveyor belt alongside a bag of marshmallow cookies.
"Living the dream?" she asked, scanning the junk food and the health food with a smirk.
"More like a recurring nightmare where the plot is the same every day and the ending is always disappointing," he droned, not looking up from the scanner. "That'll be fifty-eight seventy-five."
She paid, and as she took her receipt, she leaned in. "You know, for a guy whose soul looks about as bright and shiny as a chewed-up penny, you're pretty funny. I'm Yang."
He finally met her eyes. There was no pity there, only an amused curiosity that was utterly disarming. "Jaune. And I'm not funny. I'm just broken in a way that occasionally sounds like a joke."
"Best kind of broken," she declared, and left.
That was the first time.
The second time was a week later. She needed a new toaster. Jaune was in the small appliances aisle, which he called the "Graveyard of Culinary Ambition."
"Jaune! My favorite retail oracle!" she announced, appearing at the end of the aisle. "My toaster set my bagel on fire this morning. I need a new one that won't try to assassinate my breakfast."
He gestured at the wall of toasters. "Behold. The two-slice, the four-slice, the one with a 'bagel' button that doesn't actually do anything, and the fancy one that costs a fortune and will break in eleven months, just one month after the warranty expires. My advice? Get the cheapest one. All toasters are temporary, and so is the joy they bring."
She laughed, a full, warm sound that felt out of place in the store. She picked the cheap one. "You know, most people would say 'this one's on sale.'"
"Most people are liars," he shot back.
Their encounters became a regular occurrence. She'd find a reason to come to Bud's, and he'd find himself almost looking forward to the brief, darkly hilarious reprieves from his monotony. He'd complain about a customer who tried to return a half-eaten sandwich. She'd tell him about a particularly tough sparring session at Signal. He'd make a bleak joke about the existential horror of the 'seasonal' section, which was just the same crap in different packaging. She'd laugh, her eyes sparkling.
One rainy Tuesday, she found him on his break, sitting on a milk crate by the loading dock, staring at the rain.
"No customers today?" she asked, hopping up to sit beside him, heedless of the damp.
"A few. Told a lady that if she wanted a genuine emotional connection, she should try a pet, not a 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign. She wasn't thrilled."
Yang bumped her shoulder against his. "You're going to get fired, you know that?"
"Probably. Then I can add 'unemployed' to my list of personality traits."
She was quiet for a moment. "You know, my mom left when I was a kid. My dad… he did his best, but he was a wreck for a while. I get it. The whole 'armor of sarcasm and bitterness' thing. I just… used my fists instead of my words." She flexed a hand, and he saw the mechanical glint of Ember Celica on her wrist for the first time. "Sometimes, you just have to find a reason to punch through the gray."
He looked at her, really looked at her. She wasn't just some pretty, perky girl. There was a depth there, a hardness forged by her own pain. She wasn't trying to fix him. She was just… there. Sitting with him in the rain.
"Why do you keep coming here?" he asked, his voice softer than he'd intended. "I'm a mess. I'm a cautionary tale."
She turned her lilac eyes on him, and for the first time, he saw something more than curiosity or amusement in them. It was a warmth that had nothing to do with her Semblance.
"Because you're real, Jaune," she said simply. "Everyone else smiles and tells me what they think I want to hear. You tell me my toaster will break my heart and that the 'seasonal' aisle is a monument to consumerist despair. It's refreshing. It's honest." She gave him a small, genuine smile. "And I think the real you, underneath all this retail-induced trauma, is someone worth knowing."
That moment on the loading dock was a turning point. He stopped being just the bitter cashier she teased. He became Jaune, the friend she sought out. He started saving his meager paychecks, not just for rent, but with a vague, terrifying idea of one day maybe getting his life together. He even let her drag him out of the store once, to a dingy noodle joint near his apartment that was better than his usual cup of instant ramen.
Months turned into a strange, beautiful friendship. Yang would come over, and they'd watch terrible movies, her commentary sharp and witty, his filled with dark predictions about which character would die first. She'd help him study for his GED, her patience a stark contrast to his self-deprecating jokes about his own intelligence.
One evening, after she'd helped him finally pass his history test, they were sitting on the floor of his tiny apartment. A pizza box lay between them, and the city lights of Vale glowed outside his single, grimy window.
He looked at her, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she leaned back against his cheap sofa, a contented smile on her face. The constant, gnawing ache of failure in his chest was quiet. For the first time in almost a year, he felt something other than bitter. He felt hope. He felt… something for her that went far beyond friendship.
"You know," he said, his voice quiet. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And considering the competition is a forged transcript and a job at a place called Bud's Bargain Barn, that's not saying much. But… it's true."
Yang opened her eyes and looked at him. The playful glint was gone, replaced by that same warm intensity he'd seen on the loading dock.
"It's saying a lot more than you think, Jaune," she whispered.
She leaned in, and he met her halfway. The kiss wasn't a grand, sweeping gesture. It was soft, a little tentative, and tasted faintly of cheap pizza. But it was the most real thing Jaune Arc had ever felt.
When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.
"So," he murmured, a faint, genuine smile finally breaking through the years of bitterness. "Does this mean you're still going to make fun of me when I complain about work?"
Yang grinned, her eyes bright. "Absolutely. But now I get to do it as your girlfriend. And trust me, that's a promotion for you."
For the first time in a long time, the hum of the city didn't sound like a dirge. It sounded like the start of something.
---
The invitation to Beacon Academy had filled Jaune with a very specific kind of dread. Dinner with Team RWBY. Not just Yang, but the whole package: the hyper-active little sister, the quiet ninja bookworm, and the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. In his world, people like that didn't have dinner with people like him. They walked past him in the mall.
"They're going to eat me alive," he muttered, staring at his reflection. He'd dug out his old hoodie, the one that didn't smell like industrial cleaner, and had even attempted to tame his hair.
Yang, perched on his tiny bed, just grinned. "Relax. Ruby's going to love you. Blake will tolerate you, which for her is basically a hug. And Weiss…" She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Weiss is going to be fascinating."
"That's the part I'm supposed to feel good about?"
"It's the part I'm most excited about," she corrected, hopping up and kissing his cheek. "Come on, my golden retriever of a sister has been texting me every five minutes. She's already picked our table in the corner of the cafeteria."
The Beacon cafeteria was a cavernous hall of gleaming metal and polished wood, a far cry from the greasy spoon where Jaune usually ate. It was filled with the buzz of young warriors-in-training, a stark reminder of the life that had been snatched away from him. He felt a familiar wave of bitterness rise in his throat, but Yang's hand was warm in his, anchoring him.
"There they are!" A tiny girl with dark hair and silver eyes launched herself at Yang, wrapping her in a bear hug. "Yang! You're here! And you brought…" Ruby Rose detached herself and zeroed in on Jaune with the intensity of a curious puppy. "You're Jaune! I've heard so much about you! You work at a store and you're really funny in a sad way and you make Yang happy!"
Jaune blinked. "Uh. Yeah. That's… an accurate summary. The 'sad way' part is usually the kicker."
Ruby beamed. "I like him!"
They slid into the booth. Blake Belladonna gave him a small, polite nod, her amber eyes assessing him quietly from behind her bow. She reminded him of a cat: observant, unreadable, and perfectly comfortable with silence.
And then there was Weiss. She was exactly as Jaune had imagined: impeccably dressed, posture perfect, her ice-blue eyes scanning him with the clinical detachment of someone inspecting a slightly suspect piece of produce.
"So," Weiss began, setting her fork down with a delicate clink. "You're Jaune."
"That's what they tell me," he replied, keeping his voice neutral. "The name tag at work agrees, but I've learned not to trust everything I read."
Weiss's eye twitched, a microscopic crack in her composure. "Yang tells us you work at a… 'Bargain Barn'?"
"Bud's Bargain Barn," Jaune corrected, nodding. "Custodian, cashier, and occasional grief counselor for people whose dreams of a perfect blender have been shattered."
Ruby snorted into her water. Blake's lips quirked.
Weiss pressed on, undeterred. "And you're not a Huntsman? Not a student? No combat training?"
"None whatsoever. My combat experience is limited to wrestling with a particularly aggressive floor buffer we call 'The Shakeweight of Doom.'"
"Then what," Weiss said, leaning forward slightly, her tone sharpening, "exactly, do you plan to do with your life? You can't possibly think you're a suitable match for someone like Yang. She's a Huntress-in-training. She fights Grimm. She has a future. You… work in retail."
The table went silent. Ruby looked horrified. Blake's eyes narrowed, a silent observer. Yang's grip on Jaune's hand tightened, her own temper flaring, but before she could unleash it, Jaune spoke.
He didn't get angry. He just looked at Weiss, a flicker of that familiar, dark amusement in his blue eyes. "You're right," he said calmly. "I'm not a suitable match for her on paper. I'm not gonna lie and say I have a grand plan. My grand plan for the last year was 'don't get fired and don't run out of ramen.'" He shrugged. "But here's the thing. Yang doesn't need someone to fight her battles for her. She's a walking apocalypse in a leather jacket. She doesn't need a partner with a fancy weapon or a prestigious name." He tilted his head. "She comes to me after a long day of slaying monsters because I'm the one place she doesn't have to pretend. I don't care about her Semblance or her reputation. I care that she steals the pizza crusts off my plate and laughs at my misery."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "You're Weiss Schnee. You've probably had people lining up your whole life to tell you what you want to hear. People with 'futures' and 'plans' and really shiny resumes." His voice softened, just a fraction. "I'm not one of them. I'm just the guy who tells her the truth. And right now, the truth is, you're being kind of a jerk to someone who's just trying to have dinner with his girlfriend's friends."
The silence stretched. It was profound. Ruby's mouth was a perfect 'o' of awe. Blake's lips had curved into a small, unmistakable smile of approval. And Weiss… Weiss just stared at him, her usual arsenal of icy retorts completely dismantled.
Yang, her initial anger replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated pride, squeezed his hand under the table.
Weiss opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. She looked at Yang, then back at Jaune. A flicker of something—respect? embarrassment?—crossed her features. She picked up her fork, stabbed a piece of lettuce with perhaps more force than necessary, and said, in a much quieter voice, "The crust thing. That's… irritatingly specific. And you're right. She does steal food."
Ruby burst into relieved laughter. "Oh my gosh, Weiss! He totally got you!"
Blake raised her glass of water in a silent toast towards Jaune. "Well played."
Yang leaned over and whispered in his ear, her voice warm with affection. "You know, for a guy whose social skills were forged in the fires of customer service hell, you're pretty good at this."
Jaune allowed himself a small, genuine smile. "Trial by fire. Or in this case, trial by Schnee." He looked across the table at Weiss, who was now meticulously avoiding eye contact, a faint blush on her cheeks. "No hard feelings?"
Weiss huffed, but it lacked its usual venom. "Just… eat your dinner, Jaune."
As the conversation slowly shifted to safer topics—Ruby's enthusiastic explanation of her latest weapon modification, Blake's dry commentary, and Yang's warm, infectious laughter—Jaune realized something. He'd just passed a test he didn't even know he was taking. And for the first time, sitting in a place that represented everything he'd lost, he didn't feel like an outsider. He felt like he belonged. Because he belonged with her.
And in the flickering fluorescent light of the cafeteria, surrounded by future huntresses and the girl who saw through his armor of bitterness to the person underneath, Jaune Arc finally felt like maybe, just maybe, his life wasn't over.
It was just beginning.