Glimpses into Another Time: Yang: All Along the Watchtower
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AndrewJTalon
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The Vacuo safehouse was a tomb of silence in the dead of night: Sand whispering against the windows, the distant howl of wind the only company. Jaune Arc couldn't sleep. The Ever After clung to him like a second skin. Yang had reverted after, but him?
Maybe he was in a young man's body again, but his soul still felt old.
He wandered the halls barefoot, humming under his breath—a restless melody that had haunted him since their return.
"There must be some way out of here…"
"Said the joker to the thief," a familiar voice sang back, soft and almost bitter, from the kitchen.
The light glowed soft and golden. Jaune paused in the doorway.
"There's too much confusion..." Jaune sang.
Yang stood at the sink, back rigid, golden hair cascading loose like a waterfall of fire. Her hands gripped the counter's edge hard enough to dent metal. She sang the next verse: Low, frustrated, edged with pain.
"I can't get no relief," she grit out.
Jaune's heart twisted. "Couldn't sleep either?"
She didn't turn, but her shoulders hunched. "This stupid song. It's been looping in my head since we got back. Won't shut up."
He stepped closer, voice gentle. "Same here."
Yang finally faced him—lilac eyes shadowed, glistening with unshed tears she'd never let fall in daylight. The woman who burned bright enough to light up his entire world looked… small.
He reached out for her, but she pulled away. Hurt filled his eyes.
"Yang?" He whispered.
"I nearly killed you," she whispered, voice cracking like dry earth. "In that place… I was a monster. Mindless. And I almost—" Her fists clenched, nails biting palms. "I almost ended you. The man I love. And this damn song just keeps playing, like it's mocking me for failing you."
Jaune closed the distance slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. "Yang… I forgive you. I forgave you-."
She laughed—wet, broken, furious. "You shouldn't. Damn it, Jaune, you shouldn't. I loved you—love you—and I hurt you. I could've taken everything from you. From us. And you just… let it go? Like it didn't rip your heart out?"
Her voice rose, trembling with the weight she'd carried alone.
'"Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth. None of them along the line know what any of it is worth-FUCK! Just... Stop it! STOP IT!"
Before he could reach for her, footsteps padded in.
Oscar Pine—eyes ancient with Ozma's weight—paused in the doorway, a sad chuckle escaping.
"I haven't heard that song in thousands of years," he said softly. "Curious how some things endure."
Jaune seized the brief reprieve. "You know it?"
Oscar nodded, moving to the window. Moonlight silvered his face as he sang-voice rich, layered with lifetimes of loss.
"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief." There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief…"
Each verse carried centuries: weariness, defiance, the ache of inevitability.
"Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth. None of them along the line know what any of it is worth…"
"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke. "There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke…"
"But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate. So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late…"
The chorus rose—haunting, eternal.
"All along the watchtower, princes kept the view. While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too…"
"Outside in the distance, a wildcat did growl. Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl."
The final note faded.
Yang's voice was barely a breath. "What… does it mean?"
Oscar turned, eyes distant. "Even I don't fully know. It was ancient when I was young. Salem loved it—played it in quieter moments. There's confrontation in it. Destiny approaching. Ominous, terrible… yet beautiful. I've wondered if the divine wrote it—an eternal rhyme of humanity's pull toward conflict."
He gave them a weary smile and slipped away, leaving them alone.
The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid.
Jaune stepped closer—close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. He broke the quiet first.
"The problem isn't that I can forgive you, Yang."
She looked up, eyes shimmering. "Then what is it?"
"It's that you can't forgive yourself."
Yang's breath hitched. Tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down her cheeks.
"I should've been stronger," she whispered, voice breaking. "Better. I've carried everything-kept Ruby safe, let her grow into this amazing person. We beat Cinder at Haven, stopped a whole damn war. Got everyone out of Atlas. Denied Salem everything she wanted. We survived that hell in the Ever After and… and still I turned into a monster and nearly took you from me."
Jaune didn't speak. He simply wrapped his arms around her-tight, unyielding, like he could hold all her broken pieces together.
She resisted for a heartbeat-then shattered.
Yang clung to him, face buried in his shoulder, sobs tearing free-raw, wrenching, the kind she'd never allowed anyone to see. Her fingers dug into his shirt like he was the only anchor in a storm.
"You were never a monster," he murmured into her hair, voice thick. "Not to me. You were fighting—always fighting. Even when you lost yourself, you came back. For me. For us."
Her body shook harder. "I was so scared I'd lost you forever."
"You didn't," he said fiercely. "You won't. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Outside, the first rays of dawn crept over the dunes: Soft gold painting the desert, chasing away the long night.
Inside, Yang cried until there were no tears left. Until the song in her head quieted, until the guilt loosened its grip just enough to breathe.
Jaune held her through it all.
And when the sun finally rose, they faced it together.
- - -
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfaTEGGtVf8&list=RDxfaTEGGtVf8&start_radio=1
The Vacuo safehouse was a tomb of silence in the dead of night: Sand whispering against the windows, the distant howl of wind the only company. Jaune Arc couldn't sleep. The Ever After clung to him like a second skin. Yang had reverted after, but him?
Maybe he was in a young man's body again, but his soul still felt old.
He wandered the halls barefoot, humming under his breath—a restless melody that had haunted him since their return.
"There must be some way out of here…"
"Said the joker to the thief," a familiar voice sang back, soft and almost bitter, from the kitchen.
The light glowed soft and golden. Jaune paused in the doorway.
"There's too much confusion..." Jaune sang.
Yang stood at the sink, back rigid, golden hair cascading loose like a waterfall of fire. Her hands gripped the counter's edge hard enough to dent metal. She sang the next verse: Low, frustrated, edged with pain.
"I can't get no relief," she grit out.
Jaune's heart twisted. "Couldn't sleep either?"
She didn't turn, but her shoulders hunched. "This stupid song. It's been looping in my head since we got back. Won't shut up."
He stepped closer, voice gentle. "Same here."
Yang finally faced him—lilac eyes shadowed, glistening with unshed tears she'd never let fall in daylight. The woman who burned bright enough to light up his entire world looked… small.
He reached out for her, but she pulled away. Hurt filled his eyes.
"Yang?" He whispered.
"I nearly killed you," she whispered, voice cracking like dry earth. "In that place… I was a monster. Mindless. And I almost—" Her fists clenched, nails biting palms. "I almost ended you. The man I love. And this damn song just keeps playing, like it's mocking me for failing you."
Jaune closed the distance slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. "Yang… I forgive you. I forgave you-."
She laughed—wet, broken, furious. "You shouldn't. Damn it, Jaune, you shouldn't. I loved you—love you—and I hurt you. I could've taken everything from you. From us. And you just… let it go? Like it didn't rip your heart out?"
Her voice rose, trembling with the weight she'd carried alone.
'"Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth. None of them along the line know what any of it is worth-FUCK! Just... Stop it! STOP IT!"
Before he could reach for her, footsteps padded in.
Oscar Pine—eyes ancient with Ozma's weight—paused in the doorway, a sad chuckle escaping.
"I haven't heard that song in thousands of years," he said softly. "Curious how some things endure."
Jaune seized the brief reprieve. "You know it?"
Oscar nodded, moving to the window. Moonlight silvered his face as he sang-voice rich, layered with lifetimes of loss.
"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief." There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief…"
Each verse carried centuries: weariness, defiance, the ache of inevitability.
"Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth. None of them along the line know what any of it is worth…"
"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke. "There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke…"
"But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate. So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late…"
The chorus rose—haunting, eternal.
"All along the watchtower, princes kept the view. While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too…"
"Outside in the distance, a wildcat did growl. Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl."
The final note faded.
Yang's voice was barely a breath. "What… does it mean?"
Oscar turned, eyes distant. "Even I don't fully know. It was ancient when I was young. Salem loved it—played it in quieter moments. There's confrontation in it. Destiny approaching. Ominous, terrible… yet beautiful. I've wondered if the divine wrote it—an eternal rhyme of humanity's pull toward conflict."
He gave them a weary smile and slipped away, leaving them alone.
The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid.
Jaune stepped closer—close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. He broke the quiet first.
"The problem isn't that I can forgive you, Yang."
She looked up, eyes shimmering. "Then what is it?"
"It's that you can't forgive yourself."
Yang's breath hitched. Tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down her cheeks.
"I should've been stronger," she whispered, voice breaking. "Better. I've carried everything-kept Ruby safe, let her grow into this amazing person. We beat Cinder at Haven, stopped a whole damn war. Got everyone out of Atlas. Denied Salem everything she wanted. We survived that hell in the Ever After and… and still I turned into a monster and nearly took you from me."
Jaune didn't speak. He simply wrapped his arms around her-tight, unyielding, like he could hold all her broken pieces together.
She resisted for a heartbeat-then shattered.
Yang clung to him, face buried in his shoulder, sobs tearing free-raw, wrenching, the kind she'd never allowed anyone to see. Her fingers dug into his shirt like he was the only anchor in a storm.
"You were never a monster," he murmured into her hair, voice thick. "Not to me. You were fighting—always fighting. Even when you lost yourself, you came back. For me. For us."
Her body shook harder. "I was so scared I'd lost you forever."
"You didn't," he said fiercely. "You won't. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Outside, the first rays of dawn crept over the dunes: Soft gold painting the desert, chasing away the long night.
Inside, Yang cried until there were no tears left. Until the song in her head quieted, until the guilt loosened its grip just enough to breathe.
Jaune held her through it all.
And when the sun finally rose, they faced it together.
- - -
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfaTEGGtVf8&list=RDxfaTEGGtVf8&start_radio=1
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