Chapter 396 - My OC Stash #96 - A Rabbit Among Wolves by Coeur-AlAran (RWBY) (1/2)

-A crack fic written by Coeur and it starts with Adam still getting a better death that he got in the show/

Synopsis: Jaune wanted nothing more than to become a hero – and in a way he got his wish. One man's criminal is another's hero and the faunus of Remnant need a champion. Who better to take the mantle of leader of the White Fang? Not a faunus? Not a terrorist? No aura, training or leadership skills to speak of? Minor details. All hail supreme leader Jaune Arc. Long live the resistance!Rated: T

Words: 146K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/13420487/1/A-Rabbit-among-Wolves (Coeur-Al'Aran)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics/originals mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

Adam was a man with many regrets.

Blake was one of them. A recent one. Beyond that, he regretted how the faunus had rolled over after the last war; how many of them accepted debas_e_m_e_nt and poverty. He regretted that violence was necessary to change the status quo; that good men and women had to die to bring change. That his people were seen as monsters, and that history would not remember them fondly whatever the outcome of their revolution.

Adam was a man with many regrets.

He was also a man with a hole in his throat, which really ought to have invalidated a lot of those regrets; or at least pushed them down in importance. He pondered that for a second, but only for a second. There wasn't anything with which to ponder when you were dead. Had he lived a little longer, Adam might have regretted his death being so…

Anticlimactic.

Suddenly, Adam was a man with very few regrets. Unless he counted as a dead body which still did. Perhaps the millions of tiny bacteria that made up his system and lived in symbiosis with the man were regretting not picking someone a little more long-lived. Perhaps his gut regretted the food it had eaten earlier, which would soon be decomposing in a stomach that was in itself decomposing.

Maybe I'm thinking too hard on this, Jaune thought.

He was, after all, a man stood in a shop with a bloody knife in one hand, a dead body on the floor and at least six armed terrorists in masks behind him. It wasn't the best time for philosophy. In fact, it might just have been the worst of times.

Jaune was also a man with many regrets.

He regretted coming to Vale. He regretted trying to become a huntsman. He regretted the sticky toffee pudding he'd had an hour before, which was now flip-flopping around in his stomach and he regretted waving back at that pretty girl earlier who had been waving at someone behind him and had then laughed at his embarrassment. Compared to a man like Adam they were fairly pathetic regrets – but they were his, damn it, and no one would take them away.

Oh, and he regretted everything that led up to this disaster.

Obviously.

”He killed Adam,” one of the faunus said. He wore the distinctive mask of the White Fang, which didn't quite cover the gobsmacked look on his face. His grey uniform blended in with his fellows and the gun at his side was pointed down. ”He… He killed Adam. Just like that…”

Jaune hid the bloody knife behind his back. ”No, I didn't.”

”You-” the faunus choked on air. ”Knife…”

With a metallic clink, the murder weapon bounced off the wall, not quite disappearing around the corner as Jaune had hoped it would. The bloody instrument came to rest where it fell, visible to all. Nervously, Jaune stepped over and gave it a kick, sending it skittering out of sight. He cleared his throat, coughed and faced the White Fang once more.

”What knife?”

The man pointed weakly.

Another placed a hand on his arm and pushed it down, shaking his head slowly.

By this point the store owner had taken the distraction he'd provided to do the brave thing and run far, far away, abandoning his innocent customer to the White Fang. If he was lucky, the man would call the police and they could tell his parents how he died.

The dust store was silent. The six faunus continued to stare at him, weapons pointed toward the ground and eyes gingerly fl_i_c_k_i_n_g between Jaune and the dead body of Adam Taurus. He certainly looked dead. A hole in the throat tended to do that to a person, breath being at least somewhat important in the day-to-day running of the brain.

”What do we do?” a female faunus asked. ”He killed Adam.”

”I guess… I guess that makes him the new boss?”

”Is that how it works?”

”I don't know. Do you want to argue with him?”

”He's unarmed.”

”He was unarmed when Adam took him hostage.” The faunus nodded to the dead man. ”Look how that worked out.”

Adam didn't respond, on account of being life impaired.

In his defence – not that it did him much good now – Adam had chosen his hostage carefully. The shopkeeper might have had any kind of weapon under his counter, while the derpy looking teenager in the corner had a sword on his person. A danger, yes, but better a danger addressed than ignored. He'd snuck up, wrapped an arm around the boy's throat and placed a dagger to his neck.

In Jaune's defence – and he definitely needed it right now – he'd suddenly found himself with a knife at his neck. Panic felt, at the very least, an understandable reaction.

The rest was a blur. Quite literally. There had been screaming, crashing shelving units, angry shouting, much flailing and then gravity playing tricks on them. At one point there'd been some shattered dust jars, some explosions, a few crackling bolts of lightning and a smell not unlike urine, that turned out to be urine, likely from how he'd pissed himself in absolute panic. Again, fair. Knife to neck and all that. The culmination of it all led to a somewhat improbably series of events where he found himself on top of a stunned, dazed and blinded terrorist wiping dust from his eyes. The rest, as they say, was history.

”If I kill him, does that make me the boss?”

”Sure. Go for it.”

The faunus did not in fact `go for it`. He stood exactly where he was and looked to his fellows nervously. ”I was only asking…” He licked his lips. ”So. Uh. New boss?”

”New boss.”

The six of them bent knee.

Now, Jaune knew he was a bit of an idiot.

His mom said it. His dad said it. His sisters said it. He said it too – and there was plenty of evidence to back it up, both from school papers, social interactions (or misinteractions most commonly) and the occasional moment where common sense failed, like wanting to become a huntsman despite not having aura or any lick of combat training. But there was being an idiot and then there was being an idiot.

He was an idiot in the sense of making stupid mistakes and not accounting for the risks; he was not an idiot in the sense of telling a bunch of deadly criminals who were inexplicably calling him their boss that he wasn't in fact their boss, and that they should just kill him and get on with what they were doing.

”Yes. That's right. I'm… I'm your new boss.” He swallowed. ”So you better do what I say if you don't want the same as what happened to Adam to happen to you.”

”I'm not gonna argue with you, boss.” The apparent spokesperson for the faunus was a tallish man with a pair of glasses balanced on the outside of his mask. ”What are your orders?”

Surrender and tie yourselves up? Turn around, cover their eyes and count to five thousand? That didn't seem likely to go down well and was liable to get him shot, which give the whole no aura thing would be a pain. A very brief pain, but pain nonetheless.

”What is it you were doing before?”

”Adam brought us here to secure dust, oh divine and most wise leader.”

Seeing as they were in a dust store, Jaune wondered how the man could say that with a straight face. ”Right. I knew that. And call me Jaune.” He coughed into one hand. ”Secure the dust. Take as much as you can carry and we'll get out of here.”

There. That sounded good enough. The faunus evidently agreed because they holstered their weapons and went about filling vials and cases of dust, draining them from various tubes and containers lining the walls. While they did, Jaune eyed the exit and calculated his chances of making a break for it. Factoring in the distance, his overall fitness and the way his knees were knocking together, he estimated he could make it halfway before he fainted.

The alternative was letting them take the dust, telling them to take it somewhere and then walking away when they went to do so. He could book the first bullhead back to Ansel, hang up Crocea Mors and get a real job.

”Glorious leader,” a voice behind him said. ”We've secured the dust.”

”Um. Yes. Good.” They were all looking to him for instructions. ”Do we have a way of getting it out?”

”We have a van parked out back.”

There was in fact a van parked around the back of the building, sequestered down an alleyway with its back door open. Several of the faunus ran ahead to stack the containers in the back while another crawled in and between the seats, turning on the ignition. The lights flashed forward and back, illuminating them in the late evening dark. It struck Jaune again that he was consorting with criminals, literally helping them toss loot into an escape vehicle.

Better that than being Adam'd.

Sadly, the world didn't seem to agree. White light suddenly shone down the alley, blinding them. Two headlights were shining fiercely against them, silhouetting them.

”This is the police!” someone yelled. ”Put your hands on your heads!”

Tyres screeched behind them as well, another car pulling up at the mouth of the alley and cutting off their escape.

For the briefest of instants, Jaune thought back to the shopkeeper with absolute joy. The old man had called the police – he was saved. That relief soon died when he noticed the guns very much pointed at him, and the fact he was currently surrounded and quite complicit with several criminals.

”Boss, we're surrounded!” the driver yelled. ”What do we do?”

Jaune already had his hands on his head. ”What?” he asked, wondering why they were staring at him. ”I'm doing what comes naturally.”

The tallest of the faunus howled and leapt forward, gun at the ready. ”Long live the White Fang!”

”Shit!” The police ducked behind their car doors. ”OPEN FIRE!”

Jaune was a man with many regrets but being gunned down by the police wasn't about to become one of them.

Hands still on his head in the vague hopes they'd noticed and not hurt him, he hurled himself back through the door and into the dust shop, dodging the hail of bullets that tore back and forth outside. He landed hard, face down and shaking, wide eyes staring into Adam's dead face.

You did this, Adam seemed to say. You dumb f_u_c_ker.

Jaune scurried to his feet. ”It's not my fault!”

Out. He needed a way out.

Scanning the shop, he settled on the front door – obvious in hindsight. Vaulting the counter, he landed on his feet and nearly fell, catching himself on a shelf and racing ahead. His shoulder hit the door and knocked it back. The little bell above squealed angrily.

Stumbling out into the cool air and with the gunfire still echoing behind him, Jaune looked around in panic. There! He dashed across the street and slammed face first into the window of a bright yellow taxi, slapping his hand on the glass and pushing his nose and mouth up against it.

”I need a ride!” he yelled. ”NOW!”

The pudgy cabbie inside stared back at him with wide eyes. Terror spread across his face before he screamed and dragged himself over the passenger seat, unbuckling his seatbelt, pushing the other door open and rolling out. The overweight driver ran away, stumbling his way down the sidewalk and abandoning his car.

Jaune stared after him. ”What…?”

”Nice work, boss!” A meaty hand landed on his back with a thwack, his allies appearing behind him and having frightened the taxi driver off. Their guns were smoking and two were still firing back toward the shop, keeping the officers pinned. ”Guys, the boss got us a car! Quick, get in!”

Not waiting for Jaune to figure out what was going on, the faunus pulled the door open and shoved him inside, following. Jaune had a moment to recognise the footrest of the passenger side as he fell face down into it, legs kicking up in the air, before the other five faunus piled into the back like it was a clown car. Vials and cases of dust spilled out and over the centre console as the bespectacled faunus twisted the key in the ignition and slammed the stick into gear. His foot stamped down on the pedal.

The taxi squealed forward.

Jaune slammed even further down into the footrest, curling into a ball.

Sirens echoed behind them.

”They're on our tail!”

”Gee – you think? It's like we robbed a place or something!” The driver swerved the vehicle left just as Jaune was trying to right himself. The sudden change had him crashing into the door and back down again, m_o_a_ning faintly. ”You okay, boss? Deery, help him up.”

Hands gripped him by the shoulders as a woman with deer horns leaned over the seat and pulled him up out the footrest. Jaune mumbled his thanks – if nothing else, mom taught him to be polite – and sagged back, looking out the windscreen in time to scream.

”Hold on!”

The front of the car ramped up off the road with a horrifying ker-chunk, rattling up onto the sidewalk and a steep flight of stairs. The car wasn't made for it and the sound the wheels made with every fearsome impact was agonising, to say nothing off the bouncing. Deery lurched up and hit the roof, then collapsed over his legs. Glass shattered and lightning dust sparked, turning the inside of the taxi into a fireworks display.

They cleared the steps and went over, lurching ponderously through the air with everyone inside screaming and crackling, watching the road approach and wondering whether the taxi could even take the impact.

Tyres screeched down. The suspension howled and something snapped. A metallic object skittered off to the left while the car went right, Jaune wailing along with Deery, who was sat in his l_a_p with her arms wrapped around his neck.

”Wahooo!” the driver yelled, laughing as he wrenched the wheel to the right, dodged a parked garbage truck and pulled out onto a new road. Behind, the police were forced to navigate around the shortcut they'd taken.

”Perry, you stupid asshole!” Deery screamed, still clinging to Jaune for dear life. ”I'll kill you once this is over!”

”Least you'll be free to do so.” He slammed the pedal down and brought the revs so high the engine sounded like it was being tortured. There was a horrible rattle from the rear-right wheel that couldn't have been healthy. ”Might want to strap your seatbelts. We're not clear yet.”

Looking back, three police cars were in pursuit through the rear window, blue and red lights flashing.

Their yellow cab rattled down the road spitting sparks as it went. It wasn't made for speed and the pursuit vehicles were having no trouble catching up. He wasn't even sure if that was a good thing or not. Would they believe him if he said this was all one big misunderstanding? Probably not after they'd already opened fire on them. More likely, they planned to ram them off the road.

”Faster!” Jaune yelled. ”Faster!”

”Sure thing, boss!”

Jaune and Deery were slammed back into the passenger seat. Idly, he realised it was the closest he'd ever come to having a girl in his lap. It was also much closer than he wanted as they both clutched to one another in panic.

”Bullhead!” a faunus in the back warned, pointing over the console.

”F_u_c_k!” Perry swerved left and out onto a bridge leading over a canal. The Bullhead followed, flying through the air to their left with its bright spotlight fixed over their car. ”They're really bringing out the big guns here. And for what, a little dust?”

”They must want Adam.”

”They can have him!” Jaune spat. ”He's not doing much right now!”

”Too soon, boss. Too soon.”

THUMP

Jaune's view was cut off – shadows cast over him as something landed on the hood of the car and caused it to buckle. A pair of legs stood before the window. Following them up revealed tight grey trousers leading to a white and grey shirt with a popped collar. A red cloak fluttered behind the man, who looked down on him with a smug grin, faint beard and black-grey hair. A triangular-shaped weapon was slung over one shoulder, his other hand planted on his hip.

The man's grin grew. ”Hey there. Room for one more?”

”Huntsman!”

The huntsman raised one foot and slammed a black shoe into the window, shattering it on his side and making the car swerve. Shards of glass rained down on them as everyone – him, Deery, Perry and the passengers in the back – screamed in panic.

”Now, what do we have here,” the huntsman said, voice gravelly. He reached in and gripped Jaune by the collar. ”Out you come, kiddo. Sheesh. They recruit you lot younger and younger.”