Your mother's cape remained at the bottom of your drawer for a long, long time.

You brought it out at night, breathing in her slowly fading scent before you fell asleep. It stung your eyes, but soothed your heart. Combined with the fatigue that followed you through the day, it was easy falling asleep. Easier, at least. But you took care to stow it away again before sleep came fully, put it out of sight.

Your father's face the one and only morning he'd found you curled about it was unforgettable.

So that small, solitary space before sleep became a miniature haven in time. For a few minutes every night, you let yourself cry. The day demanded your strength, but the night set your burdens aside. You breathed.

But as all things did, it came to an end.

The start came with Ruby through the front door, a dozen different scratches on her face and arms and legs, her eyes swollen from crying.

Immediately you dropped your basket of laundry and picked her up, softly shushing her and patting her back and doing everything you could remember your mom doing for you, until sobs faded to hiccups. Then you led her to the kitchen, grabbed the alcohol, cotton balls, and the cartoony Beowolf band-aids that Ruby liked, and asked what had happened.

"I ran," she sniffled, "The blueberries hurt."

She'd run into some branches then. Pressing a kiss to one cheek, you murmured, "Be a big girl 'nd stay still, 'kay? This is going to sting a bit." Dabbing at a cut, you gave her an encouraging smile when she whimpered, but stayed still. "You curled up like Mum taught you?"

"Uh huh. But it still hurt."

You chuckled at the plaintive whine to her reply, pecking her forehead this time. "Well maybe don't go running for a few days, okay?" And with that you focused on the next red line.

Your mind kept churning, though. It wasn't the first time Ruby had come home in such a state. And it would be some time before Ruby got the idea of using her Aura to shield herself from blows. Until she did, she'd need something to close the present gap.

The idea presented itself immediately, and with a vividness that stopped you mid-wipe.

Ruby noticed, of course, and craned her neck to see your face better. "Yang?"

You swallowed, before you managed a smile. "'S nothing, Ruby. Don't worry about me."

It satisfied her, and she leaned back, let you tend to the last few cuts on her knees before you reached for her arms. Her face was free of uncertainty, trusting that what you said was the truth, and with half her wounds patched up, her mind was already moving on.

But the image in your mind refused to do the same, only grew stronger as you patched Ruby up. And part of you-a large part-recoiled from it. It called for a sacrifice on your part, and the part of you set against it demanded why you had to give up one more thing.

…But mum would've done it.

When you went to grab another box of band-aids, your jaw was set, a plan formed in your mind.

You needed fabric.

Consulting with the island's oldest tailor hadn't given you cold feet.

They'd been the one to make your mother's cape, and handled it with care, pointing out what they deemed necessary for you to know and understand, before they gave you some of the same material. Pat your head in a gesture that opened that wound in your chest again (familiar but not, desired and despised), then let you go home. You'd held on then.

But with the cape spread on your lap, the first stitches sitting quietly before you, your breath caught in your chest and refused to leave. You ran your hands over the familiar cloth over and over again. Your fingers trembled, and refused to stop, no matter how many times you clenched and unclenched them.

You could always ask the tailor for help to make a new one. They'd offered, after all, and they wouldn't question it. And even they didn't know what you'd planned before, what you were debating now. No one would know if you changed your mind.

No one, except for you.

You glanced at Ruby, fast asleep, and with a shaky sigh, you reached for the needle and thread.

It would need to be taken in, until Ruby got a little taller.

"Recognise this, Rubes?"

Tiny hands immediately clutched at the soft fabric, pudgy arms squeezing it to her chest. "Mama's."

"That's right. It's yours now."

Ruby cocked her head to one side, curiosity clear. "Mama won't need it?"

You blinked away tears. You could not cry. You would not. If you started you wouldn't stop, and no one was there to wipe them away now. But eventually you collected yourself enough to say, "N-No. She won't. She'd want you to have it. Keep it close, Ruby." Pressing your hands over hers, you cradled them, yourself, and what remained of your mother. Your voice went the way of your world, and crumbled quietly away. But you let it.

It was time to try building with what remained.

"Keep it close. It'll keep you safe… and warm."