written in the stars
The bridge has been processed in his absence, he realizes faintly as he opens his eyes once again. He recognizes the skyline in the distance, situating him back at the docks of Vale, but the bridge itself is naught but obsidian cubes now.
The ringing in his ears, the tingling in his skin, finally begins to fade as he hears Clover's voice, sees the green tinge of Clover's words, reflecting off the glassy surfaces around them. "We got away, Qrow," he breathes in awe. "We… we actually got away." He sighs, haggard, worn. "Now you're here. And me. And that's it."
And everyone else, I guess. Qrow closes his eyes and places his forehead against the hilt, embracing that silence, that darkness, that the Harbinger bestows upon him as the world comes to a halt. Thank you, everyone.
Tottering to his feet, he looks over to the large piles of smooth rock staring down at him. When the bridge had been built, these had been statues, he realizes faintly- it could not have been more than an hour earlier. He glances around, seeing no Grimm in sight, the plumes of smoke in the distance having finally died down, leaving behind nothing but that gentle snowfall which they had initiated maybe two hours before. I guess… they want us to rebuild, so they backed off. The Grimm are gone now.
Approaching one of the statues, he closes his eyes, raising the blade and striking the stone. It does not bounce off; instead, the blade sinks into this strange material, the stone transforming into Tar, melting away. He does not fear this phenomenon. Instead, he merely keeps his eyes closed, envisions the statues which had been there before, and hums.
"…that's my song," Clover says when Qrow extricates the blade from the pile of Tar. "That's not exactly a good building song, Qrow, c'mon. Something a little more epic would be nice, right?"
But you wrote it for me. And this world is ours now. Opening his eyes, Qrow looks up, watching the Tar dry up in the blink of an eye, leaving behind a brilliant carving of a winged figure holding a hand outstretched to the other side of the bridge.
It is beautiful.
"Look at this- this whole town," Clover says softly, understanding dawning in his voice. "I… guess it's yours now. A blank canvas, and you're the one who still has the brush. Better you than the Circle, I guess." He chuckles dryly, although there is little strength behind it. "So, where do you wanna start? Head back to your place in Beacon? Fix up Vale? All the canals? A Simple Wok? What're you thinking?"
Qrow keeps humming the same melody. Clover insists, "Okay, c'mon now, you've written better songs. Let's go."
This one always helps me sleep. It always takes me back to you.
So, Qrow hums Clover's song to Qrow. Qrow hums and hums, stabbing the Harbinger into every single pool of Tar he sees until the bridge and walkway and dock is transformed into a resplendent, welcoming path, crisp and clean and ready for humans to walk across it all once more. He fixes light posts and recodes doorways, righting signage and removing that godawful proposal to construct a bridge to the Emerald Forest. Soon, the air is lit up by gentle, twinkling lights, the atmosphere soft and sweet, almost romantic as waters that are no longer filled with Grimm ebb and flow against the side of the pier.
"Gods," Clover laughs, nostalgia playing across his twinkling voice, "with the little fairy lights, this looks like that bar where I first saw you. This gruff old soldier, singing with the prettiest little drawl I had ever seen. You were beautiful back then, Qrow." Qrow smiles through his fatigue, and Clover adds, "You still are, too."
But there is one more thing Qrow needs to do upon this pier. So, he finds the nearest CCTS terminal and holds up the Harbinger, opening up access and typing onto the holoscreen his message for Clover. 'The people we've taken with us. Do they want to stay in there, or do they want to escape?'
"O-oh." Clover takes a moment to think, carefully formulating his words before murmuring, "Qrow, I… I think the only escape would be…"
Deletion. Got it. 'If anyone wants to get out, now's the time. And if you need to restore anyone's corrupted data to ask, this is probably the best chance to do it.'
"…okay."
Before his very eyes, Qrow watches as a list of names begin to roll across the holoscreen, one by one. His old friends disappear. His old coworkers disappear. The strangers who have hitched onto this terrifying journey disappear. He keeps a mental tally, watching each person, be it stranger or friend or foe, be removed from the Harbinger's memory each time he clicks 'permanently delete'.
No one would want to stay trapped within the inner cogs of a virtual reality program forever. He does not blame them.
Soon, there are only two files which have not been removed by their own volition from the Harbinger. The rest is gone- specks of data to be lost in time. Only two files and Clover, and Qrow, holding them all in his arms.
Almost done.
He turns the corner, finding the processed black block where Clover's body had been. Clover has continued to chatter about where they could possibly begin their cleanup of Remnant; however, as Qrow sinks the blade into the slab, he stops. "Oh. Look. Qrow, that's not me- not anymore. I'm still with you." He sighs, the green glow of the clock lighting up Qrow's face as he hums, watching the processed block melt into Tar, leaving behind the image within Qrow's mind. Clover continues, "But you know, I'm not getting out of here. But you'll be fine, Qrow- I'm with you, always. You know that, right?"
I know. His brow furrows together as the Tar melts away, finally revealing the figure he had said goodbye to earlier that night. Clover's body has been perfectly preserved- the processing of his handsome visage has not altered the unabashed surge of want which rushes through his veins when he sees the man's still, silent body.
…I just wish that it was good enough.
He lifts the Harbinger to his chest, caressing it, holding it tight with as much tenderness as his trembling, terrified limbs can muster. If the Grimm listen to the Harbinger, and if being attacked by processed individuals brought back his voice-
If a simple breach of skin and bone can download him into the blade-
He does not want to be alone. He does not want to be a solitary person, when all he's ever wanted is still within this blade.
His lips shake as he kisses the clock face before standing up straight. For a moment, he leans the blade down so he can unpin Clover's pin from his lapel; he has kept it with him all this time, after all. He does not remove the jacket, though. Despite everything they've been through that night, it still holds some of Clover's cologne. It is comforting.
"Hey, what're you doing?" Clover asks, confused as he watches Qrow pin Clover's lucky brooch back onto the lapel of his discarded body. "Wait. Wait, wait- what're you doing?"
Qrow does not respond, sighing. He controls the Harbinger. He is its user. With this knowledge, he sits down, sinking his weight into a cold shoulder of the man he loves.
"Qrow?" Panic seeps into Clover's helpless voice, unbridled, unrestrained, as horrified recognition sets in. "Qrow, don't you do it- don't you dare-"
Qrow lifts his hand, willing the Harbinger to rise, too. It obeys his command, just as he knew it would.
Clover begs, "Don't do this, please. Please, Qrow, you can't! If you do this…"
I love you, Clo.
The voice screams desperately, "Qrow, please don't. Wait-!"
Qrow clenches his fist, eyes snapping open as his empty Aura fails to protect him. It is surprising, just how little he feels- just how easy it is to snuggle into this shoulder as that cold begins to seep into his bones, too.
Clover screams, "Qrow, please don't make me do this! Qrow- oh my god, what did he do- no no no no, Qrow, no, no-"
See you soon, Clo.
The sound of Clover's sobs fade into static-filled nothingness, the world lighting up as it downloads new, fresh data. Qrow does not mind, letting the pieces fall where they may. Clover's always been great to cuddle with, though- he likes that part of this numbness.
And then, the sun begins to properly rise, the snow continues to gently fall, and the login count of the Protected Remnant Virtual Reality server turns to zero.
