Author's Note: Once again this is going up un-beta'ed, but as I mentioned in the previous chapter, if I need to make any major changes to the chapter other than some minor grammatical tweaks, i.e. changes that are plot-affecting, I'll post a note on whatever the current chapter is so you guys can go back and reread. Again, I don't really anticipate anything like that at this time, but we'll see what my beta says once her classwork load lightens up and she has a chance to go over all of this.
Also, since CRWBY hasn't given us a real idea of what year it is in Remnant, other than approximately 80 years after the end of the Great War (based on the idea of the Vytal Tournaments being held every two years and the last Tournament at Beacon being the 40th Tournament) I decided that one of the things that was changed during the negotiations of the Vytal Treaty was establishing a new calendar for a new era, so the new calendar is referred to as "AW" for "After the War", while anything before the signing of the treaty is considered to be "BW" or "Before the War".
Chapter Six: Indecisive
Vale General Hospital…sunset…
Ozpin paused as the elevator reached the floor of the hospital where Oscar's room was, his hand tightening on the handle of Long Memory. After meeting with the rest of his brotherhood, he and Glynda had spent a few hours going over the security plans for Beacon, determining what would be the best ones to implement, given the limited information they had regarding the threat to the Academies. Once they had come to an agreement, Glynda had left to begin selectively calling the other professors into personal meetings to begin briefing them, leaving Ozpin alone to think about Oscar, the warnings the boy had brought, and his clear resentment towards Ozpin.
Glynda's words had provided some insight, and when combined with what Oscar himself had said, Ozpin knew that there was more going on than he'd initially thought – and perhaps he'd been wrong to dismiss the boy's words so immediately. He was still worried about the possibility that Salem had managed to find out a way to identify his potential future incarnations, but if so, that was a problem that he could address once he had more information from Oscar as well.
He moved down the hallway, past the nurses' station. Visiting hours would be over soon, but since he had taken custody of Oscar in his role as a City Councilman until they could locate his family, he had more access than most. He stopped again, just outside Oscar's room, drawing comfort from the solidarity of having Long Memory in his grasp. Hopefully giving the boy a few hours to calm down would make this discussion go a little more smoothly. After all, they wouldn't be able to have an effective, productive discussion about the upcoming threat with Oscar's anger directed at him.
After pausing for a moment to take a fortifying breath, he took the final few steps to the open doorway of Oscar's room and raised his other hand to knock. He shouldn't be nervous about talking to a teenager – he'd been through far more harrowing experiences, after all. "Good evening Oscar. May I come in?"
The boy was still sitting half-reclined in the bed, as he had been earlier that day. His eyes were closed again, the oxygen mask still around his neck. He opened his eyes and turned his head towards the door at Ozpin's knock, his eyes widening at the sight of Ozpin standing in the doorway before they narrowed suspiciously.
"I… think perhaps we were not on the same page during our earlier conversation, and I would like to speak to you further, if you don't mind," Ozpin added.
The suspicious look didn't ease. "And if I do?"
"Then I'll leave until you're ready to speak to me," he replied, allowing a soft smile to turn up the corners of his lips in an effort to reassure the boy.
Something in Oscar's expression eased a little, and he slowly nodded. He kept his eyes on Ozpin as he entered the room and – rather than taking the chair – stood at the end of the bed, resting both palms over the pommel of Long Memory. Better not to crowd Oscar, at least until some of the overt hostility in his eyes had been eased.
"I'd like to apologize for upsetting you earlier today," Ozpin said, breaking the silence just before it would have been uncomfortable. "It wasn't my intention."
"That seems to happen a lot," Oscar muttered. "You do something with the best of intentions, and it turns out differently – and often worse - than you intended." He glanced away from Ozpin, eyes darkening with pain and anger again.
Ozpin winced at the – unerringly – true statement. He'd made so many mistakes in his incarnations – and almost all of them came as the result of good intentions, all the way back to Ozma. He'd saved Salem from the tower where her father had imprisoned her, without realizing how that decision would forever influence the world. He'd agreed to the God of Light's mission without knowing all of the details, because he'd viewed returning to life – to Salem – as good, and he'd wanted to help humanity, but he'd found himself trapped under the burden of an impossible mission and a millennia-long stalemate with the woman he'd once loved. As the last King of Vale, he'd fought in the final battle at Vacuo during the Great War with the intention of ending the war – but that battle had resulted in the largest death toll of any battle over the entire ten-year span of the War.
And those were only a few of the heaviest mistakes that weighed on his soul. There were far too many to remember or think of at that moment.
He didn't want to discuss his failures with this boy – someone who was far too young to understand the gravity and consequences of each failure and what they had meant for Remnant over the years. Yet, he had the sense that being anything less than honest with Oscar would cause him to close down and turn hostile again, and that was something he couldn't risk when he needed all the information the boy could provide.
"You… aren't wrong, Oscar," Ozpin admitted. "I have often strayed from the path of peace and harmony as a result of good intentions that turned out horribly wrong." He sighed. "I don't know everything, and despite my many lives, I cannot see all of the results or consequences of the decisions I make until it is far too late."
Oscar's eyes flicked back to meet Ozpin's. There was still anger there, and mistrust… but there was a hint of…something more.
This time, Oscar was sure of it. Now that his head wasn't as fogged by pain and confusion as it had been the last two times he'd seen his visitor, he recognized the voice. There was no mistaking that soft tenor after spending almost a year hearing it inside his head. The carefully constructed sentences, the Vale accent – distinct after spending so many months with Ruby and Yang and so different from his own Mistrali accent, Blake's soft Menagerian accent, or Weiss' sharper and more precise Atlesian accent – there couldn't be any doubt. And, of course, there was Long Memory…
No, there was no doubt in his mind that he was indeed looking at Beacon's Headmaster as he had looked prior to the Fall of Beacon and prior to his soul taking up residence inside Oscar's head. He'd heard interviews with Ozpin on the radio back when he'd been on the farm, but he hadn't recognized his voice when the headmaster had first begun speaking to him because he'd been so overwhelmed with what was happening and convinced he was crazy. He'd had some vague impressions of what the Headmaster had been like, based only on his voice, but they'd never been more than a sense of intelligence, strength, and kindness.
Once Oz had bonded with him, a lot of those initial impressions had changed – overwhelmed by darker feelings generated by his own personal feelings that he would be lost, erased by Oz's more dominating, powerful personality – especially after the way Oz had forcefully taken control at Haven.
But now…
Ozpin – because it couldn't be anyone else – was not what he had expected. Extremely tall and slender, with a surprisingly youthful face, especially considering the tousled silver hair and brown eyes, he was wearing a black suit and emerald vest, both with bronze buttons, and an emerald turtleneck. His only ornaments were the silver and purple brooch in the shape of a cross which was pinned to the front of his turtleneck and the small, ornate, shaded glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
But it was the Headmaster's eyes that caught his attention. They were warm and gentle, full of sympathy. When he apologized for upsetting Oscar earlier that day, sincerity and sadness gleamed in them behind those dark shades. What reason did he have to be sad?
After everything that had happened, he didn't know what he should be thinking or feeling now that he was face-to-face with Ozpin. The simple fact that the Headmaster had died at the Fall of Beacon, and yet he was now standing in front of Oscar was enough to convince him that something was drastically different from what it should be.
"That seems to happen a lot," Oscar muttered in response to the apology. "You do something with the best of intentions, and it turns out differently – and often worse – than you intended." He glanced away from Ozpin, but not before he caught the wizard's wince out of the corner of his eye.
"You… aren't wrong, Oscar. I have often strayed from the path of peace and harmony as a result of good intentions that turned out horribly wrong." Ozpin sighed heavily. "I don't know everything, and despite my many lives, I cannot see what all of the results and consequences of the decisions I make will be – sometimes until it is far too late."
Oscar glanced back at him. He… hadn't expected Ozpin to admit that so freely – at least, not the Ozpin he had first "met" right after they bonded. It was only recently – after Oz had returned from his self-imposed exile in the back of Oscar's mind – that the ancient soul had begun being so open with him.
He wanted to stay mad at the Headmaster for dismissing his explanation earlier, but the raw sadness and pain in his eyes made that difficult. Sharing headspace – or was that soulspace? – with Oz for nearly a year had given him a unique insight in how the Headmaster thought. Now that he'd had a few months to process Jinn's story while Oz had been gone, he felt like he understood the old wizard's reasoning and fears a lot better than he had at first, which made it hard not to sympathize with what he was feeling.
"Yeah," he finally said lowly, hating that he had to admit to understanding that pain and those failures. After all, he'd failed too – he'd failed to protect the Relic, and he'd failed to sway Ja- the General back from the edge of fear that he'd fallen to on the eve of Salem's attack…
"I would like to talk to you," Ozpin said, his voice gentle but still with a hint of melancholy in it. "But I understand if you're not feeling up to it right now."
He still hurt all over – his chest still felt tight and aching with each breath, although it was easier to breathe now than it had been this morning, and he still had the oxygen if he needed it. The doctor had told him he'd had several cracked and broken ribs, as well as a punctured lung that they'd been able to patch with surgery, so that explained the pain when he breathed. That wasn't even mentioning the burn on his chest from Salem's lightning attack. It would be easy to just tell the wizard that he didn't feel like talking… but that would be delaying the inevitable.
If there was anything that Oscar had learned in the past year, there was no point in trying to deny the inevitable, whether it be an impending soul merge with an ancient and powerful warrior-wizard or facing a confrontation with an angry friend or a hated enemy… there was no avoiding it, and sometimes it was better to just face it and put it in the past so that healing could begin.
"Um… sure, I guess," he said quietly, tensing a little.
"May I sit down?"
Oscar nodded silently, watching as Ozpin moved back over to the chair, again placing Long Memory against the armrest of the chair. Oscar's gaze followed the cane's movement, the ache to feel it in his hands rising within him. He knew Ozpin noticed, but the Headmaster didn't say anything.
Ozpin rested his elbows against the armrests of the chair, pressing his palms together so he could tap his fingertips to his lips. His brown eyes went distant and unfocused, and the silence lingered, almost to the point of being uncomfortable.
"You said some… interesting… things this morning," Ozpin finally said. "Would you be willing to elaborate?"
Oscar's gaze dropped into his lap as he worried his hands and picked at his nails – a clear nervous tick. Ozpin just couldn't tell if it was because he was lying about everything he'd said, or if he was just nervous in general. That in itself was interesting because he could usually read people very well. In some ways, the kid was an open book, but in others he was remarkably self-contained.
"I c-can try, but I still don't understand a lot of it myself," the teen admitted finally. "W-what did you want to know?"
"I'd like to know more about the attacks you mentioned," Ozpin replied, "but I understand that you may not trust me yet. Could we – perhaps – talk about what you said about being my next incarnation?" He hesitated for a moment and glanced towards the open doorway. "Did… Salem… tell you that you were next?"
"No." Oscar's response was firm even as he raised his eyes to meet Ozpin's gaze directly. "You did. You started speaking in my head, telling me stories, and trying to persuade me to go to Haven."
There was absolutely no doubt in the boy's tone at that answer, but Ozpin was still finding it hard to believe him. After all, he was still alive. Telepathy was not a Semblance or even a magic that he possessed – at least, his version of it was not what someone who genuinely had a telepathic Semblance would recognize as such. He could only speak mentally with his partner while he was in the middle of a reincarnation. Once the merge was complete, however, that ability disappeared until the next period of reincarnation.
He struggled to keep the disbelief off his face, but he had a feeling that Oscar could tell regardless. The hazel eyes darkened again, and his gaze fell back to his hands.
"Oscar… I hope you understand why I'm struggling to believe what you're saying," Ozpin finally managed after another awkward silence. "It goes against all of my experience – several millennia worth – of learning about and adapting to my curse."
"I get that," Oscar whispered. "I wish I didn't, but I do."
"Can you…" he paused, trying to find the right words, not wanting to anger the teen again. "Is there any proof you can give me of what you're saying?"
"I –" Oscar hesitated, emotions flickering through his eyes rapidly. "I'm not sure." He bit his lip, clearly thinking hard. That furrow in his brow that Ozpin had noticed earlier in the day was back. "I – well… could you tell me something first?"
"That depends," Ozpin said cautiously. "What did you want to know?"
"What's today's date?"
That was an odd question, but Ozpin couldn't see anything in it that would give him a reason not to answer. "It's October 5th."
"What year?" the follow up question came after only a brief hesitation. Again, Ozpin couldn't discern the reason for the question, but he couldn't see any reason not to answer. He didn't know how long Salem had been holding Oscar prisoner, so the boy could have easily lost track of his sense of time.
"78 AW," Ozpin replied. "The 39th Vytal Festival ended a month ago."
The furrow in the boy's brow deepened even further before his face paled dramatically. "Two years… but how?" The last part was clearly directed more at himself than Ozpin but what it implied wasn't good. Could the boy have been held hostage by Salem for two years? The doctor had said that his injuries were all fairly recent, but perhaps it was only in the last few days that he'd been being beaten. Salem was manipulative – she only resorted to force when she didn't think she could get what she wanted any other way, as he knew from personal experience.
Oscar closed his eyes and leaned back against the head of the bed for a moment before his eyes opened again and met Ozpin's directly. "I'm sure this is going to sound crazy, but…" he hesitated again, his eyes revealing an inner conflict. "I… think I know why the things I am remembering aren't matching with what you're saying."
"Oh? I'm listening," Ozpin wondered what the boy's theory was. He had several of his own of course, but he and Glynda had dismissed most of them at this point based on Ozpin's experience or the unlikeliness of the theory.
"I… think… I'vetravelledbackintime."
Beacon Academy…
"Ah, Glynda, just the person we were looking for!"
Glynda turned her head to see Oobleck and Port approaching from the cross-hallway to her right. Oobleck was holding his ever-present cup of coffee, while Port's arms were folded behind his back.
"How is Professor Ozpin?" Peter asked. "We didn't see any updates on his status this morning."
"Yes, yes," Oobleck nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose. "We were going to go to the hospital to visit him, but we wanted to make sure that he was up to receiving visitors, especially after taking ill so suddenly yesterday." One long finger pushed his glasses back up on his nose.
Glynda frowned. Where had that assumption come from? She'd sent out an announcement to the school that the headmaster was fine, at his behalf once she'd alerted him to the fact that rumors were beginning to spread. "Professor Ozpin is fine. He went to the hospital in his capacity as a Council member on behalf of an injured child, not because he was ill."
"A child?" Oobleck asked. "A Beacon student?"
"No, not a Beacon student. It seems that he may have a portal Semblance of some kind, and he randomly appeared in Professor Ozpin's office yesterday. He was savagely beaten, and Professor Ozpin accompanied him to the hospital to see if he could get some answers and to serve as an adult stand-in until we locate his family."
"Dreadful!" Oobleck exclaimed. "Horrifying!"
"Who could do such an atrocious thing to a young man?" Port rumbled angrily, his bushy, grey moustache bristling with his emotion.
"We don't know," Glynda said. "Professor Ozpin is going to try to find out once he is able to talk about it, but in the meantime, he wanted to make sure that someone was there for the boy, so he didn't wake up alone." Her frown deepened. "We are trying to keep the incident quiet so that the boy's attacker doesn't find him again."
"Naturally," Port rumbled. "Any villain who would attack a child so savagely would show little hesitation in attacking him at a hospital."
"We can assist with quelling the remaining rumors amongst the student body," Oobleck said. "The young man's safety is paramount of course."
"I would appreciate it, and I know Professor Ozpin will as well," Glynda said. The other two professors nodded and headed off to their self-appointed task, leaving her to handle the next task on her to-do list until the Headmaster returned. The loyalty and dependability of Beacon's staff was exactly the sort of thing that she and Ozpin had been working towards over the last two decades. The fact that they could be relied upon, even though they knew nothing about the real fight going on in the shadows was encouraging and she made a note to tell the headmaster when he returned to campus.
Vale General Hospital…
"I… think… I'vetravelledbackintime."
The teen's words came out in a rushed, single breath, merging together in a way that took Ozpin several moments to sort out. When they did, he blinked at the boy, dumbfounded.
"What?" he asked, flatly, knowing that he sounded utterly disbelieving, but unable to stop himself from voicing the disbelief.
Oscar's gaze dropped into his lap again, his cheeks turning red – whether from embarrassment or anger, Ozpin couldn't tell – and he toyed with the hemmed edge of his blanket. "I think I've travelled back in time," he repeated, more slowly, his eyes not meeting Ozpin's this time.
The claim was so outrageous, Ozpin almost couldn't believe that the boy had made it. How could he possibly expect Ozpin to believe him? Was this what James had been insinuating during their earlier conversation, about Oscar being planted here to distract him? If he was spending all of his time trying to debunk Oscar's story – a big enough lie that it would be hard to disprove, at least in the short-term – he wouldn't be watching what the boy was doing the rest of the time.
To the rest of Remnant, magic was only something that was seen in fantasy stories – the fact that it still existed, if only in a limited capacity, was beyond the realm of most people's understanding. But time travel? If it were real, how many things could he have changed? How many things could Salem have changed? The potential for chaos and disorder… it sent a chill down his spine.
"Oscar, even with magic… time travel isn't possible," Ozpin began slowly, but Oscar's gaze came up.
"I don't know how else to explain it," Oscar interrupted, "but it's the only thing I can think of. I'm fifteen, and I was born in 66 AW."
"It's 78 AW, so you would only be twelve…"
"I'm fifteen," the boy said stubbornly a hint of anger sparking in his eyes again. "I know how old I am."
"Oscar, you were injured and fevered when you arrived in my office," Ozpin ventured carefully, not wanting to anger the boy further. "A hallucination…"
"No," Oscar interrupted again. "I've been thinking about this all day, trying to make sense of it. The last thing I remember was being in Atlas, as Salem's prisoner. I've never been to Vale before - but you said I appeared in your office at Beacon Tower, a building I know was destroyed during the Vytal Festival in 80 AW, and now I'm in Vale General Hospital." He frowned and shook his head. "With everything that was happening, I don't see any way I could have gotten to Vale, and I don't understand why my friends would have brought me here instead of Atlas, or even Mantle."
Ozpin still felt skeptical of the claim, but he also couldn't deny the earnest sincerity in Oscar's eyes. "Oscar, I want to believe you, but…" he trailed off, uncertain what more he could say.
"It sounds crazy, I know," Oscar admitted. "But I lived through everything – the battle at Haven, Salem's attack on Atlas... My memories are too vivid for it to have been a hallucination. I don't know how I got pulled back here, I don't know why, but it's the only possibility that makes any sense. If my friends had rescued me and brought me here, they would still be here. You were in my head, and now you're here, alive…" he shrugged before he hissed at the pull on his wounds. "If there's some other way it could have happened, I would love to know about it because I want to make sure my friends are okay."
The hazel eyes dropped back to the bedsheets, and Oscar toyed with the edge of it again. Silence stretched between them as the teen waited for Ozpin's response. An intangible weight seemed to settle on Oscar's shoulders, and he stopped toying with the sheet while his left hand moved to absently rub at his bandaged right wrist, but he was the one who finally broke under the pressure of the silence. "I get it," he whispered. "You think I'm crazy."
Ozpin resisted the urge to rub away the headache that was forming between his temples. The boy – Oscar – was so sincere, even if his story was impossible. Magic was capable of many things, but this? But at the same time, comforting the boy was just as important as trying to make sense of his story. "Oscar, no, I don't." He tried to smile, to offer some comfort, but it felt flat, insincere. "I've known many people in my many lives, and you are not crazy. That much I can tell just by looking at you."
Oscar's eyes came up again and met Ozpin's eyes. Wary caution and emotional hurt were swimming in their depths, and Ozpin had the sense that one wrong word would result in destroying the boy's self-confidence. Whatever Salem had done to him, whatever he had been through that had convinced him that he was Ozpin's next incarnation, it had clearly had an effect on his psyche.
"That being said," he continued, carefully watching the hurt beginning to build up again. "I need some time to think about all of this. I'm not saying I don't believe you," he added quickly, "but you have to understand that this goes against all of my… many, many years of experience." The last part was said with a bit of wry humor in his voice, trying to lighten the mood.
"Yeah," Oscar whispered, eyes going back to the blanket. "No, that makes sense." His expression didn't reflect that he was convinced by what Ozpin was saying, however. "I mean, you did tell me once that…" he trailed off. "Never mind."
"What did I say?" Ozpin asked, allowing a small smile, and deciding to indulge the boy for the moment. He was already convinced that he had travelled back through time – and while Ozpin wasn't as convinced, it wouldn't hurt to humor him. "Something profoundly wise and fitting for my role as headmaster of Beacon, I hope?"
The tiniest smile twitched at the corners of Oscar's mouth. "Not especially profound, or wise, no. I thought I was going crazy when you started talking to me. You said that I was sane, but not necessarily normal."
"Ah." Ozpin considered that. "Well, normality is a rather subjective metric on its own, wouldn't you agree? Especially in a world where magic and Semblances exist. What is normal for one person may not be normal for another, and…"
He trailed off when Oscar let out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. He was pleased to see a little bit of light in the boy's eyes, after everything that had happened. It was good to know that whatever he'd been through hadn't broken his spirit.
Silence settled over them again, but it didn't feel quite as heavy this time. Even still, the weight of Oscar's theory was still there. Ozpin just wasn't sure how one would even go about proving that theory. Magic was one thing, but it was still something that he could explain to someone else if he had to. But time travel? How did one explain that to someone else? How would it even work? Magic could do many things, but not that. If it could… well, there were so many things he would go back and change, and he knew Salem would do the same if she found out.
Life after life of mistakes, failure, betrayal, loss, death… if it could all be changed, wiped away…
Could it be the boy's Semblance? If so, that would explain both Salem's interest in him and how he'd appeared so abruptly. But it would also be one of the most powerful and dangerous Semblances that he'd ever seen in millennia. Portal and transportation Semblances were rare enough, and even when limited in scope could be outstandingly powerful, but time travel? It would be the only time he'd ever seen that type of Semblance – and the potential chaos it could cause filled him with dread.
He saw the boy's gaze drift back over towards Long Memory where it was leaning against the arm of his chair. He wanted to reach for the cane protectively, but he didn't want to show weakness or distrust of the boy either, not when they were finally starting to connect, even if it was a surface-level connection where they could have a conversation without Oscar breaking down in panic or rage. The people around him were always depending on his strength, on the illusion that he had a plan and knew what he was doing. Maintaining that illusion was second nature now, and his personal feelings about it didn't matter.
"The Long Memory."
He saw the boy nod. If he was a future incarnation would make sense for the boy to feel a connection to the cane, but he couldn't help the feelings of possessiveness that rose up in him at seeing the interest the boy was showing – especially since he wasn't entirely convinced of the boy's story.
Oscar couldn't stifle the tiny laugh that escaped him when the Headmaster joked about the perception of normality. It reminded him of the early days, after he'd left his aunt's farm, but before that day in the snow when all of Oz's secrets had been torn free and exposed to the team by Jinn after Ruby asked her question. In those early days, it hadn't been uncommon for Oz to try to soothe his fears or worries by lightening the mood with a joke or a pleasant anecdote from his past.
That little bit of humor had gone a long way to helping him come to terms with what he was facing with the soul merge, despite his deep-rooted fears that he hadn't been able to bring himself to talk about with the old wizard until they were on Monstra. Knowing more about what was actually going to happen to him had helped him accept it a little more… and then this had happened.
Silence fell between them again. Oscar watched the Headmaster through his bangs, seeing the expressions crossing the Headmaster's face – amusement, disbelief, deep contemplation, dread. Almost against his will, his gaze shifted to where Long Memory was resting against the armrest of the Headmaster's chair again. He could feel the ache to have it in his hands, especially now that he'd begun to consider it to be his, what with all the training he'd been doing with it and the battles that had already been fought.
Ozpin's gaze followed his. "The Long Memory."
Oscar nodded. "I – it's…" He wasn't sure how to explain the ache. Oz had understood, back in Mistral, when they had been searching the bars for Qrow, since the ache had been coming from him, but would Ozpin? The Headmaster was already skeptical of his time travel theory – Oscar could see it in his eyes, and he knew that Ozpin had just been humoring him thus far. For Huntsmen and Huntresses, weapons were a deeply personal item, and letting someone else handle your own weapon was difficult. He'd seen that when watching Ruby and her friends do maintenance on their gear. For Oz – who had owned Long Memory for centuries, at least, perhaps longer – it would be even more personal.
Maybe it would be better to change topics. The last thing he wanted was to increase any skepticism Ozpin felt regarding his theory or his sincerity. If he was right and he really had travelled back in time he would have to convince the Headmaster, as well as the rest of his inner circle, particularly Glynda and Qrow, since he didn't trust Lionheart or Ironwood – but he couldn't go around making accusations until he had earned some trust. But that wouldn't make the waiting any easier. If he was right, he had the chance to change things, and the sooner he could get started, the better. Maybe he could prevent what had happened to Vale, or Atlas, somehow.
"So… what now?"
Ozpin's attention refocused on him. "You need to take some time and heal," he replied. "Doctor Ashburn told me that she'll let you try to heal yourself with aura tomorrow, but you did sustain some extensive injuries, so even with aura it may take some time before you can be released."
That made sense to Oscar. His breathing was easier than it had been that morning, but his chest still ached with each breath – scratch that, his entire body pulsed with a low-level ache. Salem and Hazel had done a lot of damage, and he knew it would take time to heal, even with aura. In addition, it wasn't like he was an expert with his aura yet.
"I need some time to think about everything that you've told me," Ozpin continued. "Glynda and I may come back tomorrow or in a couple of days to ask some questions about what we're facing, but we want to give you some time to recover a little more." He offered a small smile. "After that, we'll have to see where we stand and decide what to do."
Oscar nodded. "Okay."
"Most likely, an officer from the Vale Police Department will want to talk to you as well," Ozpin added. "After the way you appeared in my office, we had to file a police report since we didn't know who you were or where you had come from or if anyone had reported you missing."
"Great," Oscar muttered. "I'm not really sure how I'll explain all of this, since I can't mention her or everything that I know is going to happen."
"Well, I know Doctor Ashburn wants you to rest tonight. I'll reach out to the police and let them know you should be up for an interview tomorrow, so you'll have some time to think about it," Ozpin offered. "We definitely can't mention Salem, so there will need to be a cover story in place."
"I'll think about it," Oscar promised. The best way to begin to build trust was to be agreeable, especially since he would eventually have to tell Ozpin about Lionheart and Ironwood – and that would likely stir everything up all over again.
"Good." Ozpin reached for Long Memory and used it to lever himself to his feet. "Then I'll leave you to get some rest tonight and I'll see you tomorrow." He smiled gently. "Perhaps I can bring you something to read?"
Oscar couldn't suppress a smile of his own even though it made the bruises on his face throb. Books! He hadn't had a chance to really read for pleasure since he'd left his aunt's farm. After reaching Mistral, a lot of his time had been spent training with RNJR and learning about the soul merge from Ozpin. He'd been able to read a little, but it hadn't been his focus, and then they'd gone to Atlas and again, all of his time had been spent in training and trying to build up his stamina especially with Oz gone and unable to help him.
Ozpin must have seen his smile and nodded. "Is there anything in particular you like to read?"
"Fantasy stories," Oscar admitted without any shame. "But maybe some history too?" He'd always enjoyed history, but knowing what he did now about Oz's reincarnation, he wanted to revisit some of what he knew and see if he could find evidence of Oz and Salem's influence on the major events of Remnant's history. Fantasy stories were always a good escape for him from the hard labor on the farm, even knowing what he did now.
"Certainly," Ozpin agreed. "Then I will leave you for the night and see you sometime tomorrow." He moved towards the door. "Thank you, Oscar."
Oscar frowned a little. He hadn't done anything yet. "For what?"
"For being willing to speak to me," Ozpin replied. "For bringing your warnings. Even though I don't know yet what I should believe, you've at least given us a warning that we can use to strengthen the schools' defenses, and I can have my agents looking for movement on her part – so that is a help of its own."
"Oh." That made sense. "Um – you're welcome?"
Ozpin chuckled a little. "Get some rest, Oscar." With that, the Headmaster was gone, the clicking of Long Memory against the floor fading as he moved away from Oscar's room.
Oscar sighed and reached for the bed controls. It was still early, but he was exhausted. He hadn't realized that keeping up such a positive front would be so difficult, especially since he still wasn't sure he could trust Ozpin this time around. Aura or no, he had a feeling that his recovery was going to suck – and he didn't have Oz in his head or Qrow, Ruby, or the others to complain to about it or for them to be there to coddle him like they had after Haven.
He closed his eyes and lowered the head of the bed enough that he could still breathe without any difficulty, but he was closer to laying down at an angle that would be more conducive to sleeping. Once he was as comfortable as he could get, he let out a deep sigh despite the ache in his chest.
He missed his friends – and he missed the comforting presence of Oz in his head. He'd gotten used to the old wizard and even though he'd been upset when the ancient soul had locked himself away, making amends with him had been one of the things that had gotten him through all of the rounds of beatings with Hazel. Now he was alone in a strange place without anyone he really knew nearby. Even Ruby and her friends wouldn't be at Beacon for another year at least, and they wouldn't know him even if he asked Ozpin to see if they could visit him.
He was well and truly on his own, with no idea what Oz had done to send him back here and no idea what – if anything – he could do to change things before the future he knew arrived.
Beacon Academy…
Glynda was waiting in the courtyard outside the Tower when he returned from the hospital. There were a few students milling about, but for the most part they paid him no mind, engaged in other pursuits and entertainment, since they still had one more day to go before classes resumed. A few greeted him, but the purpose in his stride discouraged casual conversation. He nodded at her and headed directly into the Tower and towards the elevator. He needed some time to think, and she fell into step with him without a word, ever-present tablet in her hands and The Disciplinarian hanging from its loop on her belt.
Together they made their way up to his office, and Ozpin immediately moved to his chair behind the desk, resting Long Memory against the edge of the desk before leaning back, feeling far wearier than the day's events could account for. He actually felt old – the weight of everything that was Oz and his mission from the God of Light bearing down on his shoulders as he brought his hands up to rub along his temples. The low-level headache he'd had that morning was beginning to fully blossom as he contemplated everything that Oscar had said – and everything that he hadn't yet said in the face of Ozpin's disbelief.
He was desperately craving the soothing warmth of a cup of cocoa, but he also didn't want to move from his seat at the moment as the weight of that conversation crashed down on him. Everything that it implied…
Quiet footsteps – as quiet as Glynda's heeled boots could be, at any rate – moved across the floor to his tiny kitchenette. There was the sound of running water, the clink of the kettle being placed on the burner, the scrape of the lid on the canister which held his cocoa powder… warmth blossomed inside him and he was grateful for Glynda's understanding of his needs in that moment.
If Oscar was telling the truth – he'd mentioned the year 80 AW – then he was not only looking at Salem making a massive offensive against the Academies and the Tournament, the most open move she had ever made in their shadow war, but he was faced with the pending failure of global communications and his own looming death.
Death didn't mean the same thing to him that it did to others, of course. He'd died more times than he could count and in nearly every way that a person could imagine, but each time he came back – changed by the experience and his new partner, yes, but still fundamentally himself, driven by his promise to the God of Light. That didn't mean that he enjoyed it or didn't dread the possibility like every other human on Remnant. Unlike Salem, he understood death in ways that she couldn't, but with each death that he suffered, he risked the end of everything that he had built in that incarnation. There was no knowing how long it would take him to persuade his next partner to take up his divine mission, after all, which gave Salem time to work her will on humanity nearly unopposed, eroding anything he had achieved.
If Oscar was correct, if time travel was really what had happened, then he had less than two years to prepare for what was coming, assuming that the events couldn't be changed. Of course, that was more time than he usually got, but that knowledge weighed down on him like a physical burden on his shoulders.
More footsteps accompanied by the smell of cocoa before he heard the click of ceramic on the glass top of his desk.
"You look tired. Are you alright?"
A quiet question, one that Glynda had asked him more times in the last two days than she had probably asked in the last year, but one that expressed both concern and care in the modulation of her voice as she spoke the words.
He lowered his hands from his temples and looked up, seeing her standing near the rounded edge of his desk, his mug resting at the precise spot near where his right hand would usually be without him needing to stretch to reach it. Steam rose invitingly from the white ceramic, the dark brown liquid within frothed just slightly on the surface. He reached for the mug, wrapping his hands around it, feeling the heat for a moment before he raised it to his lips and took a slow sip. As he lowered the mug, he let out a long sigh.
"Oz?"
"I'm well, Glynda," he assured her after another long moment to consider his feelings. "I just have to take some time to consider about everything that Oscar had to say. There was… a lot that I wasn't expecting to hear, and it could greatly impact our fight against Salem in ways I can't predict yet."
Her mouth tightened into a thin line and her eyes flashed behind her glasses at the mention of Salem's name. "Can he be trusted?"
That was the question, wasn't it? He placed his mug back on the desktop and folded his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. "I'm still uncertain, but that is one of the many things I need to think on before I can make a decision about what should be done. I would like to believe him, because if he is telling the truth, it could provide us with an incredible advantage, but…"
He picked up the mug again. "Some of what he had to say was hard to believe, and he seems sincere, as well as appearing to believe it wholeheartedly, but much of it goes against my own experience."
Shock flashed across her features for a brief moment. "I didn't think there was anything that you hadn't seen before."
He scoffed. "I may be immortal in a sense, but I'm not omniscient, Glynda, and I would never want to be, even if it meant defeating Salem once and for all." He'd pretended to be a god once before, after all, and even that had been a burden without powers of omniscience. No, never again.
"Do you need to talk about it?"
"Probably," he admitted. "But I am also quite exhausted after everything that happened today and what I really need is to finish my drink," he held up the mug she'd prepared for him, "and get some sleep before I start thinking about this again. It's been an exceptionally long day, and I'm far too old to have spent a sleepless night in a child's hospital room," he added with a touch of amusement to try to lighten the mood.
Glynda nodded. "Of course. Do you need me to reschedule any of your appointments?"
Ozpin sighed and tapped open his terminal, perusing his to-do list and appointment calendar for the next day. "I don't believe so, no. I will need to free up some time in the afternoon to meet with an officer from the VPD so we can speak to Oscar about the person who attacked him."
One eyebrow rose above the black rim of her glasses. "You aren't planning on telling the police about her, are you?"
"Of course not," he assured her. "Oscar is going to have an explanation ready that we can give them to explain how he ended up in my office so that they can close out that case, and we can move forward from there. I'd like to hear what he comes up with to try to see if I can glean any additional information on his trustworthiness." He took another long drink from his mug. "Thank you for all of the help you've provided on this, Glynda. I appreciate it more than you know."
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Oh, I know. You needn't worry about thanking me for that." She turned and moved back towards the elevator. "Get some sleep, Oz. Let me know if you need me to rearrange anything for you tomorrow so you can speak with the boy again."
He nodded in agreement. "Of course. Good night, Glynda." He watched her go, holding his cocoa in his hand, and once the door closed behind her, he let out another long sigh and turned his chair to look out the window behind his desk. It was still early, yes, but as he'd told Glynda, he was tired. Dealing with the ramifications of Oscar's appearance had tied up all of the previous night and the entire day today. Even though tomorrow was Sunday, he would have a great deal of work that he needed to get done before he could even consider reaching out to the police department to arrange a meeting, and then actually making the trip out to the hospital again…
He took another long sip of his mug, reveling in the smooth warmth down his throat and the sweetness of the drink. Oscar represented so many things, it boggled the mind, but he had to make a decision and soon. The problem was that – much as he had admitted to Oscar – he couldn't always see the consequences or potential outcomes of his decisions until it was far too late.
He took the final sip from his mug before placing it back on his desk. To trust or not to trust? That was the choice that he would have to make. Absently, his hands came back up to his temples, tracing the place where a crown had once sat, before his eyes landed on the file of essays he'd graded the night before. "The Indecisive King", he murmured to himself. "How ironic."