Ozpin did not expect a drenched, shirtless Qrow in his office in the middle of the night.
"Hey Oz. We found the portal, but he— he didn't make it."
The old man's eyes lingered a little too long on the cross Qrow wore before he spoke. "I see. I believe that's enough evidence to convince us both that Summer was behind Ruby's attack. Was there anything else of note?"
Qrow nodded, distracted. "Did he have any family? Someone that I can break the news to?"'
"Ah, no. I'm sorry to say that his family died quite a while ago. There's no one to give the condolences to. I hope you see now why I didn't want you to go alone."
Qrow didn't have the energy to glare at him, it was an unneeded and pointless gesture that only made Ozpin appear more petty. But this is to be expected, as he was nervous. Ever since Summer's death, things had diverged from his carefully thought out plan and the differences were becoming more prominent now. The attack on Qrow's judgement was a way of solidifying his knowledge and foresight in his mind.
"Can we at least give him a grave?"
"Qrow, do you even remember his name?"
It was a rather out of character question from Ozpin, but again, plans that were once solid in his mind were liquifying beneath his grasp.
"No, but that shouldn't matter. He deserves a grave." Qrow argued, standing.
"What's the point of a grave without a body, a family, or a name?"
"How did you know there wasn't a body?" Qrow asked, confused. He had yet to relay his trials, choosing to do so only after arriving back at Beacon.
"Because if there was, you would have said as much." Ozpin answered simply. "I can have a service scheduled tomorrow at say, 10 AM. Would that be acceptable?"
"Yeah." Qrow said, sitting back down, troubled and not willing to argue Ozpin's questionable logic.
"Do not let his death affect your judgement, we have yet to solve our issue. As a reminder, we now have two pieces of evidence that converge on the idea that Summer could both summon Grimm, and can do so beyond the grave. Were you able to find what caused the flattening of the village?"
"No, but it was probably something that crawled out of the portal. It was massive. It had no issue eating him whole."
"How did the tragedy occur?" Ozpin asked, more curious than anything.
"I wasn't there to see it, but it looked like he slipped and fell down the hole into the thing. It's impossible to get out of— it's sticky like flypaper and just tears off your skin if you try. I couldn't do anything so I ran. Not long after, this Grimm that kinda— acted like him? I guess? Came out and I put it down."
"Extrapolate." Ozpin prompted.
"It looked sort of like him, and it was ridiculously strong and fast— he split a boulder in half. Stronger than any other Grimm I've seen, at least. One hit from it would've instantly broke through my Aura and killed me."
"Is that all?"
"It had the same laugh he did? I don't remember that part too well because I was freezing my ass off, but it wasn't an imitation or something, it was his laugh."
"Intriguing. This should put this issue to rest— at least for the moment. It's disappointing that we weren't able to find what destroyed the village, but I doubt we'll find anything of value there now. Good work."
Oz motioned for Qrow to leave, a suggestion he blatantly ignored. "What was his name?"
Oz spoke his name and Qrow nodded, typing it in his Scroll so he'd never forget it. Qrow left the office out the window, descending into the night as a bird, leaving the paranoid old man to sweat and fear away from prying eyes.
The last ferry to Patch was heading out, and while he could fly from the mainland to Patch, it was a rather annoying ordeal with feathers not designed to fly over the ocean. Especially when it was cold and there were no thermals to ride. Instead he hitched a ride on the ferry as an innocuous crow, taking the lazy way back.
He flew over familiar streets and buildings, landing at his apartment just as the sun set. The door easily slid open with a key he had hidden underneath the railing. He replaced it as the warm air rushed to the outside, forcing him to quickly shut it.
He slid down the door, his back bare as he did. Qrow had never seen Ozpin act that way, and it was uncanny to see what resembled nervousness. His attitude towards the unnamed man was still stranger— almost like he'd accepted his death and planned it.
Qrow took his hands off the cross. He'd been rubbing it subconsciously.
His fatigue finally caught up to him. He'd watched his partner die, fought off a Grimm-like version of that same partner, driven their jeep back to Beacon, and was only now allowed the opportunity to unwind and calm down.
Which he did by way of a bottle, both filling his flask and drinking straight from the source. The apartment that had been clean two months ago was once again a mess, covered in trash and bottles. He'd promised himself he'd change for Ruby and Yang's sake, but he hadn't. He was the same as he'd been before. Enthralled by a summer beauty that no longer roamed the earth in a corporeal manner, and now only causing trouble for others.
It was the cross that forced him to put down the bottle and flask. The unnamed man didn't die directly by his actions, but he also didn't live by them either. Perhaps Qrow's bad luck rubbed off on him, or his lack of experience.
This moment is when something inside Qrow did not necessarily crack, but twisted in the same way that Summer, Ozpin, and young Ruby had. His mind would not allow such a cycle to continue, one where his mistakes and existence cost those he knew their happiness or life.
He sifted through his closet, a shabby and unmaintained collection of clothes that had seen better days. But he found his goal, the one thing untarnished by time or his slovenly nature— a black suit.
He had worn it once before. Not at Summer's wedding— he'd been drunk almost 24/7 after her death hit him. He hadn't intended to miss it, he'd overslept.
Clearing off a table filled with trash, he carefully placed the suit on it, doing his best to find clean undergarments and socks. In a stroke of luck, he found them, perhaps as an ironic cruelty from Luck herself, tossing them with the rest of his clothes.
The chest he opened had no trash on it, as it was a collection of Summer's weapons. Rusted weapons yet to be cleaned, but intact. He retrieved the scythe, shutting the box. The rest would be revived in due time, but this one had to be cleaned immediately, he decided on the spot.
Throwing on a shirt and jacket, he took the rusty scythe with him.
After 8 PM, Patch shut down, and the clock had just struck 8. There was not a soul with him on the street as he walked towards his destination, the one place that he knew for certain he could find a grindstone. He'd worked there as a substitute only briefly. Not because he was fired, but because his work regarding Salem had ramped up and he was never in town when necessary.
The school was a bastion against Grimm— an imposing structure that stuck out as odd in the quaint and quiet island of Patch. A bastion that did not stop a small crow from infiltrating well after the closing hours. Walking as if he owned the place, Qrow went to the forge, flipped on only the necessary lights, and literally put his elbow to the grindstone as he resurrected the scythe's original, beautiful form.
An hour later, it was recognizable as a weapon. An hour after that, it functioned properly, expanding and contracting as it should— just like his weapon did. He stowed it in his jacket, as it was both light and small enough that doing so was easy. The thought of whether not it would be viable as a design became more prominent in his mind as he walked from the forge after cleaning up and turning off the lights. Especially for someone with a smaller frame, a weapon that allowed the user to handle the finesse as it provided the manpower would be interesting to see in action.
Thinking about it, he realized that he could do effectively the same thing with Harbinger, although he'd never tried. It could propel the blade forward, but Qrow used it more as a way to either distract or pulverize Grimm at close range.
The ferry was no longer running, and so he concluded that he'd have to take the hard way back. While he'd been tired before, energy from his reforged ideals filled him. He'd been handling Ruby and Yang wrong. If he wanted them to be safe, they needed training. Even if Ruby did pursue the path of a weapon master, elementary self defense was always a good thing.
His path back to Beacon felt like a blur, although it was now already 11 PM. This being late did not occur to him as he knocked on the door of the Xiao Long's temporary housing at Beacon.
A tired and confused Taiyang answered the door, wearing nothing more than boxers.
"Qrow? Is something wrong?" He asked, yawning.
"Nothing. Can I talk to Ruby for a minute?"
Taiyang shrugged and walked back inside, collapsing back on his bed next to a still sleeping Yang. Qrow interpreted that as a yes, closing the door behind him as he tried to walk softly. He knew that Ruby would be awake, he'd watched over them a few times when Taiyang was tied up with school or something else, and she never seemed to sleep until the late hours of the night. The light in her 'room'— which is again nothing more than a thin wall dividing her space with a large gash in it— was still on. He knocked, hearing small feet shuffle on the floor before Ruby greeted him. She didn't look tired in any capacity, and it was quite the opposite. From the drafts and sketches on the floor, she was gearing up for the night.
"Uncle Qrow?"
"Hey, kiddo."
Ruby just nodded before returning back to her designing. There was no hug, hello, or even acknowledgement of his arrival.
Qrow shut the door, sitting on the ground next to Ruby.
"We really need to get you a desk." Qrow commented, watching as she bent over to draw.
"I guess."
"Listen, there was something I wanted to give you."
He pulled out the scythe and handed it to her. She examined it like you would examine food that had fallen on the ground before trashing it.
"Thank you." Ruby said, placing it down and returning to her drawing.
"...you're not going to expand it? Don't you want to know its name?"
"But we put a hole in the wall the last time I expanded a scythe. And you already told me the name. It's Petal."
"Well yeah but— wait, no I didn't. I definitely didn't. Maybe your dad told you?"
Ruby sifted through her mind, but found only the piece of information, not where it came from. As it came from a dream that she no longer remembered.
"Maybe."
"Well, I thought you might like it since you could have something real to examine. Since, you know, I can't just give you my scythe." He smiled.
"I will. Thank you." She said, refusing to look up from her drawings.
"Did I piss you off or something?"
Ruby did look up for that. "No. Why?"
"You're just sort of... curt today."
"Oh. Sorry Uncle Qrow." She sighed, putting down the pencil and making the effort to give him her full attention.
"It's fine, I just wanted to make sure I hadn't offended you somehow. Anyway, I have a weird favor to ask. Would you mind coming with me to a funeral tomorrow?"
"For who?"
"You don't know him."
Ruby opened her mouth to say 'no', and then remembered her mother's funeral. Where it was only her, her father, the priest, and Yang. She thought about the fact that maybe the dead man didn't have anybody there for him, and it would just be Qrow, alone with the priest, and how sad that would be.
"I'll come."
"Good girl." He said, scratching her head. "I'm gonna crash on the couch. See you in the morning."
The door shut, leaving Ruby and Summer once again to their own devices. For the spirit was still in the corner, watching over her daughter. As once sleep overtook Ruby's eye, it would be the first time that she trained her to become a cold-blooded hunter. A privilege Summer had never had in life, and something that she hadn't wanted to teach in death. But her daughter's strong will and misconception had once again perpetuated the cycle, just as she had. And now she had to prepare her as best she could.
A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. I am always open to feedback, and criticism.
