Heyo! Back at it with my bs. Not really sure where this is going, as it's kinda becoming a behemoth spawning off of RG kiss day. It'll update sporadically as we await news of V10...I definitely have a couple more chapter ideas of conversations I want to write Oscar having, but much beyond that...well, who knows! Hell, I'll even take suggestions if anyone is desperately wanting to see something.
Otherwise...uh, yeah! I made a skin for this, and I learned that implementing skins sucks awfully! If you use work skins, lemme know how it looks.
~Stormy
(PS, bonus points to whoever can point out the AU that was spawned from this)
There was a stillness in the air of Vacuo's desert night that he was certain he had not experienced since he left his farm in Mistral. In a way, it was familiar how barely anything or anyone stirred around him, like how the farmlands settled in the evenings and even the insects stopped buzzing the later it became. But otherwise, it was completely foreign in its composition. Where he usually felt relieved and calmed by the quietness of Mistrali nights in the summer, Oscar felt nothing but tension coiling and churning in his gut now.
After the events of the day, he should have considered it a blessing that no more fights were breaking out, and that the wails of the citizens of Atlas and Mantle were no longer piercing the air. Unmistakably, that was good, but he knew the only reason this disquieting calmness settled at all was because exhaustion and a slowly sinking despair had swept across everyone they had pulled through the portal from the fallen kingdom. It was like the full weight of the day collectively collapsed on everyone, and no one could find it within themselves to argue, to physically fight, or even to continue crying out their pain. For the moment, it was calm…and that was better than the panic, but it was not a comfort.
And it would not last.
Oscar heaved a sigh and turned over in his bunk for the thousandth time in the past hour. He opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling again—something he had been doing on and off since his own exhaustion forced him off his feet and Ren forced him to rest—and he shifted enough to be able to catch a glimpse out the window at the night sky hanging above them. The stars glittered against the inky black of the darkened sky, and the moon bathed everything below in its stunning silver light. Any other time, and he would have enjoyed simply marveling at the mystique of it. As it were, he swallowed back the few tears pricking the corner of his eyes as the moon continued to unwaveringly shine in the face of everything that had happened. As if their world hadn't just come crumbling down around them, as if it weren't a stark reminder of all they just lost.
He ran a hand over his face and suppressed the groan threatening to escape him. Nothing felt real in the wake of Atlas's fall, but there was no time to dwell on that fact. Theodore and the citizens of Vacuo exhibited about as much grace as possible with the situation that was dropped on them—the majority of Atlas and Mantle's citizens literally appearing on their doorstep—but that only bought them so much time. There were so many problems to figure out now, and the logistics of every single one was going to be a nightmare. Where were they going to get the resources to sustain an entire extra kingdom? How were they going to care for an extra kingdom within Vacuo, given the historical tension between Vacuo and Atlas? And what about Salem? What were her next plans? What now that she had two Relics and one Maiden?
…What about their lost and missing friends?
Any other thoughts he could have regarding the beauty of Vacuo's clear nights rightfully paled in comparison to all that laid before him. Them technically, as everyone remaining was going to be at the forefront of this renewed war, but he couldn't fight a nagging sense of dread—one that had been following him since he took control of the situation in the sandstorm—at how much of that responsibility was likely going to fall on him. Him and Oz, but…him. Because even with the dread, he could not deny a growing sense of responsibility to stand with his friends and to be there for these people who just lost everything. Those who just had their entire worldview shattered based on a decision he helped make, and those who were simply suffering and needed someone, anyone to give them reassurance and guidance.
The need to do something in light of all the frightful faces of the citizens of Atlas and Mantle begging for someone to save them was what made him take charge in the desert, and that need had not left him since.
"All the more reason you should take the opportunity to rest when you can."
Oscar scoffed lightly as Oz's voice echoed in his head. "Yeah, as if that's going to happen," he muttered and turned back over to stare at the wall.
Oz had been fairly quiet ever since their dealings with Theodore concluded for the night, but Oscar couldn't blame him. Honestly, he appreciated being afforded the space and solitude to try and process the day's events by himself first, even if he wasn't very successful at it. As tired as he was—and he was physically exhausted, having pushed himself well beyond his Aura's breaking point—his mind had not stopped turning since the portal closed and they had to deal with the sandstorm and Grimm. There was still just too much to do, too much to consider and solve in real time as they saved Atlas's general populace from the Grimm and negotiated their stay in Vacuo City. And though that had gone over better than Oscar initially hoped, there was still so much more to do.
They—he, Ren, Nora, Emerald, Qrow, Robin, and Winter—were meeting with Theodore and Shade and Vacuo officials in the morning to start hashing out what happened and to start handling the blowback of losing Atlas and Ruby's message. He wanted to be as prepared as possible for that meeting, thus he couldn't stop himself from running several potential options through his mind—creating catalogues and checklists of everything they needed to discuss, how to start conversations, how to answer questions, how to defend some actions and where to agree better decisions could have been made. Not to mention, that was all before figuring out what their immediate needs were, what they would need to address at a future date, and what things they were going to have to concede. It was all he could do to at least try to be prepared for all that was to come in the ensuing months, no matter how little his efforts felt in comparison.
"I know there is a lot to come, but even your best-laid plans will not come to fruition if you are so exhausted you fall asleep on your feet."
Oscar released a small breath. Objectively, he knew Oz was correct, but it was not that simple to just shut his mind off. He wanted to be prepared, he wanted to be at his absolute best, and…and if he were honest…if he wasn't thinking ahead about everything he needed to do, then his thoughts were pulled to the present. To what just happened…it was all he could do to avoid thinking about all they had just lost.
Though, the later into the night time crept, the harder it became to avoid thinking about that too. He didn't want to think about it, he really didn't. He had too many questions, and for a variety of reasons he didn't even want to know the answers to some of them. He also already knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight anyways though, and if Oz was willing to indulge him, then he might as well at least ask.
"Oz?"
"Yes, Oscar?"
He noted Oz's voice was exhausted too, though in a completely different way. Like he had experienced this hundreds of times before. He had experienced this hundreds of times before, Oscar knew, but there was a quiet resignation to it too, like Oz already knew what the conversation was going to be about—as if it could have even been about anything else—and he would supply what answers he could, even if he didn't want to. Even if they weren't what Oscar wanted to hear.
It gave Oscar just a moment of hesitation to second guess whether he wanted to do this tonight, before he pressed on. "What…" he trailed off, his gaze flickering out the window again as he considered the numerous questions swirling in his mind. "…What happened?" he finally settled on.
"Truthfully?" Oz asked in return, "I do not have an answer for that—I can't have an answer to that, for you and I were not there." There was a considerable silence where Oscar could feel his debate until he added, "But…"
"…You're the one in the best position to speculate?" Oscar finished for him when he trailed off into nothingness again. Oz didn't answer, but he felt the confirmation he needed to continue. "We know the portals disappeared without the Staff coming through." Without the Staff coming back to them. Without Penny coming back to them. "That means it had to be used for something else, right?"
A sigh rang in his mind, a totally breathless sound that somehow still carried an immense weight. "Correct."
"Which likely means Salem now has the Staff of Creation." Even thinking it made Oscar's stomach clench tighter.
"Implied by Winter watching Cinder fly off with it, correct," Oz agreed. His tone was even, but the feelings Oscar momentarily experienced through their bond were anything but.
"Winter also said Jaune and Weiss at the very least were still alive when the bridges disappeared," Oscar continued, "Meaning…they fell. Ambrosius explicitly told us not to fall…but that wasn't necessarily for obvious reasons, was it?"
That had been an understanding at the back of his mind since they first realized they couldn't go back through the portal from Vacuo. Oz believed it was Ambrosius's doing most likely, that they had said or done something during the planning stages to make him make the portals only work one way. The spirit was clever and never straightforward—and disregarding the irony of Oz being the one to say it, Oscar took heed of the warning. If Ambrosius often said things with hidden meanings…then even the warning he gave likely wasn't as it first appeared.
Oz let out another, breathless sigh. "If Winter was correct and they were still alive, then…" He fell silent again, a discomfort washing through him that left Oscar feeling even more tense over what was about to come. Finally, after several long moments of silence, Oz finished, "…Well, there once was a girl who fell through the world."
Shock coursed through him like lightning, and Oscar involuntarily let out a quiet, humorless chuckle before clamping his mouth shut. He didn't want to wake Ren, Nora, or Emerald…but that…that was unexpected and just too much. The irony of the timing wasn't lost on him, and he flipped onto his back again to return to staring up at the ceiling. Instead of letting his thoughts wander though, he probed his own mind with a striking clarity while he sought an answer he already knew. Oz wasn't lying, there was no point in him trying to lie anymore even if he wanted to.
Of course. why would he expect anything less? He couldn't find the energy to do anything else other than roll his eyes.
"Every fairytale has a basis in reality, huh?" Oscar asked, and he couldn't help the sarcasm that colored the thought.
It earned him a similar, bitter chuckle in return. "There is a use to creating stories from tragedies. A nod and a reminder to the past, a lesson, a hope for a better future…"
Hope. That was something they desperately needed more than anything right now, though Oscar was beginning to suspect that not even the fairytales could be of assistance anymore. Especially if they were based in reality. Especially if the man living in his head shifted them to already be more hopeful than they were.
"Perhaps reality and Alyx's story do not match completely." It was inexplicable, but Oscar could feel the pointed stare Oz gave him. "But what Ambrosius created based on your designs undoubtedly had to cross through interdimensional space. What laid beyond the bridges is anyone's guess…but I can take a more educated one than most."
"So…the Ever After?" Oscar was wrapping several questions into that one alone.
"Perhaps. It is highly likely, at least."
He felt a lingering hesitancy, and Oscar rolled his eyes again when it became apparent Oz wasn't going to answer the rest of his implications without direct prodding. "Alright…so, what is the Ever After, exactly?"
Oz gave another one of his weighty, weary sighs. "The Ever After is a…" he paused, though this time Oscar could tell it was a struggle to find the proper words, "…Prototype feels like an inadequate term to use. It is a magical land, not unlike how Remnant is. Or…how Remnant was. However, the Ever After came first."
First? A new type of exhaustion swept over Oscar like a wave, and he wasn't sure if it was his own or not. "Should I even ask how you know this?"
"…Can you not feel that for yourself?"
He could, vague memories of vibrancy and confusion poked at the edges of his mind. He couldn't tell if they were his own or the imaginative recollection of someone else's deeply personal story, but even what few memories he saw were far more evocative…far more detailed than anything he ever imagined as a child while listening to the story being read to him. They weren't his memories…and yet…he could claim them as if they were. He disregarded the uneasy feeling swelling in his gut, that wasn't important to the matter at hand right now. "Alyx eventually made it back from the Ever After though. So there has to be a way to come back, right?"
"Someone made it back to tell her story, yes." That was an ominous correction Oscar also didn't dwell on. Or rather, Oz continued before he could ask, "Though, correct. There is a way to return to Remnant, but…Oscar, that is only if they survived the fall and if they fell into the Ever After. That is enormous speculation before even considering they would have to puzzle out how to find their way back, which is no simple task itself."
It was a sound point Oscar had to acknowledge, but something still eased in him to know that there was a chance. A chance RWBY and Jaune could make it out of there alive, if not back with them. A chance was all they needed; a chance was all he knew they ever needed to succeed. That had always been his one, unwavering belief in them. "I have faith in them."
"Which is great to have in your friends. They have proven and earned your trust. Still…" Oz's struggle to explain what really needed to be said returned, "If we were to believe all of those conditions to be true, and I will entertain the notion of your faith, the Ever After is…complicated. Time does not necessarily always work there as it does here, and the rules are…different. Even if they find their way out, there is no guarantee they will be returned to…well…now. Let alone if they will still be…them."
An uneasy feeling crept up Oscar's spine at the gravity Oz's last few statements held. He didn't need a guarantee, he just needed to know there was a chance for them to be alright. They just needed a chance to succeed, Oscar believed that. He believed in them, just as he always had. Yet…he frowned the longer he stared at the ceiling, feeling Oz's trepidation sinking deeper into his own bones. For all his hope, for all his faith in his friends, he couldn't deny feeling foolish in the face of Oz's resolute bleakness.
"So…what? It's all hopeless?" Oscar asked quietly, indignantly. Maybe it was the result of the exhaustion and the time finally catching up to him, maybe it was his own grief finally poking at his heart, but the tears returned to his eyes. A few escaped and rolled hot down his cheeks. "We just…we just give up on them?"
Oz released a slow breath, not heavy this time but soothing. Understanding. "No, Oscar, but I do not wish to lie to you. You, above all else, deserve to know the truth."
The statement actually startled Oscar enough to reign in his tears. Why, above everyone, did he deserve to know the truth? On the surface of the other man, he could feel multiple, conflicting answers from Oz, but he did not get the chance to push any of them.
"And it would serve you well to temper your expectations now. Remember, time does not stop for us here."
Oscar sighed aloud and let his eyes fall shut, aching as they were with the unshed tears he was desperately trying to will away and the exhaustion he had constantly been fighting since they emerged through the portal. "I know."
He did know. It was why his thoughts kept ceaselessly turning well into the night as he attempted to figure out as many solutions to their issues as he could. Time wasn't going to stop for them no matter how desperately he wished it would, no matter how badly they needed it to stop. There already wasn't enough time to deal with everything in Vacuo, he didn't—rightly couldn't—dwell on even more, let alone things he knew he couldn't fix.
"I know," Oscar repeated, "But that…" He blew out another breath and swallowed hard, effectively stopping the last of his tears. "But that doesn't make it any easier."
"No, it doesn't," Oz agreed.
His eyes opened once more and his attention returned to gazing out the window, staring aimlessly into Vacuo's desert until he turned further upwards, to the moon and stars still shining above it all. They appeared so close for being so untouchably far away, and despite himself knowing better, Oscar lifted a hand towards the moon as if to grab it. He knew he could not hold it, and he knew he would never be able to reach it, but that did not stop him from wishing he could in that moment. It was fitting, really.
He smiled at the foolishness of his wish and then changed course, his finger jutting out to trace the edges of the celestial body before his hand finally flopped back on the cot. "I miss them," he admitted after a lengthy silence, "It feels foolish, it's only been hours and I already miss them so badly."
"That is hardly foolish. I would be more concerned if you didn't miss them, admittedly," Oz responded calmly. For all his hesitancy and trepidations before, the man in his head was almost placid now. Calm and overwhelming sympathetic as he listened to Oscar and responded easily. He was patient, like he was waiting for Oscar to catch up and bring his own thoughts to the only logical conclusion they could come to.
He knew what that conclusion was, it was what was resting just below the surface of his consciousness since the portal closed. Undeniably, Oz knew what it was too, but it was the one thing Oscar hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge or admit to in the wake of everything else he had to do. It was also the one thing he really, really didn't want to say aloud—to inevitably make real—and yet, Oz's gentle patience was pushing it out of him without a second thought.
"It hurts, Oz. It hurts and I'm scared."
A warm comfort drifted over his shoulders, as if someone were placing their hands reassuringly on him. "I know. It always does, Oscar."
This was not the first time Oz experienced a loss this large, and it was unlikely to be the last time he—the last time Oscar would experience it either. This was just another ripple, another echo in the life of similar souls who spanned thousands of generations. It left him feeling heavy and more than a little nauseous.
"But you are different, Oscar," Oz continued when it became obvious to him Oscar had no intention of saying anything else, "You are, perhaps, the strongest out of all of us in spirit thus far. You have already stood in the face of fear, the face of pain, and answered who you are with a resounding resolution."
A sense of pride that certainly wasn't his own pressed at the back of his mind, and Oscar understood what Oz was trying to say, even though he wasn't sure if he fully agreed with it. He had stood strong in Atlas against Ironwood, he had devised the plan against Salem in Monstra and facilitated the Grimm whale's destruction during their escape, and he helped usher thousands through a magical portal in a last-ditch effort to save a falling kingdom's people, but there was one striking difference between those instances and now.
"They were still here when I faced that fear," Oscar sighed, "In the end, I knew I had them to rely on if things went sideways. Or I knew they were out there looking for me."
"Has that really changed?"
On the most literal level, no, he supposed it hadn't. Oscar still had people around him he could rely on, but…it was different. That unyielding tolling of responsibility still called to him, still told him he was about to step into a role he felt completely unprepared to fill. A role where others were going to be looking to him to make decisions, to guide them and lead them. A role where he could not defer his opinions and he had to be steadfast in his convictions…and he wasn't certain he knew how to handle that.
He had not been certain about a lot of things in Atlas. Look where it got them now.
"Ruby or Jaune would know what to do here. I…" Oscar bit his bottom lip and shook his head, "I don't…and that kind of uncertainty is only going to get more people killed. I…I already know that. I already failed."
"Oscar…"
"I have a magical, thousands of years old wizard in my head, and I couldn't even prevent them from falling and maybe getting trapped in a magical dimension," he pressed, not allowing Oz to say anything to contradict him.
This was inevitable. All of this, the war, the leadership, the loss, all of it was inevitable and had been since the day he woke up with Oz in his head. A small part of him always knew that, but he still fought against it because he did not want it. He wanted adventure sure, a life that took him outside his farm, but he never wanted to be thrown into an ancient war and expected to lead. He never wanted to potentially lose himself in the process of it, and he never wanted to lose people he cared about.
He never wanted this, but it was inevitable. He shouldn't—couldn't—fight it any longer.
Oscar frowned, staring at the hand that laid directly in front of him on his pillow. His own hand, scraped up from days' worth of fighting and torture. He had accepted some of it, but it still wasn't enough. He still hesitated, still insisted on doing this his own way, still attempted to deny the responsibility awaiting him. He had to step up now.
"I wasn't there because I wasn't strong enough to help. I wasn't good enough to help because…because I didn't want to accept your help. Because I'm afraid of what will come if I do accept it and I…we can't afford that uncertainty anymore."
Oscar clenched his teeth, the visage of his hand growing blurry as a few, fresh tears flood his eyes. Oz had fallen eerily silent, incapable of saying anything that would ease the pain that momentarily took over the boy's heart, and maybe that was for the best. Oscar didn't want to be comforted, he wanted to feel this. The pain, the regret, the grief of all he had lost and of all he was about to accept. He had not allowed himself to feel any of it until now, and he wanted a moment to simply lay with it and let it wash over him.
He had earned that much.
"It won't happen again. It can't…I know," Oscar promised after some time. He heaved a few breaths and blinked rapidly several times to clear away the last of the tears that refused to spill over, and then rolled his head back to gaze up at the ceiling.
"Oscar…" Oz started, hesitant. There were probably a hundred platitudes the wizard could offer him now, and Oscar wasn't sure he wanted to hear any of them. "You should know I meant what I said earlier about you being the strongest in spirit. You have been nothing but true to yourself and have reminded me of several things I had long forgotten over the years. And all things considered, you have handled the obstacles thrown at you incredibly well since you agreed to travel upon this path."
There was that swell of pride again, and Oscar grimaced at it. It was completely undeserved. "It doesn't feel like that now."
"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Oz agreed, "But when the time comes, and some of the grief subsides, you will hopefully see that in a different light. I suspect the people of Atlas and Mantle will, given they are still alive because of you—all of you. You saved an entire kingdom today, that is more than enough."
Logically, Oscar knew he was correct, he had uttered those exact same words half a dozen times today to Winter and Ren and Nora and the Huntresses. He had been trying to keep them in his own mind as well, but after everything was finished and he finally had a moment to reflect instead of just reacting, he couldn't deny they felt rather empty. They still felt rather empty, but Oz speaking them to him gave them just a little bit more meaning again.
"I just…wish I did more," Oscar admitted. "I wish…I don't know…that I could turn back time and just…do more. I wish I could do more for Atlas, and…" he trailed off and sighed, "I wish I could do more for them."
Oz fell silent for a while, and he could feel the careful consideration the wizard was putting into his words. "Regret is an ugly burden to shoulder, and an unfortunately common one for the likes of us—" Oscar snorted softly at that. "—But it is not one you can let take hold, and it is not one you deserve to feel now."
Oscar stifled another snort. For months the only thing he felt from Oz was the lingering remnant of regret and guilt. "I don't know if you, of all people, get to determine that."
A surprised laugh rang through his mind, and despite the heaviness of the topic and the day, a small smile graced Oscar's lips. "Given my familiarity with the subject, I believe I, of all people, am the best to determine that." The levity hung between them for a moment before Oz sighed, "Again, Oscar, you did your best and it saved a kingdom. No one else could ask for more from you, so you should not either."
"Perhaps," Oscar agreed, unwilling and unable to disagree with the notion. Perhaps in the coming days, once reality truly set in and they could move forward towards their new problems, he would begin to view it the same way. Until then though, he knew the regret was going to stay close to his heart, and it still didn't address everything else. "That still doesn't mean more won't be asked of me. It…still doesn't mean I don't wish I could've done more to keep them here, either."
Oz sighed again, "Jaune and Team RWBY knew the risks of this operation going in, the same as you did. They accepted them, the same as you did. Unfortunately now, there is little you can do for them but hold your faith and patience for them. As for those who still remain…well, you already know what you can do there."
For those who still remained. Images flashed in his mind's eye, memories forever burned there from the day as he and Nora, Ren, and Emerald fought side by side with the Happy Huntresses and Winter to protect the terrified populaces of Atlas and Mantle. Memories of his friends as he watched them break and get back up again to do what was necessary, to do what was right. And the memories of the people, frightened and hopeless regaining the slightest spark of faith as they ushered them out of the sandstorm and to safety within Vacuo City.
That renewal of hope was what they had all been fighting for from the start. And yes, he knew exactly what he needed to do. It was what he had been planning all along.
"It is…what they would want, isn't it?" Oscar asked rhetorically. He breathed deep and rubbed a hand over his face, "It's what they would be doing in our place…if they were still here."
He could almost feel Oz nod. "Indeed. There is little you can do for them now, but you have a responsibility to press on against the threat we face and see through what you started. The situation has shifted drastically in the past few weeks. For better or for worse, we must deal with the fallout." Oz paused, before his tone grew softer and he added, "And for what it's worth, Oscar, I do believe you can do that."
"I want to do that," Oscar agreed quickly and without hesitation, "That's all I want to do." His thoughts were spinning again though, but now it felt as if it were for the better. It felt like he was drawing towards a new goal. "And I want to do it for myself as well. For them. It's the best way to honor them, to finish what they—we started. And it's…"
He paused, eyes trailing back to the night sky. They would return, it was just a matter of how. And when. "…The best way to ensure there is a Remnant for them to return to if they need it. Whenever they need it."
"That is the best you can do for everyone," Oz agreed, and he could feel him nod again, "Including yourself, Oscar."
"I…don't think it's quite the best though," Oscar added haltingly as the thoughts started coalescing in his mind.
His palm rose in front of his face. It was his hand undeniably, but it was also one that held the multitude of lives that came before him, and the one that held the potential for a multitude of lives to come after him. He accepted this, he had to accept this, but he could still accept it on his terms. "If this is what I have to do…" he hesitated, twisting his hand a few times before continuing, "If it comes to it…then I want to leave behind a soul who knows. Who remembers. One who is eagerly awaiting their return and one who can tell them all they missed."
He said it with a quick and striking resolution that burned deep in his gut. This was truly the first time he accepted the role fate placed at his feet. It was…odd…to consider, but then, of course he was going to accept it like this. There was no other way that would happen. True, it was always inevitable, despite how much he fought against it at times, but this was the first time he honestly felt alright with this blanket acceptance…because it was for someone else. Because it was for them.
And this was what he wanted to be for Remnant, what he strove for when he first realized this was what his life was going to be. But before now it never felt personal. Now…now it was all he wanted to be for who he was waiting to return.
A small whirlwind of emotion momentarily stuck in his throat. Some of it was surely his own, but more of it was Oz's. That same pride he felt earlier mixed with an inexplicable sadness and sympathy. Understanding and…apologies.
"Oz…?"
"…It is simply amazing what we would do for our loved ones, is it not?" Oz asked by way of response.
Oscar understood the implications. "Yeah…" he agreed and let his hand fall back onto his chest. He tore his eyes away from the window and let them fall closed again. He still wasn't going to get any sleep that night, that much he was aware of, but between having some of the answers he needed and this new, unspoken promise held in his heart sparking a new resolution for himself to focus on, he did feel a little bit better.
"…Yeah, I suppose it is."