An endless cycle of death and despair, haunted by failure and betrayal; the burden he has been cursed with. How long he has been trapped is something he is uncertain of, but he knows it has been several years at this point. More than long enough for the exact details of his first death to have faded. Where, how, when—all a blur. Only the vague memories of pain and desperation remain.
What he does remember, clear as the sun on a cloudless day, is when he woke for the first time.
There is pain and confusion and blood filling his lungs, choking him, drowning him—
He startles awake.
The pain is gone. Nothing more than the lingering sensations of it are left. Chest heaving, Qrow tries to move, but a pressure around his legs traps him, and he kicks at it, frantic. It takes far too long for him to realize that it is only a blanket, and he sits back, a choked whine stuck in his throat. No matter how many times he blinks and shakes his head, the sight remains unchanged. Once he untangles his legs from the fabric, he sits up and hastily pulls his shirt off. He runs his hands along his chest and sides, but there is nothing there. No wounds. No blood. Not even a bruise.
Absolutely nothing.
Tearing his gaze away from his chest, he takes a look at his surroundings. He recognizes this room. The pieces fall into place, and once he realizes where he is, a shiver runs down his spine.
He is in Atlas, sitting in bed, completely unscathed.
He throws off his blanket and staggers to his feet. The sudden movement leaves his head swimming, the room spinning around him, and he grips the headboard to steady himself.
This isn't real. It can't be. How could it be when he had just bled out, suffocating on his own blood?
But here he is, alive, heart beating near painfully in his chest.
Waking to find himself in Atlas, the city somehow still whole and afloat as it had been before crashing into Mantle, left him wondering for days afterwards if any of it was real. Tyrian and Clover. Salem's arrival. The fall of Atlas. All the death and destruction. Had it all been in his head? Had he gotten sick and suffered some awful fever dream? It seemed too real to be just that, and yet he could think of nothing else. What else could it be? At the time it seemed to be the most rational explanation.
That had all been before his second death.
The sight of Clover standing there, life sparkling in his teal eyes, makes Qrow stagger. Brows pinched in concern, Clover steps forward to grab him by the shoulders.
"Qrow? Are you alright?" Clover asks softly, his grip firm yet gentle as he steadies Qrow.
Hearing Clover's voice again—
"What's wrong? What happened?"
He knows he should answer, to at least try and ease Clover's worries, but he can't tear his eyes away from his friend's chest. The gaping hole carved through Clover stares back at him, red spreading through white cloth and pooling at their feet, mocking him for his failure. The sight of it steals his voice, leaving him unable to say a single word.
"Qrow?"
There is no blood.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. Even when events began to play out as he remembered, he chose instead to ignore it. He didn't want to believe it. Who would? The likes of Salem and Ozpin existed, but to be thrown back in time after death just seemed too outlandish of an idea despite everything he had witnessed. It was simply easier to ignore even the most blatant of signs. Until things began to take a turn for the worse, and he could no longer afford to blind himself. By then it was far too late to take any meaningful action, and as a result, Atlas and Mantle were lost once more.
Before long he found himself waking in his bed for the second time.
There was no lying to himself anymore. All of it was real, and it was terrifying.
How could he not be scared when faced with the fact that he would have to experience everything again? But part of him felt it could be for the best. Yes, to start over he needed to die, but it was worth it if it meant he could try again, wasn't it?
"It felt real," he mutters, speaking as if he is confessing a terrible sin.
In a way, he is. Clover may have decided to follow orders, but Qrow was the one who fought alongside Tyrian. He threw that last punch. He broke Clover's Aura. No one else could be blamed. For all intents and purposes, Qrow had murdered Clover.
What had he been thinking then to make that decision? To ever consider it to be the right choice? That it would ever be better than letting himself be arrested?
"It was just a nightmare."
If only.
Could anyone blame him for seeing it as a gift? Things had gone so poorly the first time around. Being given a chance to fix his own mistakes, to try and help steer the others away from the choices that led to the downfall of Atlas, could be nothing else but a blessing. It didn't matter that he had suffered in the process, because he knew what to do to stop Salem and her followers from succeeding. It certainly wouldn't be easy, but that he had the chance at all was reason enough to celebrate. Or so he thought.
Of course, he was proven wrong. No matter what he said or did, things went wrong sooner or later. Always. Stop Penny from being hacked by Watts? Atlas systems get hacked instead, and Beacon is repeated. Convince Ironwood to divert enough supplies to fix the hole in Mantle's wall? A new hole is blown open, and Grimm pour into the city again. Intercept Neo and stop the lamp from being taken? Attacked and killed by Cinder.
Some things are simply destined to happen. That is the only explanation for why he could never prevent the destruction of Atlas and Mantle.
And throughout all those cycles, he had only managed to save Clover once. Somehow, someway, he would die, and Qrow would bear witness to it. With how the one man meant to embody good fortune was never spared, it seemed as if the universe itself wanted to taunt them.
The truth is his "gift" is getting to relive every single terrible moment of his life over and over, helpless to truly change anything.
By all rights he should be happy to see them all again. What more could he ask for than to be able to look at Ruby and Yang and know that his family is safe and sound?
The fear and heartbreak surge back, his own voice echoing in his ears, desperately calling their names as he watched Atlas fall and destroy Mantle.
Would it be dramatic irony for the very people he bled and died for to turn on him? For those he dedicated every fiber of his being to protect, to decide he was instead a threat to them? All that time spent trying to find the right way to do things, to save as many people as he could, rendered a waste. Useless. Nothing he said made them think otherwise. He knew too much. Acted too suspicious. Never mind the fact he had been honest with them from the start, telling them what he could.
"How is it that you know of Salem's plans?" Ironwood asks, voice low.
An accusation.
They've branded him a traitor.
Who cursed him to live this existence? The Brother of Light? The Brother of Darkness? Both?
Neither, his traitorous mind hisses. A thought that he shoves into the furthest recesses of his mind. He doesn't want to entertain the idea that another higher power may be lurking out there, especially one that is this cruel.
How can he explain his experiences? That he has seen the worst happen to every single person in this room? There is no one here he hasn't watched die at least once in the past.
What choice in life did he make to warrant this?
It could be that just being born made him deserving of it. After all, he is misfortune itself given form. A living calamity. A blight on the world.
He wonders, at times, if this perpetual cycle of death is punishment for all the mistakes he has made throughout his life. Perhaps once he has died enough times to match each of those mistakes, he will be freed from this spiral and allowed the rest he so desperately desires.
Or is it that he will never be deserving enough to earn freedom?
Maybe it is time to give up and accept his dismal fate.
Qrow falters. Could it be that his persistence and desire to change the future are the reasons he is trapped? If he were to simply give up, would he be freed? He could choose to right now. Just lower his sword and let the Grimm feast on him, regardless of the pain. Maybe then he would no longer have to wake again.
Just as the thought crosses his mind, disgust churns his stomach. How could he ever think that, let alone consider it? Leaving the world to its fate would never be worth the peace. To leave his family behind to die, all so he can find peace, would make him no better than Salem.
His next swing goes wide, missing its mark and bouncing off frozen rock. He stumbles back, struggling to regain his balance, but he can't find his footing in time to dodge the next attack.
Teeth and claws bear down on him. Sapped from having spent so long out fighting in the freezing winds, his Aura flickers under the assault, and it takes little time for it to shatter.
Fangs tear into flesh. Qrow screams as the Sabyr rips apart his left shoulder, but he cuts himself off, clenching his jaw shut. Fingers scrabble against the ice and snow until they brush against the handle of Harbinger. Sucking in a breath through his nose, he jerks to the side and grabs hold of the weapon. As he drags it over, he shifts it into its tonfa form and slams the blade into the neck of the beast. When it refuses to release him, he pushes, forcing the blade deeper into its throat until it can no longer hold him.
Mustering what little strength he has, he flips the Sabyr onto its back and decapitates it.
There are still three of the beasts circling him, waiting for the perfect opening to lunge. He doesn't know what he can do to fend them off. His injured shoulder throbs at the slightest twitch, and his other hand trembles. Taking one out is feasible, but he will be too slow to defend himself once the others decide to attack.
Coming out here spewing negatively and dropping into a pack of Grimm was bound to end badly. One more addition to his list of stupid decisions.
A bolt buries itself into the eye socket of the nearest Sabyr. In the time it takes for him to blink, two more follow and strike the other two Sabyrs. All three bolts explode, taking the beasts' heads with them.
Between the pain and exhaustion, his thoughts are sluggish, and he can't place where he has seen those bolts before.
Footsteps crunch in the snow. Tensing, Qrow forces himself to his feet, brandishing Harbinger. The adrenaline drains quickly when a pair of wide violet eyes meet his.
"Holy shit, Qrow," Robyn says as she rushes forward.
He shakes his head when she reaches out to him, only to groan at the pain it causes. It isn't just his arm, it seems. Everything hurts. Deserved, since he made the choice to come out here alone. He sways, and Robyn grabs him, wrapping an arm around his waist and jostling his injured arm in the process. The pained shout that leaves him is involuntary, but it startles Robyn enough that she lets go of him, staring at his shredded shoulder.
Though it hurts, it could be much worse. A few days of rest and it will heal just fine. All he needs to do is find a place to crash and lick his wounds. Would go faster if he talked to Jaune, but he isn't going back to Atlas any time soon. Not like he could, with how things went.
"Come on," Robyn says.
He opens his mouth to say, "I'm fine," but it dies in his throat. That he is so used to lying he nearly does so when he can barely stand, drenched in his own blood, makes his self-loathing rear its ugly head. Swallowing, he nods to her. Walking back to Mantle on his own is going to be impossible in his current condition. Trying would lead to him either freezing to death or bleeding out, neither of which sound appealing.
When Robyn approaches him again, she is much more careful, slowly tucking herself under his right arm. Drained of his strength, he is forced to let her take his weight as he sags against her, his eyes slipping closed.
"I've got you."
What follows is lost to him. He manages to grasp awareness long enough to know that Robyn is helping him board the transport before he lets himself drift into semi-consciousness, lulled by the comfortable warmth at his side. The hum of the engine fills the air, intermittently interrupted by soft voices. A not-entirely-unpleasant numbness spreads through him, dulling the pain to a more tolerable level. Probably not a good sign. Either he is losing more blood than he thought or he is dissociating, but he isn't going to complain when the worst he feels is an occasional twinge of pain.
Until a finger prods his shoulder.
With a sharp hiss, he jerks away. The culprit is none other than Robyn, who looks over the wound with intense scrutiny.
"Well," she says, not quite satisfied but a bit relieved, "it looks worse than it is. You're lucky that thing went for your shoulder instead of your neck. Don't think we could've helped if it hit an artery."
The word "lucky" has him glaring at her, but she simply shrugs in response and stands. Now that he has been dragged back to reality, he realizes he is no longer on the transport and glances around in confusion. Somehow Robyn had managed to get him off the transport and into a bathroom without him being aware, going so far as to place him on the floor and lean him against the tub.
Dread seizes his chest. How many people saw him? All it would take is one person recognizing him for him to be found.
"No one knows you're here," Robyn says.
Startled, he blinks and looks up at her.
"Could tell by the look on your face," she says as she digs through the cabinet. "Ironwood's got problems, but I don't think he'd be stupid enough to send one Huntsman out to deal with a whole horde of Grimm. Figured you probably weren't supposed to be out there." With a smirk, she glances down at him. "So, am I right?"
"How did you know where I was?"
"You really thought no one would notice that much Grimm smoke in the air?" Robyn asks with a raised brow. "What were you expecting? For people not to be on the lookout for signs of Grimm?"
Huffing, he turns away to instead watch the blood trickle down his arm. The numbness is still there, though he can feel the pain more acutely now. The injuries themselves are rough to look at, tattered skin surrounding exposed flesh, but he knows from experience that this is the best he could have hoped for. Bracing himself against the pain, he shifts his shoulder. There is no grinding, so he is fairly certain it isn't broken. At least not to the extent that he needs to worry.
His gaze then drifts to the other side of the room, where his vest and shirt lay discarded. Both are too damaged to repair. Since he left the rest of his clothes in Atlas, he will have to find replacements somewhere. He could buy something cheap if not for the fact he has no money with him, and he wouldn't want to risk his purchases being tracked anyway. A lack of foresight on his part, due to his desperation to get out of Atlas.
Fuck, he wants a drink.
"Gonna take your silence as a sign that you know I'm right."
Lacking the energy to think of a proper comeback, he leans back against the tub with a sigh and closes his eyes. At least he can focus on this mess instead of Atlas. Being ripped open by Grimm is preferable to that nonsense.
Something cold and wet drops onto his shoulder. The numbness is replaced by an intense burn, and he bites back a scream as he tears himself away from it. He doesn't get far; a hand clamps down on his other arm and drags him back.
Fixing a near-murderous glare on Robyn, he grinds out, "Asshole."
"Well, maybe you won't do something so stupid next time, huh? Unless you want me to take you to the hospital."
That makes him scowl. "Could've warned me."
Her grin tells him she in no way feels sorry. "Too bad. You're stuck with me."
Thankfully, she is more gentle once she starts to clean it properly, careful not to apply too much pressure against the wounds. Still, he finds himself clenching his jaw, gripping his thigh tightly so as not to snap at her. The pain is what he deserves for choosing this.
"You better treat me to lunch for this," Robyn says.
He does laugh at that, or at least tries, the sound more akin to a wheeze. "If I had any money on me, I would."
"You really came down here with no money?"
The incredulous look on her face is almost funny. "Was in a hurry."
"Uh-huh. You'll have to explain all that later. I don't mind housing a felon, but I'd like to know beforehand."
He snorts. His situation would be much more simple if he were a felon and far easier to deal with.
"Not a felon," he replies, then pauses, pursing his lips. Depending on how Ironwood feels, his choice to leave Atlas might be labeled treason. "Yet."
The tone of his voice must reveal more about how he feels than he first thought because Robyn falls silent, her hand stilling. When he glances at her, her brows are pinched together, her gaze fixed on his shoulder. More blood begins to ooze out, and she moves to gently wipe it away. The change in demeanor is somewhat startling, and he wonders if this is how everyone has felt about his own mood shifts. It reminds him a bit of the way Clover acted after their sparring match, and the thought makes him nauseous.
Of those he has befriended, Robyn is one of the few who stuck by his side. He doesn't think she would turn her back on him like the others, but anything is possible.
If there is one thing he has learned over these past several days, it is that he doesn't know quite as much as he thought.
"I'm serious about helping you," Robyn says, and Qrow tries to hide his wince. "If something happened in Atlas..."
"It's—" Qrow sucks in a sharp breath. "It's complicated. Personal shit."
Robyn regards him for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. "Alright." She pulls away the rag, checking his shoulder again. "Well, I think this is as good as it's gonna get. You want a shower or a bath?"
Confused, Qrow blinks again and stares at her. "Huh?"
"Shower or a bath," Robyn repeats. "Pick one. Gotta get the rest of the blood and gunk off somehow."
Right. With the blood loss making him light-headed, he knows he will fall if he takes a shower. Though there is a chance he could pass out taking a bath, that is less likely, and there is no fall risk. A nice long soak in warm water could do him some good. Grunting, he grips the side of the tub with his good hand and starts to push himself up. Robyn, of course, rolls her eyes and helps him to his feet. Letting her hold him, he reaches over to turn the water on.
"Think you can climb in on your own?" When he glares at her, she laughs. "Alright, alright. I'll get out of your hair. Guess you need to keep at least some of your dignity, right?"
She better be glad there is nothing within arm's reach for Qrow to grab, because he would happily pelt her in the head without a second thought.
Once he starts to lower himself onto the toilet seat, she lets go of him and steps up to the door but pauses to look back at him.
"Fiona and May should be back soon with some clothes for you. Once you get done, I'll patch up that shoulder of yours, and then we'll get you settled in."
"Thanks."
She smiles. "What are friends for?"
The moment she shuts the door, Qrow starts trying to finish undressing. Admittedly it is a little unsettling to know Robyn took off his shirt without him even noticing, but he isn't going to hold it against her. At least she managed to do it without hurting him. Even if she did poke at him afterwards. How she could, though, is baffling to him because even the smallest of movements is making his shoulder throb.
There was a time in his life when he would have knocked back a few pills and a couple of drinks to deal with it. Now, though? That is something he can no longer afford to do. Not that he would these days, since the idea makes him sick to his stomach.
Finally, after what feels like hours rather than minutes, he manages to kick off his pants and boxers.
To his surprise, climbing into the tub isn't quite as difficult as he thought, and he is able to get down with relative ease. The warmth is nice enough for him to settle back with a contented sigh, sinking into the water.
What a fucking day.
In spite of the blood loss, his mind feels oddly clear. At least in comparison to how he felt before being brought here. There is always a dark cloud lingering at the edge of his thoughts, one that has been a constant plague for years at this point, but it isn't overwhelming like it usually is. Though he supposes it could be the blood loss itself making him feel this way, leaving him without the energy to sustain his anger.
Maybe throwing himself amidst the Grimm to vent his anger did him some good for once?
Without it taking over his every thought, he is able to look at things with more of a critical eye. The "talk" in Ironwood's office had been an utter shitshow, and yet it was nowhere near as awful as every other confrontation he has experienced. If anything, he made it much worse by leaving the way he did.
Will Ironwood see it as treason? Or will he be more reasonable? Things have been so different as of late that Qrow can't be quite sure. The Centinel mission. The abandoned facility. The Griffon flock and Cenitaur. Robyn knowing him despite never having met him in this timeline. The cavern full of Apathy, something he had never encountered before.
Clover—
Harbinger sinks into his back, cutting through flesh and shattering bones, before bursting out of his chest.
Brilliant teal eyes stare at him, shining with unshed tears. Clover is alive. Qrow succeeded.
He jerks, banging his injured shoulder against the wall, and gasps in pain.
"You okay in there?" Robyn's voice calls out.
It takes a moment for the pain to ease enough for him to answer. "Moved wrong."
Probably a good thing she is keeping an ear out for him. It would do no good for her to come to his rescue only to let him drown in her bathtub. If that happened, it would be the single most embarrassing death he could ever experience, even worse than the cave-in.
Robyn doesn't question him further, and he lets his thoughts drift back to the previous cycle.
Leave it to him to be so wrapped up in his own misery to miss the obvious. All that time thinking about everything he has gone through, only to focus on the wrong thing.
He hadn't failed that last time, had he? He might not have won the fight, but he had finally changed the one thing he never could. He had saved Clover.
If he could change that, then he must be able to change more. Why else would it be possible? That inexplicable feeling of the spiral itself shifting has to mean something, and he has felt it on more than one occasion since the start of this new cycle. Each had their differences, but never to this extent. Never so much that he was unable to predict what might come next. All this pain, all this misery, all the years spent struggling towards a better future—it has to have been worth it. It couldn't all be for nothing.
Since he prevented Clover's death, then surely he could prevent the fight itself.
Creating a plan is the easy part, and he knows the perfect place to set up an ambush. All he would need to do is gather the right supplies and find his target. The fight itself? He knows from experience that it won't be easy, but if it means the future will be different, he is certainly going to try.
And to think he considered just letting the Grimm have him.