crown of time

clinicaldissection‌:

“I can, at least, repay you then for your kindness. Even if it’s just a room at an inn and a warm meal.” They had the Lien for that much. His assets had gone into a trust when he’d passed, under Qrow’s control, and the dusty old bird had been careful to ensure that Oscar had money for emergencies. This would qualify.

As if on cue, his stomach grumbled.

There was an odd melancholy to the man at the question, one that seemed to deepen as he answered. Oscar pulsed in sympathy, the idea of home being gone. Ozpin sighed hard through his nose. Alone, unwanted. It was a story he’d heard hundreds of times as headmaster–students coming to Beacon because they had nowhere else to go. orphaned. Unwanted because of their species or Semblance or because they meant another hungry mouth to feed in a village barely surviving. Remnant was not a forgiving land, and it was most cruel to the youngest of its inhabitants.

But even the older ones felt that neglect.

“You are not the first I’ve heard such a tale from,” he said quietly. “I am sorry you have been placed in such a position. And if you are so unfamiliar with this area, then until we must part I will be more than willing to help you learn.”

A long howl echoed in the distance.

“… preferably somewhere where there aren’t Grimm running about.”

There was the smallest hint of surprise at such an offer, eyebrows raising just a tad before it would fade as quickly as it came, that mask of stoicism replacing it once more

“Payment for such is…not required. I do what I do simply because I wish to help, even if my methods can be unorthodox paired with a…rather dark sense of humor as well,” he admitted, tilting his head as he heard the other’s stomach growl.

“…Though in this situation, food and shelter would be most ideal. Even if the boy’s injuries are not severe, it would be best to get them taken care of, all the same.”

Grimm…? Such an interesting name for these creatures he had seen.

And I should apologize, Oscar murmured in the back of his mind. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.

Ozpin chuckled softly, despite the discomfort it caused his ribs. “And an apology. We just came from a combat situation where someone was....” A pause. Oh, this ached to think of, Leo’s betrayal, Hazel’s insane grief. “It is my fault they tried to take Oscar’s life.”

Qrow’s own laughs and snorts mirror Oscar’s; the man pressing the heel of his palm against against his eye and scrubbing away the tears.

“’Spose the only thing I’m missin’ is the layin’ eggs part.”

A statement that pulls more laughs from him. So much so, that he merely misses what the boy says next. Nearly misses the shared feelings of wishing to fly. Thinking about what it would feel like to do so. What it would feel like to be there, up in the sky, and have a pair of wings.

Gods, he missed that.

Almost as if on cue, the magic sparking from the boy’s fingers supplied both of them with a surprise neither of them expected. Sitting up entirely and feeling his eyes widen, his jaw fell open at the sight in front of him. Crimson orbs flicked from Oscar’s hair to his hands to his face and then back to his head. A confused, stuttered laugh broke free as the man was suddenly torn between confused, stunned, and concerned.

A feather flutters down into Oscar’s lap. Another. He stares at the mess before groaning in rolling his eyes in pure exasperation. “Really?!” he complains.

Or, that was the intention. What actually comes out is a fluttery whistle that cracks halfway into a tweet.

Well. apparently even birds’ voices crack when going through puberty. Fan-freakin’-tastic. Oscar’s day is going just wonderfully. He arrives in Atlas, he gets put in a clamshell, he’s no longer renting out half his soul to his dad Ozpin, and now he has magic that he’s screwing up royally. 

At least Ozpin isn’t here right now to tell him how much he takes after dad #2 Qrow in the sarcasm department. Oscar’s not sure he’d survive the embarrassment.

“I just thought it’d be nice to fly!” This actually does come out in real human speech. “I didn’t even want anything to happen! Auuuuuugh!”

He smiles gently at the smaller of the two, guilt twisting in his gut even though it wasn’t his to claim. It wasn’t his to hold onto and stress about. Still, hefting it onto the man that it did (technically, speaking) belong to, didn’t feel right either. Ozpin would feel no guilt about this. Not really. He would feel guilt in regards to shouldering the boy with this power, if he didn’t want it. If he didn’t approve of holding onto something that was so different and new. But, in time, the like-minded souls would do what they did best; shoulder their newest positions, their responsibilities, and carve a life for themselves. 

Qrow would, in turn, do whatever he could. For both of them.

Startled (just a bit) by the boy’s sudden closeness, he blinks down at him. Crimson orbs flick down to the newly exposed hand and lips pull themselves into a tight line. He doesn’t know the first thing about this kind of magic, and it strikes him, for the first time that evening, that he may very well learn a lot about it - without Ozpin. Perhaps it would always be that way.

He shook the pessimism from his head, turning his gaze to the top of Oscar’s head. Wrapping a protective arm around him, he groans with absolute exaggeration and rolls his head back against the couch - aiming his eyes at the ceiling. 

“Geez, kid, really aimin’ for the deep questions tonight, huh?”

He exhales powerfully, a crooked smile climbing onto his face.

“The first time– was a bit of a mess. Raven got the hang of it real fast, but I just…couldn’t wrap my head around it. One second I was a bird, the next second I was a drunk, and then every second after was a mess of feathers and skin, wings and limbs.”

A laugh burbles out into the open as he lifts a hand to press at his forehead.

“Oz kept tellin’ us, ‘Think about being birds. Think about what it means. Think about how it’ll make you feel. Why you wanted this.’ And I just– I mean, I couldn’t figure out what the fuck I wanted. I just wanted to be a bird. Why did it have to be so goddamn complicated?”

A snort chases after one of his laughs as his chest is suddenly wracked with tremors. He moves to wipe a tear away from the corner of one of his eyes.

Oscar rolls his eyes at the exaggeration. A little bit of him feels guilty for asking. It’s clearly rather personal, from how Qrow hesitates, from how he shifts and stills and goes all soft and quiet around the edges. The Goliath in the room, so to speak.

But control is what he needs, in the immediate after. Control and calm and distraction.

“You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal,” he says, red-cheeked. “i just--”

But the answer. The answer is so worth it. Both for the story--he can absolutely imagine this stork of a man flailing about as a half-human half-featherduster, reeling around as Ozpin drones on, a bastion of infuriating calm--as it is for the laughter that comes burbling out of him. Real laughter. Real laughter had become so rare, after Haven, scarce enough that Oscar didn’t think the man would laugh again.

"I mean....” Oscar giggles until he snorts, boots thrumming against the seat. he should be scandalized by the cursing, but it just makes it even more hilarious. “To be fair, birds don’t think about much more than ‘eat, poop, lay eggs, sleep’. So maybe you missed one of them?”

Think about being birds. Think about what it means. Think about how it’ll make you feel.

Was that all there was to it? Really?

"i mean, ever since we found out about you, I’ve kinda wondered what it would be like to fly....”

fly high in the skies, wind in his hair freedom fearless escape escape escape

He blinks slowly, attempting to comprehend what the boy was saying, what he was really saying, before any other words left his lips. He thought the boy would inquire more about his transformation. About the magic that coursed through his veins. Perhaps he wanted to know what it was like to shape-shift, what it felt like, what he thought about, which parts changed first, and so on. 

He wanted to agree with the boy. Wanted to readily admit that they were on the same page, but the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. Goosebumps trailed along his arms in eager anticipation of what was coming. An inner knowing already thrumming in his veins, giving him the answer but without a means of understanding it. 

Thus, when the magic twirls against Oscar’s fingers and leaves behind dusts of green, Qrow only manages a quiet exhale. A breath he didn’t know he was holding, released. 

What was he supposed to say now? What was he supposed to do? Would Ozpin be thrilled? Content knowing that his burden had been shed and dispersed to the boy? Would he feel lost without such an integral piece of him flowing through him like the air he breathed?

“Oscar…”

He furrows his brows, turning his eyes to the smaller hands; half-expecting to find magic still present. It was still present, he just couldn’t see it.

“…It’s your color now, kid.”

It’s all he can think of saying. It’s all he can fathom right now. They would need to talk to Ozpin if he woke up when he woke up, and go from there. That seemed like the best course of action. It seemed– like a favorable course of action.

Turning back to Oscar, he nods slowly, offering the boy a small, wry smile, and drops his hand to his wrist.

“We’ll ah– we’ll figure it all out when Oz is around, but…it’s yours.” 

Regardless of what Ozpin felt, what he would miss, what he would long for and expect to find on nights where he craved the familiarity, Qrow knew he would agree with him. He knew that Ozpin, too, would tell the boy exactly what he deserved to hear.

“…It’s your color now, kid.”

The words don’t quite register, at first. He breathes, in and out, and  when Qrow puts a hand on his wrist he turns his hand and grabs onto him with surprising strength for a boy so young. Or perhaps not, given his background and training.

“Th-thanks....”

Oscar scrubs at his face with the heel of one palm, sniffling, determined not to cry and failing. But the relief--the sheer relief--it’s overwhelming. Strange, too, because the weird crackling within him seems to settle, a bit, with contact. Like calling to like, in a way. 

Qrow always felt familiar, for a number of reasons all Ozpin-shaped, but this one is new. If he focuses, he can just barely feel--something. It’s as if someone whispered sky and freedom under the older man’s skin. In the same way that what crackles under his skin like static and thunder keeps singing of power. The power to protect, the power to save.

It’s just as Qrow said--it’s hard to breathe under it, but oh, does he like it.

here he is, the winner of the tumblr sticker poll! Son boy

‘I’m okay.’ One of the many bullshit phrases used when bottling up unwanted emotions. Qrow, personally, favored ‘Leave me the fuck alone,’ but between the two, Oscar was more polite. More aware that his feelings weren’t the only ones that mattered. Where the older individual used a sharp tongue to deflect any pity or worry, the boy used kindness and isolation. They were one in the same, in some sense.

The dip of the couch pulls him back to the matter at hand. To the boy in need of comfort and reassurance now more than ever. He was pulled from his home, forced to leave his old life behind, only to arrive in Atlas, meet with General Ironwood, and have his new life stripped away from him too. It couldn’t have been easy. Nice, perhaps, in the sense that such a heavy burden no longer fell on his shoulders, but Qrow knew loneliness. He knew the weight of silence. Knew the confusion that came with everything being pulled out from underneath you. 

It wasn’t easy. 

It would never be easy.

The kid was taking it in stride, though. Asking him questions that pulled a laugh from him. Made him feel something akin to ‘okay.’

“Are you tryin’ to ask me what it felt like when Oz first gave me wings?”

“No, I want to know what it’s like being a goth flamingo.” This, followed by a snort of childish laughter.Oscar, hiding his giggles behind a gloved hand.

This was what he needed. Everyone kept--walking on eggshells around him. The General and his subordinates, Winter and the Ace Ops, were unendingly polite, even after. Pietro and Maria were casual, but they were also necks deep in fixing the things blown out by the transfer. Yang and Jaune acted as if he should be ecstatic for all of this. The rest didn’t quite know what to think, though they were friendlier now. Ruby tried to understand, she did, but... he didn’t want to be understood. 

He just wanted to feel normal again. For people to not treat him like other.

Qrow was good for normal.

This entire ‘plan’ was a mess. Pietro and James both swore, up and down, that it was for the grater good. That it would make things easier. It would bring back a man previously believed to be dead, and give him a new body. A new purpose to uphold. Oscar would be cleared of any impending responsibilities and he would no longer have to worry about anything that came alongside harboring a thousand year old wizard, so this– this was a good thing. It was a good ‘plan.’ It meant Qrow would be able to see Ozpin again and speak with him and…

Another sigh falls from between his lips.

Everything about this was a mess. He was a mess. And he couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good or bad feeling right now.

Lifting his head at the small, shaken voice suddenly entering the room, Qrow smiles. A small, tired smile, but sincere all the same. 

“…Hey, kid.”

This was just as hard on Oscar. Trying to imagine what the boy must be going through, what all of this must be like, just made his head pound harder. Made the cravings for a drink or two (or three or four) grow louder.

“I’m okay.”

Deny, deny, deny. I’m fine. Of all the habits to pick up of Ozpin, it had to be this one. Deny missing half of himself, deny feeling purposeless, deny feeling useless, as if this was all he’d ever be--just the remnant of a much greater legacy, the shadow of hundreds more.

The faint green thread in the back of his mind rang a discordant note at that.

Oscar sighed and plopped down near Qrow, letting his boots swing idly. Despite the troubles of the trip to Atlas, he’d found a measure of comfort being around the man. Maybe it was his mother hen nature (and oh, the jokes he could make about brooding if he weren’t afraid of the revenge training), or maybe it was just how Ozpin always seemed to just... breathe around him. Like he wasn’t eternally strung up on a wire about to break.

He sits quietly, hands clasped together in his lap. Words bubble and collapse on his tongue, leaving a bitter taste at the back of his mouth. Everything felt wrong and uncomfortable. Out of place and unrecognizable. 

His hands clenched tighter together, crimson orbs drifting to the ground as anxiety knotted his stomach. Burned in his chest. Remind him that he was alive, but it was too much. 

He needed a drink. 

The world felt so much... smaller, without Ozpin’s voice inside his head.

Which didn’t make sense, as Oscar kept vacillating in between an awful emptiness and a wonderful fullness, that he was wholly himself again. Just himself. Well, himself, with a few new additions.

He really hadn’t expected to get Ozpin’s magic in this whole deal.

Not that they could ask him, as his--body? Soul? Both?--was shut down, something about the android shell not quite compensating for the overload, which left Oscar to wander, and think, and try to keep a tight leash on this power that kept wanting to leak through his skin. 

... it was probably the only thing remotely going right for them now. Well, depending on who you asked, anyway.

“If I recall, you are the one who decided to summon me here. For what reason, I do not know. But I should warn you that I am in no mood play games. Speak your piece, Ozma, or I am gone.” It was rare enough that she left her castle, rarer still she deigned to answer a summons from Ozma’s hosts.

She could just kill him. 

“Then I shall not waste your time.” But he hesitated still, the question wavering before he sat aside the drink with a sigh.

He felt very, very old.

the air is chilly, but the fluff is warm

“It’s hand holding season.”

“I got the biggest blanket for us to share.”

“Get outside– you can see your breath in the air!” 

“Your cheeks are so red; it’s so cute!” 

“I’m not letting you forget an umbrella ever again.”

“My mom made soup and sent some for me to give to you.”

“I got us matching fuzzy socks.”

“This scarf isn’t big enough for two people.”

“If your hands get cold, you can put them in my pockets.”

“Maybe if I kiss you, you’ll feel warmer.” 

“I don’t care if it’s freezing, I want to walk through the park!”

“I made hot chocolate.” 

“Hug me; I’m cold and love you.”

“Your coat makes you look like a penguin.”

“Are you really walking in public wrapped in a blanket?”

“My bunny slippers are too cool for you.”

“These roses cost extra because of the season– I hope you’ll give me extra kisses as thanks.” 

“Are you cold? Let’s cuddle, it’ll make you warmer.”

“What time is it? Don’t answer, it’s Christmas.”

“If it snows, wake me up.”

“I thought it would get warm in the day, but I was wrong.”

“You stole another of my hoodies, didn’t you?”

“Christmas songs this early?”

“Please stay warm; I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I refuse to let you go– I’m cold.”

“It’s icy outside– also, can you help me limp to the couch?”

“I don’t need mistletoe to kiss you.”

“I’m glad I get to spend this season with you.”

“You’re my designated cuddle-buddy tonight so stay close.”

“Pajamas and movies sounds really nice.”

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I got it for you.”

“Can we take holiday card pictures together?”

“Your cheeks are rosy and cute.”

“Are you shivering?”

“I ran you a bath since it’s freezing outside.”

“Stay in bed with me, it’s warmer here.”

“I don’t understand how you love this kind of weather so much.”

“I know you’re excited about the snow, but please put on better shoes than slippers!”

“The cookies and I are the only things hot this season.”

“I bought you a beanie! Isn’t the pompom cute?”

“Are you blushing or cold?”

“Oh, darn, I seem to have forgotten my mittens– please warm my hands?”

“Is it too early for Santa hats?”

“I don’t think cold weather is an excuse to drink ten times more coffee.”

“Well, you can never have too much hot chocolate.”

“I’m gonna stay up and wait for it to snow.”

“Being with you makes the season even better.”

“Since it’s cold should I start calling you ‘snow angel’?”

“Matching hoodies!”

“Are you going to share this coat with me all night?”