Work Text:
Qrow rolled over onto his back, and took a deep breath. No good. He opened his eyes. Above him, the faint black outlines of old oak leaves waved gently in the breeze, visible only as gaps in the starry sky. The breeze was nice and cool, exactly the sort that made for good sleeping weather. There was a sharp taste to the air--a hint of snow. It would not snow here anytime soon, but the breeze suggested that perhaps it was snowing somewhere else--maybe far to the north, or off in the mountains past the eastern horizon. Normally the first taste of snow in the air would be enough to make Qrow curl up comfortably in bed, and doze off in cozy happiness.
And yet. Not tired.
Qrow groaned and sat up, his sleeping bag falling from his chest and pooling around his lap. Dim starlight illuminated his campsite in soft, muted blues and grays. It wasn’t much of a campsite--just a little hollow at the base of the oak tree where he had found a patch of grass amidst the underbrush. These days, not a bad find--some nights he had to clear his own spot in the underbrush, others he had to resort to nesting in a tree, a small black bird huddled up against a tree trunk, puffing up its feathers to keep warm.
Figured, then, that tonight of all nights, with a campsite as nice as this, he’d be unable to sleep. Qrow ran one hand through his hair, grasping at his scalp in frustration.
He hated this.
He hated lying awake at night, he hated knowing no embrace save that of the hard ground, he hated having nobody to turn to when his thoughts kept him awake.
The loneliness was the worst at night. It always was. Some nights he could shove it aside, compartmentalize and forget about it, distract himself with thoughts of the previous day’s work, or the next day’s journey. Usually that wasn’t so hard; one Huntsman out in these woods alone, the Grimm fights could be a fair challenge, and sometimes he came across people who really needed help--or knew he soon would, from a weak tendril of smoke rising from a distant cabin, and a small path of trampled underbrush and scratched tree bark.
But sometimes, he had a good day. A day without Grimm, with plentiful foraging, and perhaps a small family in a well-protected cottage--a family that might spare him some warmth, some coffee, and some kindness in exchange for help clearing trees or digging a new well.
Days like that, like today had been, those were the ones with lonely, sleepless nights.
The problem was that he remembered. He remembered what it was like to share that warmth, to have a home to return to, to take a break from the woes of the world--he remembered what it felt like. What it felt like to not be alone. To be with her --to know the weight of her head on his shoulder, her warm breath against his back, her small but strong hands lovingly pressing the stress away from his shoulders. Sometimes he could forget, briefly, that he remembered that. But days like today, with their warm familiarity, were a reminder.
It made him remember the pain.
Being alone was painful; an old, deep wound that never healed. The pain only dulled and ebbed, waiting to be reawakened as soon as it rose once more to the fore of his mind. And so even as he craved the small kindnesses, the warm comforts of honest gratitude….instead of soothing his heart like a warm cup of coffee, it was a red-hot rake dragged roughly across the wound.
Which was why he was now sitting awake, unable to sleep in this perfect night air.
Qrow sighed, and slid out of the sleeping bag. He quickly rolled it up, strapped it to his pack, and slipped on his shoes. Hoisting the pack onto his back, he shoved one hand into his pocket, and with the other grabbed Harbinger from its resting place against the oak tree.
If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well walk.
Qrow set off through the underbrush, gently nudging it aside with Harbinger, until eventually he was back on the path.
Qrow liked walking. It was hard to feel lonely or sad while walking--it was almost as if with every step, he left the sad thoughts a little farther behind. They would catch up eventually; they always did--but for at least a little while, there was nothing but the rhythm of his steps, the ground beneath his feet, and the sounds of the forest around him. And when the sad thoughts did catch up, he could simply take another step.
Tonight, the forest was quiet. Faintly rustling leaves from the gentle breeze. Here and there the small scuffle and scurry of a rodent. But above all, the dominant sound was simply the silence of a sleeping forest. The world was simpler like this. All the colors, shadows, sounds, and excitement of the day were gone, replaced by a world reduced to its minimal dimensions--the ground stretching out away in front and behind, to left and right, the trees rising up toward the sky, and the flat black sky, sprinkled with the brilliant pinpricks of the stars. An entire world painted only in dark shades of gray. Enough light to see and find his way--and no more.
As the miles fell away beneath his feet, Qrow smiled. It was hard to feel lonely, walking at night like this. As the rest of the world slept, Qrow Branwen walked, accompanied by the stars and the night breeze, the entire darkened forest his walking partner. Each step was meditative--a dialogue with himself and with the night, as he left behind the familiar and ventured into new territory.
The trees opened up on the left side of the path a ways ahead, just before it curved away to the right, giving way first to small shrubs, and then to empty darkness. As Qrow approached, a large lake came into view, bordered by an earthen embankment at the side of the path.
The lake stretched almost to the horizon--Qrow could just barely make out the forested canopy rising above the curvature of the world at the far side of the water. The sky opened up above him, a velvet bluish-black dome stretching from the heights above all the way down to the horizon. For not the first time, Qrow felt small, merely a speck amid the great expanse of the celestial sphere, making his way across the surface of an enormous world.
It was easy to forget how large the world was, during the day when there were big, world-spanning problems to consider, wars to fight, missions to carry out. Out here at night, the vast, quiet stillness of the night was a reminder that, no matter how pressing or dire the day’s problems were, at the end of the day, the world would still be here, turning gently under the starry firmament. Whether or not the humans and faunus on her surface made it to the end of the day was immaterial; the world would turn nonetheless.
Qrow slipped off his pack, and gently set Harbinger down on the embankment. He knelt at the water’s edge and dipped his hand in the water--cool and refreshing. He lifted a cupped hand and gently splashed his face, relishing the refreshing chill as the water began to dry on his skin. He leaned back and pulled his water canteen from his pack, took a long swig, and looked out across the water with a soft sigh.
The water was almost perfectly still, with just small ripples from the slight breeze and his splashing. The surface of the lake was a blurry reflection of the stars above, each hard pinprick in the sky scintillating on the water like a dark, rippling mirage.
Summer would have liked this.
They had gone on many adventures, the two of them, often to parts of Remnant with beautiful scenery. They had rarely had time to stop and enjoy the scenery--but Summer had always tried nonetheless.
“In our line of work, every day is a gamble. We might as well enjoy these small gifts while we can,” she would say, perched happily at the edge of a cliff, or dangling her feet in the waters of a lake like this one, as her partner anxiously watched the woods around them, scanning for Grimm.
It was hard to argue with her, now.
Qrow ran his hand through the dirt at his feet as he remembered, his fingers finding a smooth, flat stone partially-buried in the embankment. Life had been good. He had allowed himself to think that maybe, perhaps, it could continue to be good. He had a family--Tai, and Summer, little Yang, and baby Ruby. His sister still stopped by from time to time. He had been foolish enough to think that maybe, finally, he wouldn’t be alone. He yanked the stone from the ground, a small shower of dust and dirt tumbling toward the water.
Qrow straightened up, the stone filling the palm of his hand. He tensed his shoulder, brought his arm back, and flicked the stone forward in a sharp forehand throw. The stone sailed through the air in a flat trajectory, before touching on the water, skipping off, and jumping ahead several more times on the lake’s surface. The ripples spread calmly out across the image of the starry sky, the perfect mirage disrupted and distorted by his throw.
Life had been good. And then everything had been torn away, in a devastating reminder of who he was, and the life he was destined to lead.
And now he was alone, and alone he would remain. He had work he could do, good things he could do for the world. Oz made sure of that. But he had to remain alone. For everyone else’s sake. For their safety. With every nighttime trudge away from his past, he kept those he loved safe. Safe from the Grimm he fought--and safe from himself. Tai had tried to convince him to stay, as had Oz, Glynda, Oobleck, the whole lot--but they didn’t know. They didn’t know what Qrow knew, that his Semblance wouldn’t permit that. He could stay, and get comfortable, and begin to believe that he deserved that warmth. And then one day, he would slip, and misfortune would once again slip in under the door.
And then, no matter what, he would once again be alone. Just as he was now.
So he chose his loneliness. There were many dimensions to his loneliness--he missed his family, and he missed the warm liveliness of cities and towns. Sometimes he would stop home, to see Tai and his nieces, to see what Ruby had learned and to spar with Yang’s firecracker wit. Sometimes he would stop in a town, see if they had small commissions he could do for them, and then enjoy a quiet evening in their tavern, letting the lively conversations of the other guests wash over him.
The dimension he could not fill, however, was the empty space beside him as he slept, the missing joyful laugh at his side as he skipped the stone across the water. The best he could do was to step away from it, and into the night.
Qrow slung his pack over his shoulder, picked up Harbinger, and walked back to the path. Just beyond the curve away from the lake, the path split. Ahead, to the northwest, was the faint glow of a town’s lights casting their faint, warm glow on the thin moisture of the night air. To the right, barely visible through the trees, there was only the distant eastern sky, taking on a slowly-brightening teal hue, and the dark safety of the gravel path.
Qrow took the path on the right. He would bypass the town, with its painful warmth. Instead, he would walk, until he was too tired to walk further, and the sun had risen high, bringing with it the sounds and sights of the daylit world. Maybe then he would find a place to bed down, and finally get some sleep.
And then the next night he would keep walking, in the company of the night’s quiet solitude. And he would be alone, as he always was. But perhaps he wouldn’t feel lonely.