Chapter Text
The thing that wasn’t quite Tyrian Callows cackled. “Now you match, O Heartless King!”
Clover collapsed into James’ left side just as James turned and opened his right hand. A burst of white fire sheared the top half of the creature’s body off, and the rest fell to the stone in a puddle. But the voice kept laughing.
“Oh, that old thing? I have grown far beyond such need. This forest will do nicely for a resurrection site, don’t you think? A few more deaths, a bit more tribute from the village beyond, it will have a thoroughly detestable aura when I’m through with it.”
James was with Clover. That was about as far as Qrow’s thought process could go, because he couldn’t think anymore, he was so tired—
The garden was right next to him, the plot of land James had put so much work into. It had paid off; the first of the blue roses James had finally grown had begun to bloom.
The woods called for it.
James had run back into the cottage for something, Qrow didn’t know what. He was on his own, then. With the last of his strength he dragged himself towards the roses, the laughter ringing louder and louder in his ears. With a shaking hand covered in purple veins, he plucked the rose from its stem, placed it on the dirt outside of the garden, and made a wish. Help?
The dirt opened up under his hands and enveloped them. A sudden surge of rightness, of acceptance filled him, and he understood. The woods had never asked for anything before, but it had needed this, not the rose but the kindness, the amount of care that had gone into them.
Magic came from many things, but mostly, magic was about intent. Qrow, Clover, and James had made this woods their home. The woods, in turn, was accepting them as wards.
The ground swallowed him whole, and Qrow saw the woods in its entirety. Every tree, every squirrel and crow and finch, every wretched root that the violent memory of Tyrian had laid beneath it. People, it could easily turn away with unease but this? The woods had not dealt with such concentrated malice before. It didn’t know what to do with it.
Qrow did. Qrow wanted it to burn.
With the power of the woods at his disposal he cast his magic out into every bit of Tyrian he could sense, burning along the pathways that criss-crossed the earth under the trees until he was nothing but ashes, nothing but dust that the forest could repurpose for itself. Tyrian screamed. Good. Qrow chased every last drop of acid from the cottage to the edge of the wood. He wanted Tyrian to hurt, wanted to—
Enough.
What?
He’s gone. Come back, Qrow. Enough.
That sounded like—
Qrow gasped as his shoulders were hauled out of the dirt. “Qrow!”
Clover?
Clover was staring at him, scanning for injuries, most likely, wide-eyed and afraid and alive. Qrow blinked. Clover’s jacket was torn, just over his heart, but the skin there was already scarred over, like it hadn’t happened only a moment ago—
“James, over here!”
James appeared in his field of vision, too. When had his beard gotten so bushy? It looked soft. “Oh, thank the gods.”
Qrow swallowed. “How—” he started, before coughing too violently to continue. He tried to stand up, but his legs were trapped in something.
Clover put a hand on his face. “Shh. You’re okay. James, can you dig him the rest of the way out?”
Dig? Qrow looked down and yes, he was covered in dirt. His upper body was free, but his hips and legs were still buried in a few inches of soft earth. He looked up. They were under the trees. Hadn’t he been near the cottage? How had he—
“You were gone for three days, Qrow,” said James, answering his unspoken question. “I came out of the cottage and you were gone.”
Cottage. James had run back into the cottage, that’s right. Why? And Clover, Clover was fine now? He held a hand up to the tear in Clover’s jacket and raised his eyebrows, hoping they would understand.
Clover nodded, and held Qrow’s hand to his chest with a small smile. “Tyrian thought it would be poetic to destroy my heart. Luckily, we had a spare.”
Qrow felt Clover’s chest, still but for the gentle rise and fall of his breath. Clover didn’t have a heartbeat, and he was alive. Like James had been. The artificial heart. So James had—?
“No extra magic this time, though,” Clover added hastily. “I still love you both, very much. I’m also furious, and I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least a week.”
“Two,” James grunted, and put one hand under Qrow’s knees and one under his shoulders, and lifted him like he weighed nothing at all. “Let’s get him home.”
Home.
Qrow fell asleep just as the cottage came into view.
He woke up to birdsong.
Light was streaming into the room. He squinted against it, and rolled to face the other way.
Clover was snoring just a little, like he always did. His ridiculous little tuft of hair was squashed flat against his pillow. Qrow just listened quietly for a moment, to the sound of Clover’s breath and, if he kept very quiet, the steady hum of magic from the new heart in Clover’s chest. James had confidence it would outlast them all, and that there was nothing to worry about, but Qrow still listened, still checked every so often that it still sounded the same.
“You’re thinking too hard,” James said in a low rumble behind him. One large arm slowly slid over his torso to pull him close, and he felt the scratch of James’ beard against his head.
“You can’t hear me thinking, Jim.”
“Don’t need to. You’re tense, so you’re thinking about it again. We’re fine, Qrow. Sleep. If you worry any harder you’ll wake up Clover.”
“’s right,” Clover mumbled without opening his eyes. “Don’ wake me up, or…coffee. Kidney beans.”
Qrow huffed a little laugh at that threat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Would. Watch me.”
“Not for another two hours,” James declared. Clover hummed some sort of assent. Qrow rolled his eyes, but let the gentle breath and hum of his lovers lull him to sleep in the early morning.