Disclaimer: I own nothing, except your pain and tears.

-ooOOOoo-

It was nearing sunset, when the quiet of the grave was broken by a loud caw. A crow staggered into the cliffside, coming to rest by the lonely gravemarker. In a flutter of wings, a man now stood where the crow was. Staggering slightly, as if drunk, the man stumbled to the cliffside and sat by the grave, looking over the horizon.

"Ah Summer..." Qrow groaned as he leaned back on the dewy grass, the top of his head resting against the cool marble of Summer's gravestone. The grass felt wet and fresh beneath his hands and on his back, soaking through his clothes. Not that Qrow cared about that. Not now.

"...It's been criminally long since I visited, you know?" he rasped, pulling a long swig from his trusty flask. He coughed once as the liquor seared his throat as it went down. "I couldn't bear the thought of an empty grave and a world where you were dead...I guess I was too weak to accept the reality."

He chuckled dryly, clearing his throat, "I blame you for that, just so you know. You always were too good at telling stories. My fondest memories from the days gone by is huddling under those blanket forts of yours and listening to the latest spooky story that your twisted little mind dreamed up."

"Heh...Raven will never admit it, but I caught her shivering in fear many a time after the weekly story night. Me? I never got scared...No really...I didn't...Fine. Maybe once or twice." He rasped, turning his head slightly to face the familiar symbol of the blooming rose.

"But most of all, I loved hearing the old fairy tales that you knew. Stories of dashing princes and distressing damsels, stories of dragons and the magical rings that they guarded, only to be defeated by the unlikeliest of heroes. I loved hearing about brave heroes and whimsical magical creatures. And the way you told those stories...it was almost like they were real. Somehow, somewhere down the line, I began to equate you with those stories."

He sighed, wiping at the moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes, and continued, "You always did say, that a story doesn't end until it has a happily-ever-after...and if there is no happy ending, it just means that the story is still incomplete. And I believed every word, the fool that I am."

"Then came the day when you died. Taiyang was shattered by it, you know? He always knew that you were precious, rare...something to be treasured. He worshipped you, or at least the ideal of you. But not me...I was worse. I believed you. I soldiered on, thinking that this isn't the end of the story...this is no happily-ever-after..."

He coughed again, this time a violent fit that lasted for several moments, "So I kept going, searching for that elusive happy ending. I have gone on this long...but after today..." He trailed off, his eyes looking heavenward in soul-crushing despair.

"This is just like old times, me lying at your feet, looking up at you. All it needs to complete the picture is an over-protective Tai hovering at your back and Raven sitting aloof by the side, but still with eyes trained on all of us." He snorted dryly, a bitter smile arching across his face. In the setting sun, it looked more like a grimace. "How about we change it up a bit, eh?"

He sat up slightly; taking out a deep red rose from his shirt pocket, and tenderly placed it over the grave marker. Then he shook himself, as if awakening from a long slumber and took another swig from his flask. Some of the cheap booze dribbled down his chin, which is idly wiped with the back of his hand.

"How about, you just sit there prettily, and let me tell you a story for a change? It's a magical story, almost a fairy tale. It's called, the Red Red Rose. Yes, original, I know. But bear with me."

"So, Once upon a time...isn't that how most stories begin? Or perhaps with, a long time ago...Oh well, not like it matters. So, Once upon a time, there lived a wise owl in a great tree. The Owl was a very clever bird. It lived all alone at the very top of a tall tree which was home to many other little birds. One day, the birds noticed that their tree was dying. So, of course, they went to the wise owl for counsel."

"They asked him, 'Wise Owl, Wise Owl...our tree falls! What should we do?' and the Owl said, go far into the deep woods. In the clearing, you will find a red rose. Bring it back here, for the rose is magical and will heal our ailing tree."

"Hearing this, many birds volunteered to do this duty...even the solitary Crow, who wished to save the tree. But in the end, it was the majestic Eagle that was chosen to bring back the precious rose. So he flew, straight and true, braving many dangers along the way...but he succeeded. He brought back that rose. The whole tree-folk were overjoyed. Even the lonely crow cawed out his joy for the world to hear at the sight of the magical, delicate flower. Everyone was happy, but not the Owl. He frowned and said, 'This is a rose, true...but it is not a red rose. It is more pink or white, than red. This will not do at all!' Every bird was grief-stricken that all their efforts were for naught."

"It was at this point that the solitary Crow stepped up. He said to the owl that he knew how to bring back a red rose. Everyone was sceptical, but hope seemed lost, especially after their Eagle had failed. So they all agreed."

"The Crow then gathered the rose up in his beak and flew away, taking care to hold the flower gently." Here, he stopped to catch his breath, wiping away the flecks of saliva tinged with blood that had welled up at the edge of his lips, slipping through his gritted teeth.

"So, yes, the Crow had no idea what he was doing, all he knew was that the rose was too precious to be discarded just because the Owl said so. So the Crow planned to just take the rose and go away somewhere...perhaps a new tree. As he was flying, with the rose clutched in his beak, a thorn grazed his mouth, causing blood to spill upon the milky petals, staining them a rich garnet red."

"It was here that the Crow had an epiphany...he thought that as it was he was unwanted and unloved...if he could dye the rose red with his blood, maybe then the Owl will accept the rose and take care of it. So he flew, and flew and flew...day in and day out, the crow did nothing but fly."

Qrow paused here again, coughing and spitting out a wad of blood-drenched spittle. Sighing, he pressed the gaping wound over his lungs tighter, and took another fortifying drink from his flask.

"The longer he flew, the redder the rose became, drenched with his life's blood. But to the Crow, it was a matter of little concern. Soon, he noticed that the rose was as red a flower as had ever been seen. It shone with the quiet gleam of a hunter's eye and seemed to shimmer with a mother of pearl sheen. The color was the bright scarlet of the most beautiful of all rubies. The Qrow gazed upon what he had helped create, and was content, though he was nearing the end of his strength."

A severe cough wracked his trembling frame, making him twitch uncontrollably, clutching clumps of grass in his unbearable agony.

"S-So, with the last of his strength, the Qrow flew back to his tree and discovered that all the birds had already flown away. The only one remaining was the Wise Owl, who looked pityingly at the Qrow and said, 'I'm sorry Qrow, but the tree has already withered and is now beyond all cure. We no longer need this rose.' And with that, the Owl threw down the rose, discarding it, and flew away in search of a new tree to live in."

"This broke the Qrow's already grieving heart...now with the last rose of summer gone; despite all the efforts he had done to nurture and protect it...he had failed his purpose. It was then that Qrow realized the bitter truth...that sometimes bad things happen to good people for no reason...that sometimes, there are no happy endings. No happily-ever-afters."

"a-and then...with a sigh, the Qrow...tucked his head... under his wing, and died...hoping for a better ending in the after-life..."

The empty flask dislodged from the now-lifeless fingers, spilling it's contents on the dewy, bloodstained grass, coloring it a richer, darker red.

As if blown by a sad sigh, the rose toppled over, falling with a soft wet sound on the grass. In the light of the setting sun, Qrow Branwen's lifeless corpse seemed to be lit in an unearthly pyre.

Maybe it was the red of roses.

Maybe it was the pool of blood.

The End

A/N : In this AU, Ruby has been killed/sacrificed by Ozpin's actions in some hare-brained scheme to save a dying Remnant. In the battle that follows, Qrow is mortally wounded. These are his last thoughts.