#but grian is bossy and scar asks him if they can burry pizza

[bloop-im-a-frog-now]

If The Gods Were Kind — pizza 2

5th part here we go!!! And yes, you should be worried :). I just love torturing my blorbos. If it weren’t for a reply I got from @stiffyck askbox, this part wouldn’t exist, actually. But I quite like it, so you guys are suffering with me.

Enjoy!

Master Post

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Content warnings: Animal death, blood, gore, violent intrusive thoughts, violence, grief

Scar only stared in disbelief at the Red Army. Grian was yelling at him about doing something, but Scar only heard static noise. They weren’t aiming at him. They were aiming at Pizza . Her beady eyes gawked at him, and it was only then he could unfreeze and march towards her. 

Grian petted Pizza’s fur on her neck, the only place deprived of red. She brayed painfully, barely standing, as one more arrow nested itself in her. Scar placed his hand in front of her face and untied the leash around the pole, feeling her slimy tongue licking his palm.

“She’s gonna die,” Grian’s voice barely reached his ears with the flying arrows going past him, one lodging in his leg. 

Scar grunted, and looked back at the Red Army. “One more arrow and you’re all dead!”

An arrow hissed too close to his ear. He dodged and immediately regretted it.

“NO!” Grian yelled as a bray echoed in his ears. 

Scar dared to look back and didn’t see any white fur at his eye level. No, Pizza’s body laid on the sand, beady eyes wide open, arrow in her throat, tainting her white fur red, just like their stupid banner. Scar choked back a sob, legs trembling, tension in his neck screaming just as hard as Pizza did in her last moments, hips dragging him to the world’s core. 

A ping pierced his ears, some shuffling accompanying it. 

“Red winter is here,” Grian read. 

Scar looked back at the fleeing army, fists clenched. “Grian,” he croaked, mouth dry. 

His partner hummed, already by his side for Scar to lean on him. Scar shook his head. 

“I think I need to kill one of them,” he practically growled. 

It would’ve come eventually. The urge to see blood on his hands, caused by him . Having Ren’s head looking back at him in horror, Scar spitting in his face, knowing a head detached from its body couldn’t do anything about it. Slay Martyn with his new shiny netherite sword, fed by his screams of terror as he died the same way Pizza did, without any hesitation or cause. Burning their enchanter, burning their “palace”, whatever they called it, drowning them in lava and hearing their cries of pain and mercy. It was inevitable. No, they did not deserve mercy. 

Scar took his netherite sword from his inventory and was ready to sprint after them, to make them feel the same pain Pizza felt. But someone grasped his bicep harshly. He swiveled and opened his mouth to vociferate, only to be met with Grian’s death glare.

“It’s gonna be four against one, you are not good at combat and you can kiss your last life goodbye before you can even land a hit on them.”

Grian was right, but Scar’s hands twitched, lips pursed. Grian bore his stare in his piercing red eyes, green eyes glimmering under the sun at its zenith. 

“You’re injured, you will not go far with an arrow in your leg, and they will take advantage of your weakness.”

Scar huffed and tried crossing his arms only to be reminded of the tension in his neck, the ache in his shoulders that made movement difficult, and the piercing soreness in his hips and calves. Scar held in his grimace, but Grian saw right through it. He shook his head and dragged him inside as gently as he could with his hold on Scar’s bicep. 

He made him sit down in the kitchen and rummaged in their barrels for first aid supplies. Scar didn’t understand why Grian wanted to tend his wound. He barely felt it, being a red life helped him ignore the excruciating pain it would probably normally cause him. 

Ren needed to pay. 

But Grian looked so concern and he made excellent points. How many injuries could Scar sustain before it was too much for him? Before it became troublesome? Before he lost his last life? 

What happened after you lose all of your lives? It was probably the next question people were asking each other, after they realized you could die, after they realized you could die twice before getting that red haze. 

Grian raised his leg, making Scar hiss through his teeth. Grian mumbled a “sorry ” and took out the arrow in a swift motion, placing a clean piece of wool on the open wound. 

“Ah!” Scar yelped, closing his eyes and trying to think of other things than the sting. Grian winced and inhaled sharply in response.

He soaked most of the blood with the ball of wool, dabbing around it to clean it. He took a piece of cloth, placed it on the wound and wrapped some string around it to hold it in. Once he was sure Scar’s clumsiness wouldn’t ruin the bandage, he stood up, exchange the first aid supplies with golden carrots, and shoved it in Scar’s hand. 

“Eat,” was all he said as he left the room to do gods know what. 

Scar stared at the carrot, out of focus. He could almost see Mr. Bubbles, if he was smaller. He lost his giant bee too, he realized. Dogwarts not only killed Pizza, but they kill the innocent Mr. Bubbles. His hands trembled. This was all his fault.

He was the one who got attached to those animals. He made himself vulnerable, he knew that. And yet, it still hurt. And yet, the urge to kill them didn’t fade away, no matter how slow he breathed. They were gone, forever erased from this world, leaving him alone.

Scar gasped a breath, noting how heavy his body felt, noting how he couldn’t bring his arm higher to eat the golden carrot, noting his vision was blurry, not out of focus. 

He heard the flutter of wings and the footsteps before hearing and feeling Grian’s panic. Grian fell onto his knees, putting his hand on Scar’s cheek to raise his head. For red eyes to meet green ones. Scar turned to look away, tears landing on his forearm, cold against his warm skin. Grian tried to hold his wings still, but they flapped and fluttered, making him slightly groan. He focused back on Scar, hand on his thigh and, woah, since when was Grian’s hand so warm?

“Scar, buddy, what’s wrong?”

Scar sniffled and tried to swallow the ball in his throat, to no success. Cheeks became wet quicker than his fall in the ravine. 

“Is—” his throat constricted, and he swallowed again, “—is she truly gone?”

He didn’t know how Grian understood what he said, his voice was merely a whisper, jumbling over words, it even sounded wrong to his ears. But when he looked back to his partner, his concerned look was back. 

“Oh, Scar,” he murmured.

Scar let out a sob and curled on himself, ignoring every tear in his body, ignoring the stretch on his wound and the piercing pain it gave, ignoring his surroundings. He just couldn’t understand, even if it made perfect sense. 

Pizza was gone. 

Pizza was dead .

And that’s when it hit him. They were all gonna die eventually. All disappear from this world. No survivors, no more alliances, no more wars, no more stealing cookies. Just like Pizza, everyone’s life held on a string, just waiting for the punchline to cut it. 

But Pizza was dead .

And it hurt.

Something hit his lips, and when he opened his eyes, his appreciation for Grian only grew. The avian had the golden carrot in his hand and helped Scar eat to close up the wound. Scar obliged, and they sat in the silence.

A wave of energy spread throughout his body, easing the tension but not the ache in his hips. It seemed the rest of the day was crutches day.

“Can we have a funeral?” he asked, voice quivering and quiet. 

Grian gave him a warm smile.

“Of course.”

Grian was the one who did most of the work. Digging a hole large enough to bury Pizza, dragging her corpse in it, and helping Scar build a coffin to cover the uneven ground. He placed the headstone while Scar wrote the epitaph on a wooden plank. Grian hammered it above the coffin and joined Scar, both staring at it as the sun turned to dusk. 

Rest In Peece Pizza. Freind, Sister, Mother

Scar could only stare at the wooden structure. He couldn’t shed any tears anymore. The ball around his throat became bigger, and Scar was ever so grateful when Grian placed his hand on top of his, running his thumb across his knuckles. The cries of mobs surrounded them when the sun disappeared in the horizon. Grian nudged him to come inside, but Scar remained impassive, gaze never leaving the coffin.

Grian grew a bit more restless, wings fluttering behind him. 

“Scar.”

Scar shook his head, grip tightening around the handles of his crutches. Grian sighed, let go of his hand and went back inside. Scar tried to make his mind stop wandering, stop thinking of taking his netherite sword and plunged it on Grian’s back, stop contemplating blowing their base to the ground. 

He rested one of his crutches on the coffin and placed his hand on top of it.

“They’ll get what they deserve,” he murmured in the cold wind, not that he could feel it. “They’ll regret the day they took you out of this world.”

He took back the crutch and joined Grian inside. His partner was sharpening his sword but jumped when he heard the door opening. He poked his head out of the door that lead to the kitchen, eyebrows frowned. Scar sent him a wavering smile and passed him to sit on their bed. 

His mobility aids were both leaning against the wall close to him, in case he woke up one morning not being able to do much. Even with this enhance senses and strength being a red life gave him, it wouldn’t dim the consequences of whatever affected his body. 

The shuffling of feet approaching dragged him out of his head. Grian had a hand on the door frame, wings held tight together. Scar simply sighed and patted the bed. Grian cautiously joined him, wings itching to wrap around them. 

Scar let out a chuckle, leaning against him despite their height difference. Grian opened his mouth, only to close it promptly, red on the face, and let his wing wrapped the both of them against the chill of the night—or Scar assumed, since Grian’s chin wasn’t trembling anymore. 

Grian placed his hand on Scar’s thigh, and despite Scar absolutely beaming at the touch, it felt like this little weight made the ache even frailer than it already was. He took his partner hand and settled it on Grian’s thigh instead. 

Grian squeezed his hand and they stayed like this for a while, in the silence of the desert. No more buzzing of wings, no more small braying, just their breathing and the far away awakening of mobs at the foot of their mountain. Scar had never wished for the world to be louder.

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