#desert duo angst

[jeena-says-hi]

Still not over that ending

[birrdies]

'SUNBLEACHED' (1.6k words) Our collaboration piece for the Flowers in the Desert zine! writing by me (birrdies) art by @fishbloc

Sunflowers. 

Over the flat, endless plain they stretch as far as Scar can see. Roots and leaves branch like veins and arteries through the soil on the verge of something alive. The sunflowers face the limitless blue above— no beginning or end— the stretch so vast that time itself feels as inconsequential as a marble rolling around in his hand. 

Scar doesn’t understand it.

One second his feet had been on the stone where Pearl had fallen, where lightning had struck with finality, and the next he’s up to his waist in sunflowers. Each golden petal stands on edge. As if they know something he doesn’t. He reaches out to touch one of these petals; they tickle the pads of his fingers. Shy, pretty things. 

It’s quiet here and Scar isn’t sure if it’s a silence he finds comforting or damning. He thinks he should be afraid, but how can he be? It’s warm here. The earth smells of freshly fallen rain beneath his feet, despite not a single cloud in the sky above. The fresh, dewey scent that soothes him, almost convinces him that this is a good place to be. 

“You’re here,” a voice says behind him.

There, enveloped by the countless sunflowers, is Grian. His hair is pale, sunbleached, and his cheeks are pink. Everything about him has been touched by the light in some way, down to the faded red poncho draping his shoulders and the speckling of freckles across his nose bridge. 

He’s drowning in it— this light. He’s made of it. And Scar’s eyes fall to find the sunflowers around him withering and decaying quickly. The yellow petals curl and desiccate into gray husks, breaking off their buds and fluttering to the ground. They’re dying. Not by lack of sunlight, Scar realizes, but by an excess of it. Burnt to a crisp. 

And like the sun, his skin blisters. The skin of his hands and the redness slathering them have no beginning or end. Gashes and swelling bruises and split knuckles. The blood never clots, a constant red drip falling from the fingers held limp at his sides. A quiet drip, drip, drip the only sound across the windless field. Not even so much as the sound of a breath. Just that blood.  “Grian,” Scar says. “I’m here.”

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why Grian’s here either. But he’s grateful he is. Their nightmare— or, had it been a dream?— ended long ago, the desert gone and buried several games past. The Grian in front of him now isn’t the Grian he’d fought with moments ago. This Grian was younger. More afraid. More capable of burning. 

“Where… where is here, exactly?” Scar asks.

Grian curls those bleeding fingers into the nearest living sunflower. As if he’s unsure whether he wants to caress it or yank it from the ground, roots and all. His face is twisted, it’s always twisted when Scar’s around. But he yearns for the days when that twist had been of wicked delight, the way green-lit eyes exploded into starbursts at the sight of their mutual destruction. 

“You won,” Grian says simply, taking a sunflower by the stem and starting to pluck the petals. One by one. “Congratulations.”

Scar falters. A victory. A bolt of lightning striking the earth, the loud thud of a gavel. It’s over Scar, he hears, a constant echo in the back of his mind. You won. Grian’s anger burns. A second petal falls.  “You’re upset.” Scar will do anything to make it stop, to untie the knot tied between Grian’s eyebrows, to take those cracked, bleeding hands in his own and mend them until the skin is whole again. To take away the pain, the regret, the guilt. 

Grian never left the desert, no matter how much he wanted to. And Scar could never go back. No matter how often he wished he could.

“This is your dream, Scar.” Grian turns his face away. “It’s been a long time coming— a victory.”

“I don’t feel like I’ve won anything,” Scar says honestly. A victory implies the heavy yet welcome weight of a crown, the fleeting yet intoxicating rush of excitement. But all Scar feels is the emptiness in his chest, the air around his crownless head. Blood on his hands that he can’t see, but knows is there all the same. The same way it stains Grian’s. 

Grian plucks a third petal. He barks a cruel laugh, but it sounds more like he’s about to cry. “How do you think I felt?”  Scar frowns. “It’s still about the desert? After all this time?” 

Grian plucks another petal. Four. It flutters to the ground to join the others, yellow petals torn and crumpled, slowly turning gray. The edge of his mouth tugs into a knife-like smile.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s all he can manage, though he doesn’t mean it. Nothing can make him regret that day, knelt in a cool pond with the weight of a diamond blade against the junction of his neck. The hand he used to hold onto it, digging it into his own skin— asking for it. “You deserved to win.”

“I deserved this? To be alone?” Grian throws his arms out to the sides, to the endless curvature of sunflowers drowning the both of them. Nothing to shield them from the unrelenting sun above. “Because that’s what winning means. You’re alone, Scar.” 

Scar’s heart plummets into his stomach. “You’re here.” 

“Am I?” A fifth petal. “Or do you just want me to be?” 

Scar stares at Grian, uncaring if the scalding brightness gives him sunspots, or if the pain of looking at the spoils of his own choices burns him up from the inside. You won, Scar, his voice echoes again and again in Scar’s mind, a scratched record. His fists curl up at his sides, into the black cloak sewn with lilacs and poppies along the hem. 

Is that what this is? A cruel illusion to make him realize what it truly means to be the man at the edge of the world, to be the last man standing? If this is victory— Scar grits his teeth and twists his fists into his cloak— then he doesn’t want it. He’s never wanted it. It was never about winning, it was about— 

“About what, exactly?” Grian snaps, plucking the through straight from his mind just as he does with a sixth petal. “Is it about this? Sunflowers? You can’t hide behind them forever. Not here. Not from me. Not from yourself.” 

“Stop it.”

Grian’s in front of him now, bloodied hands shoving him by his shoulders. Scar stumbles back and barely keeps himself upright. This isn’t right. This isn’t Grian— not the one he knows, not the one he needs. 

“Why aren’t you angry, Scar?” Another push. “After everything that’s happened to you. All the people that have betrayed you. All the times I left you behind.”

Scar grapples for self control, to reign in the flash of anger burning the back of his throat. “What are you trying to prove?” 

“Stop lying. For once in your life, look me in the eye and tell me you’re angry.” Grian yanks a sunflower from the ground and shoves it, decaying leaves and all, against Scar’s chest. “Tell me these are just a sham.” 

It’s on the tip of his tongue: the truth. A terrifying, bitter thing that burns crawling up the back of his throat. Because it betrays everything he’s worked so hard to build, the masks he’s sported like second skins, the confidence which he flaunts like a shield. Without it, what does he have left? He’s stripped clean, Grier’s hands against his chest burning like sweltering charcoal. Sunflower petals slip between his fingers. 

He opens his mouth to let it up, to tell the truth, and then��

The sky above him changes. Only slightly. If he had blinked he would’ve missed it. But clear as day he sees them overhead: clouds. Slowly rolling across a blue sky.  And he’s on his back, blinking spots from his eyes as breath rushes into his lungs. The air tastes fresh, crisp, like seawater. Eyes fluttering, he tries to remember what he’d just been about to say.  “Scar?” 

Eclipsing the sun beating down on him overhead, a head peers down at him. Dark, wide eyes, a slanted mouth. A sporting of freckles across dusty cheeks. 

Something knotted unravels in Scar’s chest. “Grian.” Grian’s lips wobble into an uneasy smile. He wipes sweat from his brow, and Scar catches a glimpse of his hands: dirty, packed with mud, but bloodless. “Whatcha doing down there, pal?”  Scar’s arms lie limp at his sides. He’s not sure he could move even if he tried. If he wanted to. Something about this peace is fragile, uncertain. As if simply breathing the wrong way will make the world shatter in two and send him back to that place. One wrong move and he’ll be alone again. 

“Dunno,” Scar says breathlessly. Stalks of wheat tickle his arms as the wind kicks up, ghosting over his body. A sunflower stands over him, waving in the breeze. “Appreciating the view. Clouds. They’re nice.”

“Come on.” A hand reaches out to him. “Stop trampling my wheat.” Scar has to stare at it to remember that it’s not covered in blood. That it’s just dirt from a long day tending to wheat and sunflowers. That the Grian smiling down at him is the real one. Not the one made to torment him. 

Scar reaches for that hand, allowing their palms to slot together. Grian’s skin is callused and warm. He’s there. He’s real. Scar isn’t alone.

[narcissisticpotat0]

Desert duo fan art !!

**warning for blood/violence! It’s the cactus ring again guys 😔

Wanted to mess around a little with texture and stuff this time, i think it’s pretty fun!

[fallen-w1ngs]

SOBBING CRYING SHITTING MY DICK OFF GUYS. I MADE THIS WITHIN LIKE 3 HOURS AND CRIED FOR ONE (/hj)

I just REAAALLLLY wanted some desert duo IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK!!!!

[gtwscratch]

This Heart of Mine is Guilty (And Remorseful)

Summary: Grian breaks the rules of the games for Scar, and Scar confronts him about it. (set in Secret Life)

CW: Mentions of past cheating/killing/stealing, character self-deprecating

Word count: 1,233

=====================================

“He needs to log out..!” Grian says as he watches the Wither chase Scar, panicked.

“He can’t, we’re in the middle of a session, Grian,” Cleo responds, also a bit panicked, but she hides it better.

“I know but..! He can’t lose his first life..!” Grian doesn’t finish his sentence, but he can’t get the words out of his head.

He can’t lose his first life because of me again.

Grian knows he’s been awful to Scar. He knows he’s messed up over and over again. He’s let the urges of being a red life take him over and ended up killing Scar on more than one occasion. He’s stolen a life from him and lost it not even twenty minutes later. He’s cheated on him after finding out they were quite literally soulmates.

And yet, after all of that, Scar has shown him nothing but love and kindness and admiration and-

All Grian knows is that he has to stop this.

He watches Scar stumble and slow down, narrowly missing getting hit by a skull, and Grian feels something. There’s an itch just beneath his skin to do something—anything—and his wings puff up a little from the panic. Without really thinking, he pulls out his comm.

<Grian> Scar log out

<Grian> Scar log out

<Grian> Scar log out

Distantly, Cleo is talking, but Grian doesn’t hear her. All he can hear are hushed and angry whispers. The edges of his vision are purple as he continuously types out the message, praying that Scar is going to be able to read it.

Players are never able to log out in times of extreme danger like this—the Watchers make sure of that. But Grian himself isn’t a regular player. He’s mentioned changing the rules before, but he’s never actually tried to do anything. So maybe, just maybe..

Grian’s heart leaps to his throat as he sees Scar pull out his comm on the shore, nearly dropping it. He reads over the messages.

<GoodTimesWithScar had left the game.>

Grian could cry. His legs feel shaky, and his hand goes to cover his mouth with relief and shock. He did it. He actually managed to save Scar.

Grian feels lighter than he has since the desert.

He suddenly remembers that he’s not alone and looks over to Cleo who’s staring back at him with wide eyes.

“.. How did you do that?” she asks, wariness in her voice.

“Um..” Grian can’t think of a good excuse, so he settles for, “I’ll tell you later. We need to go.”

===============================

Grian knew there was going to be a punishment for saving Scar. The Watchers would never have let that happen so easily. And of course Grian doesn’t regret breaking the rules for Scar—he’d do it again in a heartbeat—but now his wings ache, and his back feels exposed as his secondary and most of his primary feathers have withered away. He’s also lost a life.

He’s exhausted after defeating the Wither, and it shows. He nearly stumbles, but a strong hand catches his arm.

“Woah there, take it easy, G.” Grian relaxes as he hears Scar speak and steadies himself with the man’s help.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, looking up at Scar’s green eyes. Oh, what Grian wouldn’t do for them to stay that beautiful green color.

Scar’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and he starts to lead Grian a bit away from the group of people celebrating the defeat of the Wither. When they’re out of earshot, Scar speaks up.

“Why did you do that?”

“What’re you talking about?” Even though he’s tired, Grian tries to play dumb.

The man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You shouldn’t have used your powers like that for me.”

For a moment, Grian is alarmed before remembering he told Scar about the Watchers (and how he was one of them) while they were both half asleep and cuddling in some past season. Neither of them had spoken about it afterwards when they were more awake, so Grian had figured that Scar didn’t remember. Looks like he was wrong.

This time, he doesn’t deny anything strange happening. “In my defense, I didn’t for sure know if that would work or not.”

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have tried it at all.”

“But you were in trouble.”

“Grian, it’s me! I’m always in trouble!” Scar shouts.

Grian’s wings (or what’s left of them) puff up, a bit agitated. He was finally trying to do something right, and Scar didn’t seem to care. “Whatever, what’s done is done. It doesn’t matter.”

Grian’s a little startled when Scar grabs his arms, and he’s even more startled to see the anguish in Scar’s eyes.

“But it does matter!! You lost a life!! Oh, and your pretty wings.. I’m not worth that..”

“No, you stop that.” Scar’s words strike something deep within Grian. This is his fault. He’s the reason Scar doesn’t think he’s worth this kind of sacrifice.

“But I’m not! You are.. everything.. and I’m just me,” Scar says quietly. “So please.. don’t do that again.”

“.. No.”

Scar blinks. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m going to risk my life again for you if I can.” Grian doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure in something before.

Scar’s look of agony is now primarily replaced with confusion. “You-! We’re not even allies, let alone on the same team! Why are you so-!”

“Because I’m not hurting you again!” Grian quickly answers before Scar can even finish the question.

He didn’t really mean to say it—Grian just sort of blurted it out without thinking. He’s never been one to show any kind of vulnerability. However, unlike past instances, Grian doesn’t look or feel ashamed of the revelation. Instead, he stands his ground and speaks confidently (as confidently as he can as the adrenaline wears off.)

When Scar doesn’t respond, Grian continues. “I have been the cause of so much of your suffering in these games. Please, let me save you from something I caused for once.”

He watches as Scar’s expression softens, and he takes a step forward, pulling Grian into a gentle hug. Grian immediately reciprocates, clinging onto the back of Scar’s shawl like the man will disappear if he lets go.

“Grian,” he starts softly, “you know I don’t blame you for any of that, right?”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence is all the answer Scar needs.

“Well, I don’t. I know you didn’t want to do those things. You didn’t have a choice—none of us do. Everything that happened is in the past now. Yeah, it hurt a lot, but I knew it wasn’t really you.

“This is you. You’re trying to make amends for something I’m not mad at you for.” His hand slides to Grian’s waist, rubbing his thumb up and down against the fabric to reassure the avian.

“And, void, I do appreciate the effort, but please don’t be reckless.” Scar kisses the top of Grian’s head, eliciting a soft trill from his throat.

He leans more into Scar, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “You’re one to talk,” he mumbles. He finally lets the exhaustion of the day wear on him.

Scar chuckles softly and easily picks up the smaller man. “C’mon, you need to lay down.”

As Scar carries Grian off to find a bed, Grian starts to get more drowsy. He rests his head against Scar’s chest, and the steady beating of Scar’s heart soothes him into sleep.

Scar is still green.

I saved him.

=====================================

AHHH THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AND SUPPORT WITH THE FIRST ONE SHOT!!! I wasn’t expecting so many likes and reblogs!! :DDD

I’m so excited to keep postinggggg :)))

I have one more one shot already in the works, but after that, I’m not sure when the next one will be. Maybe I’ll aim for weekly posts? Not sure yet.

[quizlythenerd]

I am literally so normal about double life and desert duo

[rat-in-a-cloak]

demolition lovers - my chemical romance

[hell0-w0r1d]

Monopoly Mountain post card :)

[rosalie-makes-art]

Sand. That's sort of most of what we've ever known out here. But today, it isn't the joyousness that it used to be. Once times filled with laughter and smiles, now are only filled with dread. Scar and I, both standing at each end of this cactus ring we've made for ourselves, both knowing what needs to be done.

I pulled the first punch. We both knew it was weak, but suddenly more punches came, one after another. Neither of use wanted to be doing this. Covered in blood and tears, both shouting "I'm so sorry!" At each other. Scar was holding back. He always did. He's strong, and he knows it, and I know he desperately doesn't want to be the one to take my life.

With every hit, guilt consumes me more and more. With every blow, I can feel more and more tears streaming down my already blood soaked face. Knowing I can't do this. Knowing that I never wanted to hurt scar in the first place, that I just want out of this mess already. That know, I can tell that he's letting me win more and more, and that I don't think that he's not hitting me because of the fact he's holding back, but because he's getting weaker as well.

I stop. I can't do this. I can't take scar's life. I can't do it. In the sand, both of us stop. I'm sitting in the sand, and Scar is frailed weakly within my arms, the color in his eyes fading with every breath.

"why, did you let me win?..." I say through bloodied tears streaming down my cheeks and landing on his.

"You know I don't have it in me to kill you. I never did." He said weakly.

"I don't either… I never wanted any of this to happen, Scar I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry for everything-"

I try to speak and apologize for everything I've done, but he stops me.

"Grian, please don't be sorry. I don't want to spend our last moments together apologizing." His eyes are even more grey than before. "Please, please don't go…" I whisper, knowing that my words are futile, and that there's nothing I can do to stop it.

We've gone too far already. Through his last breath, he muttered, "You were a great friend… I love you Grian."

His eyes have gone completely grey, and they have completely closed now.

Before I can process anything, I break into tears, sobbing over his dead body. He's go completely limp in my arms, and I hold him closer into a hug, something that I should have done way more when he was alive. Even when I'm the only person in the world who is alive, I can't seem to move. I can't bring myself to leave scar's side, even when there's nothing to do than cry, and try to listen to a heartbeat that no longer exists. I almost want to stay here forever, and let my body die on its own, through hunger and dehydration, as I stay lying with scar in the scorching desert sun as the world eats away at itself. Somehow I'm able to pull myself away from the corpse lying in the sun, and look opon the cliff that calls to me. It's an exit. A way to hopefully bring my misery to an end, not as if there's anything that can make myself want to live on this dead planet anyway. And I'm the only one on here. There's no one stopping me. Just the ground below, beckoning be to come closer.

I stand up, not even bothering to wipe the sand off of myself. In weak, shaky steps, I come to the edge. it's calming, almost. Like it knows what just happened, and everything that has happened. It understands me. And I jump. The wind flowing through my hair and feathers, I can barely feel it when I hit the ground. All I feel is the dead silence that follows it, and it's almost comforting in a way. With no more things to worry about, no people, no life, nothing, I let the world fizzle out of existence around me, and fall into an infinite sleep with no escape, and I can finally rest.

[cutedeathxx]

I NEED FEEDBACK

So y’all’s who wants to see a rlly angsty desert duo/scarian fic, just wondering because I have way too much free time ;) (MAYBE TCD)

Edit-like or comment if u want a fic, I have many brewing inside my brain and scarian is the reason I joined tumblr

REBLOGING HELPS MAYBE U CAN HELP ME OUT BY DOING SO

[jeena-says-hi]

Secret life spoilers

Grian jumping off a cliff after winning third life

Vs

Scar jumping into a ravine in order to win secret life

Nobody talk to me, I am not ok

[aquamarine0710]

I had a thought

[lyraofthestarsss]

He never left the desert

I’d like to think that everyone loses their memory after every season. It’s a blank slate so everyone can start fresh. New friends, new alliances. Everyone except the winners, of course

They’re forced to remember every death, every betrayal. Every moment from both their season and any future seasons plays again and again in the back of their mind

Grian was the first. He won the first season by beating Scar in that damn cactus ring

Grian never left the desert. He lives in it, he’s haunted by it

Scar doesn’t remember the desert ever existed in the first place

[fallen-w1ngs]

WIP AND SKETCH TIME BOIIIISSSSS

[foxseller]

The Calm

3rd life desert duo one shot

on ao3 or below the cut :)

Word count: 1757

Summary:

Grian and Scar are alone in the desert at the end of a death game. They put it off for a bit, but something has to give.

Warning: suicidal ideation , suicide , canon character death , canon murder

not graphic or even really written with that intention but i figure better safe than sorry!

Grian laughs coldly to himself. “I’d almost rather lose.”

Scar’s head turns from across the dune, where he’s standing over Pizza’s grave. They’re here, as they’ve been forever, in the desert, below the beating sun, sweat dripping from their foreheads. The sandcastle crumbled days before it was just the two of them. They’ve been sleeping under stars, on coarse sand, hand in hand. They’ve been putting their last day off. 

“Have you said goodbye to Pizza?” Scar calls back. Grian is in the crumbled remains of the sandcastle. He’s hunching over the space where their secret chest used to be, poking through the rubble with a stick. 

“There’s nothing left over here.”

Scar turns away again. Back towards the headstone carved crudely out of sandstone. He’s glad, at least, that Pizza lived any life. He’s glad he could provide companionship for a while. He wonders, for a moment, if Pizza would have lived a happier life if he’d just ignored him. If he’d had nothing to do with the poor creature. He takes some crushed flowers out of his trouser pocket and scatters them over Pizza’s grave.

“I’m gonna go get some fresh flowers for him,” Scar calls back over the dune. “You’re welcome to come with me if you want.”

Grian pokes for a couple seconds more, before straightening his posture, stretching his wings and nodding.

Before they make their way down the dune and out of the lifeless desert, Scar makes sure to empty his boots of sand. It’s been torture all this time. Every time he comes back up the dune it makes its way back in there. But sunk cost fallacy and all that. He promised himself to the desert, and he’s nothing if not loyal. He pulls one boot off and shakes it out, ignoring Grian as he shakes his head. Then the other. He watches the sand fall back to the ground. 

“Are we going?”

This time, Scar nods. He lets Grian help him stand back up. Then, they make their way down the stairs.

At the edge of the desert, they have to skirt around their cactus wall. Grian squeezes the tip of his right pointer finger. 

“We could use those,” he says. “Make a ring.”

Scar turns, confused. “I was thinking flowers?”

“No,” Grian shakes his head. “For the fight.”

Scar nods. “Yeah, sure. Flowers first.” 

Grian nods. “Flowers first.”

The forest is mostly unharmed. It’s been nice, Grian thinks, to see that despite all the ending and the dying and the rotting away of all of their friends and friendships, something near them stays living on. Grian thinks maybe he should make sure the gardens outside the sandcastle are doing ok before he dies. There are clumps of flowers all over, but Scar won’t just settle. Grian leans, exhausted, against a tree. He hasn’t even done anything today. Just yesterday, when everything happened. But he had a full night’s sleep. Restless, on the desert floor. 

“None of these what you’re after?”

“I want poppies,” Scar says. 

Grian sighs. “Yeah.”

Eventually they find poppies. Grian watches as Scar carefully, so delicately, picks a bouquet. His fingers pass over the patch until he finds the perfect selection. Then he stands, nods to Grian, and they begin their walk back to the desert. 

The sun shifts quickly from a warm curtain to a wave of heat as they step from forest straight into desert. Grian’s pretty used to it by now, but today that offers no relief. They’ve been here long enough for him to be used to everything by this point. It doesn’t change the way the quiet - which until this point has been building slowly - suddenly seems to be beating against his ears. Friends have been dying this whole time. God, Grian knows that better than anyone. He thinks he might just be in a bad mood. 

At the top of the dune, Scar empties out his boots again. He does it mindlessly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Grian makes his way over to their little farm. While Scar pulls off his second boot, Grian is pulling dead roots methodically from the ground. 

“We could drag it out a bit longer,” Scar says. “If you want to make sure those crops grow well.”

“I need one of us to win,” Grian says. “We can’t keep living here.”

“I could.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Sure we could. We’ve got food, we’ve got each other.”

There’s a yawning chasm in Grian’s chest. He wants to feel the thrill of the hunt. He wants to see his friends crossing the desert, wants his enemies on the horizon. He wants to feel excited like he did for so long, but right now all he wants is to sleep. And not on a desert floor or in some new place. It’s the sandcastle or it’s oblivion, so it’s oblivion. It’s as it was or as it has to be, so it’s as it has to be. Either Grian dies first, or he dies second. Either way, he gets to stop. It can be enough. 

“I don’t think I have anything anymore.”

“You have me.”

“You’re not the same either. Let’s get this over with.”

Scar doesn’t need to say anything. It’s clear Grian’s made his mind up, and the only time Scar can get Grian to change his mind about something is when he feels guilty. Well, Grian seems to feel that their sides have fallen even.

“I don’t wanna be morbid,” Scar says. “But would it not be better to… y’know, do it together?”

Grian inhales deeply. “I don’t wanna sound crazy, but can’t you hear the ghosts?”

Scar hadn’t wanted to be the one to point it out. He nods. “I didn’t want to point them out.”

“They want blood.”

“We don’t need to listen.”

Scar knows from Grian’s expression that that is not an option.

“Joint winners, either way?” Grian suggests. He offers up his pinky finger to seal the promise. 

Scar smiles widely. Links his finger with Grian’s. “Joint winners.”

If Grian asked, Scar would say this is what he wants. An end to all this. He’s not sure it would be a lie. He thinks he’d like to go back to other things. But, on the other hand, things aren’t unbearable like this. At least it’s quiet. At least they’re there together. As he throws his armour to the ground, as he pulls out enemy flag after enemy flag and watches them burn, he thinks maybe in some other world they’d just live like this. 

Grian is smiling by the time they’re together, in the ring. Scar managed to get a laugh out of him, burning their enemies' things. 

“This isn’t the worst it could be,” Scar says. “I hope this isn’t the last time I see you.”

“It won’t be.” Grian sounds so certain he almost believes himself. 

“Sure.”

Then they fight, every move more sluggish. Every landed fist joined with an apology. And Grian gets the winning blow.

Grian’s fingers twitch with adrenaline. His jaw shakes. He collapses to his knees, chest heaving, hands hovering over Scar’s unmoving body. He doesn’t touch, just watches for a while, waiting for a shock of breath or a jolt of movement. 

Nothing. 

The desert is silent. Not a single animal out here, hasn’t been all this time, only at night, but nights were tucked inside anyway. 

Grian looks out over the unmoving horizon. 

Still. 

As still as Scar. 

If he was alone before, he doesn’t know what to call this. 

Not a single other soul.

He tips his head into his hands, uncrying, unmoving, near silent. He just pants, breath clawing out of his lungs. 

In all this thought, in this wading of feeling and emotion, there is one physical sensation. There is sand in his boots. Scratching his skin as his feet shift uncomfortably, they’re coated. 

Grian pulls one boot off and tips it, watching tiny particles of sand fall. Not nearly enough for how excruciating that feeling was. He shifts so he can’t see Scar, just the falling sand. He pulls his other boot off, tips it out. 

Then, pulling them back on, curses as he realises the sand won’t leave. 

He turns back to Scar, whose fingers have turned purple. 

He gently takes one hand, hates how cold it feels. He takes one shaking breath. 

This is easily the worse fate. Scar got off easy. He struggles to think that to the corpse next to him. 

Grian shifts and the sand under him moves quietly, the only sound he can hear.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and his voice seems to echo across the desert. Across the whole server.

He huffs out a heavy breath and looks over the edge of the dune. He’s always been nervous about that edge. If Scar forgot where the stairs were- well, he never did. Even so. 

Together or alone? Grian could drag Scar down with him. But that feels… Grian’s weak, anyway. His arms already shake, he’s hardly going to be able to pull himself up. Anyway, he’s been alone all this time.

That’s not true. 

He leaves Scar, still, quiet, in the sand. 

He walks with a limp, drags his left leg behind him. To Scar’s credit, he didn’t go down without leaving some heavy blows. Grian doesn’t know whether Scar tried his best or not. Sometimes he was shockingly competent. Sometimes the opposite.

He reaches Pizza’s headstone, holds it, whispers a prayer into the silent world. Gains his strength for a moment, heaves another breath. 

He takes those next couple of steps slowly. It’s not far, but every step further from that body in the sand feels longer and longer. 

Then, he’s on the edge. 

There isn’t any wind to push him over, just his own weak limbs. But nothing needs to do it for him, he just needs a moment to work up some more strength. 

He sways a little. The sun is rising, but he barely notices it. He tucks his wings right in. They don’t do anything here anyway, but you can never be too careful. 

He tests his weight for a moment. It won’t be hard. There’s really no way to mess this up, but sometimes it feels like Grian cannot stop himself from messing things up, and wouldn’t this just be hilarious. Wouldn’t it just be wonderful. 

He closes his eyes. The sun shines through his eyelids, lighting his vision sand gold. 

He hovers one foot over the edge.

Then, he steps off.

[jestroer]

Filling my annual "being ill about 3rd life desert duo" quota