it's a habit (i can't help it)

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The first things Scar thinks when Grian drags him out to Jimmy’s grave as soon as Scott dies is: he’s beautiful followed shortly by oh, Jimmy is closer to rotting so he has to be eaten first. Sure enough, Grian hands him a shovel.

“Can you– Can you help me dig him up?”

“Yeah,” Scar says, taking the shovel, “Sure. Are we bringing him back to the bunker, or–”

“No. Scott we’ll take home,” (and oh, how Scar’s heart aches when Grian calls Monopoly Mountain ‘home’) “but Timmy won’t last long enough. We’ll use their kitchen here. It’s worse than he deserves but, well.”

Scar only nods, and Grian leans down to break off Jimmy’s middle fingers. “I always promised him if I couldn’t eat him properly, I’d take these off his hands- hah, off his hands since, you know, something’s better than nothing and all that. Back in Evo, I mean.”

“Evo?” Scar asks, turning towards Scott’s hobbit hole, as Grian comes up behind him to open the door and stroll right in.

“Yeah. ‘s where we met. I wasn’t really a Watcher, yet, then, but eventually we all kind of realized they were going to take me sooner or later.” he says it like it’s normal, tossing the fingers into the furnace with a shrug.

“Take you?” This is the least normal thing Scar has heard in his entire life.

“I’ll tell you later. ‘S dinner table talk.” Grian pulls the fingers out of the furnace and the two turn to leave. “Oh, these are underdone. Oh well, I guess.” He bites into his snack anyway.

“Alright,” Scar says, quietly like he understands.

oooo

They return, somber, to Monopoly Mountain, and Grian asks for Scar’s help to push Scott into the freezer while he sets the table.

As he lays the tablecloth, Grian explains, “We set the table in the appropriate color for the relationship and occasion. A lover near a respawn or a death offered out of love would be red, green if you killed them for profit. If it was power overthrown it would be yellow for corruption- and a darker yellow if you can’t eat them because they died of illness. Scott died as my ally on the battlefield, so…”

Scar straightens the cloth. “So we’re using black.”

“Yeah. And the good silverware, usually, for a somber occasion,” (“Oh, we don’t have any- I can craft some?” Scar cuts in, but Grian raises his voice:) “--BUT since we don’t have silverware it just is what it is. Do you know how to make roast pork? I might need some help but I need to be the one to do it.”

oooo

Dinner is a grave affair, Scott’s form taking up most of the centerpiece like a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving. The pork Scar eats is dry, and, judging from Grian’s face, so is Scott. He doesn’t explain what he was talking about at Jimmy’s grave, and Scar doesn’t press because it’s none of his business- not really. They talk about Scott, mostly, and Jimmy. It’s presumably part of the process, mourning and whatnot.

Vex don’t mourn, is the thing. They’ll eat people, sure, if they’re hungry, but not– not like this. Scar isn’t sure whether Grian didn’t offer him a bite because he didn’t think Scar would want it— or because he didn’t know if Scar would value it right, which is fair enough.

After all, he can’t take his eyes off Grian’s throat as he swallows, wondering what it would be like to take it between his teeth, rip out his partner’s, his Grian’s throat and eat it raw. Something twinges deep in his gut. Yellow eyes bore into his, so Scar looks away– Grian would respawn, he’d be fine. It’s not a good idea, though, to ostracize Grian now, when he is so vulnerable. When they’re both so vulnerable. Grian gets up, moves to their bedroom and Scar follows, as always, at his heels.

oooo

Waking up on your last day on earth isn’t an easy experience to describe. You look around your bedroom, knowing it’s the last time you’ll ever see the man you’d give everything to in his most vulnerable state, stretching and yawning and blinking open bleary eyes. It’s much the same for Scar, one arm tossed over Grian’s sleeping form where the other man is curled into his chest, face pressed against Scar’s chest.

The sun is shining directly into Scar’s eyes, so he gets up, and so does Grian as if they are two parts of one machine, comparator and piston working in tandem. Wiping his eyes, Scar stumbles down the stairs to get started on breakfast. Eggs sizzle on the stove as he realizes one of them is going to die first. It feels selfish, to hope it’s him, but god, he doesn’t think he could survive losing Grian anyway. Hell, he couldn’t even have gotten as far as he has without Grian, would’ve died to Ren a long time ago.

If he dies first (He’ll have to make damn sure of it. Actually, he’ll have to make sure Grian wins, if he can. God knows it’s deserved.), is Grian going to eat him? He’ll be devastated, probably. Scar’s not humble enough to think Grian doesn’t care for him the way he cares for Grian, and he knows it’s going to hurt him beyond repair. Will he forgive Scar at all, if he ever finds out it was deliberate?

Maybe Scar should see if he can’t set up to care for him after everything. There should be sheep… somewhere. It’s a bit of a trek, but he can probably find enough of them, and enough red dye, to craft a nice tablecloth. Iron’s no longer worth saving if he’s just going to die by tonight, so he can make some flatware, too.

He sets the table with care, sets out candles and puts coal in the furnace. Grian will have to cook everything himself but the meal does as much as he can.

oooo-0000

Grian wakes up slowly to the end of the world. He blinks open bleary eyes when Scar moves out from under him, and stretches in bed.

“I think I’ll work on making some more TNT today,” he says through a yawn, “If that works for you.”

Scar nods agreement. “I’ll get breakfast going. Be here in thirty minutes, mister!”

Grian smiles, blinks slowly at him. “Yeah. Okay.”

00-00

It’s down to him and Scar, and it’s both of their win they said it was both of their win, but that’s a hollow comfort. There’s no way in hell Scar’s going to kill him, which means– which means they both know who’s stepping out of this cactus ring alive.

Grian kills Scar. There is no way to make this beautiful, because it isn't. It is simple and it is ugly. Grian kills Scar, and it kills him to do it.

Except it doesn’t, and that’s just the problem. He can’t kill himself while Scar’s body is left to rot. It’s no double victory if Scar is stuck here, forever. The right thing to do, he knows, is to bring the body inside, to cook him and deck the table but– fuck, the house seems so far away and Grian isn’t sure he can make it that far. He’s half dead already, really.

Grian goes for the neck, like some sick pantomime of the very deed he knows full well Scar was fantasizing last night, lifeblood dribbling down his throat. He reaches down through the gash and grasps Scar’s heart– that’s the important part. Scar will forgive him, hopefully, for missing the arms as long as he gets the heart, the soul.

The organ goes down thick and meaty, fights him with every chew, but by the skin of his teeth it is digesting by the time he finally pulls himself to the edge of the cliff. Grian jumps, and he doesn't respawn on Third Life.

Bright rays of sunlight glare down at him as he gasps awake in his bed on Hermitcraft.