Chapter Text
Jimmy ducked beneath the tree with his shield raised in front of his chest. He had hoped to get back to the ranch safely, but the cover of night did him no favours.
He could hear the screeching cry of the enderman in his ears, a harsh drone, constantly ringing, despite the creature itself constantly teleporting back and forth with every blow Jimmy did to it.
Jimmy grit his teeth, he was hurt. Badly. No one was around to see him or hear his nonexistent cries for help. The enderman had him cornered, and the shelter of the tree was not short enough to keep him safe from the long-limbed monster.
Another hit with his sword. Another hit right back at him, his shield splintering apart with a loud crack . In his mind, Jimmy was panicking. His hands were sweaty and he could barely keep his sword up.
He took a step back.
No words were said as the enderman knocked a final blow right into Jimmy’s chest, and his heart stopped.
Two hearts stopped.
…
Jimmy heard the call of the void.
It was something he wasn’t unfamiliar with, but he wouldn’t admit that he was acquainted with it if anyone asked. He was one with the darkness now, as he had been many times before, pulling himself through the inky emptiness around him. He felt purple brush against him as he struggled against the forces beckoning him to just give in to nothingness.
Jimmy didn’t think you could feel colour for the longest time.
That was, until that dreadful day all those years ago, when he’d plummeted into a portal alongside his friends, expecting nothing more than a quick flash and a simple battle, but instead they’d each fought tooth and nail against that very same void that he found himself in now, that very same purple.
He now knew that purple felt like feathers brushing against his fingertips. Not the soft, silky kind that Grian often boasted, but the sharp, dirty, neglected kind Jimmy often found nestled in his own wings. (That had changed since Tango. Everything had changed since Tango.)
He now knew that red could feel like passion, hatred, like poppies nestled in the hair of his husband, like the soft, kind eyes of a lover, like the strings keeping your heart attached to one another.
Like the blood that had been spilled moments prior.
As Jimmy willed himself to continue pushing, to continue walking against the tides, to keep going , back home, back to his empire, he faltered. His foot slipped and he felt himself begin to be washed away by the purple avalanche, by the strings tugging against his heart, by the hands, Their hands, pulling him away.
It shouldn’t be this difficult. It was never this difficult with the other games.
Jimmy felt himself get dragged backwards, his face hitting the floor, despite the lack of a floor in this endless darkness. He felt light and heavy at the same time, his corporeal self feeling like a dead weight. (Though, when was Jimmy not a dead weight.)
Wind blew against him, sounds filling his mind, that god awful screeching that had killed him, colours all around him, orange, red, green, blue, purple.
Then everything stopped.
Jimmy heaved a deep sigh, not feeling any air fill his lungs. Slowly, he raised himself back up onto his feet.
And in the distance, he saw yellow.
To Jimmy, yellow meant many things. It meant the instability and uncertainty of being near death, it meant the pretty petals of a dandelion, it meant the freshness of a batch of wheat, ready to be harvested.
It meant the feathers that covered his wings and back, a bright warning signal that told everyone to stay away from the canary . It meant death .
But right now, yellow means love. Because that yellow was gently glowing, flickering in the soft flames that eternally danced around Tango’s hair. His Tango. His rancher.
A smile creeped up on Jimmy’s face, he couldn’t help it, and he bounded forwards, arms out as he ran.
“Tango!”
He hadn’t tried speaking in the void before, but his voice came out soft, like an echo of words already spoken.
Jimmy stopped behind Tango, whose back remained facing towards him, sitting on the ground, with his legs curled against his chest. Despite all of Jimmy’s glee, his soulmate didn’t turn to look at him.
“Tango?”
A beat.
“...You’re still here?”
Tango’s voice came out even softer than Jimmy’s own, his words laced with some emotion Jimmy hadn’t heard from the man before. He’d heard happiness, passion, even rage , but not this. This was something else.
“Tango, of course I’m still here- You’re still here-”
“It’s over.”
Jimmy wanted to hug Tango, to hold him, embrace him, even just touch him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
There was a painfully long silence that dragged on as Jimmy remained frozen.
“Go home.”
“Wh- Go home? I- I’m not gonna go home with you still here, Tango!”
Jimmy exclaimed, finally forcing himself to move, reaching a hand out to Tango, tapping him on the shoulder, just barely, before his soulmate turned to glance at him ever so slightly with his eyes of red.
“Go.”
And with a flash that was all too hot, all too bright, all too much,
all too yellow,
Jimmy was gone.
…
Jimmy opened his eyes.
“Welcome to Double Life, a brand new series, where the number of lives you have is indicated by your coloured name.”
Wait, what?