Work Text:
He landed the killing blow. Scar’s body fell limp with a sickening thud.
He won.
There was no glory in that statement. Grian knew now, the only thing this meant was pain and tears.
The wind roared in his ears as Grian fell. He couldn’t watch his partner, through all of this game, lay lifeless in the sand.
When he felt air rush back into his lungs, and his heart pump blood through his body again, he felt a dizzying dread.
Grian sprinted out of the bed, out the door, and back to the cliff edge. Paying special attention in not looking at the cactus ring.
He leapt. He couldn’t be stuck here. Everyone else was dead. It was just him. He couldn’t be alone.
Life was shoved back into Grian’s body.
He couldn’t leave.
He took a breath through lungs he wished were still. Grian’s eyes stung with tears.
Everyone else was dead. Scar was dead. He was supposed to be dead. Why couldn’t he die?
The sun sunk low under the horizon. Grian could barely bring himself to move. What was the point if the game was over?
Through the house he crept. Everything was washed in a neon red colour. It would have been beautiful, had it not felt like blood soaking every moment he stood.
Grian walked back out to the cactus ring, steeling himself to look at the person lying there.
After you lose all of your lives, your body no longer dissolves. They had learned that after Jimmy died. How Grian desperately wished that weren’t the case now.
He grimaced. Scar’s eyes were vacant, and still ruby red, signifying his final life. Perhaps he should dig a grave. He had nothing better to do, he couldn’t leave.
Grian must have been standing there for a long time, because when he looked around, the sky had darkened and stars-
No. No those weren’t stars. These were purple.
Eyes.
They watched him. Thousands of them, staring at him as tear-tracks stained his face and his knees were so weak a simple gust of wind could knock him down.
The Watchers blinked. All in unison.
“Why won’t you let me leave?” Grian’s voice was barely a whisper, but he knew They could hear him.
Seconds ticked by.
The eyes blinked.
“Everyone is dead!” He raised his voice. His breathing becoming harsh. “Bring them back!” He cried.
They didn’t acknowledge him.
Anger boiled through Grian.
If They wanted him dead, Grian would be dead. His stomach twisted. He felt sick. Why won’t They understand?
It all felt a bit petulant.
Grian numbly stumbled back into the house, finding the familiar bed where he used to spend frigid nights next to Scar. What should have been making Grian shiver, he now barely could acknowledge the stinging cold.
He climbed in. Maybe it would be over after tonight. His teeth grit together.
After a fitful sleep the sun rose again. Grian stood, deep eyes bags prominent on his face. Once he exited, wind swirled grains of sand around his ankles, and the sun bore down harshly.
He was still in the desert. And still so very alone.
What was this? The prize for winning? Realizing how he killed all of his friends? That someone was always going to end up with this? Permanent loneliness?
It felt even more emphasized, the way Grian looked out upon barren desert with nothing to offer.
He found Pizza’s grave. He didn’t use a shovel. With dirt-caked nails Grian dug a grave. How symbolic would it be if it were his own, but it was for Scar. He had time to kill.
It was difficult, lack of sleep and physical exhaustion tearing away at him as he dug and dug mindlessly.
After the grave was deemed ready, Grian stood. A wave of dizziness overtook him, he swayed about before regaining balance.
Grian’s hands shook as he tried to lift Scar. Of course he couldn’t. He dragged his lifeless friend through the sand and into the hole.
He was really doing this.
Getting back on his knees he began pushing the sand back over his friend.
Grian’s movements were slow and uncoordinated, his breathing shallow.
After the sand was set he stood, only to collapse back down. Too late Grian realized he was dead.
Maybe this time, for a little Grian allowed himself to hope.
He took a deep breath of air. He was alive. He was alive. He was still alive.
He screamed.
Until the air was gone from his lungs before breathing in and screaming again.
His voice was ragged, but Grian was fueled with rage.
It echoed off the walls of the room, bouncing back and back again.
He didn’t bother to try and gain composure, leaving the shattered peices of himself splayed across the floors.
Grian wandered, he wasn’t watching, just mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other. He played right into Their game. Maybe it was all to get back at him. Maybe it was just coincidence.
Something bit his leg.
Spinning around Grian threw a punch, realizing with fear it was night, and he was on the edge of the forest.
His fist contacted flesh, which gave away easily.
A person?
A groan reverberated through the trees. A zombie.
Another bite, this time his arm. Now two zombies were on him. Blindly, Grian swung again.
And again.
Yet another bite. And another.
He tried to fight back, but he didn’t have armour or weapons, and they outnumbered him.
Metallic-tasting blood crawled up Grian’s throat. His punches became weaker. More teeth were embedded into his skin.
Finally he lost consciousness, and woke back up in the bed, heart-rate forced back to normal.
It was miserable. He couldn’t escape. It was all for nothing. Grian’s bones fealt heavy. There was no use in getting up.
He stared at the ceiling. Dawn light setting everything into a monotonous grey.
Days, Grian stayed there. Unmoving, untouchable. It was the worst he’d ever felt. Everything bled into eachother. Any sleep he got was filled with nightmares, ghosts of his friends whispering, memories of Scar, watching every last one die.
He didn’t know how long it took, but he stood again. Greasy hair and raw eyes, Grian stumbled into the desert again.
It was night. The Watchers stared at him.
Grian came to a stop in front of Scar’s grave. It was missing something.
He added a headstone, engraving nothing on it but the others name. What was there to say? Sorry? He was dead!
He turned his back, and found himself in the cactus ring. Wind had shifted the sand around, but it mostly still looked the same as the day he died.
Of course he really couldn’t die, but a part of him and his sanity died that day. The day he killed Scar.
He looked up at the Watchers.
They looked down at Grian.