Chapter Text
Jimmy was...
Not perfect, he can say that much. He tripped over a stray root at least every other time he went to collect firewood, spilling the whole bundle all over the rolling grass between their homes. Well, home and storage building, once Jimmy had silently crawled into his bed one night and not left since.
Jimmy also always fell off of the stepping stones in the glistening lake that linked their structures together, teetering into the small silver expanse with an ungraceful bellyflop accompanied by a screeching squark and a wet plop. It had come to a point where Scott had taken to standing just beyond where Jimmy was attempting to cross with a clean woolen towel, cackling whenever he eventually entered the water.
He always forgot to preen, too- it wasn't unusual for him to come back after several days of consecutive mining, collecting materials and shenanigans with all sorts in his wings. Scott would gently scold him before ordering the disgruntled avian into the Hobbit Hole where he’d gently pluck out wayward feathers and bits of moss that had found their way into Jimmy’s golden plumage, telling him about his day and the latest updates he’s made to the area or the wall.
He was, however, unbelievably endearing; Scott almost cried with love the first time Jimmy presented him with a shakily carved wooden figure of himself, tall and smiling with defined ears amidst a meadow of sharp grass and a single blobby flower. He loved it dearly, and it would forever remain on his bedside table.
Even as his skin sizzled in Tango’s lava trap, even as Jimmy’s heart turned the same yellow as the sickly dandelions that began to coat their home, Scott still held him at night. Jimmy was still warm, and the two huddled in their home away from everything else.
Another time Scott almost cried was when Jimmy sidled up to him, dropped onto one knee and, awkwardly holding aloft a beautifully woven flower crown, asked him to marry him. Scott couldn’t say yes fast enough, hammering out two shimmering engagement rings from the small pile of spare gold that the two had collected.
He actually cried when they kissed in front of an altar in the middle of the meadow, petals strewn everywhere and sun shining with the beam of a forgiving god.
But Scott wasn’t perfect either.
He would return to their home from meetings with various factions sweating and swearing and raging, falling apart and sobbing into a hand-embroidered pillow that Jimmy had sewn from the pressure that was threatening to flatten him. His beautiful husband would never understand, murmuring sweet nothings into his pointed ears about how there wasn’t really any pressure, how everything would be fine. What he didn’t understand was that everything wasn’t going to be fine, that the pressure on Scott’s shoulders was the heavy burden of trying to keep them alive.
He made a deal with the Desert Faction, putting wary trust in the unpredictable duo with a penchant for explosives. He was there when Jimmy’s kind eyes turned from yellow to red, his body shattered and crumpled from the trap laid by their allies.
“YES! YES!”
The triumphant screech sounding from next to him had drowned out the ringing in Scott’s ears a split second after, the small avian he had put his trust in grinning from ear to ear in blood-crazed frenzy.
Still green. Grian was still green, and his gorgeous husband who had tripped over roots, collected flowers, braided his hair, never harmed a fly - was on his third life.
The elf had fought through streaming tears as he turned to the desert-dwelling man, striding up to him and grabbing him by the collar of his falling apart red jumper.
“You MONSTER!” He screamed into the smug little face below him. “How COULD you?!”
And Grian? He had just kept on grinning, drunk on victory.
Jimmy sealed their fate in the end, torching the Dogwarts banner in an impulsive act of rage that Scott thought impossible of him. He was somewhat proud of his husband’s act of defiance, but felt despair at the realisation that the only alliance left for them was with the people that murdered his husband.
And so they went to the desert.
***
Scott knelt at the grave, clutching a bunch of freshly plucked poppies from the overgrown meadow beneath the hill. He’d picked a spot at the top of one of the hills, hard enough to get to but easy enough to climb. The grave was barely grassed over, tiny fern fronds peeking out from the roughly carved headstone’s base and a small patch of moss beginning to form with them.
“Dearest Jimmy,” he began, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the inevitable tears.
“It’s not been the same without you. Your house is empty. The meadow’s full of weeds – I'm sorry, I know you’d hate that but-”
His throat clenched, the words excruciating to form.
“It’s just... too hard,” he sniffed, the tears beginning to leak out.
“You kept me together and... “
The tears slowed, Scott’s stricken face hardening into nothing but expressionless, flat features.
“I guess the only mercy is that you don’t have to see me like this.”
The flint and steel were cold and hard in his hands.
Just like his heart, fractured into a million pieces with one arrow.
The next day, Etho’s wool castle burned down to ashes, nothing lying in its remains except charcoal and bones. Nobody knew who it was, but everyone knew that it had to be somebody with nothing left to lose and a whole lot of hate in them.
Nobody guessed that it was Scott. And he kind of liked it that way. He liked the way destroying things made him feel, so he kept doing it. Fully embraced the path he’d chosen, his footsteps leaking the red that cornered him from every direction in the shadows of his mind.
Only the Gods knew that all of his maniacally grinning visions of revenge were just fantasy. Much like his fleeting wish made in a small hole in the earth what seemed like years ago.
As an arrow marked the red light leaving Jimmy’s eyes, an arrow bled Scott red until he could feel nothing else. Buring with the hate and pain and rage until finally, finally-
It all went quiet.
And Scott woke up.