Chapter Text
The guest room is gorgeous. It is the first thing Scott takes note of once the guards shut the door behind him. Pristinely painted walls, floral decor, and glass trinkets from edge to edge. Not a thing out of order, all delightfully placed. It looks like heaven, the kind of beauty Scott would only dream of living in. Right now though it feels imposing, like he doesn’t belong somewhere so clean. It leaves him on edge, and he knows being trapped so suddenly is taking its toll on his husband just as much. His canary’s feathers ruffle uncomfortably, wrapped protectively around Scott.
It’s haunting almost, to have him back. Yet so, so easy to fit next to him again. Scott had only lost him for a couple days, realistically. Not enough time to grieve in full, not with a war upon him and a king to take out his revenge on.
“Petal… what happened?”
Scott startles, looking suddenly up to Jimmy wide eyed. His canary’s eyes are soft, glassy with tears, but most importantly they are brown . Deep, nearly black in their wide richness. The colour is foreign. It scares him, just as much as it delights him. As much as he finds it beautiful. His pupils swollen with affection looking down at Scott but with far too much fear for Scott to behold.
“Oh, sunflower-” Scott turns his body to wholly face Jimmy, bringing his hands up to hold his face. Jimmy leans into his palms without the doubt to be flustered. Scott feels the small feathers over his cheeks as his husband pushes against his hands, desperate to be held.
“You’re alright, I’ve got you-” Scott assures, holding back his own tears as his legs grow shaky. They fall to the floor again, no one else to watch this time, and Scott gasps lightly at the return of Jimmy's arms firmly around him.
“You’re alright. No one will hurt you again, I’ve got you-” Scott murmurs as Jimmy curls further against him. He repeats, and repeats the sentiment. It would be careless if he didn’t mean it so fully every time.
“What happened- I died. I thought I did, and everyone was gone. I was here,” Jimmy asks, hushed as though fearing eavesdroppers. Without any words exchanged they understood the flowery guards weren’t to be trusted.
No one could be trusted.
“You were shot,” Scott swallows thickly. “At the same time I had lost my green life, in the desert.”
Jimmy reels back suddenly as if struck, staring at Scott with a newfound horror Scott doesn’t quite understand.
“You died!?” The canary whisper-shouts, hand quick to cup Scott's cheek. His eyes dart across his body, what he can see, as if searching for the lasting damage.
“I couldn’t protect you,” Scott breathes, gutted. He leans against Jimmy's hand still holding his cheek, though his palms shake and his face is one of horror. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry!?” Jimmy wants to scream, the way his voice pinches off his volume as he speaks makes that more than clear.
They both send a wayward glance towards the closed door in unison, chest tight.
“I was hiding in the bunker like a coward ,” Jimmy nearly growls, only barely quieter than before.
“You were supposed to be safe in there-” It’s not an excuse, not the way Scott says it. Guilty and wet with regret. Jimmy’s second hand comes to hold Scott's face, as steadily as his shaking grip will allow.
“You died out there. I could have helped you and I was stuck with Scar hiding .”
“The bunker should have been more fortified. Why I let you anywhere near the fight was stupid. You should have been hidden more .”
“I should have been helping you!”
They both stop suddenly, holding their breath. The clinking of guards' armour just outside reminds them how loud their voices have raised. Scott feels the talons of Jimmy's fingers scratch his face slightly as they seize with panic, pulling Scott close and turning to shield him from the door. Scott wants to fight it, to leap over him and get Jimmy away from danger. He isn’t meant to be protected, he needs to be protecting- .
But Jimmy’s wings spread, covering the both of them in a feathery cocoon, and Scott gives in. He leans close, pressing his forehead to Jimmy’s with care.
Neither dare to breathe as they listen, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the door to be kicked down and all these pleasantries to be thrown away.
But nothing comes. There's a light chiming of bells from beyond, indistinguishable language muffled by the door as the guards seemingly exchange conversation. But none approach. The door stays unmoved.
Scott tenses again, his breath hitching slightly as Jimmy shifts. His wings come down, and he leans away. He takes a breath as if relieved, but Scott doesn’t know what there is to be relieved about. Just because they haven’t turned on them now, doesn’t mean they won’t soon.
“We need to get out of here,” Scott whispers on hitched breath. Jimmy looks down at his husband again, brows furrowed
“We do?” Scott looks at the avian in utter disbelief. “I mean, I don’t like being monitored like this either. But The Codfather- the fish people and their friends, they said they would help us.”
“We don’t need their help,” Scott says rushedly, eyes flickering around the room. There's a tall stained glass window against a wall, technicoloured light streaming through. He wonders how hard it would be to break.
“They’ve been really good to me so far, Scott,” Jimmy frowns. “They helped me find you, after all,” he smiles lightly.
“They’ll turn on us eventually,” Scott snaps back, no smile in sight. Jimmy's frown deepens.. “We can’t trust anyone, Jimmy. They’ll just try and put us back. We’re- we’re outside the borders Jimmy! They’re trying to bring us back there.”
“They want to get us home-” Jimmy argues softly. “To the valley- our valley. Don’t you want to go home?”
“Jimmy-” Scott looks back to meet his husband's eyes. His expression softens, mournfully. “I am home. I have you back, that's all I need.”
“Oh,” he flusters slightly, smile returning softly. “You’re all I need too. I just- you loved the valley. You had so many plans for it…”
“It’s not a good place anymore,” Scott whispers. “Before I… before I got here I boarded up your house and-” He hesitates, looking down and swallowing thick with mourning. “And I dug your grave.”
There's a long stretch of silence where Scott can’t bear to look up again. The hands Jimmy has on him tense all over again and Scott nearly flinches.
“My what?” his breath catches, and Scott looks up again. Jimmy is wide-eyed, a deep etched horror settling grimly into his expression. It punches the breath from Scott’s lungs that he could be the cause of such a sight.
“Your- your grave.” Scott gulps again at the thought, his mouth suddenly dry. The memory is fuzzy. He could barely see a thing, through the night, rain, or tears he doesn’t remember. He didn’t bother with a shovel, scraping at the dirt with his hands till his fingers came back raw and red. It’s not as if he needed a big hole anyways, no body to bury. He only wanted to plant flowers for him.
“It was empty, but-” Why didn’t he get Jimmy's body? There wasn’t one, and that is wrong. Why hadn’t it felt wrong?
Did Jimmy wake up here, in this world beyond the borders when he died? Was that why there was nothing to bury? No evidence except his absence to prove Scott had loved and lost.
Why hadn’t he questioned it before? Why hadn’t it felt wrong when he fell for the final time and there was nothing left of him? Why hadn’t waking up after dying felt like the perversion of life that it is?
A dread old and cryptic seeps through Scott’s mind, shaking in his bones with an understanding he hadn’t known before. With a realisation at the edges of his mind and yet out of reach.
“Oh Scott-” Jimmy’s tone is short, clipped with grief and it forces Scott to refocus. If only long enough to see the deep brown of his eyes.
Deep brown. Not red as they had been for so long. Not yellow or green. Not even the blue he had begun to fear meant zero. Brown.
Scott raises his hands to cradle Jimmy’s face, the man blinking down at him startled before settling into the touch. He feels stubble and baby feathers, winged ears flicking lightly.
Why hadn’t it felt so wrong before. What changed? Looking into brown eyes, as if they should have always been brown. As if the red he’d grown used to never suited him at all.
“We can’t go back, even if I wanted to,” Scott murmurs finally, trying to swallow back the tears in his throat.
Jimmy nods slowly, lips pursed and eyes soft. His hands come up to take Scott’s in his own, pulling them from his cheeks and bringing rough knuckles to his lips. A dusting of blush spreading his cheeks for the gesture. Scott lets a waterlogged chuckle escape him in the quiet.
“Then we won’t go back,” he says, soft and relenting. Giving Scott what he wants. Believing him.
“We can’t stay either,” he says quickly, as if he’ll lose Jimmy again between words.
“Then we’ll leave,” Jimmy replies once more. Just as easy, just as determined.
Despite it all, there's a glimmer in his eye. Despite how deeply afraid and resentful Scott is, of the situation they’ve found themself in. Jimmy looks ready, eager to dive headfirst into whatever comes next.
That was always the problem wasn’t it? Jimmy was always restless, cowing to Scott’s concerns. Unable to stand knowing Scott was always so afraid of the home they’d built being taken away.
It’s what they fought on most. Jimmy’s yearning to prove himself, to prove Scott didn’t have to worry. That he was strong enough to protect them. A belief Scott couldn’t ever take to heart, not when every choice he let Jimmy make dragged them both deeper into war. Into grief and ruin.
Even now, looking at the spark in his eyes, Scott doesn’t know whether to snuff it out or kiss him senseless. He'd spent the last days of his life mad with grief, throwing his life away with reckless abandon. The same he’d always scolded his husband for. He’d missed that look, and all the same it only fills him with fear, for where it might lead them.
He almost wishes he could go back, go lock them both away in their homes and stay safe and hidden till the war was over. A more sensible part of him knows it was inevitable. That Jimmy would never have let him do that to them.
Whether it was Scott’s softness or Jimmy’s resilience that killed them before, he has to believe it will be different now. They are not cornered any longer, they have a chance to truly be free as they never were.
Scott can stay worried. Jimmy can stay reckless. And maybe between them they’ll truly be able to protect one another, like they couldn’t before.
They’ll get out together this time.
“Okay,” Scott smiles shakily. Leaning up and pulling Jimmy down just enough to kiss him. “Okay!”
They rise from the floor together, hand in hand. A plan formed between them they make quick work of cataloguing the room. Finding anything that could be useful.
Scott finds himself stripping the bed of one of its thinner blankets. Laying it out and helping his husband to collect what they need to lay inside.
Exploring the quarters more thoroughly is a mind boggling experience. A suite the size of one of their houses, and furnished far more. The palace is massive, if the quarters alone are meant to host a bedroom, a sitting room, and an adjoining washroom. It’s far too much, even more than the king surely had.
It only makes Scott’s stomach crawl, to realise how big the world suddenly is, outside of their prison.
There are pleasantries left out. They drink some of the water, though frustrated to find there are no bottles to steal away with, only the pitcher they can’t risk to carry whilst full. It’s easy otherwise to break the legs from a chair, fashioning a makeshift weapon for them each. To empty the pitcher in the washroom and lay it upon their blanket. To fold a pillow and a second sheet within.
To wrap it all into a bindle, tied tight. Scott tests for weight, that he’ll be ready to carry this however far they must. Then moves to the door, pressing his ear to the wood.
There’s murmurs of voices outside. Calm and conversational, likely guard set at post in the hall beyond. Scott grimaces, wracking his mind for a plan. If he can remember the route out of the palace well enough to risk rushing the two. If it would be worth it.
He turns back with his expression drawn thoughtfully, catching sight of Jimmy across the room fiddling with the windows. He’s managed to get it open, a light breeze dancing through the air.
“How does it look?” Scott whispers, moving back to his husband's side. Jimmy turns around, expression less confident than Scott would like. But clearly weighing his options.
“We’re on the second floor, and the palace itself is on a floating island, yeah?” he muses aloud. Scott nods along, understanding. “Whether we scale down the wall somehow, or we leave through the door, we’ll have to get off the island.”
“There’s at least two guards in the hall outside,” Scott murmurs. “They’re relaxed, we could probably rush them. But if we aren’t fast enough and we don’t remember our way out then it could turn sour.”
Jimmy’s hand finds Scott’s squeezing lightly, reassuringly. Scott focuses enough from his nerves to squeeze back.
“The guard rotation on this side of the building seems sparse,” he offers with a small smile. “And once we get off the island the people in the towns we passed through were all very relaxed. We’ll be home free.”
Scott nods, turning his thoughts over methodically. Picking at the pieces of a plan and trying to fit them together. He steps past Jimmy to lean his head out the window, measuring the drop below.
It is quite a way. But the brickwork is detailed. Very elegant, but also leaving a few key footholes.
“I think I could scale down,” Scott hums, voice pinched with false confidence. “But I couldn’t take the pack with us.”
“I um,” Jimmy hesitates, drawing Scott's attention. Watching him as his wings flinch behind him, stretching, giving a slight flap. The feathers along his cheek bristle, flexing his ear wings curiously. “I could maybe… glide down?”
Scott blinks; the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. Jimmy, like the few other people they knew that looked like him, that had wings and feathers, had never been able to fly. None of them had, even when an instinct in them shoved them to try.
He’s been able to glide a little, not well or long. But enough to lessen a fall. Enough to land on his feet more often than not.
“I could try to carry you with me, or at least I could take the bindle?” he offers, words more rushed as if afraid Scott will say no. As if he can already see the doubt and unease growing in Scott’s head.
Scott frowns, and he knows Jimmy isn’t pleased to see it. But it just isn’t. Jimmy’s wings aren't strong enough, they’re not even sure he can fly. None of them ever could.
Grian had grumbled about it to Jimmy once, when they thought Scott wasn’t listening. Had asked if Jimmy noticed that their feathers didn't look like any of the birds they watched or hunted. Theirs were proportionally shorter. Grian's had been all but mangled at the ends.
Jimmy had grown quiet before brushing the other off. Huffing and fluffing up about how ridiculous it was. They weren't birds, of course they didn't look the same. Jimmy and Grian didn’t even look the same!
Scott had never shared what he’d heard, not that he thinks it was meant to be a secret. But he had watched how the thought seemed to eat Jimmy for the day following. How he’d picked at his feathers. He’d asked Scott if he liked his wings, something he’d not done before or since.
Of course Scott told him he loved him, loved them. They are soft, and protective. He loves Jimmy, and he loves every part of him.
He was never sure his adoration was good enough though. Not against the seed Grian had planted.
Scott wants to say no. Not a chance, he loves Jimmy but he doesn't trust his strength to get them down. But the anticipatory disappointment in his lover's expression wounds him. After a lifetime they spent with Scott needing control, and Jimmy fighting to prove himself as free in their cryptic prison…
“Alright,” he finds himself saying, watching Jimmy’s expression light up with surprise. “How about you take the bag? It will leave my hands free to scale down.”
Jimmy nods immediately, grinning determined and moving to take the bag from Scott. They ready themselves, hearts racing, as they watch for a gap in the guard.
It doesn’t take long before the sparse watchmen are switched. None the wiser to Scott above them beginning his descent.
Legs swing through the windowsill, manoeuvring to find footholds as he keeps himself as silent as possible. His heart races in his ears and he forces himself not to focus on the armoured below. Not when his footing slips momentarily and he knows he has to work on getting down before he worries about any watchers.
It’s as he sees the ground close, enough so that he could risk a jump, that he looks upwards again. His husband watching wide-eyed overhead, looking out for him. His eyes glance to the side, towards the guards who thankfully haven't bothered to look up. So used to whatever peace is kept in this odd place.
Scott grips the wall harder, unsure if he should drop, where the collision and line of sight would surely do him in. Luckily, his husband is a step ahead.
Jimmy gestures to wait, a plea in his eye as he ducks back into the room. When he returns to the window he leans out, a glass in hand as he winds up his arm. And Scott would pray if only he knew what gods would listen.
The glass shatters in the grass a distance away. Scott hears it loud as day, ear twitching to follow the surprise of the guard as he moves further away. Scott takes his chance.
He pushes off the wall, rolling to break his fall in the grass and covering his already poor clothes in grass stains.
Scott looks up for Jimmy, only to find a hand on his own pulling him across the island. His feet under him stumble before finding a run, keeping pace as Jimmy sprints with him.
It’s near the edge of the island that Scott realises a problem. This is not the side of the palace with the path down.
Below them, feeling a world away, is a town of bright colours and plentiful flora. People going about their days with a lively forest bordering them in.
Somewhere behind them Scott hears a shout. Whipping around to realise the guard has spotted them. Their weapons are not drawn, but they approach fast, waving and calling for them. As if they could be persuaded to come peacefully, quietly.
Scott’s grip on Jimmy tightens, breath catching as he looks away, pulling to try and get them to move. To find the path down and fast.
He doesn’t get that chance. Not when Jimmy lets go of his hand, pushing their makeshift bag into his arms. Scott holds it without thought, looking frantically back to his husband. To ask what he’s doing, to demand they run.
Arms sweep under his legs, a huff and an apology swallow Scott’s demands as he is scooped into Jimmy’s arms.
Golden wings flair behind them. A determined albeit nervous expression paints his lover's face. And Scott gets no further warning before Jimmy makes a running jump off of the island.
Scott can’t scream, voice all caught in his throat as he clings to Jimmy. Body shaking unable to look away from the ground coming closer and closer. Far too fast, though he realises not nearly as fast as if they were to free fall.
They’re gliding. Badly and with far more gravity than Scott would ever like. But they are still gliding. Their fall lightened.
They hit the ground at the forest's edge of the town with no grace. Jimmy tripping and throwing them both through dirt and grass. Sprawling out, scraped and surely bruised. But Scott can’t help the light that fills his heart, the breath in his lungs.
“Oh my gods-” Jimmy pushes upright, and Scott finds himself joining him with a hand pulling him up. “Are you alright?”
Scott wants to be furious, that Jimmy would take a risk like that. But Scott can’t bring himself to care. Looking up at the island above and the guards at its edge. Looking between themselves before one runs out of sight.
He pulls Jimmy into a tight hug, a manic laugh ripping from his throat before he lets go. Jimmy, frazzled in front of him, can only blink, frowning lightly.
“We have to go,” Scott manages to find words. Jimmy looks as if he might argue for a moment before voices behind them make them aware of townfolks. Looking up one of the guards behind to fly down, winged much like Lady Katherine was.
Jimmy takes his hand, and Scott pulls the bag over his shoulder. They sprint without looking back into the bramble of the wilds. Into the woods to weave and lose any pursuers.
Scott has no idea how much time passes. Adrenaline blurring the edges of his vision as he pushes onward, pulling Jimmy along while he looks behind them harrowed. It could be only minutes, it could be hours.
Legs kicking through bushes, ducking under leafs and narrowing avoiding stray branches which threaten to clothesline them in their haste.
Despite the hand gripping like a vice into Scott’s palm something dreadful stirs. As if Jimmy isn’t there at all.
As if the thundering footfalls in time with his, so close, are not a friend but a foe. Memories of taunting jeers thrown through the dark woods, mocking and threatening as the King and his hand close in.
A wrong turn, a stumble. He’s covered in scrapes, blood and dirt coating his hair and clothes. He can’t even scream as pain erupts between his shoulder blades. An arrow burrowing deep through his jacket and into his chest.
Scott gasps, tears in his eyes as an overwhelming feeling if having failed consumes him. His knees buckle, vision blurring and he feels a weight leave him as he falls amongst the tall grass.
He can’t stop himself from curling up, clutching at his chest as his breath heaves. He’s dying, choking on his own blood. Anger and frustration consume him, as heavily as his grief had. To be beaten by these tyrants. To have Martyn be the one to take him out.
Is this how Jimmy felt? The red curse feels like it's eating Scott alive, he’s only had hours with it. How did Jimmy live like this? How much self control did he really have, when Scott so frequently thought him careless and instigative. How much had he held back if this was what he felt?
How hadn’t Scott woken up on any night with his lover's hands squeezing at his throat. How had Jimmy had any softness left in him to hold Scott gently, to simmer and fold when Scott demanded they keep themselves away from the fight.
Tears burn in his eyes as much as the blood in his mouth as he grapples with these feelings, with these realisations. The grief unfolding to know he had failed his husband. Failed to understand him. Failed to keep him safe. And now failed to avenge him.
He will die without ceremony, without burial, with no one left to care. Hunted like a mutt through the thin woods with no allies to come to his aid. Left to rot where The Red King and his army leave him.
“Scott!? Scott what’s wrong!?” A voice cuts through the panic, and Scott sobs. Blinking his eyes against the dark forest.
Except it's not dark, not like it was. Afternoon sun filtering through colourful leaves and flowers. The canopy above him looks like a dream, surreal in its colour and vibrancy. In the life it exudes.
Jimmy is crouched over him, half blocking his view. Scott can’t care at all, not when the vision of his lover is there, within reach. He feels himself smiling, shaky and warbled. He reaches out a hand, yearning to hold him one last time. To apologize for his many failures.
His hand meets Jimmy’s jaw, cradling his cheek. Warm skin with light stubble and baby feathers.
Jimmy is warm. Scott is warm.
They’re alive.
Realisation comes back to Scott a little faster. Jimmy's eyes, brown eyes , boring into him with a frantic worry. The belongings stolen from the strange floating palace lay in the brush at their side.
Scott tense as he sits up, looking around as if seeing the forest for the first time. It looks nothing like the one he ran through. Night lighting and dark deciduous trees.
These woods are far more interesting. Bright and colourful, unlike anything he’d ever seen. All the flora seem to follow the colours of flowers, bright and bold spread through every piece of the plane.
He listens, ears twitching slightly. Hearing running water nearby. Birds on high. Rustling leaves.
He doesn’t hear any footfalls. No pursuers.
They aren’t being hunted.
“We got away?” he asks, barely above a whisper. Jimmy’s expression seems to pinch lightly before nodding, smiling lightly.
“Yeah, we lost them a bit ago I think,” he confirms verbally, taking Scott’s hand in his own. Bringing the scarred knuckles to his lips reverently.
Scott doesn’t dare ask how long they’ve been running. He can’t imagine it. He doesn’t know what to feel, to think.
“There’s running water nearby,” Scott finds himself finally saying, unable to look at Jimmy as his mind comes back to him. Pushing out of the grass and dragging the bindle up with him. He hears a noise in Jimmy’s throat, one he’s come to recognize as confusion. But he does little more than sputter as he follows Scott.
The brook, as they come to find, is fairly close by. Scott moves on autopilot, suggesting settling here for some rest before pushing onward. Jimmy doesn’t argue.
They set open the bindle and catalogue their belongings. Jimmy leaves for a bit, staying within shouting range, as much as the nerves of separating shakes them both. He returns with the pitcher they’d taken, thankfully unbroken from their many tumbles, filled with berries.
Scott finds fallen branches and sticks, putting together a makeshift lean-to against a nearby tree before laying out their blankets. He then sits by the brooke, watching the small fish which dart by. Too small to be appetising, and so he leaves the chair leg spear aside.
Jimmy returns and they eat quietly. Scott manages a warmed smile at Jimmy’s excitement, showing off his foraging find. Scott is more happy to kiss him, to lean against him and be assured they’re safe. They’re together.
They settle, and for the first time in a long time Scott almost feels at peace. Laid with his husband, hidden by the woods. It feels as close to home as he could have dreamed off since their deaths.
The thought strikes a dread in his chest, light and brief. But he remembers it, holding onto it. Mulling his thought over, lip between his teeth before Jimmy’s lips press gently against his hair.
“What’s up?” he asks, concerned enough for Scott to know he’s been caught. Light enough to know he could brush it off, if he wanted to.
He isn’t sure what he wants. So he just speaks, staring up into his husband's eyes.
“What was it like for you?” Scott murmurs, with a weighted tone. “To die?”
Jimmy blinks down at him, frowning now. He doesn't flinch as Scott thought he might. He shows no fear or unease, only a sadness Scott wishes he hadn’t put there.
“It all happened so quickly,” he sighs, frown broadening. “ I kind of remember the impact. Not so much the pain. I think I died before it could register through the adrenaline. Then I woke up in the Codlands.”
Scott thinks it's a miracle that Jimmy felt so little. He counts it as a small blessing. For he had heard Scar shriek, and turned to watch Jimmy choke on the blood in his mouth. Arrow through his throat before he turned into wisps.
He himself was struck down the moment he turned. His husband's death burned into his mind as he awoke with yellow eyes. Rushing across the valley towards a bed Jimmy wouldn’t wake up in. No trace of him left for Scott to hold onto.
“What happened to you?” Jimmy returns the question, startling Scott from his spiral. There's a hesitance in his eyes, staring through to Scott’s soul. As if unsure if he should ask. But there's determination all the same.
Scott watched Jimmy die three times over. Jimmy hadn’t seen Scott die once.
He had been there for every one of Jimmy’s respawns, waking up in his home. He had watched him die and every time rushed home to hold him, to be assured he would really be there. Until he wasn’t.
Scott had no one. Only a losing battle and careless allies. He awoke alone to an empty home, and mourned as long as he could before red hate took his heart and yearned for vengeance.
If he were in Jimmy’s shoes, wouldn’t he want to know too? How could Scott deprive him of anything he asked, now that he’s here again?
“I was a hypocrite,” he laughs mirthlessly, leaning against Jimmy as if he could soak in his warmth. “For all my nagging at you for being reckless, I went from green to red nearly as fast as Scar did…”
Jimmy sucks a horrified breath through his lungs. Scott’s head against his chest savours the feeling that Jimmy is here breathing next to him at all.
It might be an exaggeration, Scar had become red so fast he’s not sure anyone could drop faster. But the days following Jimmy’s death had been a blur, regardless of his status. He died for the first time that Jimmy died his last.
He might not have dropped to red immediately, but he felt he was on zero since his husband was taken. He may as well have died for good in the desert that day too.
“I don’t remember who killed me, in the desert. I died twice in the sand,” he murmurs half heartedly. Jimmy’s arms around him tighten. “The king himself killed me for good, in the woods.”
“Oh Scott, ” Jimmy’s voice sounds pained, pulling Scott close in his arms. As if they might melt into each other.
Wouldn’t that be nice, to never be parted again.
“It all happened very fast to me,” he says, voice deceptively even. “I just couldn’t help but throw myself back at the fight. I wasn’t thinking very straight after you died…”
Scott lifts his gaze if only to stare at his husband. His lover. His Jimmy. Alive and holding him. Here and now, reunited.
He looks heartbroken, and Scott can’t help but think that it’s barely a fraction of the grief Scott had experienced.
“I don’t know how you did it, being red for so long,” he whispers, a wet chuckle in his throat. Jimmy blinks down, brows furrowing.
“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” Jimmy smiles uneasily. “Needed to stick around and keep you safe…”
“I thought you were just reckless,” Scott laughs without humour. “But I was only red for a few hours, and it was consuming. ”
Scott shudders, the memories passing through him, cold and rattling.
“Yeah it's… it was pretty bad,” Jimmy hums. “I don’t think I realised how bad it was until I woke up here and it was gone.”
“The constant blood rushing in your ears,” Scott whispers further. “Violent for the world at large. Running to fights I knew I would lose… How could you even stand to be alive?”
Jimmy frowns, leaning back enough to brush a hand through Scott’s bangs before cupping his cheek.
“I don’t understand,” Scott hiccups, the grief folding over in his chest as he stares at his wonderful perfect husband. Who he never understood. Who he so desperately needs to live. “How didn’t you just snap and kill me in my sleep?” he laughs, watching Jimmy’s brows raise. “How did you listen to me at all?!”
Jimmy’s hand holding him is shaken, nervous. Scott is making him nervous. But he doesn't pull away. He instead doubles down, bringing his other hand to hold Scott's face. Thumbing at tears as he frowns at Scott, almost mournfully.
As if he’s lost something. As if he’s lost Scott at all.
“Because I love you,” he says, as if he needs to convince Scott. As if that is all the answer he needs. “Even when we fought, or when the curse felt too much. I love you so much . I didn’t want to hurt you, I only ever wanted to protect you.”
Jimmy’s voice wavers as he speaks, tears in his own eyes falling. It only spurs Scott to sobs. He lunges to pull Jimmy close, to bury his face in his chest. Warbled I love you ’s mingle with apologies as they hold one another. Jimmy’s arms coming down over Scott’s back, his wings cocooning them, as if to hide them.
“It was hard,” Jimmy whispers. “But I was red for weeks. Scar talked about it sort of the same way, when we chatted. You learn to live with it…” His face presses against Scott’s hair, breathing him in.
Scott can’t help but think he must smell awful, of blood and dirt. But Jimmy doesn’t seem to care, drinking him in.
“You only had hours to grapple with it all,” Jimmy murmurs, aching. “I can imagine what that hell would have been for you.”
“I’m sorry. I should have been better,” Scott swallows back tears. “I should have understood more. I should have protected you. I should have avenged you- ”
“I should have protected you ,” Jimmy huffs hotly, insistently. “I should have listened, and kept away from the fight. I shouldn’t have died and left you all alone.”
Apologies come easy. So many regrets between them, unable to step back. But Scott can’t imagine ever blaming Jimmy for his grief. And Jimmy cannot hate Scott for not understanding.
It’s healing, to lay together by the brook and sleep. Tucked under stolen blankets and wrapped in each other's arms. To feel like there is a new life ahead of them, clean from the slate of before. Of blue borders and false kings. Of second and third changes and a bloodlust no one should have to know.
They will awaken a couple hours later, when the afternoon is near its end. They will gather their meager belongings and continue their trek through the wilds. Until trees grow sparse and golden sun breaks through pastel leaves.
Fields of rolling hills overlooking a distant coast. The view of farmland in the distance, and an even further kingdom on the horizon.
Scott will take Jimmy’s hand, and pray they never be parted. They will rebuild a home, at the edge of the woods, far from prying eyes. Close enough to venture out and acquaint themselves with those living rural domesticity they’d yearned for.
They can build a life here, free of tyranny for as long as possible. With the hope they need to rebuild.
Hand in hand, they rebuild a future together. Uninterrupted this time by war or grief. They set to work.