#*hands u just under 1.9k words of post sl scar angst* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gaylotusthatexists · 5 months

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(read on ao3 here)

She was dead.

Scar stared down into the ravine, at Pearl’s lifeless body sprawled out on the ground, not quite able to tell where her red cape ended and the blood stained stone began. He hadn’t even noticed at first - he’d heard her scream, but had barely even processed it. Thought that maybe she’d just slipped, fell a couple blocks at most. He called out her name when things went silent. She hadn’t responded.

He sat down on the edge, unable to tear his eyes away. Everything was so quiet, far too quiet. No laughter, no screams, no metal piercing through the air, no heavy footsteps pounding towards him. Not even the wind howling in his ears.

That was it, then?

He…

He brought a hand up to his mouth, clasping it shut, holding back the sob that racked through his body. He didn’t feel like he had the right to mourn. Pearl hadn’t even really been an ally, let alone a friend, not until the very end.

(That’s just how it goes for him, huh? Finally makes a friend, and she dies by his own hand.)

But, even if only for a brief moment, she had fought by his side. She’d been willing to protect him, to give up her own life for him. And now she was gone, and so was everyone else, and Scar had never expected to get this far. So he let the tears roll down his cheeks, shoulders shaking, and… well, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to see, was it?

(Was this how Grian had felt? With the harsh desert sun beating down on him, staring at Scar’s lifeless body, blood soaking into the sand, at the edge of a silent world. Had he mourned? Or had it been a relief?)

He forced himself to take in a deep breath, lowering his hands and reaching for the scroll tucked into his pocket. He unrolled it, stared down at the red ink, eyes tracing across those three words. Win Secret Life. He’d…

Huh.

It occurred to him, in that moment, that he’d succeeded. Right? There was nobody left, so…

“Oh my gosh,” he muttered, a smile creeping across his face. “Oh my gosh, I-”

He took in a shaky breath, then stood up, stumbling more than walking over to the Secret Keeper. It almost felt like a trance, his feet somehow carrying him forward whilst his mind raced a million miles an hour, trying to process what had just happened. He’d won. And he’d…

Gosh, he’d done so many things he now regretted to get there, but he made it out. He was still alive.

Everyone had been against him. Everyone. The very world had been against him, this stupid world had wanted nothing more than for him to be hated, to be alone-

Well. He supposed the world had got its wish, hadn’t it? He was alone now, more alone than he’d ever been. Not like he wasn’t used to it, at least.

The thought crossed his mind as his hand landed on the button, a surge of newfound energy rushing through him. He tossed the thought to the side, his smile moulding into a grin. He’d won.

He laughed. “Take that, Secret Keeper!” He turned around to face the rest of the world, his smile dropping just a smidge as he finally took in all the destruction. He tried not to think about it. “I did it. I beat your stupid game.”

The sun set behind the statue, bright blue skies ahead beginning to darken to a deep purple. He headed towards the stars, back over to his home. Trying his best to ignore the corpses that lined his path. The blood on his hands.

Scar stopped when he arrived at what used to be his home, realising that… right. It’d been destroyed. It’d been destroyed for a while.

The world was growing cold, darkness spreading overhead, wind beginning to nip at his skin. He tugged his shawl tighter around himself, eyes landing instead on the courthouse, still mostly intact, somehow. That… That would work for now.

He settled into the far corner, taking a few moments to gather himself, taking in deep breaths. He hadn’t realised it between the adrenaline of the final fight and grief that had taken hold of him as he came to understand it was over, but he was exhausted. His bones ached, his eyes felt heavy. If it wasn’t for the wounds that still littered his body and the cold that seeped into his skin, he would’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

Instead, he curled up into a ball, trying to preserve as much heat as possible, shut his eyes, and waited. Tried not to think about all that had happened, tried to pretend it was a normal night.

(Once again, his mind drifted back to Grian, wondering if it had been like this for him too. The desert had always grown cold at night, and gosh had Grian complained about it, every single night without fail. But with their home destroyed and Scar dead on the floor, what had he done? No walls to protect him from the wind, no strong arms wrapped around him to keep him warm.)

Scar shivered, curling further into himself, shifting on the hard cobbled floor in an attempt to get comfortable. Nothing was really working.

(Had Grian even stuck around long enough to find out? Or had he immediately moved on, found somewhere new, a place that wasn’t tainted with memories, both good and bad? Should Scar have done the same?)

But with exhaustion settling deep in his bones, he ended up drifting regardless, in and out of a not so great sleep.

When he managed to convince himself to wake up the next morning, all the sunflowers surrounding his home had wilted away.

Days and nights passed, and he made himself busy.

He started repairing Trader Scar’s, filling in the holes in the ground and rebuilding the walls, so he at least had somewhere somewhat comfortable to sleep at night. (Even if the building itself didn’t really matter anymore, since there was no one around to stop by and peruse through his wares. He kept it stocked anyhow.)

He went around the server and gathered up all the bodies that remained, burying each and every one in whatever spot they cherished most. (Even the ones that had died by his hands. Even the ones he’d been unkind to, the ones who’d been unkind to him - in all honesty, he’d deserved it. The least he could do was allow them now to rest.)

He did his best to repair the rest of the damage, or at the very least clean everything up, allowing the memory of everyone else to be preserved. (Even as those memories haunted him at night, his dreams filled with blank faces and blood stained clothes. As the days wore on, he found it harder and harder to convince himself to sleep.)

Since no new tasks came, he started to make up his own. Happy ones, this time. Picking flowers, creating art, sending compliments, leaving gifts at the graves of those who had fallen. Tasks that he wished he could’ve gotten during the duration of the games, so that maybe things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe people would’ve liked him more, maybe he’d find less swords or arrows plunged through skin, wouldn’t have found his hand on the sword’s hilt or the bow’s string.

They all ended up bittersweet. A dead body couldn’t cherish a gift, hear a compliment, admire a piece of art. Flowers wilted beneath his feet and in his hands.

The world he inhabited was dying, but refused to drag him down with it.

Months passed, and he continued to live, wandering an empty, dying world.

(He wondered, again, if it had been like this for Grian. If he’d tried to make amends, build their house back up, repair the rest of the destruction that had been caused by their hands. If he’d buried Scar’s bodies next to Pizza’s grave, laid out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs, sat and cried as he remembered the time that they had shared. Or if he’d moved on immediately, ran off and found somewhere new.)

Scar thought about it sometimes, running away. As far away from the Secret Keeper as he could get, beyond where the border used to lie, carve out a new life for himself. He could never bring himself too.

(The desert began to invade his dreams. Grian’s lifeless body at the base of Monopoly Mountain, so small in the place so vast and endless. Dead before he could see the stars one final time, the world now dying around him.)

He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke. He was used to feeling lonely, when he pressed that button he thought he’d be able to handle it, but this was so much different.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Wait?

For how long?

Every other time, the moment his heart had stopped, his eyes had opened and he’d be back home, back to his normal life. And eventually he’d be pulled away again, of course. The games would continue forever and ever and Scar was fine with that, he itched for it, wanted desperately for new allies and new enemies and a new world to discover, a world that was living.

When would everything start over again?

Had he not been punished enough?

(He remembered seeing Grian after they’d left the desert. Remembered how he’d thrown himself into Scar’s arms, sobbed on his shoulder, clutched the back of his shirt so incredibly tightly, like he was scared to let go. He hadn’t understood it at the time, didn’t know why Grian was so upset - they were both safe now, Scar had been willing to die for Grian to live, he hadn’t been upset by it. Now, he understood.)

He was caving when it happened. His pickaxe had finally broken a few days ago, and he needed a couple diamonds to replace it - sure, he could’ve taken one of the many swords left behind by the others, but that felt… wrong, for some reason. (He’d never been above stealing before. He couldn’t quite figure out why this time it felt different.)

He hadn’t been paying attention. He very rarely paid attention, nowadays, but up on the surface that wasn’t such a bad thing. His efforts to fill in all the holes around the server made travel relatively easy, and actually being able to sleep through the night for a change definitely helped. Down here, none of that mattered.

He didn’t even see what it was in the end. He wasn’t convinced he would’ve fought it off if he did.

Scar died, and the world finally went with him.

He awoke to bright sun shining through a window, and warm sheets covering his body. Noises outside, laughter drifting through the air.

It didn’t feel right, but still, finally hearing something other than his own breathing brought him to tears. (He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, he thought his tears had all dried up by now.)

He was home.

And despite being the only one who’d lived in the end, it was only then that, for the first time in months, he actually felt alive.

#i'm normal about secret life scar i swear #*hands u just under 1.9k words of post sl scar angst*#i'm very proud of him but oh my gosh #secret life spoilers #traffic spoilers #secret life #trafficblr #third life #goodtimeswithscar #my writing #my fanfic

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