It hadn’t been the death that broke him. All of them knew they had to die eventually, and it only ticked closer as each person’s eyes shifted from green to yellow, yellow to red. The lightning strike signalling the loss of a final life had made the entire server go silent for the first time since the fighting began. Even Skizz, who had been laughing throughout the entire battle, had frozen, bow still raised as they all watched Jimmy’s body poof into smoke.
The death had been shocking, but the fact that it was Jimmy’s is what made Scott scream. He hadn’t even registered it in the moment, the world feeling static as he watched the spot where his husband had once laid.
Blood had stained the sandstone, it had even gotten on Grian’s boots. The arrow stood rooted into the ground, no longer piercing through the skull of the canary. He might have congratulated Skizz on being such a damn good shot if he could’ve thought about something else other than the mantra of his husband's name.
He couldn’t register anything, his knees hitting the ground hard as he continued to scream. His screams turned to sobs as tears flooded his eyes, falling before he even felt them form, his breathing coming in sharp gasps. He didn’t feel the hands on him, only seeing as the desert got farther and farther away.
No, no they couldn’t drag him away. There had to be some mistake because Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. Scott was supposed to keep him safe. He kicked and thrashed in an attempt to go back, find Grian and demand him to bring back his husband.
But that’s not how that worked, and they all knew that.
Jimmy’s grave was dug within hours, Scott on his hands and knees as he clawed dirt out of the ground to create a hole. There was no body to bury, instead, Scott placed a single, withered poppy in the cool dirt. One he had been hoping would never have to return to the Earth again.
Scar had watched him the whole time, standing at the burnt down walls of the hobbits area. The normally chatty man had fallen silent in that moment, the grip on his bow making his grey knuckles white.
The air was quiet, save for the soft sniffle that came from Scott as he buried the poppy beneath the dirt. The task in itself took no more than fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity until Scott was done.