#AND NO I DID NOT NOTICE THE YELLOW ON THE PANTS OF THE OTHER PEACEKEEPERS

[anxiousanteaterr]

I'm working on a redesign for the Peacekeeper's uniform, so ofc Noble has to be the first one to wear it. Looking at his sprites and i just realized the yellow band on his pants are... yellow bands on his pants. I thought he was wearing shorts.

I've spent YEARS playing this game and rolling with the assumption that Noble was wandering around in shorts and had already begun to incorporate it into the new uniform design. Hate. Rage.

[babblydrabbly]

Distracted (Peacemaker x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Peacemaker x F!Reader; Brief Javelin x Reader

Characters: Peacemaker/Christopher Smith, Amanda Waller, Javelin

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warning(s): Smut, language, mentions of blood/violence. Choking, cream pie, semi-rough sex.

Summary: Out on a Task Force X mission, Peacemaker notices you're acting... different. He generously offers to help with what's distracting you. Asshole.

A/N: What's this? Baby's first Peacemaker fic? Takes place before The Suicide Squad (2021). Metahuman!Reader has super strength/speed abilities. Also, what kind of vanilla name is Chris Smith.

---

"Again?"

Amanda Waller arched a brow at your perturbed expression.

"My apologies." She droned. "Am I not stimulating you with enough variety, [L/n]?"

You scoffed, folding your arms in deference. It wasn't about that— It was about the deliberately repeated pairings with Christopher Smith. The dynamic that was becoming a pattern. You never would have worked with someone like Peacemaker on the outside. As much as you appreciated the job always getting done with him, you still bumped heads with him too much on the way to the finish line. He was frustratingly serious and flippant at the same time.

You decided to shut your trap before Waller decided she didn't need you anymore.

"You've got one skillset useful to me, [L/n]. I suggest you get used to the prospect of being paired up with Smith on a regular basis— While you're still around."

You nodded when she dismissed you. You had gotten used to it. You were seeing so much of Peacekeeper you were practically partners.

So, you pointedly sat to next the one called Javelin on the helicopter out of Belle Reve, as far away from Smith as possible. You were about to spend over twelve hours with him— It didn't have to start right away. While Colonel Flag gave you all the spiel on the mission, you glanced over and saw Javelin toss you a nod.

"You're Team B," The thrower noted over the whir of the helicopter. "[L/n], yes?"

"Yeah," you said. Your eyes flitted over the muscular squad member. He looked more like a superhero in his light blue and yellow get-up than the rest of you. You personally kept the lower half of your face covered with a black hard shell mask— Your armor from before you were incarcerated (Yes, you've heard the 'Baby Bane' jokes from the others). Even if you had to get used to working with a bunch of weirdos, you could at least conceal your face from them while you did it.

"You move very swiftly." He complimented, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to take that.

"Thanks," You tried, "I like your... weapon of choice?"

Javelin held his namesake in his arms, his legs spread wide to accommodate it as he rested it against his inner thigh. The innuendo normally would have had you rolling your eyes, but today they lingered, and you wondered if he still looked as broad and muscular without the suit on.

You frowned. Without the suit on?

Were you still staring down at his thighs?

You supposed he was a goddamn Olympic athlete at one point. And prison didn't seem to stop him from his regimen. —There it was again. You blinked and looked away, thankful nobody seemed to notice. Javelin seemed content with the brief introduction, so you left it at that.

Okay, so maybe it had been awhile since you...

You reprimanded yourself. These were not recreational outings. As much as you liked feeling free every once in awhile, you were never in a position to consider doing something so stupid. The last few missions were some of the closest calls you had while on the task force, but now that your job today was more about recon, you could at least let your mind wander to the less... imperative things. You crossed your legs at the ankles in front of you and let mind drift for the rest of the trip.

But christ had prison been rough. And a little boring. You didn’t have to think about Javelin moving closer to you for long— Pressing up flush against you— Before you were imagining yourself against a wall— Hell, right here on this bench— hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You pictured him going for two, three rounds, that stupid suit lying on the floor with your back on top of it. You pictured him going down on you too, a handful of his wavy blonde hair in your grasp as you pressed your thighs around his ears. You swallowed behind the mask, glad it was there to hide your face.

You get dropped off an isolated point a few klicks outside the target area, the rest of the team traveling further in to handle the bulk of the mission. You lug some extra equipment in a canvas bag— Guns, surveillance tech— already annoyed by the heat.

The heat of the jungle. Definitely not the heat you'd been feeling in the helicopter. You walked a half mile in total silence just trying to focus on the mission again.

"What's got your tactical suit in a twist?" Smith finally uttered as you got to your destination. You almost forgot he had dropped down the rope onto the ground after you. He stood out against the green around you in his obnoxious red shirt and white pants.

"Nothing." You lied, and you could tell from under his helmet that Peacemaker thought you were full of shit today. Great.

You set up inside a small building— An outpost long abandoned. Whatever organization you were taking down for Waller, they clearly had to downsize over the years. You kicked open the metal door, sending it flying off its hinges. Smith entered first, clearing all the rooms before you joined him. Upstairs, you begin setting up the equipment together. Peacemaker started with standing up a rifle by the window, aiming it at the road below.

You fiddled with a tablet; You went downstairs to put a sensor on the door frame and on the rusted gate blocking the road outside. They were supposed to warn you when any vehicles were approaching, but when you came back up, it lost signal. You did this twice; You batted at the little screen, vexed. There were probably signal jammers over at the main compound that could still reach all the way out here. You thought about how Team A was doing— So inevitably, your thoughts drifted back to the damn Javelin guy.

"Jesus!" You snapped. You were grateful when you didn't break the small screen in half with your strength.

"Okay. What the fuck is wrong." Came Peacemaker's voice from across the room. You stood there without turning around. You took a breath, tossed the tablet onto the bag at your feet.

"Nothing is wrong, Smith. Fuck off." You said. You reached up and unclipped your vest. Beneath it, you felt the cool air of the shelter hit your jumpsuit. You tossed the vest on the floor, then turned around. "When are they supposed to get here?"

He quirked a brow, as if proving his point. Since when didn't you remember the mission details? Rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking you were slipping you waved your own question away.

"God, never mind."

He scoffed. You watched him remove his helmet and gloves, setting them down carefully next to his own pack. He'd made his own area across the room from yours, another tablet showing him a view of the road propped up against the wall. Smith took a seat on the floor; The two of you were going to have to play the waiting game now.

In silence. The thought made you pinch the bridge of your nose right above where your mask stopped.

"You know, I've been at Belle Reve for four years now." You finally relented. You leaned back against your wall, folding your arms over your chest.

"Yeah? So?" Smith retorted. You rolled your eyes.

"So," God— You were really confiding in Christopher Smith. That's what it was coming down to. "I haven't had sex in four years. It's... not a big deal— Nothing's wrong. That's just what I was annoyed about earlier, you know? Consider me over it."

"That why you were ogling the Javelin in the copter today?"

Shit. Shit!

You dropped your arms. "You piece of garbage. You saw that?"

"I'm garbage? You're the one sexually harassing our fellow teammates with your eyes."

"I was not sexually— Nope. I'm done. You're ridiculous." You said. You reached down and went back to your tablet, busying yourself with it idly.

Peacemaker did the same. From the corner of your eye, you just knew he was doing it smugly.

"You know," He said after a few minutes, "If that's all you're bitching about, we can just get it over with."

"Excuse me?"

"You and me. Target's not coming in for another six hours, by the way. You don't need that much time do you, 'four-years-dry'?"

You stared at him from across the room. When you didn't reply, Peacemaker set his screen down so damn casually you consider just shooting yourself in the head.

"You're off your game. I'm not going to let you compromise our objective."

You threw your hands up. "There it is. You're like a broken record."

"What? Am I fucking wrong?"

"No, you're fucking crazy."

"Get over here." Smith instructed in a low voice.

The words shot up your spine, sending a very mixed signal to your brain. Directly across from you, Peacemaker was pinning you with an expectant look— One that was clearly a challenge. It pissed you off.

It was the look he used when he said you couldn't rip a guy's spine right out of his back— It dared you. And when you did succeed, you would shoot him an equally smug look in return. Your back and forths were always crass, always a test of who would back down.

You weren't normally so brutal when you worked alone, but something about Peacemaker brought it out of you. Whenever you were paired together, it was like your powers weren't something you had to hold back. They were something he was always prodding you to embrace. The jabs, the snark— It made you want to punch him in the face.

Standing up, you crossed the room. Smith didn't move as you stepped over his legs, as you leaned down to straddle his waiting lap. He simply watched you shift around until you're comfortably seated, your hands resting on his shoulders. He moved to place his own on your thighs but didn't do anything more.

"Well?" You said.

He shrugged, "Your call."

"What am I gonna do? Dry hump you?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fuck."

Finally, you reached up, unclipping the back of your mask.

"Whoa, wait—" He started, finally reacting to this ridiculous situation, but you already had it off, in your hand.

"I—" He stared at you. You shifted, feeling nervous as you stared back. It occurred to you that you'd never seen him shocked before.

He blinked. "I've never seen your whole face before."

That wasn't true— was it? You tried to think. "What about in Cuba? We camped out for like three days. I had to take it off to eat at least."

"I didn't look."

"You didn't look."

"I don't fucking know! You wear that fucking thing everywhere. When you took it off to eat I assumed you didn't want me looking."

"Wow. How courteous."

"Fuck you."

"Well, isn't that what we're doing here?" You said, putting your hands on your hips stubbornly. Smith's were still resting on your splayed thighs.

"I can't wear this when we— How am I supposed to...?"

He snorted softly, "Don't tell me you're a romantic, [L/n]."

Nothing about this seemed romantic. Least of all with him. Still, if you were going to take the opportunity, you were going to do it your way. You looked him over.

He had a few tufts sticking out from wearing his damn helmet earlier. You reached up and brushed some of it back into place at his temple first. Smith blinked up at you, his brows pinching together.

"This okay?" You heard yourself asking him. He eventually nodded once, watching you as you placed your palm on the side of his face. Finally, you leaned down and caught his lips with yours in a long kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to know his reaction.

But you felt him return it. Slowly at first— Then he was kissing you back. You moaned somewhere in the back of your throat as he ran his large hands up and down your legs, his fingers folding to grip your ass tightly. You were already reacting, already so touched starved. His lips parted, and you felt him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, over the front of your teeth. You opened for him, your tongue darting out to meet his hungrily.

You tugged at the front of his uniform. Without a word he reached down to pull it up over his head, the fabric dropping off somewhere beside you. You glanced down at his bare chest. You ran your hands over it, dragged your nails down his pecs experimentally. When you looked back up he was still watching you.

Your mouths crashed to meet again, this time with a fervor that threatened to split your bottom lip with every bruising kiss. You felt his hands on you again, pressing into your sides, your waist. He didn't move to take off your clothes, so you drew your hands to your own chest, pulled the zipper of your suit all the way down to your stomach.

He took the invitation, and you gasped when he roughly reaches in and cups a hand around your breast; He kneaded it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. His other hand worked at your shoulder, yanking the rest of your suit off of you. You reached back and tugged the sleeves off, finally exposing your upper body.

You felt the clasp at your back come undone, and Smith was tearing your bra off next. A muscular arm came around to scoop you up by the waist, bringing your chest closer to him. He leaned down, took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Smith—" He bit you roughly, and it sent a shock of electricity up you. He palmed your other breast again, tweaked at your nipple until your back was arching into his touch. You squeezed your thighs around him.

Then he was back in your face again, bruising a kiss against your lips as you took a breath. Your eyes flew open when you felt the press of his fingers to your mouth. You shot a look at him, but didn't object when he pushed his index and middle fingers past your lips. You sucked them hungrily, your eyes fluttering shut again.

"Fuck," Peacemaker murmured, feeling your tongue swirl around the digits. You slurped sloppily until they were soaked, until he was pulling them back out with a light pop. He brought his hand down to the base of your suit, where the zipper stopped just above your pelvis. A pair of black panties peaked out from the V shape there, the same shade and material as your bra. You gasped when Smith finally pushed down past the layer of cotton, gripped his bare shoulders when you felt his wet fingers dip right into your cunt.

"Fuck," He said again, because you didn't need any help down there. "You're so fucking wet."

You expected to feel humiliation— To hear a joke about how it really had been while. But all you felt were his warm, thick fingers; He ran them up and down your slit, pressed them in small circles around the peak of you a few times. You cursed, your head falling back. Smith leaned up to kiss your throat, teeth dragging across the base of your collarbone. He bit you some more, daring to take your meta-human skin between his teeth. You cried out, your arm reaching to wrap around his head in pleasure.

Smith slid his fingers up into your pussy. He crooked them, scissoring them inside you. Your hips bucked, unable to resist meeting his short thrusts. You felt him grin against your neck. "Damn, baby."

"Shut up." You whispered, letting your hips rolling down to fuck yourself on his fingers some more. When he slipped in a third you moan loudly.

"Fuck! Fuck me." You demanded, yanking the short hair at the back of his head. A groan left Smith's lips, his head jerking back. Quickly, he removed his hand from your suit, pulling the rest of your clothes further down your waist. You lifted yourself off him, but Smith didn't wait. He picked you up and lifted you both off the floor. You grabbed at him as he laid you down on your back, his body between your legs. Then he was ripping off the last of your suit, tearing your boots off.

"Watch it," You snapped— If he fucking ripped anything you—

"Oh please." He huffed, and your thoughts stopped in their tracks as you watched him lean back on his knees above you, undoing his white pants. His cock sprang free from a pair of just as white underwear, his arousal already thick and ready. You stopped yourself from expressing how the sight of him made you even wetter.

He took a moment to drink in your face, a hint of that smug smirk forming. You growled, pulling him down by the neck again before he ruined the moment with speaking. Smith caught your lips again, his hand running down your naked body. He gripped one of your legs and nudges them apart, planting his knees between you.

Despite his earlier preparation, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock pushing inside you. You groaned as he entered you, your walls stretching around his length. Your back arched as you took him in, eyes rolling a little into the back of your head.

"Fuck— Chris—" You shuttered. His hands squeezed your thighs at the sound of his name leaving you. You heard his breath shake, his hips remaining utterly still as you got used to the size of him. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see him waiting for you; You nodded once, another moaning already escaping in anticipation.

It was like a brick wall knocking into you. Smith didn't hold back as he began fucking you— Knew you could take it— what with your powers and all. The idea seemed to drive him, and he began hammering into you, his hands moving to bracket your hips so he could fuck you better. Faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Fuck— You couldn't think. You arched up off of the floor as you rolled your hips to meet Smith's. It felt like he could keep up this pace forever the way he wasn't stopping. Your breathing turned to panting, a high whine escaping you when he shifts just right— he picked you up again. You arched up into his arms, holding yourself up from around his neck as he fucked up into your soaking cunt. You bounced on his cock, a sheen of sweat blooming across your skin.

When you opened your eyes, Smith was still watching you intently— witnessing every little expression on your face while he fucked you. You could hardly discern what he was thinking. All you could focus on was him ramming you, the feeling of his cock hitting and stretching you out.

“Choke me.” He said, and you have just enough wherewithal to oblige. You wrapped your hand around his throat, pressing firmly on either side. You felt the tightness of his skin shifting under your touch. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in time with his rough thrusts. The strength of your grip was a little vice tipping Smith over the edge.

The look on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing sends a jolt up you. You used your other hand to slip two fingers down between your folds. They found your clit, making quick work of bringing you to close to climaxing. You shuttered as you felt the tight coil of it building. Finally, with a cry you were coming, squeezing your legs around him as your hips rolling through every wave of it. Smith groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm until your walls were fluttering from the unrelenting stimulation.

“Going to—“ He warned, and you squeezed the hand around his throat harder, making his eyes roll up. You whimpered as you feel the hot spurt of him fill you, his hips finally locking as he pumped you with his cum.

You both took a moment to catch your breath, your hand releasing from Smith’s neck so he could take in a long gasp. His skin was reddened along his throat and chest. You saw the beginnings of your handprint bruising around his Adam's apple, your fingers a mark on his skin. You hung onto him like that, your arms back around his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck.” You finally said. Out of habit, you checked your watch to assess where you were on the mission. He took your chin in his hand, drawing your eyes back up to him. You saw that his hair had fallen back into his eyes, his face glistening with sweat.

“I’m not done with you.” He said. It sent a shiver through you. You felt your walls flutter again, some of his cum leaking out with his half-hard cock still firm inside you. You gasped as he pulled you off of him, guiding you down until you were turning around on all fours on the floor. You glanced over your shoulder, already craving the feeling of him filling you up with his cock again.

And fuck it, you two do take the whole six hours.

[laughing-with-god]

Quarter Quell II

Yandere Jungkook, Hunger Games AU

Warnings; gore, death, yandere behavior, killing, strong language, kids murdering other kids, male on female violence (special trigger warning: if you have suffered abuse or are extremely sensitive to like-mannered scenes I want to take a moment to warn you that there is certain scenes in which male tributes will hurt and overpower other female tributes. If this will trigger you, please refrain from reading and I apologize beforehand.)

Words; 12.8k

The Capitol of Panem maintains its’ hold on it’s 12 districts by forcing them each to select a boy and a girl, called Tributes, to compete in a nationally televised event called the Hunger Games.  Every citizen must watch as the youths fight to the death until only one remains.

The end had arrived.

Faintly, in the back of your mind, you could hear a doomful melody accompany your death march.  Hauntingly beautiful bells and strings swam in your consciousness, making the awfully bleak scene even more gothically tragic.  A personalized soundtrack for your promised annihilation.

On either side of you was a peacekeeper, each of them holding a gun to ensure your spineless obedience.

You followed them silently...wordlessly...mindlessly.

The sound of footsteps echoed in your ears as they bounced off the surface of the concrete walls.  They guided you deeper into the grey, sterile and fluorescent-lighted corridor. Each pace forward only further locked in your fate. And as a slave to ruthless destiny, you continued onward.  

You were marching to your death.  

Yet, you felt no anger.

No fear.

Not even a lick of grief or pity entertained your empty mind as you followed the path of your own demise.  

Your body had gone into a semi-shock, not allowing you to fully grasp the severity of the situation in hopes of postponing a mental breakdown.  All functions had suddenly gone numb, protecting you from the wrath of panic that would thunder upon you if you focused too closely on this dire moment.  You welcomed this sensation and allowed it to coax you into a zombie-like state, even if this tranquility was phony you still willingly clung to it.  

Perhaps the reason for your lack of reaction was due to an acceptance of death.  You held the benevolence of a queen approaching the guillotine, if nothing could change your sentence than the least you could do is hold your head up and never let them see you break.  

You kept the charade up until the peacekeepers halted beside a door marked ‘10 F’.  

Your breath hitched.  

One of them then reached over to open it, the other grasped one of his gloved hands onto your arm to hold you in place, somehow expecting a fight, before shoving you into the room.  

It was the resounding slam of the door that finally cracked your resolve.  

Tears began to well in your eyes as you observed the last room you’d ever see before the hellish arena.  

It was small, as to be expected.  White tile lined not only the floor but also the walls, the bright lighting reflected off of them and almost blinded you in the process.  In the center of the room was a metal table, sat upon it was the tribute wear. Dark grey camo pants lined with utility pockets, a tight black tank top, and a blue windbreaker-like jacket.  To top it all off, a pair of black combat boots sat on the floor next to the table.

The outfit you would die in.  

You choked back a sob as the postponed sadness made it’s belated arrival.  

It seeped in like a flood does to a house with a weak foundation.  The sticky and awfully heavy dread took its’ time peeling away the decaying layer of denial with steady ease.  Then, it clung to your bones…. melting itself further and further until it eventually made its’ way to your core and wrapped itself around it.  

You suddenly couldn’t breathe.  

The air had evaporated before it could reach your desperate lungs.  Replacing it was the icy shock of terror as it consumed every fiber of your being.  In response, your chest began to heave up and down as your body began a hyperventilation process in search of more oxygen.  

“I-I’m too young to die.”  your broken whisper barely penetrated the pathetic whimpers and wheezes your body was also making.  

Out of nowhere, a tiny spark of anger ignited within you.  Anger at who, you did not know. But you felt an unfairness like no other in that moment.  You felt robbed of basic humane rights, such as living your life up till it’s natural and uneventful end.  Why? Why cut your life so short? You never thought of yourself as young but goddammit, you didn’t think your teenage years were enough to be called a ‘full life’.  How heartless were people to look at the youth in the tributes and demand such short lives of potential to be cut even shorter?  

“Dearie, what good would crying do at this point?”  A purring yet somehow also grutal voice called out from behind you, breaking your inner dialogue of misery.  

You turned to face your designer in all her capitol glory.  

Her name fit her in the most pretentious way.  They called her Topaz, and her bronze skin, that was always pressed with expensive Capitol body oils, resembled the characteristics of the infamous gemstone.  To compliment this coco complexion, she often wore gold makeup with green or yellow dresses that flowed behind her tall amazon body. Her black curls were always flowing freely, sometimes with a crown on her head to feed the superiority complex she without a doubt had.  

But today she toned it down for the seriousness of the occasion.  

Her figure-hugging dress was black, as if to attend your pseudo funeral because you sure as hell weren’t getting one after this.  Her curls were tied up into a tight bun to further emphasize her slender and bare face that was free of any noticeable makeup besides and odd golden-glittery lipstick.  

“I know you must be very scared, but we only have a few minutes to get you ready.”  She placed a hand on your shoulder whilst shooting you a soft and barely sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach those amber orbs of hers.  Then rather roughly, she proceeded to guide you to the table and gestured for you to take your clothes off.  

Such invasion of privacy would be uncustom if she had not waxed your entire naked body and hosed it down the minute you entered the capitol.  

Slowly, you peeled away your casual outfit as Topaz eagerly handed you the tribute one, bit by bit.  

It was awkward, tense and additionally pathetic with the occasional sounds of your sniffles and continuous streaming of tears.  All the while she eyed you with this soulless blank stare that unnerved your already high-strung nerves. You briefly wondered how many times she did this exact ritual.  How many kids from your home district did she watch break down and dress in the clothes they’d eventually be slaughtered in? Did she also smile at them and offer forged empathy, pretending to understand what it was that they were going through in their last moments...as if she wouldn’t return back to some Capitol cafeteria and eat a luxurious brunch whilst watching the bloodbath that would unfold.

Instantly you got a wave of nausea.  

How was it that both you and this woman were both species of the same human race, with beating hearts, souls and brains yet one could turn so corrupt while you ended up with the fate of a mere prey?  Was even a tiny molecule of her guilty for the kids she looked in the eye before sending them to their premature deaths?  

You avoided her gaze with a new sense of disgust and focused on zipping up your jacket.  

“Don’t forget the boots.”  Topaz added before reaching down to grab them and hand them to you.  You took them wordlessly and knelt down to put them on. Whilst you were doing this, your designer apparently felt the need to lighten the dark aura around you with some ‘comforting’ words. “You know Y/n, you’re actually quite lucky that you’re playing this Quell.  No weapons means no bloodbath. The first ten minutes of most games are the deadliest but that can’t really be said with this one. I doubt there’s even going to be a Cornucopia.”  

Oddly enough, this was indeed slightly soothing.  Although you felt very offended that she dare call you ‘lucky’, she did have a point. No weapons meant that there wouldn’t be a race to get them, and the first ones to get their hands on them couldn’t turn and attack the others.  That should at least buy you enough time to slip away and find cover, if no one bigger decides to gang up on you.  

Suddenly you got a flash in your minds’ eye of a certain black-eyed career who made his infatuation with you all too known.

You physically flinched at the prospect of Two getting his hands on you the first thing in the game.  

All you could do was pray that the gamemakers took mercy on you and didn’t station him too close.

Blearily, you stood back up and looked towards the corner of the room to spot the item that would eventually spit you up into the arena.  It was a glass tube, nothing spectacular about it. But you knew the moment you would step in it, the rounded glass doors would envelop shut and trap you in.  You stood there for a minute, staring at it as if your stare could eventually burn right through it if you truly tried.  

But alas you were without luck or fortune.  

“It’s about time, Y/n.”

The ominous words were enough to stop the beating of your heart.  

A pitiful and begging voice began a mantra in your head, ‘I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t wan-’

A nudge was given to your back and successfully shoved you closer to the tube.  Goosebumps raised on the surface of your skin and the instinct to dry heave became too much to bear.  

Topaz continued pushing you further and further, until you were at the edge of the object and a mere inch away from being in it.  Your body had frozen stiff in attempt to plant yourself to the ground, but it sadly wasn’t enough to alter your fate.  

With one more final shove, you were in the tube.  

Topaz was half in and half out of the cylinder, her hands on your shoulders and her chin by your shoulder to whisper her last version of ‘break a leg’.  

“If you win this, I’ll personally buy you a name-brand dress.” You could practically hear her proud smirk as she said this.  “Good luck, hun.”  

The audacity was enough to make you whip around in preparation to slap that smug smile off her face.  Was the need to live not enough motivation? Did she think that hanging an expensive piece of cloth over your head would be the push you needed to survive?  How fucking dare she-

You opened your mouth to holler and even raised a hand, but when you fully turned around the glass doors had enveloped shut and Topaz was on the other side of it, waving ‘bye’ in a content manner.  

Your jaw dropped in horror as you heard an odd ‘whoosh’ sound occur from above you.  

You looked up to see that the roof of the tube had slip open.  

Right above it was the arena…. waiting for you with the utmost promise of lost innocence and bloodshed.  

Your heart and breathing began to accelerate as you felt the pedestal beneath you begin to slowly rise, bringing you closer and closer to the top.  

Closer.

Closer.

And closer.

You clenched your eyes shut and tried to soothe this upcoming panic attack that was looming over the horizon of your sanity.  

You took a deep breath and attempted to rationalize.

Blurry memories of previous games fogged up in your mind like some sort of warning.  Images of shell-shocked tributes in the throes of denial who would stay frozen during the opening of the game, unable to fully process their situation….they were usually the first to go.  

You couldn’t let that happen to you.  

‘Calm down, the first minutes of the game are detrimental.  If you freak out now and stall, you’ll miss your chance to escape.’  You thought to yourself.

As awful as it was, you were in this game for better or worse.  No time could be saved for moping, survival mode had to be switched on now or never.  From here on out, you would have to think like an animal and solely focus on methods to outrun the predators.  Humanity had to be abandoned.  

The pedestal stopped rising, letting you know that you were now fully in the arena.  

You swallowed, whether it was to help your mouth that suddenly gone dry or to keep the bile at bay you did not know.  

The temperature around you was cool, yet also somehow humid and damp. Your nose took in a voluntary sniff and discovered a scent of must, earth and...mold?  

You opened your eyes to behold the 100th Annual Hunger Games arena.

You were underground, all around you were gigantic rocky caverns.  It was similar to a dome, except the walls in which you were enveloped were ridgy and a hundred feet high.  There was also smaller tunnels at the edges of the arenas’ center in which the tributes were located. They were so huge and abyssal that one felt like an ant standing in the middle of it all.  Everything was dark due to no natural lighting beyond the small cracks in the rocks above that allowed very little sun to seep through.

You looked around in awe.  

The arena was a series of underground caves.  

You would’ve preferred a forest or a jungle.  At least then there would be more chances for food and water.  But you supposed you should’ve been grateful that it wasn’t an arctic habitat or a desert one.  

You quickly turned your attention to the other tributes.  

As custom, you were all aligned in a giant circle.  The closest kids to you were still ten or so feet away.  You noted with relief that you couldn’t make out Jungkook anywhere near you.  But to be fair, it was hard to make out anyone in such dim lighting. But from what you could tell it was the boy from Four and the girl from Nine stationed on either side of you.  

Unlike any other games, there wasn’t a Cornucopia to behold.  

All you could see was an orange, hologram number ‘10’ floating about 50 feet in the center of the circle of tributes.  

A robotic voice thundered the arena with a chilling, “Welcome to the 100th annual Hunger Games.  May the odds be ever in your favor. We begin in 10…”

The holdram morphed into a 9 to symbolize the beginning of a countdown.

“9.”

“8.”

“7.”

“6.”

“5.”

“4.”

“3.”

“2.”

“1.”

The sound of a cannon shot through the silence as the hologram instantly depleted into nothingness.  The sound so chilling, especially when you know that the cannon would be the first of many.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you flew off of your pedestal like a bat out of hell.  

You threw your body in the opposite direction of the circle, rushing outwards in hopes to seek cover in one of the smaller tunnels and worm your way far from all the other tributes

You heard yelling and the sounds of wrestling or tussling, but you refused to look back to witness the unraveling of any tribute-on-tribute amicability.  You briefly just hoped that Chenle and Taehyung were agile enough to get away without any trouble.  

Your boots hitting the rocky ground was the only sensation you allowed yourself to focus on, along with the sight of a medium sized cavern that you had your sights set on and were running towards.  Your heart was beating so fast it would’ve been a medical mystery how it didn’t burst out of your chest, but you only had one instinct to escape. If luck was on your side, the tunnel wouldn’t be a dead end and could eventually lead you into another one.  

You were about 15 feet away from entering the cave when something caught around your ankle, causing you to fall face first with your arms barely coming out in time to catch the brunt of the fall.  When you were fully on the ground, something heavy and strong began to straddle your hips, successfully pinning you down.  

You looked up to see the boy from Four.

He smirked down at you, his sun kissed skin glowing eerily in the dim lighting of the cave.  

You didn’t know if he was a career or not, but he was a strong tribute that scored well during the personal assessment and wasn’t one to be messed with. You don’t recall doing anything to offend 4, so to say you were confused would be an understatement. The way he glared down at you was terrifying and implied some sort of personal vendetta.  

“Get that scared shitless look off your face, doll.  I’m not gonna hurt you.” He laughed humorlessly in response to your pathetic squirms.  “You see, Two demanded that we try to get you first thing in this game. You’re kinda my meal ticket into that career alliance.”

Your heart only raced faster, finding no assurance in his promise to not hurt you.  

Fuck, he was one of Jungkook’s little foot soldiers and was planning to use you as some sort of trading piece.  You now felt so foolish for assuming that Jungkook would be your only problem, his allies would be gunning you down as well.  

You began to thrash wildly out of fear, desperate to get him off you knowing that his plans would lead to a fate worse than death.  Panicking, you began to plead for your freedom. “Please, you don’t understand! Jungkook is lying! There’s nothing going on between us!”  

Four just stared down at you blankly before rolling his dark eyes and pinning your arms above your head.  

You suddenly went limp as tears began to stream down your face.  You looked around you and saw that most if not all tributes were making a mad dash to the hidden caves, no one stopping to help you or pay you any mind in favor of saving their own asses.  

Four was huge and if he didn’t want you to get up, then you weren’t getting up. You had a better chance of melting into the very ground beneath you than fighting him off.  

The tanned boy smiled in response to your now powerless form, all too grateful to see your cooperation and lack of hope.  “There’s a good girl. Now-”

A loud ‘crack’ sounded, prematurely cutting him off.  

Four’s eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head before his entire body slumped forward.  

A black haired, tall, pale but sturdy boy stood behind Four.  He was holding up a rock and you concluded fairly quickly that it was he who smashed it into the back of four’s head.  Your lungs began to hyperventilate, not knowing if he was going to use that same rock to bash your head in next. His dark eyes drank you in, noting your panic and seeming to scoff at the display, oddly unimpressed by it.  The boy then dropped the make-shift weapon before breaking into a sprint.  

As he passed you, he yelled one thing.  “Run, you idiot!”  

Those were apparently the magic words you needed to hear.  They snapped you into action as you hurriedly scrambled out from underneath Four’s heavy but unconscious form to continue your journey into the tunnel.  

One thought stayed with you all the while, long after you made it into the dark, empty but safe cave.  

Why did 12 bother saving you?   --

Part two

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears.  I don’t care about any of them.” -Finnick Odair, Victor of 65th Annual Hunger Games.  

The cave was very small, you found it after running into a large tunnel, taking multiple random turns and searching very hard to find a hidden little hole that was closed off by some large boulders.  It was so tiny that one had to army-crawl to get in, but you liked it that way.  This meant that you weren’t out in the open, that you were so well hidden that tributes would walk past it without knowing you were even there.  

It was a cramped but perfect little hide-out, you barely had enough space to cross your legs and rest against the wall but you didn’t mind.  At least you felt safe.  So thus you sat in pitch-black darkness and listened closely to the sounds of your breathing echoing back to you in the intimate little spot you now called home.  

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on calming down.  

The adrenaline was still running through you like some sort of drug, the hairs on your arms stood stubbornly and your chest continued to heave up and down with a sense of pending doom.  Your body wasn’t allowing you to relax, somehow still expecting a surprise attack and not wishing to fully give into tranquility.  You had to pull a mind over matter and trick yourself into not having another anxiety attack, which is very hard to do in the middle of an arena.  

If your sense of time was correct, the game had been on for about 20-30 minutes.  

Meaning, the canons were scheduled to go off any minute now.   Usually after people scrambled from the bloodbath and the careers did their killing, the gamemakers would sound off all the canons at once.  This only happens on the first day though, after the first day the canons would trigger instantly when someone dies. But since most deaths occurred on the first day and happened all in quick succession during the bloodbath, it suited both the tributes and viewers well to count the canons after everything had calmed down.  

As if reading your mind, a booming sound pierced the fragile blanket of silence.

The sound was thundering and vibrated the entire arena, or maybe it was just your mind that perceived it that way due to your current circumstances.  Nonetheless, it was terrifying.  Especially when one keeps in mind that one cannon symbolizes one childs’ life cut short.  

They began to trigger, one by one.

“One.”  You counted to yourself.  “Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.”  

The series of cannons suddenly halted and bled into another irksome silence.  

Six…

Six lives lost just a meer half hour ago.  

Six lives that could’ve been you….but weren’t.  

A montage of all the tributes suddenly ran through your head, taunting you as you couldn’t help the famished hunger to know who died that burned through your chest.  Was it Taehyung?  Was it Chenle?  Did the boy from Four survive the blow to the head?  Did ‘god’ really answer your prayers and killed some of the career pack?  Maybe even, dare you say it, Jungkook himself?

Your heart raced faster as you shook your head, not liking where your train of thought was going and the added affect it had on your body.  Your attempted to rationalize with yourself, you could wait until tonight to see the faces of the fallen tributes via the hologram update that happened every night.  You would just have to wait until then, you wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by going crazy with worry now.  

Instead you decided to do some mental math.  Twenty four minus six equates to eighteen 

Eighteen kids were still alive.  One of which was you.  You now had a 1/18th chance of making it out of here.

The feeling was bittersweet.  Because although each trigger of the cannon represented a life lost, it also meant you were that much closer to the end and possibly being the last one to survive.  Maybe you should shift your mentality to one of pessimistic idealism?  Perhaps the key to getting through this was by seeing the good in the bad.  Yes, every death was awful and you’d never condone it.  But, if they were dead anyway then what’s the harm in trying to take their demises as well as possible?  It was always best to think positively, right?  That’s probably how past victors thought, given the mental stability was just as important as the physical stability.  

You remember past games where tributes lost their minds.  One boy from Six even went crazy and started eating the corpses of other dead tributes.  You couldn’t eat meat for a week after watching that. A girl from Eight once went loopy from the freezing cold arena and stripped her clothes off before breaking out in song and dance.  There was also a really old game, probably one of the first ten games, where the arena was a desert and there was no water, you vividly recalled watching a young kid of probably 12 or 13 cut himself just for the sake of lapping up the warm blood.  

You couldn’t allow yourself to fall into that-

Wait, what were you thinking?  

What was wrong with you?  You’d only been in this arena for an hour or so and were already allowing your morals to be compromised if it could buy you some cheap peace of mind.  Of course every death was depressing, no one deserved to play in this game! What was wrong with you?  Why were you almost relieved that kids were dying and putting your chances into a better perspective?

Maybe you and the careers weren’t so different after all….

This conclusion was so bone-chilling and vile that you couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips.  

You quickly concluded that pondering was no longer for you.

Another rule you’d have to adapt; your mind can be your worst enemy in here, best not get lost in your thoughts.  

You suddenly felt awfully exhausted.  Not a type of tired where you’ve been up for a little too long or had just done a tedious amount of physical work, but a type of tired where you simply no longer wanted to be conscious or aware.  Your body felt somehow extremely light but heavy at the same time, your eyelids drooping in insistence for some shut eye.  

But you couldn’t fall asleep just yet.  

If you fell asleep now, then there was a chance that you would miss the fallen tributes segment.  You needed to stay up, if only just to find out if Chenle, Taehyung and Jungkook were still out there.  

For the next few hours, you just sat there.  Blankly staring at nothing and trying to busy yourself with dumb little songs or riddles that you allowed to occupy your mind for the time being.  You never thought you would say this; but when you weren’t fighting for your life and clawing for survival, the games could be rather boring.  It was a ridiculous notion- to be bored in this very vital time period where your life is a stake with every waking moment you spend in this arena.  But it was the truth, there was nothing to do.  

Until, something abruptly halted your colorless daydreams.  

You didn’t know how to describe it.  And to be honest, you felt it more than you heard it.  

The ground beneath you suddenly began to shake with such intense ferocity that you couldn’t help but wonder if it was an earthquake.  Then your ears picked up on the noise; and what awful sounds they were.  

First, it was like a crash that never stopped.  A sudden falling of countless heavy objects, most likely rocks or boulders given the habitat.  It sounded as if they just kept raining down, their heavy mass hurling upon the ground and striking anyone in it’s way.  

Next, the screams followed.  

They were tortured and pained hollers that echoed down the tunnels and vibrated the air around you.  You heard both male and female voices, crying in agony and begging for help in what you could assess was a little less than 20 yards away.  

Your body began to shake as you cupped a hand over your mouth to avoid crying out.  

You were hearing the last wails of young kids who were surely going to die.  

Boiling hot tears streamed down your cheeks in realization on what must’ve happened.  

But, did you dare wander out of your safe cocoon to investigate?  

It wasn’t the smartest choice, but what if one of those desperate shouts belonged to Taehyung or even Chenle?  

With that concerning thought, you were hastily crawling out of your little hideout with little regard for your own safety.  

Once you were out of your miniature cave, you hurriedly snapped your head side to side to see that the tunnel was void of any other tributes.  Knowing you had very little time, you broke into a sprint and followed the direction of the screams.  

As you ran through the dim and mossy cave, you only had one thought running through your mind.  

‘Please don’t let it be them.’  you prayed.  

When you finally reached the site of such mayhem, your stride completely stopped as you lost all strength in your legs due to utter shock.  

You fell to your knees and gagged, the luxurious breakfast you had in the Capitol was seeping its’ way upwards and threatening to make you vomit.  

The sight in front of you was…. grotesque.  

One of the caves had given out and collapsed.

And in result, tributes were crushed.  

Their mangled bodies were twisted inhumanely under such hefty rocks that were now stained ruby red with their blood.  Some of the tributes had eyes budging out of their sockets, along with their tongues due to the numerous amount of pressure that was weighing down on them.  You only saw two bodies, but you heard choked screams of some others that were out of sight.  

But all those cries were ignored by you, your focus solely on one body that was also pinned beneath such monstrous boulders.  

His eyes were shut, face peaceful yet blank and body limp as if boneless.

He almost looked like he was sleeping….but the puddle of blood that dripped from his mouth and onto the ground told you everything you needed to know.  

And if that didn’t, then the cannon that sounded sure did.

Taehyung was gone.  

--

Part Three

“He wasn’t much but...he was from home.”  -Johanna Mason, Victor of 71st Annual Hunger Games.  

You didn’t know how long you’ve been crying.  

But from the way your eyes were practically swollen shut, head pounding ruthlessly and throat dry and scratchy in result of your numerous groans of grief, you could conclude that you must’ve carried out this sob fest for at least a couple hours now.  

The scene of your distract mates’ death was stained to the back of your eyelids, greeting you with gory misery everytime you so much as blinked.  This would obviously cause another round of cries from you and thus began a never-ending cycle.  

Taehyung was dead.

But not just any type of dead.  He was crushed to death and most likely suffered through every single pound of rock that slowly sucked the life out of him.  His body was squished so brutally, as if he was nothing but a small insect for the gamemakers to step on.  

Somehow the nature of his death offended you beyond belief.  

Taehyung wasn’t a loud or overly-sweet person, but he deserved more than to have his life ended like that.  He was quiet, but you knew that beneath his silence lingered a remarkable intelligence and code of honor.  His face was always wearing an aloof expression, but that’s just due to his guarded nature and unwillingness to let anyone see his weaknesses.  He wasn’t the closest to you, but the way he helped you with Jungkook showed his true nature- he had the protective instinct for you that you’d assume an older brother might have.  

Something about his end just didn’t sit right with you.  

Taehyung was gold-skinned from hours upon hours out in the sun, hands calloused from rough labor, he was tall enough to have to peer down at almost everyone he spoke to, body lean but sturdy and voice so deep and grutal that you couldn’t even picture how he must’ve sounded as a pubescent boy.  Taehyung was such a strong figure worthy of respect in your eyes.  

So to see him pale, limp, lifeless and under thousands of pounds worth of debris and rock was….unnerving to say the least.  

How the mighty have fallen.

After you saw Taehyung, you had cried for a minute before vomiting up your breakfast, being unable to stomach the sight and ultimately losing the battle with your stomach.  You were tempted to stay with your District mate until the very end, to wait by his side until the ship would take his body, but the pained groans and cries had seemed to attract other tributes to that area as well.  

You had heard footsteps echo from the tunnel opposite of the scene, across from where you sat next to the corpse of Taehyung.  

It sounded like a group of people, you couldn’t make their words out properly but they sounded curious and were confidently jogging closer and closer to the disaster.  

Somehow you just knew that it was the careers.  

You felt conflicted; you wanted to stay with your counterpart until the very end, but there was only one person in this game who terrified you to your very core.  

District Two’s Jungkook.  

Otherwise known as the head of the career pact.  

And if he spotted you…

Your flight or fight instincts took over.  

You had rushed towards Taehyung and hastily pressed your lips against his forehead, trying not to cringe at how ice-cold his skin was.  

You whispered one thing to him, logically aware that he couldn’t hear it but wishing that his greater conscious would.  

“I’m sorry.”  

Then like that, you quickly turned around and ran as fast as you could back to your little-hide out.  

And here you were hours later; huddled up in your little hole whilst still shaken and miserable.  

One could argue that it was ridiculous to be so sad about his death, given you could count on both hands how many conversations you had with him.  But it was not for someone else to understand; the feeling of losing the one person who originated from the same place as you.  Everyone else in this arena was just a bunch of faceless threats from places beyond your knowing.  Taehyung was the last piece of home you had left, the last person you could fully relate to and to have him ripped away from you so soon...you felt robbed and alienated.

Your last goodbye to him suddenly entered your mind.

You didn’t know what you were sorry to Taehyung for, but you just felt like you needed to say it in that moment.  Maybe you were guilty that you didn’t try harder to become his ally and team up in the arena.  Or maybe you were just sorry that his end had to be like that, that you didn’t get to him sooner. Perhaps even being sorry that you couldn’t stay with his body like you had wanted to.

Yet maybe it was a good thing that he died on the first day.  Some might even say that those who died first were the luckiest...they wouldn’t have the torture of carrying on the game for days on end.  

This stream of thought was prematurely cut short when the Capitols’ anthem suddenly began to echo inside the caves.

You were dreading seeing Taehyung’s face splayed up as a fallen tribute for everyone to see, but you had no choice but to watch and get a full count of who was left.  Reluctantly, you crawled out of your hole so that just your upper half was out, peeking out like a turtle in case there was any other tributes.  

You quickly found the segment projected onto the ridgy walls of the rocky caverns.  Right now it was just the bright blue symbol of the capitol as the trumpets and drums continued to play.  You braced yourself, held your breath and waited...and waited...and waited.  But eventually the anthem just faded out as the symbol remained.  

Your face scrunched up in confusion.  

Had the fallen tributes segment glitched?  Why hadn’t any faces been displayed?  

Out of nowhere, a smooth and deep voice purred over the unseen speakers, almost startling you back into your ‘shell’.  

“Why, I see so many befuddled expressions out there.”  

A gleeful chuckle followed.  

Your eyes widened as you recognized who was speaking to all the tributes.  The only person allowed to make announcements was the one and only head game maker.  And when the head game maker went out of his way to speak to the tributes...well, it was never a good sign.  

“As part of the twist of the Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have decided that knowing your enemy is a huge advantage.  It can be argued that it’s rather generous of the Capitol to allow you such luxury of seeing the fallen every night.”  A brief pause.  “We then wondered how you all would fare if you didn’t know who was alive and who was dead.  So for the first time ever, the fallen tribute tradition has been temporarily...suspended.”  

Your jaw dropped as you slowly but surely realized what was happening.  

They couldn’t, could they?

“Instead, every night we will display a number.  This number will represent how many tributes are still alive.”

Reacting to his words, the capitol’s symbol instantly morphed into a giant number ‘14’.  

The head game maker let out a thoughtful hum.  “Fourteen of you left. Interesting… may the odds be ever in your favor, one out of fourteen isn’t a bad shot when you really think about it.”  The statement shook you to your core, the makers’ soothing and accented voice saying those words was somehow too real for you to handle.  He finally concluded the announcement with one more farewell, a smile being heard in his voice as he finished it all off with a simple; “Goodnight.”  

The display depleted back into nothingness as the speakers cut out with a definite ‘click’.  

If the goal of such announcement was to taunt and rile the tributes, then they achieved this goal rather well.  

A burning itch of irritation bubbled under your skin, your face burning bright red and a random desire to yell out curses to the gamemakers overtook your mind in that very moment.  The audacity to not tell the tributes beforehand, the slimey pettiness to rub it in their faces via an announcement and the offensive “one in fourteen” comment was all too much for you to bear.  You weren’t a violent person by any means, but if given the chance you’d probably bash the head gamemakers’ face in.

You weren’t naive.  

You knew what they were doing.  

This wasn’t planned until later, because if it was part of the original agenda; the tributes would’ve been briefed on it so they could strategize accordingly.  The game makers decided on this later, most likely because they thought it would make better ratings or quicken some tribute-on-tribute story lines.  

But what could’ve made them pull the trigger on something like this-

No way.  

A horrid epiphany struck you as the gears in your aching and groggy mind began to turn.  

Who was the most beloved tribute of this game so far?  

Two.

What was said tribute most vocal about during his interview?  

You.

And who did district four try to obtain you for?

Him.

During his interview it was obvious how wrapped around his finger he had the viewers.  It wasn’t a far stretch to assume that most if not all of the Capitol truly bought into his one-sided romance propaganda.  So, if you were an average viewer of the games and saw that you and Jungkook weren’t together... then maybe it truly would be more entertaining to not have you two know if the other is alive or not.  Did they want to see the ‘secret lovers’ break not knowing if their soulmate was okay or dead?  

On top of that, you could only assume that many tributes were also separated from their District counterparts and were understandably concerned about their partner’s fate.  This was, regrettably, the perfect way to get in their heads and could even be traced back to the quell’s theme of ‘no support system.’  

You hated how evilly brilliant it all was.  

Although it didn’t seem like much, the paranoia didn’t take long to seep in.  Was Chenle still alive?  Did the boy from Twelve make it out?  And most importantly; was Jungkook still out there...looking for you?

Instinctively you crawled back into your little shelter, as if just thinking about him would magically make him materialize in front of you.  

You instead refocused your mind onto the number displayed just seconds before.  

14 people were still alive.  

Earlier, you had counted six cannons.  Which means four people would’ve had to died during the cave collapse, although you didn’t spot every single corpse in favor of mourning over Taehyungs’ specifically.  So all in all, ten children died today.  This left a little more than half of the original tributes left.  

Out of nowhere, the bleak yet bittersweet feeling spiked within you once again.   It was hard to feel any good about the short lives that were ended unfairly, yet if the games kept going at this pace then the whole nightmare showed signs of being be over sooner rather than later.  This thought lead into another question; how come so many died today?  

Natural diasters weren’t uncommon and they were obviously simulations created by the gamemakers.  They usually happened within the second half of the games though, when deaths were slowing down and the viewing experience became a little too boring for the Capitols’ taste.  So how come they chose to start off with a disaster right away?  

It was terrifying and worth concern for everyone, especially when considering that tributes could do nothing to combat them if the gamemakers just chose to have a volcano erupt near you or something like that.  When you think about it, anyone could’ve been in Taehyung’s place.  It was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time.  Luck was a bigger theme than odds were.  How hypocritical of them to say may the odds be in our favor when they’re the ones constantly manipulating them against us?  

You sighed and tried to rest comfortably against the wall of your little cave.  

You decided to just conclude that they must’ve made the cave collapse to make up for the lack of blood bath deaths.  It was the only explanation that made sense.  In other games with a Cornucopia and weapons, so much as 10 or 13 tributes would die trying to obtain supplies.  Obviously this couldn’t have been done with no weapons to fight over and most tributes just scattering away this time.  The gamemakers must’ve brainstormed other ways to up the death count and decided on collapsing part of the arena.  

You just hoped that tomorrow would be more bearable than today was.  

You hugged your jacket closer to your from after zipping it all the way up and buttoning it for good measure.  You didn’t know much about caves, but you figured that they most likely got really cold at night.  

You were weary with exhaustion, all the running and crying had drained a significant amount of energy from you.  Part of you wanted to stay up all night and be on the lookout for any other tributes, but it wouldn’t be realistic nor smart to begin a cycle of sleep deprivation this early in the game.  You would have to set your paranoia aside for some much needed rest.

You allowed your eyelids to fall as you tried to steady your breathing.  

A few minutes passed and the ever comforting rem cycle was not too far away from you, yet your nose suddenly twitched at a foreign smell, bringing you out of the lulling state.  

A gentle yet heavy scent of lavender and cinnamon overpowered your senses, startling you and causing you to open your eyes to investigate.  

You couldn’t see anything due to how dark it was in your hide-out, but the aura was only growing more and more potent every passing second.  Weirdly enough, your body was growing limp and relaxed although your mind was panicking and racing for some sort of explanation.  

You cupped a hand over your mouth and nose, suspecting that this odd fragrance was the cause.  

You hurriedly tried to crawl out of your nook, the task being difficult with just one hand available to you.  But when you finally made it out, you saw what was truly occurring.  

You felt like a bucket of ice was dropped onto you as you quickly caught onto what was happening.

The barren tunnel was seeping out some sort of fog-like gas.  It was artificially purple and smelled sickly sweet, almost enough to make you gag.  You mentally cursed the gamemakers before holding your breath and making a mad dash in the opposite direction of the gas.  

It must’ve been poisonous to anyone who breathed it in.  Why else would it be here?

You kept running and running, trying to ignore the burning of your lungs knowing that any breath you take will most likely be your last if you didn’t get away from the fog.  

But the gas was gaining ground at an alarming rate, almost biting at the back of your ankles with how close it was.  

Your eyes welled up with tears as your face grew blue due to how long you starved yourself from oxygen.  

You spotted another cave a few yards away and pushed yourself to it, knowing it was your only hope of escaping.  But when you entered it, you let out a frustrated scream at what was there to welcome you; more gas.  

It was attacking you from every direction and you were unable to hold your breath any longer.  

Your eyelids grew droopy as you fell to your knees.  

Was this the end?  

Black spots entered your vision, growing in size until you couldn’t see anything else.  

Your body fell over and the last sound you faintly remember was the triggering of a cannon.  

--

Part Three

“No!  I can still do this!  I can still do this.  One more kill.  It’s the only thing I know how to do.  Bring pride to my district…. Not that it matters.”  -Cato Porcious, fallen tribute of 74th Annual Hunger Games.  

Jungkook didn’t know what to feel when he first woke up to the second day of the 100th annual Hunger Games.  

First, he felt relief.  

He thought for sure that the violet gas of last night had taken him out for good.  

But then, he felt confusion.  

It took only a few seconds for him to process these emotions, study his surroundings, then jump up to his feet in bewilderment.  

In all his years of watching the games and preparing to one day play himself, he never could have anticipated this.

His jaw dropped as he slowly swiveled his head around in order to fully observe what had happened during his rest last night.

The arena….it changed.

It was hardly believable and didn’t make a lick of sense, but there was no doubt about it.  The musty and dark caves no longer encased them. Instead, Jungkook and his allies were lying in the middle of an abandoned street that was surrounded by tall yet barren buildings.  

It looked to be a city, or at least it was at one point.

The metropolitan area had endured lots of damage, some buildings even looked as though they have been bombed at some point.  There were loose bricks and concrete debris spread everywhere; dust, dirt and shards of glass caking lots of surface.  The skyline above was gray and cloudy, an odd film of brown stained the horizon in what must’ve been a pseudo pollution detail.  

It was a massive dystopian city.

“What the hell?”  

The groggy yet deep voice of the boy from One interrupted Jungkook’s silent awe, causing him to snap his attention back to his allies.  

They were just waking up, although Chanyeol seemed to have the head start as he was already sat up and studying what had become of the underground cave system with eyes of exasperated wonder.  For a moment the two were silent, waiting until Joy and Jeongyeon fully awoke and also realized the situation they were in.  

“Well,”  Jeongyeon stretched her arms above her head and yawned leisurely, somehow totally causal despite the giant revelation that just collectively went off in their heads.  Jungkook could never tell if she was genuinely as friendly and aloof as she acted, or if she was just that good at putting on a show for the viewers.  “at least now we know that the purple stuff wasn’t deadly.  Probably was just used to knock us out.”  

Jungkook rolled his eyes and refrained from scolding her for pointing out the obvious.  He routinely wondered to himself if he had the patience of a saint for putting up with District One’s peacock ways.  Their thirst for screen time would’ve been laughable if it weren’t for Jungkook’s high strung nerves that made him more irritable than usual.  

Luckily, Joy also saw the comment as stupid and had no trouble pointing that out.  “No shit, bimbo.”  

Jeongyeon frowned at this, still not used to Twos’ blunt and borderline mean nature.  She turned to her counterpart in search of back up, but the tired oaf of a teen just offered her a shrug and stood up for a morning stretch of those long legs of his.  

“How is this even possible?”  Jungkook murmured to himself, still trying to piece together all the logistics of how the gamemakers did something as drastic as changed the arena with all the tributes unconscious.  

“I don’t know man.  Who are we to question their high-end shit?  They probably just built all this stuff around us.”  Chanyeol said, overhearing Jungkook and budding in as was his custom.  

Jungkook scowled and tried his hardest to swallow down the hellish tick that crawled up the back of his neck.  

Now, he never thought that the games would be a cake walk per say.  Even the strongest of victors had to go through some pretty odd and seemingly unbearable circumstances to win.  Jungkook just assumed that he was capable enough to put up with any shit the gamemakers tossed his way; and it shouldn’t be a lot given he played into their little game and charmed his way into the forefront of the viewers’ minds.  But he guessed he could finally conclude that he underestimated just how difficult they were going to make this Quell.  

It was hard enough to attempt to track you down in the series of underground caves, how the hell was Jungkook going to find you if the very arena changed every single day?  

He felt his eye twitch on its’ own accord as he scanned every single building that stood proud in the doomsday skyline, knowing that there was no possible way he could search through every single one in his journey to find you.  

If you were alive.

14 tributes remained but no one said you were one of them.

His face darkened.  

How foolish had he been to assume that the gamemakers would just give him his love?  They were going to use you like bait, reeling him in and making him jump through hoops as if he was a dog yearning for a treat.  But to be fair, his pride was reduced to that of a dogs’ when it came to you.  

Joy took notice of her counterpart’s gloomy mood.  She licked her dry lips before commenting on it from her criss crossed position on the vacant road. “What’s your problem, loverboy?  Shouldn’t you be happy we’re not dead?”  

The rest of the career pack turned to their ‘leader’ who currently had his back turned towards them.  It was a bold move to taunt Two’s infatuation for you by calling him such nickname, but Joy was just a bold person in general.  It has yet to be said if Jungkook held a soft spot for her by allowing her passes to say such things, or if he was just waiting for the right time to bash her head in.  

“Of course it’s good we’re not dead.  But this twist is going to make everything so much harder.”  Jungkook bluntly responded, pretending to not notice the subtle jab.

Joy snorted.  “You mean it’s gonna make everything harder to find Ten.”  

Jungkook’s sudden silence only made her laugh harder.  

“Yeah, about that…”  Chanyeol trailed off, wondering if now would be a good time to ask the unknown.  “What is going on with you and the girl from Ten?  Why are we looking for her?”  

“She’s mine.”  The reply was short and brutal on Two’s part, shutting down any further inquiries as if he believed that any elaboration would be wasted on such fools.

Joy’s snorts only got louder as she eventually rolled over, clutching her stomach in delirium.  

“Like your girlfriend or something?  I thought the whole thing was an act.”  Jeongyeon scratched her head in confusion, how the hell would two tributes get into an exclusive relationship in the week before the games?  

“Or are you trying to track her down and fuck her?  I heard that the kids from Districts like that stay virgins till marriage.”  Chanyeol conversed, it wasn’t totally unknown for tributes to try to get their rocks off before or even during the games.  Lots of kids didn’t want to die virgins and found the solution within each other.  Of course, this never blossomed into a real romance given there could be only one victor.  Survival outlasted all other primal instincts.  

Jungkook suddenly found himself wondering if it was too late to become a lone wolf in this game.  District One was proving to be as dumb as ever and his own counterpart wasn’t helping matters in the slightest.  

The brute of a teen opened his mouth to spit out a retort, but quickly closed it when he realized he didn’t even know what to say.

The thing was; Jungkook didn’t feel the need to explain shit to anyone.  It wasn’t for them to understand.  Hell, even if he tried there was no possible way he could properly describe it... much less get them to understand.  

“Everyone shut up!  We need to get moving.  There’s still nine other tributes out there that we have to kill.”  Jungkook ordered, smirking in slight satisfaction when they all immediately stood up and got ready at the metaphorical snap of his fingers.  

The next two hours of the day consisted of the pack roaming the ruined streets of the city, silent and on high alert for any other tributes unlucky enough to come across the blood thirsty four. The only sounds to be heard was the light ‘crunch’ of the debris under their combat boots that resulted with every step they took.   What also followed them was an odd chemical smell that appeared to loom in every crevice of the city; a burning rubber scent that caused a scrunch of ones’ nose.  Jeongyeon voiced her concern for it being radioactive, but the three just shrugged, it’s not like they could do anything about it even if they wanted to.  

As the morning faded away to be replaced with the afternoon,  it became barringly obvious that all other weaker tributes would be spared given the careers had yet to spot a single soul.  This lack of action mixed in with hunger and thirst spiked tensions.  Soon enough Joy halted her steps in favor of plopping down on what looked to be a curb, pouting up up at Jungkook in bratty refusal to move any further.  

The pack halted and set their gaze on her.  

Two pairs of eyes peered confused, while the last pair glared ruthlessly.

“The games is more than just killing other people, Kook.  We need to survive too.  If we don’t find food or water soon, we won’t even be able to overpower others.”  Joy complained loudly, rubbing her sore ankles as if to prove her point.

Jungkook let out a low growl under his breath, wiping the sweat away from his forehead while trying to remind himself that he was on camera at all times.  

‘Don’t blow up, don’t blow up, don’t blow up’

“Joy might be onto something.  God only knows what arena we’ll wake up in tomorrow.  The only food we could get from the caves were insects and algae, we should search through these buildings for any scraps.”  Chanyeol attempted to be the voice of reason, without a doubt catching on to the fight that loomed in the near future if Joy and Jungkook didn’t get on the same page quickly.  

“I need to find her.”  This was said through gritted teeth, Jungkook’s patience being worn too thin to play the amicable act any longer.  

“Why must everyone suffer for the sake of your obsession?!” Joy scoffed, irritated that some mute country girl from Ten was being placed as priority one over her well-being.  

Jungkook felt his brow tick.  The familiar burning itch of a fury only infatuated men could understand graced his sensations once again.  The fact that your importance was being questioned was almost blasphemous to Jungkook.  Were they blind?  Of course the first objective had to be you, everyone else was just mere distractions getting in the way of his goal.   He was the big dog in this game, the undeniable winner and if his fellow “allies” knew what was good for them then they’d play along to his plan.  

“Joy, get up.”  Jungkook licked his lips before continuing in a bleak voice; “I won’t ask again.”

Joy rolled her raven eyes and stood up, taking one step forward towards the pseudo leader with a snarl-like expression twisting up the usually pretty features of her face.  “Like hell I’ll follow you! If you’re willing to place some random girl over your allies then maybe we need a new change in leadership.”  

Jungkook could practically feel the unseen cameras zoom in on the scene. The viewers most likely gasping in shock or clutching their pearls with excitement at the power dynamic impasse that the most powerful alliance in the game was facing.

It was silent for a moment, Jungkook boring his ruthless eyes into hers as if to give her a second chance to step down in submission.  

But she never did.  

Instead she looked at the pair from One, whom for once looked rather uncomfortable, and called out in a smug grin; “I’m sure you guys are thinking it too.  Is it irrational for me to question the head of our pack when he values a random girl over our lives?”

Neither Chanyeol nor Jeogyeon answered, instead they both avoided eye contact.  

Jungkook let out a humorless chuckle at her failure to sway a rally against him.  

Now, it was his turn.  

“Joy I’ve been nothing but lenient with you because we’re from the same District and two heads are better than one.  But if I have to strangle that pretty little neck of yours until your face is blue and that cannon goes off, then I will.” Jungkook’s voice was emotionless and barren, as if he was simply reciting lines and not truly expressing his inner most thoughts.  The only reaction to be seen from him was the slight smirk he had when he witnessed Joy’s proud expression drop into a look of doom.  

He continued, “In fact, I don’t owe anyone here anything.  If I truly wanted to I could kill all three of you and not even feel a lick of remorse.  I could rid myself of liabilities and dead weight to further myself in the game.  This alliance is hindering my full potential.  It is me who shows you mercy, keep that in mind with every waking second of your life in this game.”

Joy took a step back whilst Jungkook took one forward.  

“You all saw what I did to Four.  I’m not above killing other careers if they get in my way.”  

“Kook-”

Jungkook raised his hand and silenced her with a harsh backhand to the face. The speed of the action was so quick that the only way Chanyeol and Jeogyeon even realized what had happened was the echoing sound of the hit and the response of Joy cradling the left side of her now redden face.  

Jungkook wasn’t finished either.  

In fact, he seemed all too proud to make an example out of his very own district mate.  

He snatched her hair and dragged her to the ground, forcing her into a crouched position as he lifted his knee to jut her in the stomach.  

She let out a tortured scream at the pain, looking at her other allies for aid only to cry at the realization that she was alone to face his wrath.  

She stared up at the monster of a man, pleading to spot some remains of mercy expected of rational humans.  

But his orbs were empty of any emotion other than pure hatred.  

Jungkook raised a clenched fist once again as Joy screamed.  

--

Part Four

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances" - Victor Katniss Everdeen to Rue Culler in 74th Annual Hunger Games.  

It was the third day of the games.  

You awoke to a feeling of sticky humidity clinging onto your skin.  It was only when you managed to tear your swollen eyes open and sit your weakened body up did you finally discover what hell awaited you that day.

It was a jungle, an awful hot and loud one that was crawling with various types of animals far beyond your understanding.  This was evident in the different sounds you heard echo amongst the trees and bushes; monkeys, birds, frogs and god knows what else.  All the plants around you were vibrant and bursting with colors, practically stunning your tired retinas with the intensity of the shades.  

Perhaps if you felt better you would’ve taken a moment to observe the strange and foreign land that you’d never get to experience again, but the third day was already proving to be the biggest hurdle to overcome.  

The lack of food and water was finally taking its’ toll on your body.  

Your stomach was persistently growling and your lips were so cracked and dried that you’d routinely have to lick off blood from them.  Your esophagus burned due to the scratchy lack of moisture while your cranium pounded ruthlessly.  Even as you got up to stand, you managed to stagger as if half of your strength had magically depleted overnight.  

If you didn’t find food or water soon then you were as good as dead.  

As you took off your wind breaker to tie it around your waist in attempt to adapt to the sudden climate change, you began to ponder possible ways to obtain food and water.  Luckily this new arena was filled to the brim with animals that you could hunt and consume.  Although eating possible insects or exotic pests wasn’t exactly something you’d be proud to do, it was all in the name of survival.  

However you decided that water was the more vital need.  You were already pushing the envelope for dehydration, the expected time without it was three days.  If you had to, you could last a few more days without food.

Jungles meant waterfalls, right?  

Or at least rain?  

You wiped your forehead and heaved a deep breath in preparation for another day that could be your last.  

Although it wasn’t the best strategy, you had no choice but to wander seamlessly without any direction.  What else could you do when the arena changes every 24 hours?  Any knowledge you could retain about your surroundings would prove to be useless come the following day.  Thus you set off into the tree line, hoping to come across some sort of clean water source.  

Out of the three natural settings you had been put into, this jungle was quickly becoming your least favorite.  The very air was heavy with the worst type of heat; a sticky and itchy one that delved into your very pores.  Bugs were constant and slowed you down, they swarmed you as if your blood was a siren and continuously bit at an open surface of your skin.  There also wasn’t any clear pathways to follow, you had to fight your way through all the greenery.  You just hoped that none of the plants you brushed past were poisonous.  

If you had to guess, you would estimate that it had been 15 minutes into your aimless journey when something rather unusual happened.  

You heard a rustle occur from a few feet away from you, a slight one that shook some leaves from a bush nearby.  

Normally, this would be cause for concern in an arena. Yet this jungle was so noisy and bristling with movement that it was hardly noticeable at first.  Hell, it was practically more alive than you were at this moment.  

Your logic was that it was most likely an animal of some kind instead of another tribute.  Nonetheless you stilled and held your breath, anticipating a sudden appearance.  You hardly bit back the urge to run as fast as you could in the opposite direction, but if it was indeed an animal then that action would only trigger a violent reaction against you or even a brutal hunt.  

You fought against the instinct and waited while counting the passing seconds. ‘One, two, three, four-’

A boisterous yell broke from deep within the chest of an unseen attacker.  

In a blurry spasm of movement, you caught sight of a tall yet slender female form burst from the greenery in an insane jump to get to you.  

You barely had time to leap backwards, and even then it was far too late.  The strange girl managed to land on top of your legs, successfully pinning you down to the jungle floor as you helplessly wiggled and tried to get a clear view of her face.  

Her long brown hair managed to block most of it, but by the little glimpses you struggled to get you could see that she was extremely pretty.  Her face was slender yet round with well-defined features and near flawless skin.  Her body was sturdy as she had no trouble keeping you down, even letting out a casual huff as she pushed against your shoulders to keep you in place (as if you were more of a slight bother than a real hassle) when you attempted to sit up and swing.  

You wanted nothing more than to give her a good hit before booking it and never looking back, but the odds were insurmountable.  It didn’t take long before you deduced that she must’ve been fairing far well compared to you.  While your energy had been burned down to simmering ashes as hunger and thirst consumed you, this nameless tribute seemed all too healthy and willingly aggressive.  

Her hands against you shoulder slowly crept up to your neck, slowly curling around the base and pressing her sharp nails into the skin.    

You let out a strangled cry, your dry throat not being able to manage a full out scream.

“Wait a minute.”  Her husky voice rasped before she took one hand to brush her hair back, allowing the sun to capture her now bare face.  

Your breath caught in your throat and suddenly your struggles became more frantic.  

It was the girl from Seven.  

While not a career by any means, she still proved herself a worthy competitor with a high personal score.  And by the way she was glowering above you, it was obvious that she was not afraid to kill to get ahead.

“Aren’t you the girl that Two is in love with?”  She questioned with an indescribable look upon her face.

You stilled.

There are moments in every game where you can directly affect your fate in a very drastic manner.  Camouflaged in her simple question was a bigger dilemma that could either make or break you.  The issue was that you didn’t know which one it will be.  Either you can agree that 2 was indeed in love with you and maybe even give a little white lie about him being your ally.  That had a high probability of scaring her, as who in their right mind would want to mess with him, and by extension you?  However it could be argued that it was also a double edged sword.  Perhaps she was just as ambitious as the careers, if not more so, and would have no problem poking the bear that is Jungkook via killing you.  Maybe she would even enjoy it more knowing that she involved herself into the ‘star-crossed lovers’ story line and put an end to it all, stealing attention from you to her.  

Your eyes furiously swept side to side in attempt to get a better view of your surroundings.

All chances of escaping were futile.  

If you disagreed, her plans to hurt you wouldn’t change and she’d carry on with her murdering of you.  But if you went along with it, there was an almost sure guarantee that she’d have a reaction.  That reaction could be good or bad, but it was the only chance you had.  It was scary to flip a coin on your chances of survival, but what other options did you have?

“Yes, w-we’re together.”  You stuttered out, hoping that she took your awkward tone as a result o her practically smothering your windpipe and not you lying through your teeth.  

Her brow raised at that, her stern expression uplifting for a brief moment to form an over-exaggerated look of confusion and concern.  

“Where is your boy toy then?  Pretty stupid of him to let you wander on your own.”  

“He’s nearby.”  you fibbed, faking confidence and glaring up at her as if she just signed her death wish.  

Jennie let out a giggle, a sound that would be somewhat cute if the circumstances were any different than her about to commit murder.  “Let’s say I believe you.  Do you think he’d get back in time to save you and capture me?”  

You hated to falter, but she did have a point.  

If she was smart, she’d take her chance now to get rid of you because god only knows when she’d come across you again.  And clearly she had the advantage, you had no ability to fight back.  Even if Jungkook was close (which he wasn’t),  she’d still have ample time to end you and run far into the jungle before another tribute could even stumble across the unfortunate scene.  

Tears welled up and blurred your vision.  

You were going to die.  

The end of your simple, short but honest life was going to occur in the middle of some artificial habitat, via a bloodthirsty stranger making a show out of your demise in which your friends and family from home would be forced to watch along with the rest of the nation.  May your corpse be one of many examples the capitol shall use for warning against any possible rebellion.  

You lasted three days, a pathetic 72 hours would be the wrap up of your entire existence.  In some weird twist of desperation you thought about how you could’ve played this game differently.  Would you have survived if you teamed up with Two and the rest of the careers?  If you tried harder to ally yourself with your District mate?  Or if you decided to chase after the kid from Twelve and form a team?  

But while those different paths were clouded in unseen potential, they were void of anything tangible much less useful given your current circumstance.  

You fell limp and gazed up at her hallowly, managing to catch a glimpse of your crying expression in the reflection of her dark orbs.  

She stared back at you; a mutual understanding of what was to come.  

Gone was the show or theatrics, now all that had left to be done was the actual act itself of killing you.

She the predator, you the prey.  

“Any last wor-”

A blurry and hurried movement cut her off, it was so sudden and unexpected that all you were able to process was that 7 was now off of you.  Instead of gazing up at her, your line of sigh was now met with the blue sky and branches of the taller trees.

You blinked slowly in bewilderment.  

Seven was seemingly knocked off of you...but how?  

Strangled yelps and more wrestling movement occurred somewhere beside you, the vibration and intensity of it causing the ground underneath you to quiver, but due to your state of shock you weren’t focusing on it at all.  You were slowly gaining your senses back, you body taking it’s time to adjust to the new ability to breathe freely all the while adapting to the sudden postponement of your death.  

You sat up, ignoring the pounding ache that your cranium responded with, and twisted your head to the side in order to behold what became of your killer.  

You let out a bleak and disbelieving chuckle at the scene that greeted you.

The hunter became the prey.

In some ironic twist of fate, Seven was now pinned under another tribute.  By the throat to be exact, an almost perfect replica of the position you were in just seconds ago.  

Seven was spluttering out, trying her best to yell or at least make some type of noise, but all attempts to do so were futile.  

She stood no chance against the girl on top of her.  

Said girl had inky black hair that was strictly fastened into a high ponytail, her skin was fair and glistening with what must’ve been sweat and her body was lengthy and muscular; making the act of strangling Seven look like a walk in the park.  

It was odd to feel sympathy for the girl who almost just killed you, but watching Seven’s face turn red and eventually blue as she silently screamed was heartbreaking enough to almost make you want to push the mystery girl off of her.  

Almost.  But not quite enough.  

It took some time to strangle someone, so by that logic you should have enough time to get up and run.  This would’ve been a flawless plan if it weren’t for the fact that your legs were numb due to all the time you had Seven on top of you, and thus essentially rendered useless.  

The absolute most you could achieve was some pathetic army-crawl, and obviously that was not going to get you far enough.  

But could it be argued that if this unknown girl truly wanted you dead then she would’ve let Seven had her way with you before offing Seven herself?  

That line of thought was your only chance of getting out of here alive.  

The struggles of Seven eventually subsided, her eyes glazing over unfocused before closing entirely.  Her body went limp as if she suddenly fainted, but the truth was she finally succumbed to the lack of oxygen and died.  

The sound of a cannon shot through the jungle.  

You watched as the girl slowly got off of Seven, heaving a huff and rubbing her hands together as if exhausted from the strenuous activity of literally wringing the life out of someone.  

You lips began to move on their own accord, both pleads and questions racing to get out first.  

She turned to face you.  

Your jaw dropped.  

Technically you weren’t lying at all to Seven.

Two was indeed close by, but it wasn’t Jungkook.

It was Joy.

Her porcelain face was marred with blue and purple bruises, the color so contrasting to her otherwise flawless skin tone that you couldn’t help the inaudible gasp that escaped your lips.  

Who did that to her?

She scoffed down at you, unimpressed with your spineless yet shocked state.

“Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you idiot.  Why would I save your sorry ass if that was the case?”  

“What do you want then?”  You attempted to bark back, trying to keep some sense of pride in this obvious imbalance of power.  

“Allies.”  She shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing.  

“And why would I team up with you?”  

She glanced at the fresh corpse behind her before looking back at you, staring at you meaningfully as she said; “Because I’m the only one who knows the truth about you and Jungkook and probably your only chance of fighting back.”

--

^^^ me pretending to not see the 100+ people glaring at me for taking literally months to update.  Anyway, I’m sorry Jungkook isn’t in this part that much but this will be the last part before Y/n’s and Jk’s game fully intertwine.  I planned a really big plot twist to end on but I think I’m just gonna save that for it’s own chapter bc I think I’d need like 10k to do that twist justice.  I think part one was better but like...oh well.  Please comment, reblog and send asks in, all that good stuff.  I miss writer/reader interaction, bro.  Also, the reason the scene descriptions of the arenas are short is bc I originally had plugged in photos of the habitats but the links weren’t working on tumblr.  I can repost them if anyone’s interested.

EXTRA INFO; For those of you who were with me since part one, I did a beta reader thingy for chapter two and I’d really like to do that again for chapter three.  Last time I gave out a quiz and the winners got the chance to read the first 5k and eventually have 24 hour access before it was posted publicly.  This time, I want more in-depth analysis.  So if you wanna be a beta reader for chapter three, please reblog this with an analysis of your own about the story and my writing.  At the end put something like (BR) so I know you are trying out for a beta reader position.  I think I’ll chose around 8-10 people.  And I will reach out to those people when I have them picked out.   

[overwatchworks]

Blackwatch Week: Extraction

Jesse ran onto the drop ship, still firing off Peacekeeper as he went and downing a few Talon soldiers. Moira followed after him, and Reyes had been the first one to board the ship. Jesse heard the Blackwatch pilot over his comm, though the Talon heavy that had been sent in let off another round half way through her sentence.

“Come on everyone, get in! I can’t take fire from those heavies like this!” She shouted. 

Genji was the last one on board, cutting down as many Talon forces as he could as he went. He obviously wasn’t too happy about leaving, but Jesse had learned that he didn’t really have anything quite...Normal that made him happy anymore. At least, not much. Genji expressed a liking for ‘striking down’ his enemies, and more often than not, Jesse could have sworn he heard a soft, suppressed chuckle from the ninja’s comm on missions like these. Jesse had gotten used to it, hell, he too found satisfaction in shooting an enemy, and he wasn’t afraid to say it. 

The cyborg slowed just before hitting the side of the ship from his pace, straightening his posture and leaning against the wall heavily. Jesse was panting as well, all that running around and, well, fighting for his life--Jesse sent a glare towards the commander at that--had exhausted him. 

Moira had locked her eyes on Genji as soon as he’d boarded, and she had that unsettling little smirk on her face that Jesse had seen her look at her less alive specimens with. The same way she had looked at Reyes when he’d killed Antonio. Jesse licked his lips and narrowed his eyes when hers finally slipped off of Genji and went to him, but they passed right over his form to land on Reyes. 

Good, she knew not to even bother him past keeping him alive during missions. And she just barely managed that.

“Commander. How are you feeling?” She asked quietly, not kind or caring, but unsettlingly eager. Reyes scoffed and caught his breath, and Jesse noticed that Moira was the only one who seemed unaffected by all that running. Must have been that weird purple shit she used as a weapon; Jesse always heard her murmuring about “your strength is mine” and whatnot when it latched onto an enemy. He still thought hiring her for Blackwatch was a mistake, but he wasn’t about to deny that having a healer like her was a blessing for missions.

“Same as always. You can get a more detailed report when we get back.” Reyes replied with a heavy sigh, though Jesse watched him sit down and suppress a wince. He didn’t know what exactly Moira had been doing to him besides the more obvious--Jesse just called it ‘shadow man’--additions to his commander, but it seemed to be taking a toll on Reyes. It had also been changing him more than just physically. Reyes was more reserved and honestly, in Jesse’s humble opinion, now more prone to random acts of violence or anger. 

Reyes was a pretty mellow guy, but Jesse had been seeing a marked difference in his behaviour that just wasn’t a coincidence with his more frequent visits to Moira’s lab. Jesse sighed and shook his head, taking off his hat and sitting down as well, Moira producing a yellow orb and holding it out towards Reyes. Genji was next to him, characteristically quiet, but too quiet for those who knew him well. And Jesse probably knew Genji the best. He turned to look at the ninja, Genji staring at the floor and still breathing just as heavily as he had been when he ran onto the ship.

“Ya alright?” Jesse asked quietly, not wanting to alert Moira just yet. Genji didn’t look up or say anything, but he nodded warily, a deep but hurried breath shuddering through his chest. Jesse frowned, not convinced, and Moira just so happened to look over right as he did so.

“Is something the matter, McCree?” She always refused to call him anything but that. He was kind of glad about that, because hearing ‘Jesse’ roll off of her tongue might be just a little too weird for his tastes.

“‘M fine.” Jesse muttered, but Moira had followed his previous gaze and took two strides to get to Genji’s side.

“Having troubles with your systems again?”

Genji glared up at her, though, he glared at everyone, so this was nothing special, and straightened.

“I am fine.”

“You should have been able to recover your normal breathing rate by now. So one of us is wrong in our assumptions, and I know it’s not me.” She scoffed, Genji huffing as she gathered another one of those healing orbs of hers. Moira attached it to the ninja unhurriedly, tipping her head to the side as she observed the effects. 

It relaxed Genji a bit, just a bit, and he leaned back in his seat with a sigh. Jesse eyed her carefully, but she didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, she frowned and leaned down to inspect something on the ninja’s chest. Genji curled his arms over himself tighter at that, shaking his head before Moira could say anything.

“I’m fine.”

“Obviously not. Looks like that assassin did more of a number on you than I thought.” Moira murmured, Jesse’s brow furrowing as he turned in his seat.

“What’s wrong with ‘im?”

“It seems the assassin’s blade forced a piece of armour down and it’s putting too much pressure on his respiratory system. Such a flawed creation...”  

“It is nothing to worry about. I will have Dr. Ziegler check it when we get back.” Genji muttered darkly, brows lowering over his eyes even more, if possible. She hit a nerve. Jesse then saw that smirk rise on Moira’s features again.

“Zürich is quite a ways off. I am not sure how long you will be stable.”

“I will take my chances.” Genji hissed, cutting off the conversation and glaring at the floor. Jesse grinned at Moira pleasantly when he saw her features turn down in distaste, but she sat down without another word. Jesse waited a few moments to let the silence settle before he leaned towards Genji.

“You alright?” He murmured, Genji shooting him a glare this time.

“I said I’m fine.”

Jesse merely raised his brows, and the hard expression Genji was sporting faltered.

“I will be fine.” He amended in a whisper, shifting in his seat to sink down in it more. Jesse didn’t miss the way his eyes danced in pain from just that simple movement.

“I’ll take ya ta the med bay when we get back.” Jesse told him softly, Genji nodding.

“Thank you.”  

The gunslinger leaned back in his seat, eyeing Moira distrustfully as she observed Reyes. They were talking quietly with one another, and Jesse glanced away when mismatched eyes slid to meet his. 

Moira knew he didn’t trust her, though Jesse hadn’t quite made it a secret. She knew and yet she never made any steps to change it. In fact, Jesse thought she had been stepping even more out of line lately. The cowboy kept his mouth shut about it for once, however, because he knew that Reyes wouldn’t listen to him. He’d already tried talking to him about Moira, but he had shut down the conversation before it had even started, voice rough and eyes like steel. That alone sent the first warning bells off in his head, but he hadn’t pushed it. Reyes wouldn’t have allowed it anyways. So the cowboy kept his distance, made sure Moira knew he’d put up with none of her shit, and she’d left him alone. 

Genji made a strange wheezing sound next to him an hour or so into the flight, some mix between a suppressed cough and a shuddering breath. It startled Jesse awake, and he looked over at the ninja. His eyes were narrowed in pain, one hand fumbling with the side of his faceplate while the other held his side. Genji’s chest rose and fell quickly, shallow breaths leaving him in little huffs.

“Hey, ya alright?” Jesse asked softly, hand reaching out to settle on the cyborg’s bicep. Genji glanced down at it, then shook his head.

“No...?”

Genji pulled off the bottom of his faceplate, setting it in his lap and closing his eyes. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“It’s...Just hard to—“

Another cough cut him short, body seizing up as he curled over slightly. The gunslinger frowned, worry spreading over his features when the fit didn’t stop, instead getting worse. Moria was at Genji’s side in an instant, her long fingers gripping the ninja’s chin and forcing him to raise his head.

“Let me have a look.” She ordered. Genji took a pained breath, a drop of almost black blood sliding down from his bottom lip. Moria kneeled in front of him, right hand splayed and forming a golden-yellow orb. The cyborg’s breathing evened out as a trail from the orb attached to his chest, and he glanced over at Jesse warily.

“Now listen, if yer doin’ somethin’ funky to ‘im—“

“Yes, because healing his collapsing lung certainly isn’t helping him in the slightest, McCree. Now, would you please let the doctor do her work without further interruption?” Moira sighed in annoyed exasperation, her frown deepening as she glared at the cowboy. Jesse forced himself to keep his snarky comment to himself, knowing it would only cause more trouble and possibly detract the help and attention from Genji that he needed. He watched as some of the colour returned to the ninja’s face, and he reluctantly sat back to let Moria do what she needed.

They made it back to Zürich without too much trouble. Moira would have to recharge her healing abilities every now and then, and each time the orb left Genji, he looked even worse. Jesse was worried, but he knew that Dr. Ziegler would be able to fix him right up, properly.

“Your systems are fascinating, even in their primitive state. If you will come with me to the medical wing, I assure you I will make sure something like this never happens again.” Moira suddenly spoke up, the offer catching Jesse’s attention immediately, and he turned on her.

“You ain’t gonna lay a finger on him, ya hear me? He’ll go to Ziegler.” The gunslinger growled, rounding on Moira. She raised a brow unhurriedly, a mocking smile creeping up on her face.

“Oh? And what makes you think this is your decision to make?”

Genji spoke up before Jesse was able to, one hand wrapped firmly around his ribs, his stance slightly hunched over.

“He is right. I will go see Dr. Ziegler now, and I would rather McCree escort me.”

Jesse gave Moira a smug little smirk, but it faded when he saw Commander Morrison and Captain Amari striding towards them, anger radiating off of them.

“Gabe, what in the hell did you do?!” Morrison hissed, getting right up in Reyes’ face and glaring vehemently. Amari stood back, arms crossed and disapproval written all over her face.

“You do understand the seriousness of what you did, right Gabriel?” She demanded. Reyes sighed and shook his head, eyes cast aside in resigned disinterest.

“You guys can berate me all you want, but not out here if you want it to stay under the radar for now.” He told them simply, and that seemed to set off the Overwatch commander even more.  

“Stay under the radar?! Gabriel, that is what you were supposed to do! This was a simple mission, not an execution! The whole world knows about Blackwatch now because of the shit you pulled! Have you seen the news?!”

Jesse internally agreed with Morrison at that, but the harsh words did nothing to change Reyes’ demeanor or expression.

“Jack. Let’s take this to an interrogation room.” Amari murmured, placing a hand on the commander’s shoulder. Morrison growled out a curse under his breath and nodded, the three of them leaving without a backward glance to the rest of the Blackwatch operatives.

“How irritating. So much could be accomplished if only they knew how to let go of some of their oh so righteous morale...” Moira hummed quietly, sneering the last bit of her sentence, head held high.

“I dunno what kinda morals you have, but either way, they’re there fer a reason. I don’t disagree with ol’ Jackie fer once.” Jesse muttered as he walked after the commanders to get inside and take Genji to the med bay. Moira stayed in step with them until she got to her office, and she went inside without another word to Jesse or Genji. The gunslinger ignored her exit and went to Dr. Ziegler’s division of the med bay, Genji leaning against him as they went down the hall.

“Doc’ll patch ya up, don’t worry.” Jesse whispered, pressing a quick and soft kiss to Genji’s temple. The cyborg didn’t even have the energy to reprimand him, he just nodded and squeezed Jesse’s hand lightly.

Dr. Ziegler was already in a medical room waiting, having been notified earlier that they were on the way back and ready for post-mission diagnostics. She gave them a little frown when she noticed the way Genji was holding himself, then sighed and motioned for the ninja to sit on the examination table she had set up.

“Jesse, I’m going to have to take care of Genji first, so if you don’t mind waiting outside...”

“Sure thin’ Angie. I’m alright though, so don’t worry ‘bout it.” Jesse dismissed absently, wanting to go see what was happening with Reyes now that he knew Genji was in good hands.

“No, you make sure you come back here in an hour, do you understand me? I have to put this in the records and make sure you haven’t been hurt.” Angela told him, her voice holding a tone he knew not to argue with.

“Yes ma’am...”

“Alright. Now go on.”

Jesse tipped his hat to her, glancing at Genji as he left. The ninja was laying back on the table, staring up at the ceiling blankly, resigned. Jesse sighed, but did as the doctor ordered.

-

Jesse had gone to the interrogation room that Reyes had been taken to, watching him get chewed out by Morrison and Amari alike with a pensive look on his face the whole time. The Overwatch commander would gesture as he yelled, his voice muffled from where Jesse was standing behind the two way mirror. Reyes had glanced up at him at last, murmuring something to Morrison and effectively making him quiet down. He was either too angry to yell anymore, or Reyes had struck a nerve. 

The gunslinger sighed and readjusted his hat, chewing on the end of his cigar as he walked back to the medical bay. The whole situation was shitty, and it didn’t sit well with him at all. Jesse stubbed out the cigar before entering Dr. Ziegler’s section of the medical ward. She always got on to him about his smoking habits.

“Ah, Jesse, come on in. I’ll make it quick so you can go get some rest.” Angela called. The cowboy obeyed without a word, mind too preoccupied for idle chatter, which was rare. Ziegler hadn’t asked, and Jesse didn’t offer any sort of explanation. When she was through, she bid him a pleasant goodbye, already going off to check on some things on her tablet. Jesse went back to his room, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. He absently typed in the code to his room, immediately sensing another presence there with him.

“Didn’t know doc had let’cha out so soon.” Jesse said by ways of greeting, taking off his hat and glancing towards the bed. Genji was curled up on it, the TV playing something softly in the background and washing his face in shades of blue and white.

“I’m only discharged for the night.” Genji responded, his voice even more altered and metallic than usual. He had some sort of respirator covering his nose and the bottom half of his face, his eyes sunk in with dark smudges beneath them. Jesse gave him a worried look, sitting down on the bed next to him and lacing their fingers together.

“Dr. Ziegler gave me some medicines that slow my breathing down and keep me calm so I don’t overexert my respiratory system. I feel like shit.” Genji muttered, answering Jesse’s unspoken question.

“Ah, so not the good drugs, huh?”

That dragged a soft chuckle from the ninja. Jesse leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then stood.

“I’m gonna shower real quick. Try not ta bust anythin’ else while I do.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” Genji deadpanned as he leaned his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The gunslinger smirked, then left to wash up. When he came back, Genji hadn’t moved much, and he seemed to have fallen asleep. Jesse smiled softly and settled down next to him, pulling a blanket over them both.

“Took you long enough...” Genji mumbled after a moment. He opened his eyes slowly, arm shifting to drape over Jesse’s waist lethargically.

“Figured I’d let ya have some alone time.” Jesse whispered, rolling over to face the ninja.

“I don’t like alone time away from you.” Genji sighed as the cowboy’s hand came up to trace over Genji’s features, gently mapping out the familiar face. He rubbed over a scar that cut through just the tip of Genji’s left eyebrow, then slowly dragged his finger down to the edge of the respirator, leaving light touches on his cheekbone and nose as he went. Jesse kissed where Genji’s lips were under the mask, feeling the cyborg push up into the motion ever so slightly.

“Get some rest, darlin’. I’ll be right here if ya need me.”

“Mkay...” Genji whispered. He leaned into Jesse’s chest, the gunslinger hugging him close and running a hand through his hair. Genji relaxed completely, drifting off quickly in Jesse’s arms. It didn’t take long for the gunslinger to follow in suit.

~~

[mercurytail]

Shifting Sands Chapter 4

:D I proudly present Chapter four! Thanks to @the-hallowed-lady for betaing. 

Please be aware that this chapter contains Sexual content.

Please Leave comments they keep me going <3 I Love you all!

Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223778/chapters/35309981

Shifting Sands Chapter 4

(Important: The weapon later in the story used by the bounty hunter in Mexico is a modified bolo tie, it is made of wire and the pendant is a heating fixture, it enables the tie to decapitate and cauterize when cinched.)

  McCree stirs just as the first light kisses the horizon, turning the sky into an array of blazing orange, vermillion, and lavender; the shy blue basking amongst them. McCree stands and looks to the other room, Hanzo lies on the bed, chest rising and falling steadily. He turns to the cabinet and grabs a bottle of painkillers; god knows he’ll need um. ‘So much for a ‘good night’s sleep’’, He downs four pills with a glass of water.

He peels off his shirt and leans over the sink to wash his hair. He then cleans up his face in the mirror. Satisfied with his priming, he briefly considers grabbing a clean shirt but decides against it so as not to awaken Hanzo. He tosses his old shirt in the corner with the rest of his dirty clothes. He peels off the gauze from his wound and treats it, then dresses it with clean dressings.

When finished, he stows the kit away and returns to the kitchen. He doesn’t have much in the ways of food, but with the rye bread, dried heirloom beans, bacon, leftover avocado and peach preserves, there is the makings of a decent meal in his opinion. He sets his beans to soak and looks over the route they’ll take to his supplier in Santa Fe.

He occupies himself while the beans soak with a cigarillo outside. A couple hours pass and he walks back in. He heats a pan and cooks up the bacon, while two slices of bread tick away in the toaster. He takes the beans from the water and fries them in the leftover bacon grease. Once they're cooked to his liking he mashes them and smears some on half a slice of toast, he lays avocado over them. He spoons a dollop of peach preserves on the side and calls it good.

*grunt*

McCree hears Hanzo stir in the other room. He smirks to himself and scoops up the plates.

***

Hanzo wakes to the sunlight streaming from under the door, he sits up with a groan. The smell of bacon wafts through the air. Hanzo turns and places his feet on the floor, but before he can stand the door opens.

“Mornin’” McCree greets him. Shirtless.

“Good Morning,” Hanzo nods briefly stunned by the man’s soft-toned muscular chest. A water droplet glides down McCree’s chest from his still slightly damp hair.

“Figured’ you’d be mighty famished, what with the day you had yesterday,” He places the plate down on Hanzo’s lap. Then quickly returns with two glasses of water. He sits down on the floor across from Hanzo with his own plate in hand.

Hanzo’s takes in the meal on his lap. The golden preserves are nestled up against the glistening crispy bacon. Hanzo soon realizes just how starved he feels with the pain that blossoms in his gut, he drools slightly. He snaps from his trance and wipes the drool on the back of his hand. He picks up a strip of bacon and scoops up the sweet preserves onto it. The sweet and salty flavor is heavenly in his mouth.

He notices McCree waits kindly till he’s nearly done with his beans on toast to speak.

“So, if you were headed to Gibraltar, How’d you end up here?” McCree says as he finishes chewing a strip of bacon and reaches for his water glass.

Hanzo takes a strip of avocado, chews and swallows it before answering. “As I stated before, I do not know. I had been on a job in Germany when they double-crossed me, I was forced to flee and the last I remember is being confronted with a bomb. I destroyed it. After the explosion, I found myself here.”

“Did you use your lightning to destroy it?” McCree inquires.

“Yes…” Hanzo now finished eating, sips at his water.

“Sounds to me like you might a’ made a rift, what with all that energy being concentrated in one place.” McCree shrugs.

“Rift? Like a kind of space rift?” Hanzo furrows his brow in ah that McCree would have this type of knowledge.

“Yeah, had it happen to me once back in my service days. One second, I was facin’ off against some baddies in Russia, the next, I’m laid out on my ass in the middle a flock of sheep in New Zealand. Helluv’ a ride. Took Winston two weeks to figure out what had happened.” McCree stands and motions for Hanzo’s plate.

“I see…” Hanzo hands the plate over and leans back on his arms on the bed. “By any means, the coincidence of my appearance here was a blessing in disguise for the both of us it seems.” McCree flashes him a wide smile and walks to the kitchen. Hanzo follows.

McCree places the plates in the sink and gives them a quick rinse. “I’m assumin’ you’ll want to shower before we head out. Imma’ pack up some things and get my bike ready.” McCree walks into the bedroom, Hanzo hears him rustling around. The man returns carrying a bundle of clothes and a sleek grey duffle bag. “Help yourself to anything ya’ see.” McCree motions to the soaps near the shower and then proceeds to exit the shack leaving Hanzo to himself.

Hanzo looks at the door for a short moment, He then walks over to his bag and pulls out his comb, razor, and tea soup bar. He lays them on the floor by the wall mirror. He peels off his remaining clothes and folds them individually, laying them over the back of the leather recliner. Lastly, he pulls the yellow silk tie from his hair; it cascades over his shoulders. He reaches up and runs his fingers over his scalp, savouring the release. He turns the knob and allows it to heat up before stepping under the spray.

Hanzo’s sharp cheekbones glisten in the light. He scrubs his hands over the hardened edge of his abs and hip bone. His hard-toned body feels good under is touch. He takes his razor and runs over every inch of himself; he trims up his unruly lower bush, and then trims his beard. He washes his face and hair then rinses off. He towels off and wrings out his hair, then ties it into a high ponytail, his hair and silken ribbon drape down his back. He slips on a black cut-out tank and his Aztec designed pants and puts his gear over top, he then sits in the leather chair to lace and buckle up his boots.

He moves over to his bag and checks its contents. He will need to replace his missing knife, as well as a heady set of arrows and arrowheads. He reaches for Storm bow and gives it an once-over. His bow could use tuning when there was time for it. He repacks then straps on his bag and quiver and places Storm bow over his shoulder.

He then walks out into the morning sun. It’s not hot quite yet but Hanzo senses that will soon change. He talks off his jacket and ties it around his waist. He then turns and makes his way to the back of the shed, where he hears McCree scuffling about.

***

McCree walks around to the back of the shed and opens the hatch. He climbs down into the basement and walks over to his workbench. He places the duffle bag and change of clothes down. He turns and strips, then slips on the clean Shirt and brown suede pants, he rolls up the bottom a couple loops. He folds and places the dirty clothes in the duffle.

He then takes his chest armour off the wall and straps it on. He turns back and takes the chaps off the wall from where they’re hanging and folds them; placing them in the duffle. He takes his holster and straps it on placing Peacekeeper in her place. He unzips a side pocket of the duffle and places spare bullets and flash bangs in it, as well as essentials such as painkillers, sterile wrap, a flashlight, granola bars, and a tin for water.

He places the packed duffle in the saddle bag of the Atlas and buckles it. He slips his switch knife and the bike keys in his pocket, then wraps on his serape; topping it all off with his beloved hat. He takes his bike and pulls it up out onto the packed desert clay then closes and latches the hatch.

Hanzo walks around the corner.

“All packed and ready to go.” McCree tips his hat at Hanzo and winks. “You look refreshed.”

Hanzo ignores the gesture, “The shower was agreeable. Is this the only mode of transportation you have?” Hanzo motions to the Atlas, less than pleased.

McCree cocks his head and looks from the bike to Hanzo and back. “If you’re hatin’ on her, you can just walk. Or we could travel by Sand,” McCree looks Hanzo in the eye. “Or lightning in your case.”

Hanzo bristles, “That would be unsafe and impractical for energy conservation.”

To that McCree moves to the bike and mounts it. He turns and pats the back seat, grinning at Hanzo. Hanzo walks over and saddles the bike behind McCree.

McCree starts the bike and looks back at Hanzo. “Hold on Darlin’,” McCree kicks the bike to life and guns off. Hanzo flails back but finds his hands soon clasp securely around McCree’s waist.  He frowns slightly to himself from how much he likes it more than he should. McCree grins to himself all the while. They fall into a comfortable silence.

***

They make it to the supplier in Santa Fe by the late afternoon.

McCree pulls into the alleyway and knocks on the side door of a redbrick apartment building in a rundown part of town. Hanzo stands beside him. A cat walks out from behind a dumpster, completely black all over except for two small white dots just above its brow arches. “You have horns, my friend.” It mewls at him; Hanzo bends down and calmly strokes it. The small hatch at eye level on the door slides open and McCree exchanges words with the man.

Soon the door swings open and they are let inside. The cat follows. The room inside is small, each wall of redbrick possess a fluorescent bar light. The wall across from the door has a waist-high counter, above that are bars to protect the seller; flaking green paint hanging from them. On the left wall is a pair of Iron doors, their glass windows fogged with years of grime. One door is cracked, showing a training mat and small target range inside. The cat leaps up onto the counter and squeezes under the bars, there is a small red pillow on a stool on the opposite side, it jumps up and rolls over on the pillow, all four paws in the air stretching languidly. The man who opened the door seals it and sits down on a padded chair in the corner. He picks up his newspapers and resumes reading it. He’s bulky but seemingly unarmed. But they all know that is a lie.

McCree makes his way up to the counter and knocks on it. “Melanie, you here?”

“Jesse, what brings your sorry ass to my shop?” A thin woman with bright purple shoulder length hair and a septum piercing walks out from the shadows among rows of shelves, she’s tan with black lipstick; a small gold chain hangs around her neck. She wears all skin-tight white clothes. “Oh! And you’ve brought company.” Her eye peruses Hanzo, “Mmmmm, and what fine company it is.”

“Don’t you got a man back home Mel?” McCree raises a brow.

“Just because a girl’s on a diet doesn’t mean she can’t browse the menu, and maybe taste test a little. Now, are you here for business? Or pleasure?” She places her hand on the counter and leans toward Hanzo accentuating her chest.

Hanzo sneers disinterestedly and looks to McCree.

“Sorry Mel, we’re here on pure business. I need a case of bullets and a bottle of gun oil. Also, whatever he needs.” McCree motions with his thumb back at Hanzo.

Hanzo moves forward, “I require a set of arrows, arrowheads, and a serrated pocket knife.”

“’humph’, aren’t you both needy.” She grins at them, “give me an hour and I’ll have it ready for you.” She waves them off and disappears back amongst the shelves, her bladed heels clicking in the darkness.

McCree turns to Hanzo, “you wanna’ spar to pass the time?”

Hanzo huffs amusedly, “I doubt you will present much of a challenge.”

McCree grins wickedly, “Hey now, don’t knock me till you try me.” He flicks his nose with his thumb and saunters into the training room. He removes his armor, hat, serape, and boots. Hanzo follows and removes his arm guard, bag, and boots. They both face each other on the mat and Hanzo bows then ready himself. “Now Darlin’ don’t you feel you have to take it easy on me.” McCree brings his fists up.

McCree swings forward with his left hand. Like a whip, Hanzo flashes out grabs McCree’s arm, curls into him and flips him over his shoulder onto the mat. “I never take it easy.”

McCree grunts on the mat, he rolls over and stands back up. He looks up at Hanzo with a wolfish grin. “Again.”

They ready themselves once more. Hanzo strikes out, going yet again for a disarm and takedown. McCree responds my fanning away. He surges back with a fake left jab when Hanzo responds he then glides his right arm around Hanzo’s head and pulls it back straight against his spine and forces him to the floor. Hanzo collapses and stares up at McCree standing smugly over him. He gets up and readies himself once more.

The next hour consists of both men equally being thrown, pulled, flipped, and driven into the mat. Both with a permanent grin on their face.

A bell rings from the other room. “’Ahem’ Gentlemen I hate to interrupt your date, but I have your items ready.” Melanie spouts from the other room. Hanzo scoffs and walks over to his things to redress. McCree grins and does the same. They both walk out and pay for their items. “Farewell, my dears!” She waves goodbye from her side of the counter. They walk to the door and out into the alley. McCree packs away his items and Hanzo stashes his things in his quiver bag.

“Do you want to stop for the night?” McCree flashes a raised eyebrow to Hanzo.

“That might be wise.” Hanzo joins McCree on the bike and they ride off.

Soon they pull up in front of a rather nice-looking hotel. McCree parks and turns to his duffle. He takes off his hat, and slicks back his hair. He removes his serape and folds it into the duffle. He straightens the wrinkles from his shirt; buttons it completely and tucks it in his pants. He pulls out a pair of thin frame glasses from his bag and places them low on his face. He then places the grey duffle on his shoulder and motions for Hanzo to follow. They make their way inside and to the front desk.

“Hello, a double king suit please, if you don’t mind.” McCree flashes a bright smile with a cheer Hanzo has yet to see from the man. His accent is completely different, and he exudes an arrogant energy.

“Of course, sir, May I have the name and duration of stay?” The receptionist chirps back typing away at the holoscreen.

“Joel Morricone for a single night.” McCree takes out his wallet and pulls out a credit card. It reads Joel J Morricone in the name slot. They pay and are given a room number. In the elevator, McCree is eerily quiet. Once they are in their room McCree shakes out his hair, takes off the glasses and returns them to their case in the duffle. “Which bed you want?” he asks as he simultaneously lays down on one of the two.

Hanzo lays his bag against the wall; he then smirks at McCree who has one eye open at him. “I will use the bathroom first.” Hanzo proceeds to grab an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants from his bag and locks the door to the bathroom behind him.

McCree rolls over and strips down to his underwear, taking a pair of sweatpants from his bag and slips them on. He lies down on the bed and tucks under the top downy comforter.

He smiles to himself. A feeling of fondness blooms in his chest. Not having to explain Joel to Hanzo was comforting. Hanzo knew the need of such alter egos, the requirement to be a different person when the time called for it. He turned over on his side and closed his eyes.

McCree was asleep when Hanzo came out of the bathroom. He pulled back the layers of his bed and crawled in. He turned off the shared porcelain lamp and folded into himself. His breath slowed gradually as he drifted off.

***

They wake at sunrise and travel all morning, they make it to a small Texas town about six hours from Dallas by lunchtime and they decide to stop and eat. Hanzo picks a classic looking diner. McCree comments that it looks a lot like the panorama Diner from back home. “Let’s hope the coffee’s at least drinkable.” They walk in and are seated into a red faux leather booth.

They are both given menus, McCree orders coffee and a glass of water, Hanzo requests mineral water. “I’ll get your drinks and you can order with me when you’re ready” chirps the waitress. She returns with their drinks and they shoo her off till later.

McCree looks over to Hanzo and seems about to say something when a ring echoes out from his pocket. McCree retrieves his communicator and looks at the ID. He furrows his brow and answers.

“Hello Mrs. Shewmore, I’m afraid I ain’t home right now so if you need help….” McCree pauses, his eyes widen. He takes the earpiece out from the communicator and hands it to Hanzo. Hanzo places it in his ear.

“Jesse, I needed to tell you. There was a man that came to my home searching for you.”

“Are you alr...?” McCree starts.

“I am fine, a bit worse for wear but alive, Son I need to know your safe. Ease this old lady’s heart.” She interrupts him and pleads.

“I am fine Mrs. I am off pretty far with a friend,” McCree says with a soft voice.

“Good.” She seems soothed.

“Can you tell us what happened?” McCree ducks his head into his hand propped on the table.

***

A knock sounds from the front step. Mrs. Shewmore scuffles to the screen and raises her eyes, her smiles drops. A Large hulking man stands on the other side. His skin is dark, presumably of mixed descent, freckles scatter across his face. His short, auburn red hair is shaved short. He wears a black short sleeve jacket with a white chest plate over it, military-grade pants with several large pockets adorn his legs; mid-calf boots on his feet.

“Hello Ma’am,” The man pushes open the screen door and forces his way in, “I’m looking for a man by the name of Jesse McCree. I hear tell you might know where he is.” He leans forward a bit casting a shadow over her.

“I am sorry but, I must ask you to leave.” She moves around him and toward the door. The man spins and grabs her by the throat thrusting her up against the wall. He continues normally. “You see, he took something real’ important from me. An’ I plan to make him pay for it.” Mrs. Shewmore grabs the vase on the side table near her and attempts to smash it over his head. The man grabs her arm however and bends it back, breaking it with a sickening snap. She screams out in pain. “Now, you either tell me where his little shithole is in this godforsaken dead land, or I can drag you around behind my truck with me till I find it.” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a large chain.

***

A Shadow busts in the door of McCree’s shack. No one is home. The man angrily kicks the side table; it shatters into pieces against the opposite wall. A glare of light catches his eye. He walks over the holoscreen and presses it on. The figure smiles viciously. “Don’t you worry Sammy, I got him.”

***

 “After that, I gave him the coordinates of your shack and prayed for your safety. I know you can handle yourself Jesse, but I still worry.” Mrs. Shewmore quips.

“Thank you kindly for the warning Ma’am, I’ll keep a sharp eye out. You get yourself to the hospital now you hear me?” McCree says his pleasantries and hangs up.

He looks at Hanzo as a mixture of emotions crosses his face. Anger, yes, but fear too. Soon, they all melt away and a solemn mask takes their place. “We might have company.”

Hanzo nods, “Do you know if the hunter that made an attempt on your life two days ago worked alone?”

McCree gives him a quizzical eye. “I don’t rightly know.”

They finish their meal and rent a motel for the night. All afternoon they spend researching If Sammy had any recorded partners. Only when searching through a deleted social media page do they find a single name that catches McCree’s eye. Garrett Hazel. The profile shows a single picture of Sammy and Garrett kissing with a caption at the bottom that reads: “To the love of my life, I am hopeful for our bright future.” beside it there’s a wedding ban emoji. Hanzo finds an article on him, “Garrett Peter Hazel, ex-military SEP soldier, he turned to bounty hunting after the programs fall out. His success rate is 96%”

They decide to rest and rise early. They leave in the morning before the suns first rays taint the black sky. They make it to the station before the sun even separates from the horizon. The train is due to depart later in the morning. McCree stows his bike in a garage. They board the train from the back and sneak into the rearmost cabin. Not until the train finally starts to excel down the rail does either man relax. McCree sits back and takes a nap as the train crosses state after state. Hanzo busies himself with his holopad.

“Dear passengers, we will be making our planned stop at Charlotte in ten minutes. Please buckle and have a wonderful day.” The intercom announces overhead. They pull into the station and come to a halt.

McCree stands, “Imma’ take a leak.” He opens the door to their booth and stops when he enters the hall.

Their car is strangely quiet.

McCree reaches for Peacekeeper but has no time to draw before a black bulk slams into him. Garrett nails him in the jaw with a flying punch and knocks him to the floor. Peacekeeper flies down the hall. He pulls a heavy chain from his pocket and goes to wrap it around McCree’s neck.

Hanzo reacts instantly; he lunges forward and grapples around his neck, slinging his legs up over his shoulder and pulling Garrett to the floor. He gets to McCree and pulls him to his feet, but Garrett recovers and grabs for McCree’s ankle, “So weak you can’t even take me alone? Gotta’ have a bodyguard?” Garrett taunts. McCree kicks at his face bending it obscenely back breaking his nose, blood runs down over his lips. Hanzo gets him to his feet as the train is beginning to move again. McCree grabs Peacekeeper from the floor. They make it to the door of the car and attempt to move to the next car up when Garrett catches McCree’s serape and nearly pulls him over the side of the now blindingly fast speeding train. Hanzo scales the train to the roof and pulls McCree up. Garrett soon follows.

“Nowhere to run now,” Garrett whips out his chain and stalks forward. The train is extremely unsteady. They are forced to near crawl to keep footing as they move toward the engine.

McCree turns to Hanzo, “I can’t use my sand at this high a speed, I’ll get ripped away, and Peacekeepers out of commission if I can’t aim.

Hanzo nods and quickly unleashes an arrow into the behemoth of a man. It lands solidly in his shoulder, but the man doesn’t falter. Hanzo releases another, it lands in his neck and still, the man does not slow. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s breathing heavily, seemingly running off pure fury and adrenaline.

Garret roars at the two men, now gating toward them as they clamber up the train. “My arrows have no effect!” Hanzo yells.

McCree looks back at Garret now merely two meters away. “Use your lightning!” McCree shouts.

Hanzo stares at McCree and hesitates. “I can’t”.

McCree looks at him confused, “Why not?!” at this moment Garret closes the distance and throws himself into McCree. They roll, violently trading blows. They topple over the edge and McCree catches the rail bar just barely, Garret clings to him.

Hanzo moves swiftly to the edge and grabs a hold of McCree’s hand. “You are coming with me, you son of a bitch!” Garret bellows from below.

“Hanzo! Use it!” McCree pleads. Their grip slips just a bit.

“He’s too close to you - if I do you’ll get hit by the current!” Hanzo exclaims.

Times stills when Hanzo catches the smiles on McCree’s face, “I trust you.”

Hanzo stares at him for mere seconds, a searing white light lifts from his tattoo and his eyes sprout small arks of electric blue. A bolt lifts from his back and strikes Garrett in the chest, sending a current ripping through his body. Both men scream in agony. Garrett slumps and falls from McCree, His body hits the fast-moving earth below soon out of sight and sooner forgotten.  

Hanzo immediately pulls McCree back up on the car. He’s unconscious. Hanzo moves them both back to their cabin and lays McCree down on the floor. There’s no pulse. Hanzo tries CPR on him to no avail.

He screams. Lightning shatters off of him, shattering the glass around them. McCree convulses when he’s hit. Hanzo’s eyes widen with an idea. He grabs for McCree’s prosthetic and grips it tightly. Hanzo sends a shock through it, nothing. He tries again, McCree sucks in a gasp of air. Hanzo feels for a pulse, it’s erratic but most definitely there. Hanzo breathes a sigh of relief and slumps back against the seat.

When the Train reaches the New York station the sun is nearly gone. McCree is awake when they arrive; they exit the train and find an old abandoned apartment building to hold up in. They both feel safer in a no-name place like this. Hanzo moves a heavy desk in front of the door. The only pieces of furniture in the dilapidated studio apartment are a mattress in the corner and industrial spool meant to as a table. Hanzo helps McCree lay down on the mattress.

It’s quiet; aside from the club music weakly bubbling in through the crack in the window.

“Thank you,” McCree breaks the silence.

“I nearly killed you.” Hanzo is facing away from him. He isn’t angry with McCree but feels the need to distance himself. If the man harbors any ill-will toward him, he will bare it. He deserves it.

“Yeah, but you also saved me….twice.” McCree sits up. “Look, Hanzo I know what it’s like to be scared. To not want to use a part of yourself.”

Hanzo whips around staring daggers at him. “How would you know? Sand is slow and child’s play compared to lightning. Do you have any idea how much constant focus I am forced to maintain to keep the lightning contained?  To keep it from destroying everything around me? To keep it…from hurting anyone..,”  ‘From hurting you’. Hanzo curls in on himself. His lightning has always been unruly, even as a child he excelled at everything else. The elders would prod him, cajole him to master it, he had tried. When he was told to confront Genji…things had gone too far…he had only meant to use it to hinder him…but… Hanzo crouches; he cups his head between his hands making him look even smaller.

“Hanzo,” McCree crawls off the mattress and over to him, “Hanzo, you don’ have to…you don’t. Gaw!” He holds his prosthetic out in front of him, “you see this?” Hanzo nods. “It was about two years after I’d left Overwatch; I got caught by a hunter down in Mexico. Back then I was still green around the edges, still used to being taken care of, I had a hold on my sands but I thought I was untouchable. All I’d ever really used em’ for was to dodge bullets and Deadeye. He caught me real close, and it came to blows real’ quick. We were tradin’ punches left and right when the guy got his weird bolo wrapped around my arm. I turned to sand to try and slip out of it but it hurt so damn bad I couldn’t see straight. Next thing I know I’m lyin’ there bleeding out with my arm turnin' to dust on the ground in front of me. I managed to slither away but when I tried to reattach my arm I couldn’t. It was like it wasn’t a part of me anymore. I passed out in an alley and woke up in a kind old ladies house two days later.

“After that I got scared. Nearly died countless times taking bullets I could a’ dodged because I was too afraid to use my sands again, scared I might lose something else. It was one night at a bar, I was drunk and rambling on, that I met this old man. I don’t even know his name. He told me; “Sounds to me like you’re just waitin’ to die. If you can do something, why don’t you do?” After that I realized I’d given up on myself, I decided I’d learn my sands all over again find my limits and what I was capable of. I started using them every day. I got better; I found my strengths and my weaknesses. I also became deadlier because of it.” McCree leans into Hanzo and wraps his arms around the man. “Look, I’m not saying you have to like it, but caging it’s only gonna’ make it worst, you already know that. You got to find your limits and learn um.” McCree pauses and looks down at Hanzo, a single tear runs down his cheek, he’s staring at the cement below. McCree huffs dismissively.

He stands up “Get up,” he looks down at Hanzo offering his hand.

Hanzo looks up at him, looking to his face then his hand, a confused look on his face.

“This kind a’ sorrow is enough to kill a man… an’ I ain’t gonna’ let that happen tonight.” McCree reasserts his hand. Hanzo slowly stands, placing his hand in McCree’s.

McCree then steps into his space; he holds their hands out to the side and wraps his other arm around Hanzo’s waist. He begins to pull Hanzo along, making small circles around the room. Soon a waltz forms from the slow movements.

Neither man says anything as they continue to make sweeping motions. A slow hypnotizing beat drifts in through the window from the nightclub below. At some point they slow, their breathing is thick between them.

Hanzo gradually lifts his head. McCree surges in to meet him, Lips tangling, its intense as each man tries to soak into the other, both men finally allowing themselves to have what they’ve both yearned for, for so long. Each man needing the intimacy far longer than they’ve even known one another. Their lives don’t leave room for pleasures like this.

****Smut start****

McCree’s hands begin to explore Hanzo’s frame, lightly tracing over his waist and abs. Hanzo reaches up and pulls his hands down McCree’s back savoring the dense muscle underneath. They walk backwards and collapse onto the mattress. Hanzo crowds into the space between McCree’s legs. He slowly lifts McCree’s shirt and follows it with his lips, trailing soft kisses and licks all the way up until they meet in a soft kiss. McCree tugs at Hanzo’s jacket and it is soon gone along with his shirt. They barely break long enough for Hanzo to get it over his head. Their shoes come off somewhere along the way.

Hanzo sucks McCree’s earlobe and traces his teeth down McCree’s throat where he nips. Hanzo suckles one nipple in his mouth, drawing a deep moan out of the man below him. He fondles the other pebble nipple. McCree tangles his hands into his hair, pulling the tie loose. Hanzo grazes his teeth over the nipple as he switches.

After a bit, McCree shivers and sets up pushing Hanzo over to his back. Hanzo goes willingly. McCree crawls over him leaving bites up one arm, across his shoulders, neck, and chest then down the other arm. He squeezes Hanzo’s ass firmly. They kiss once more, tongues sliding deliciously. Hanzo tastes sweet. McCree tastes earthy. McCree reaches for Hanzo’s belt cautiously; Hanzo nods and breathes a silent ‘yes’. Both move to lick and nibble at the other's neck as McCree slides off Hanzo’s pants, underwear coming with them. Hanzo fumbles with McCree’s waistband. McCree chuckles and releases the ridiculous buckle for him, his pants and boxers slide off easily. Their thighs glide over each other as they slide closer. McCree grasps his hands and pins them above his head as they drown in the sensation of skin against warm skin

When they finally touch the friction draws a brisk inhale from both men. Hanzo fumbles for his bag and pulls out a small bottle of lube. McCree raises a brow, “Mighty prepared.”

The corner of Hanzo’s mouth tilt up, “A man has his needs.” He pops open the top and squeezes a bit onto his hand. He warms it a bit before he takes them both in hand, gliding his thumb over their heads. Their breathing hitches. “Han,” McCree slips his hands into his hair. Neither man is anywhere near small, McCree is just a bit longer than Hanzo, while Hanzo hangs thicker. McCree leans in close and bites into the muscles of Hanzo’s shoulder a deep, rumbling moan leaks through. Hanzo arches back and cries out in the mix of pain and pleasure. Hanzo sets a punishingly slow rhythm. Lips connect again in a hot embrace, as both men rut into Hanzo’s tight slick tunnel. Each pull sending heat up their spines.

Soon McCree breaks for air. He pulls back to look at Hanzo and briefly looks away. “Can I…?” McCree doesn’t finish because Hanzo takes his fingers and trails them over his puckered hole. McCree exhales and reaches for the lube with his other hand. Hanzo releases him and he crawls down to mouth at his thighs. He coats his fingers with lube and slides them over Hanzo’s entrance.

Hanzo’s sharply inhales from the chill but soon relaxes as McCree presses in the first thick digit. As McCree works him open, he breathes heavily. Each stroke delicious against his walls. McCree trails light nips and suckles over the skin, leaving marks over his thighs. He soon presses in a second finger and begins to scissor in him. McCree presses into the soft tuft of hair around Hanzo’s length and inhales. He trails his tongue over each ball rolling them one at a time. He curves up his fingers and circles that bundle of nerves over and over that leaves Hanzo a sweating, gasping mess.

“Let me hear you,” McCree whispers, he licks up from base to tip and suckles the head. He takes Hanzo in his mouth all the way down, only gagging once.  He works in a third digit and spreads experimentally. He pulls off and pants, “I can’t…can I...” he begs.

Hanzo leans up and grabs McCree’s hair pulling him up for an open mouth kiss. He grimaces at the loss of fullness. He nods vigorously and wraps his ankles around McCree’s thighs coaxing him closer.

McCree lines himself up with Hanzo’s slickened hole and presses in. Hanzo savors the stretch. It takes a few patient thrusts for McCree to sink fully into Hanzo.

McCree kisses him, “Tch’ you feel so good, so hot, so tight around me.” He pulls out and back in just a bit; both men breathing heavily.

Hanzo tightens around him, “Get moving.” He smirks.

Without warning, McCree pulls all the way out to the tip and slams back into him, Hanzo claws into his back and curses. McCree looks more than pleased with himself.

McCree sets a fast and deep pace. Each thrust deeper than the last, Hanzo cants his hips up to meet McCree.

Both men quickly building to their end sooner than either would admit.

“I’m close,” Hanzo’s exhales, to that McCree takes a knee in each hand and bends him over almost in half and pounds into him. Each thrust strikes Hanzo’s prostate; it only takes a handful of strokes to send him careening over the edge streaking white over his chest and stomach.  As he cums, he constricts around McCree inside him and the man spills inside Hanzo. “Fuck, Hanzo.”

McCree pulls out and falls onto the mattress beside Hanzo his arm resting over Hanzo’s chest. Both bask in the post-coital high.

After some time, McCree grabs his shirt to wipe them both off and lays down into Hanzo’s arms.

****Smut End****

As He slowly drifts off into a peaceful sleep he hears Hanzo whisper in his ear.

“Thank you.”

NOTES

(The song that plays while they are dancing is Martin Garrix Ocean. And the song earlier is The Weeknd’s Call out my name, and Martin Garrix/David Guetta’s So far Away)

(Hanzo’s outfit from after his shower: https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQXCyj74kfv3gaoRQJK7JtAySlna_2WWIlldJMLntddXH4MFtFg

   https://gloimg.rowcdn.com/ROSE/pdm-product-pic/Clothing/2016/03/22/source-img/20160322103105_32428.jpg )

(McCree’s outfit: https://smhttp-ssl-33667.nexcesscdn.net/manual/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/loose-style-long-sleeve-denim-shirts-men-washed-vintage-men-s-casual-jean-shirts-summer-lightweight.jpg  

http://www.kinnaird-guesthouse.co.uk/images/large/bblnet/ByH2F8uANfccccceeeee_LRG.jpg )

[foreversillythings]

And the Clock Kept Ticking Chapter 15

Part 1    Part 14

Part 15-Our Hearts Beat Like Drums

Madge tries to keep her breathing regular as the hovercraft carries them to Two, her heart hammering in her ears. She holds onto Katniss and Rory, fingers knotted with theirs and please let us make it out of this okay.

Leevy sits across from her, grim faced and steely eyed, Rory whispers to himself, a litany of reminders and Katniss fidgets, her leg bouncing up and down. The air in the hover craft is tense, talk hushed and Madge runs through her training, attempts to reassure herself.

we can do this

we can

*

Theirs is one of the first hovercrafts to arrive, landing in a clearing just on the outside of town. They're met by stern looking soldiers who hurry them towards a makeshift camp hidden by the side of a cliff. The ground is rough and uneven but their pace doesn't slow, a tinge of fear in every step they take. Their guides' eyes flicker to and fro, as if expecting trouble and Madge gives up trying to calm her racing heart.

"Hurry up, this way," the man in front of them urges, herding them beneath the relative shelter of the cliff. The sky is pale, sun nearly white and illuminating pearly clouds and Madge tries to find courage in daylight, but she's old enough now to know monsters don't just hide in the dark. More hovercrafts continue to land, the morning air humming with the sound but then another noise, impossibly loud, shatters the day. It's gunfire, except not, cannon fire but worse, anti aircraft guns! someone shrieks and oh.

"Get down!" comes a scream and Madge drops, huddles by a tent pole and it's like the end of Twelve all over again, the whole world coming apart at the seams. She covers her ears with her hands and forces her eyes open, needs to make sure Rory and Katniss are nearby. Instead, Madge watches one of their hovercrafts explodes, burning in the sky like a new sun and the sound it makes is beyond words, horror settling in her stomach like a cold stone. And then another and another, hovercrafts painting the sky like fireworks and she can feel terror flowing through her, hot and scalding.

no

How many people were aboard those hovercrafts? How many people have died without even stepping foot on the battlefield?

And still the hovercrafts come, some managing to land even amidst the barrage of death but most blooming into great clouds of fire, raining ashes and debris down on District Two. She can't hear any screaming, at least not with her ears, but she can feel it in her bones, an endless screech of fear and pain. Someone grabs her arm, fingers tight enough to bruise but Madge barely registers it, body numb with panic.

"We're all going to die," someone wails or maybe that's the voice in Madge's head, but it doesn't really matter.

She's pretty sure they're right.

*

("So much for the element of surprise," someone grumbles and Madge almost vomits)

(people, so many people, are dead)

(you'd never know from the way some of these soldiers are reacting)

(maybe Snow’s winning after all)

*

Their commanding officer, Lyme, is a tall, imposing woman.

Madge feels like a little girl in her presence, a kid afraid of being scolded. Commander Lyme prowls in front of them, pacing back and forth and Madge tries her best to stand up straight, keep her spine stiff instead of wilting under the commander‘s stern eyes.

“District Two is our gateway to the Capitol. This battle will be more important than any we’ve had so far,” Commander Lyme declares as she casts shrewd eyes over each of them and stops her pacing. “Remember your training; do not bend to the Capitols machine of fear. Panem will soon be ours again, believe that.”

I do, Madge can’t help but think, I do.

*

There’s a buzzing in Madge’s ears, a rising hum of panic she forces as far down as she can. They’re moving out, finally, marching off to their positions for the siege of Two and Madge feels like her legs will give out with every quivering step.

be brave, be brave, be brave she tells herself, but still her nerves shiver and shake. Rory walks beside her, hushed voice running with constant reminders and tips, preparations for the terror to come and she remembers when she first met him, remembers it like a distant dream. He was so young, still is, and she wants to drag him home, hide him away somewhere safe. But that’s why they’re here, Rory, her brother, that little boy who’s grown up too much, too fast and her, because there is nowhere safe, not in Snow’s Panem.

Katniss stands by her other side, face drawn and eyes dark and Madge wonders if winning this war will lighten those shadows, carry away some of the weight on her shoulders. So many terrible things have already happened; can victory really wash them all away?

(she’s pretty sure she knows the answer)

They come to a stop on the southern outskirts of Two and slowly file into position to await the signal to attack. They crouch down, hidden by a natural sloping of the ground and Madge’s hands are already slippery with sweat. The grass here is sparse and yellow, the sky a dull sort of blue and Madge runs through everything she knows of District Two. They’re a mining district just like Twelve. They’re the main supplier of peacekeepers to the Capitol. They‘re the district that has always been closest to Snow, the one with the tightest binds of loyalty. Two is sure to put up a major fight and Madge swallows, her throat dry. She peeks out over their little hill, takes in the sight of The Fringe, District Two’s version of The Seam. Ramshackle wooden houses with dirty windows, scraggly lawns and chipping paint, she could almost be home.

(but home is gone, burnt away by the Capitol)

(Madge tries not to think about what she’s doing here, waiting to burn these homes to the ground, to do just what the Capitol did to her)

She prays the battle will be quick, hopes Two will surrender without much war and bloodshed. Madge isn’t very confident in that, but even so, she’s never been one to give up on hope, no matter how foolish.

*

They wait for days or minutes or years for a signal to come, but it never does.

(that soldier from earlier was right, they’d lost the element of surprise)

(and now they’d pay for it)

The only call to action they get is a hail of gunfire, spitting out from behind them. People scream, panic, run and Katniss shoulders Madge to the ground, bullets burying themselves in the hill above her. Dirt rains down on her head and Rory is shouting, voice lost in the cacophony of chaos. Their squad splinters, scrambling off in opposite directions and Madge claws her way up, knows they need to find better cover. She looks around wildly, but there’s nowhere to go, nothing but peacekeepers and open fields.

The Fringe!

The thought springs to her mind and of course, of course. There’ll be plenty of cover there, a much higher chance of losing the peacekeepers. There might be civilians though and the thought makes her wilt, but no, they don’t have a choice. She hadn’t noticed a single sign of life when she’d been watching, has to believe all the people have been evacuated.

Madge lurches upwards, driven by adrenaline and grabs the strap across Rory’s shoulder, knows he’ll never hear her if she tries to speak. She tugs hard to get his attention and gestures towards the Fringe, mouths the word run. He frowns, shakes his head, probably wants to argue but they don’t have time for that. She grabs a hold of the pack on his back with both hands and yanks, the unexpectedness of the move nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Go!” she yells and ducks down as more gunfire sprays over them. She crawls on her stomach over to Katniss, hooks a finger in the leg of her pants and pulls. Katniss flicks an eye in her direction and Madge jerks her head towards the Fringe, her lips moving in words even she can’t hear. Katniss bites her lip but then nods, sliding down so she’s level with Madge.

“Toss a grenade for cover and we’ll climb over the hill and make a run for it,” Katniss tells her, yelling but sounding like a whisper. Madge nods and reaches for one, Katniss still firing at their attackers. Madge pulls the pin and throws it, refuses to think of the people she may be catching in the blast. The explosion nearly deafens her, the ground shaking but Katniss is already standing, hauling Madge after her. They clamber over the hill and down the other side, Madge’s whole body made of pudding. Rory is waiting for them and Madge doesn’t know who says “Run!” but someone does and they’re all running, angry shouts and bullets hounding their footsteps.

The gunfire grows louder, like it‘s just behind them and Madge feels fear tighten in her chest. Just don’t stop running. Rory reaches the Fringe first and ducks between two narrow houses, Madge turning the opposite way down the main road. They’ll have to split up and find their way back to each other, can‘t risk all going the same way and having the Peacekeepers follow after. She can’t hear herself over her jackhammer heart and her body moves on instinct, dodging this way and that, hoping to lose anyone that might be tailing her.

Rory, Katniss, we’ll find each other again.

I know we will.

*

Madge whips around a corner and stops, presses her back against the wall of a nearby house. She peeks quickly back the way she came but can’t see any pursuers, may finally have shaken them off. She takes a moment to catch her breath and then pushes off, has to track down the others.

She creeps through Two, her hands clenched around her gun. Peacekeepers might be anywhere and she has to stay alert, feels like her every pore is on fire. Adrenaline is like liquid lightning, jolting through her at a million miles per second. Stay focused, stay calm, find Rory and Katniss. She hears gunfire in the distance and freezes, but then forces herself to go on. Be brave.

She walks with no sense of time, no idea how long it’s been. Where are you? she wants to scream but can’t, needs to keep looking. Hyper alert ears hear the sound of feet on gravel and Madge stops, flattening herself against the nearest wall. She quiets her breathing, eyes trained on the direction those feet are coming from and she aims, trains her weapon on the narrow opening between two houses. Who is it? Training plays on a loop in her head, every lesson running a marathon through her brain. It’s going to be okay, you can do thi-

Madge almost screams at the sight of him, not words, just sounds strangled by feeling. Instead she tumbles towards him, feet crunching over rocks and broken glass. Rory mouths her name but is smart enough not to say it and they meet in a cloud of kicked up dust, her eyes stinging from dirt and tears. It’s not so much a hug as it is a mushing of bodies, lumpy gear jabbing each other painfully. It’s quick because time is always running so far ahead of them and they hurry for cover, fingers knotted in each other’s sleeves.

Rory finds a door with a broken lock and they sneak inside someone’s hollow home, all shadows and left behind memories. They move without having to plan it out loud, Rory dragging a springless sofa in front of the door, Madge closing ratty curtains. Rory sits on the couch, sinks low into the cushions and Madge is sure the peacekeepers will trace them by the thunder beat of her heart. She shuffles over to sit beside him, the seat wilting beneath her weight and she looks at him, a smudged coal drawing in the dark.

“What’s the plan?” he whispers and Madge pushes her tongue against her teeth. What is the plan?

“Any idea how many peacekeepers are out there?” she eventually responds, the silence a bit too much like a noose. He shakes his head. Madge drums her fingers on her leg. What’s the plan? She stands and peeks out a window at the street, notes the narrow alleys at either end.

“Okay,” she starts, turning back to Rory with determination weighing in her bones. “We have a good vantage point from these windows for each end of the street. If we can lure the peacekeepers here, they’ll bottleneck and we might be able to pick them off, or at least thin them out.”

Her words are sure but her throat is dry and Rory nods, tongue running over his lips. Of course, how exactly they’re going to lure the peacekeepers is another question. Rory gives her a thoughtful look.

“How do you feel about explosions?”

*

“Ready?” Rory asks, not bothering to whisper anymore. After all, they want the peacekeepers to find them now. Madge looks at him and his face is shiny with sweat, there’s dirt beneath her nails but we can do this. She nods.

The blast rocks the street and Madge grits her teeth, crouched behind the furniture they’d pushed against the walls as extra cover. With her ears still ringing, she jumps up and pops open her window, trusts that Rory is doing the same. She trains her gun on her end of the street and tries to calm her hectic breathing. She fails.

“So now we wait,” comes Rory’s voice and Madge nods.

Now they wait.

*

They arrive on Rory’s side first.

Madge nearly jumps out of her skin when he opens fire and forces herself to stay focused on her side of the street. Her ears shake and shudder with the sounds of death and gunfire, her teeth biting down into her lip. Stay focused, don’t look. Sweat slides over her skin, stretched so tight it might snap apart any minute.

“Fuck,” Rory swears and Madge almost turns, is half a second from going to help when peacekeepers start to file in from her side of the street. Panic, so hot it’s almost cold, spills from her head into the rest of her, filling her up from top to bottom. She pulls the trigger with slick fingers and the kick back rattles her organs. Madge has never shot a real person before, tries not to focus on the fact that she’s killing someone’s child, sibling, parent, spouse. There’s a loud, angry lion roar in her ears, drowning out the world and she remembers Janah Malleefowl and a smoking gun, tries not to remember her body in the street.

The peacekeepers return fire and Madge ducks, bullets piercing weak wooden walls and lodging in her furniture barricades. Then she’s up, firing, taking cover and up again. A few bullets come so close she can feel their heat and even a few peacekeepers creep near, but she refuses to think about that, does what she needs to make it out alive. She moves like a machine, her training working without conscious thought. Don’t think, just do.

She pulls the trigger and nothing comes out, her gun empty and she drops down to her knees, tries to numb the fear in her blood as she reloads. When she stands there’s a peacekeeper so close to her window she could reach out and touch him, the white of his armour glowing in the midday sun. For a second Madge is blind from both the glare and the memory of peacekeepers in the sun, fists and boots tattooing her skin. She’s saved only because the peacekeeper in front of her didn’t expect her to stand so suddenly, isn’t quite ready to fire. Madge pulls the trigger and her bullet buries deep in his armour (his and all of theirs, all those peacekeepers she can never forget), blood spraying out and she can taste it in her mouth. Her stomach roils with heat but she doesn’t have time for that right now.

Win, you have to win

*

She could have been there for years when the last peacekeeper falls, her gun nearly slipping from trembling hands. It takes her a minute to hear it over the bang, bang, bang of her heart against her ribs but Rory’s stopped shooting too. Madge turns to him with a quivering smile, relief like water over burnt skin. We did it!

But Rory isn’t smiling as he turns and time seems to slow down, seconds stretching into hours. There’s a frown on his face, red, red, red spreading across his shirt and...no.

Madge would scream but can’t, words choked in her throat.

Rory’s been shot.

*

She can’t breathe and Rory wavers as he touches his wound, fingers coming away scarlet. He slumps sideways, shoulder knocking into the wall and slides down to the floor. Madge trips towards him, her knees cracking angrily against the floor. She ignores the pain and crawls over to him, her hands shaky as she grabs his elbow, curls one hand around his wrist.

“Rory,” she murmurs, doesn’t know what to say.

“How...how bad is it?” he mumbles, voice rising and fading. Madge swallows. She can’t tell through all his clothes, can only see the blood, so, so much blood.

“Here,” she whispers, taking his hand, “put pressure on it. I’m going to see if I can find any first aid supplies.”

Madge stands on quaking legs and has to take a moment to breathe, to relax. It’s going to be okay. Rory’s going to be okay. She goes to the bathroom first, the house here laid out similar to her own. She ignores the homesickness as she grabs every clean towel she can find, has to stay focused on Rory. They don’t seem to have any bandages or disinfectant, but Madge can’t tell if they never did or took it with them when they left. She shakes her head. Not that it really matters, what matters is there’s none. She goes to the kitchen and fills a bowl with water from the sink, needs something at least to clean him up. She settles down beside him again and can’t really tell in the gloom, but she thinks he may be getting paler.

“So?” he asks as she pulls away his hand, his fingers already stained red.

“Don’t move, I’m going to have to cut away some of your shirt.”

He nods weakly and Madge feels her rib cage tighten. She pulls out her knife and forces her hand to steady as she cuts the fabric around the gunshot wound. His blood is thick and dark, oozing steadily out of him and Madge feels a little like puking. She uses her hands to tear his shirt a bit more and then exhales loudly, the whole bloody mess exposed. It’s on his left side, just missing where she thinks his kidney should be. She puts a hand on his shoulder and gently leans him forward, but sees no exit wound on his back.

“I think the bullet’s still inside you,” she tells him, that thought like a boulder in her gut.

Rory laughs painfully. “Well, shit. You’ll have to...take it out.”

Madge shakes her head quickly, a panicky feeling filling her lungs.

“I can’t, I’ll make it worse.”

“I’ve been shot, I’m not sure...it gets worse.”

Madge bites her lip. You could die, she thinks but doesn’t say. She inhales a shaky breath and places a clean towel in his hand.

“Keep up the pressure,” she tells him and he watches her through half closed eyes. Her whole body trembles as she goes to the sink to clean her knife. She scrubs at her fingers, her nails, her knife with dish soap, eyes welling with tears. She’s no surgeon, knows only the most basic first aid and they need Prim, someone, anyone, who could save Rory. What if I make it worse? She grabs a wooden spoon on the way back and kneels in front of him smelling strongly of lemons. She takes a few deep breaths in the hopes of steadying herself. It doesn’t work.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks and he nods weakly.

“I’m not...gunna lie, I’ve forgotten most of what Prim taught me about emergency first aid, but...I’m pretty sure leaving the bullet in there’s not a good idea...And hey, if this goes terribly wrong and we should have left it in, you can...totally blame me. My bad,” Rory says and tries to smile but Madge can’t return it. He nods again and removes the towel from his wound, Madge flinching at the sight of it. She squeezes the handle of her knife, doesn’t even know where to begin.

“It’s okay,” Rory whispers, “I know...you can do it.”

Madge swallows.

“Here,” she mumbles, placing the spoon between his teeth and for the first time, she can see the worry bright in his eyes. She bends down to get eye level with his wound and leans in close, feels sick as she tries to see the bullet. It’s too far in, not to mention too dark and she leans back, stomach rolling. She scoots in closer and Rory closes his eyes, unable to watch.

“Ready?” she asks, grabbing his shoulder to steady him and he nods jerkily. Slowly, carefully, she inserts her knife into his wound, hoping she’ll hit the bullet with the blade. It’s probably a terrible idea, but she has no idea what else to do. Rory tenses under her fingers, teeth digging into the spoon. He grunts in obvious pain, eyes screwed up and nose wrinkled but Madge keeps going, can’t stop now. And then finally, she feels it.

“Got it,” she breathes in triumph and pulls out the knife, Rory wincing. “Got it,” she repeats and figures she’ll give him a minute to recover. He’s breathing heavily and she realizes there’s no way she’ll be able to dig out a bullet from his wound, it’s too small and narrow. She bites her lip.

“If you want me to take it out, I’ll have to make the opening bigger.”

He exhales loudly and leans his head back.

“Do it.”

Madge nods. She takes his shoulder again and Rory clenches his teeth around the spoon. Her knife is steady even if her heart isn’t when she starts to cut into his skin, widening the bullet wound. Rory groans, hands tightening into fists. I’m sorry.

She puts down her knife, the first part of her job done and closes her eyes for a moment. You can do this. She looks at his face, his grimace of pain and then plunges two fingers into his side. He yelps around the spoon and she frowns in sympathy, sorry running over and over through her mind. He is warm and wet, or at least his insides are and Madge fights down the rising tide of bile.

Rory needs me.

She feels it then, fingers grasping at the bullet slippery with Rory. It tries to get away from her but she doesn’t give up, forces it to come out and Rory hisses as her fingers leave his body. The bullet, so tiny but so dangerous, slips from her fingers to the floor as Rory spits out his spoon.

“Fuck” he moans, “fuck fuck fuck”.

“I’m sorry,” she says around a sob, mopping at his wound with a wet towel. There are tears in the corners of his eyes and his breath hisses out of him like steam. She takes another towel, this one clean and dry and places his hand over it.

“Come on, we need to keep up the pressure and stop the bleeding.”

Rory nods and pushes down on the towel with shaking fingers.

“Thanks,” he breathes, voice so very faint. “That fucking sucked. Don’t...don’t ever try it.”

Madge half-laughs, half-sobs.

“I won’t.”

I hope.

*

(the battle for District Two wages on, peacekeepers overwhelmed by the sheer number of rebels, all ready to die for their freedom)

(Snow receives dispatches in his Capitol, of rebel footholds, of dead peacekeepers and defectors, Two’s citizens who aren’t so keen to fight for a king they’ve never met)

(resistance members are slaughtered in droves but still they come, cannot, will not give up)

(it is a war heavy on casualties, but slowly, Two falls)

*

The sun travels to the other side of the house, casting them in even deeper shadows and Madge pulls her gaze away from a collection of family photos on the wall to check on Rory.

He’s bled through his towel again and she feels helplessness strangle her heart, because she has no idea what she’s supposed to do. She gives him a fresh one and he offers her a fragile smile, his skin graying.

“I’m...good,” he answers her unspoken question and she doesn’t believe it for a second. She touches his cheek and he coughs violently, his whole body convulsing. Madge grabs him and holds him, his horrible hacking echoing in her ear. His forehead leans on her chin and she keeps him close, tries to keep him together through the spasms. He flops backwards when he’s done, nearly boneless and Madge looks down to find almost-black blood clots in her lap.

She blinks and then stands on unsteady legs, hurries over to the bathroom. The vomit comes quick and hot, scalding its way up her throat. She grips the edge of the toilet bowl as she heaves, her insides seeming determined to be on the outside. She stays like that for a moment after she’s done and then forces herself up. Rory needs her to hold herself together and she turns on the faucet, ignores her reflection as she scrubs away his blood.

Someone’s going to find us soon, they have to.

The sun burns orange through a window as Madge makes her way back into the living room, nausea swirling in her gut. She goes to kneel beside Rory and something’s wrong. His hand is no longer applying pressure, lies useless instead, his whole body mostly limp. His head lolls a bit to the side, breathing shallow and Madge feels fear start to burst in her brain.

“Rory, hey, wake up, don’t fall asleep. Stay with me,” she begs, grabbing his shoulders and his eyelids flutter but don’t quite open. Madge almost panics but forces it down and threads her fingers through his and pushes down, won’t let him bleed out on the floor.

“Talk to me Rory, tell me a story,” she insists and he gurgles a little. She squeezes his hand and moves up against his side, presses herself as close to him as she can. “Please, Rory, talk to me,” she whispers against his ear.

“I’m o...kay” he manages, voice thin but there and Madge buries her face in his shoulder. She can feel his every shuddery breath and places a hand over his heart, needs to feel it beating. She needs to keep him awake, needs to keep him conscious.

“Keep talking, you need to keep talking, okay?”

He nods and forces his head upright, the strain clear in all his muscles.

“Sor...ry. What should I...say?” he asks, sounding exhausted.

“Anything. A secret, something nobody else knows.”

He pauses and Madge is almost afraid he’s passed out when “Birds,” he mumbles and Madge blinks.

“Birds?”

“Bi...rds freak me...freak me out,” he forces past his lips and Madge feels her eyebrows go up.

“I’ve never...never told anyone, could you...could you imagine if Vick found out?  He’d never’ve....let that go...right?”

Madge nods, a small smile touching her lips.

“He and Gale...hah, they’d have loved to know....I’d never hear the...end of it...”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she promises.

“I...I told Peony,” he admits and Madge squeezes his fingers again. “I always, always wanted to...go out into the woods with Gale, but...fuck, those birds. They were...just so...creepy. She didn’t laugh though...she was terrified of...fish, can you believe it? Fish.”

He takes a pause to catch his breath, body rattling and Madge tightens her grip on him.

“I took her...to the pond when...when we were fifteen, I...I think. She spent...a half hour or something, just...standing at the edge, afraid she’d see one. She got...knee deep and then...screamed, sure she’d felt one...I’ve never...never seen someone move so quick. Fuck...she’d be so pissed I told you...”

Rory smiles a little bit and Madge feels her own widen.

“Vick...Vick would be so angry right now. He and Posy...they’d give me so much shit for getting...shot like this. Hah...they’d be so mad...”

Madge’s eyes sting with tears, her whole body sagging.

“And Peony...and Prim, they used to...do one hell of a...of a tag team. I’d be in so much...trouble...”

Madge sniffles and sits up to get a new towel, the current one soaked through with blood. Rory inhales a few times, the sound of it wet and rattling.

“I wish...I wish they were here to...yell at me,” he admits quietly, eyes downcast and Madge squeezes the towel in her hands. “I...miss them. Vick and...and Peony. I miss them...”

“I know,” she whispers, tries to stem the blood flow with a clean towel. “I know you do.”

He nods, breathing so laboured Madge can barely hear it, but she does, just, just manages to. There’s something, someone, many someones outside, footsteps carefully stepping on the dirt street. She tenses, fingers tightening on her gun but then deflates like an old balloon.

The door opens and standing there, lit up like a superhero by the setting sun, is Katniss.

Madge bursts into tears.

*

Medics swarm over Rory like buzzing bees and Madge leans against a wall with weak knees. He’ll be okay now, they’ll make him okay. Katniss comes to stand beside her and doesn’t say anything, just places a hand on Madge’s shoulder and squeezes. Madge wipes at a few tears still dribbling down her cheeks and puts her hand on top of Katniss’. We’re all okay.

“That’s one hell of a graveyard out there,” Katniss says and Madge had nearly forgotten about all the peacekeepers she’d killed, had been so entirely wrapped up in Rory. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods instead, wonders if it made any difference in the grand scheme of things.

“Most of Two is ours,” Katniss continues and Madge feels a little lightheaded. “The remaining enemy forces have gone to hide in the mines.”

Madge closes her eyes.

“Do we have any ideas how to get them out?” she asks and Katniss shrugs.

“I’m sure the people in charge are figuring it out. We’re just grunts, no one tells us anything.”

Madge nods again and peeks over in Rory’s direction. She can only make out his left foot, everything else blocked by busy medics but that foot’s enough. He’s okay she tells herself again, desperate for the reassurance.

He’s okay.

*

The next morning Rory is sent away to an impromptu hospital while Madge and Katniss march back to war, ready to stamp out the last of Two’s defenders. The rebel forces converge on the “Nut” the mining mountain where their enemies have taken refuge and Madge hopes they’ll surrender without a fight, but she isn’t holding her breath.

The columns of soldiers shift restlessly and Commander Lyme steps forward, a megaphone clamped firmly in her fist. A tense hush falls over the crowd and Madge can feel her heart pounding, beating up in her throat.

“This is Commander Lyme, representing President Coin and the United Army of Panem. We have no further wish for bloodshed and so, we are willing to offer amnesty to each one of you. Surrender now and come out without your arms and you will not be harmed. I myself am from District Two, and I promise you, I have no wish to spill anymore of our blood.”

Her words echo around the district and no one breathes, waiting for Two’s response.

“This is your last chance, if you do not come out, we will use force and show no mercy. Surrender now.”

Again, her words are met by only silence and Madge feels tight all over, her every nerve about to snap. They wait a few moments, just in case, and then Commander Lyme shakes her head. She lowers her megaphone and steps back, a grim expression on her face. Madge can feel apprehension gnawing at her, lowering over her shoulders like a blanket.

“Brace yourselves!” Commander Lyme suddenly bellows and Madge looks at Katniss in question. Brace ourselves? For what?

(for the very end of district two)

*

The Nut erupts like a volcano, fire shooting from all directions.

Madge screams and she isn’t the only one, the ground bucking beneath their feet. Dirt and rocks burst into the sky, raining down on the soldiers cowering outside, their pale faces making it clear none of them saw this coming. Blast after blast demolishes the Nut, anyone and everyone inside and no mercy Commander Lyme had said and clearly, she’d meant it.

Hovercrafts rumble in the sky, dropping more death on the Nut while bombs somehow hidden inside continue to go off, President Coin’s war machine taking no chances. Dust clouds and pebbles shower down on her and Madge can’t scream anymore, feels numb as the explosions continue, reducing the mountain to rubble and destroying the Capitol’s last allies in the Districts.

She watches fire kiss the clouds, imagines the screams of those burning away inside their sanctuary turned tomb. That’s enough she wants to wail, but doesn’t, maybe isn’t as compassionate as she wants to believe.

(that’s enough, but is it? Is it? asks the darkness in her heart)

(Madge doesn’t listen for the answer)

*

District Two is done, they’ve won and Madge is hard and cold all over.

She can’t imagine victory is meant to feel like this.

*

The so-called hospital smells like so many things Madge wishes she could ignore, lights dim and grimy. It’s understaffed, underequipped but it’s better than nothing and that’s what she keeps telling herself as she sits by a slumbering Rory’s bedside, his limp fingers clammy in hers. She’d love to sleep too, feels like she could for a whole year, but she’s afraid to close her eyes, afraid of what she might wake up to. The medics had patched him up as best they could, but he’s still breathing heavy, his skin far too pale. She kisses his grimy knuckles and please be okay Rory, please, please be okay.

“I found Leevy,” Katniss reports, coming up behind her and Madge sighs with relief.

“Is she okay?”

Katniss comes around to the end of Rory’s bed and nods. “She broke her arm, but otherwise, she’ll be okay.”

They both stare down at Rory, the struggling rise and fall of his chest.

“I heard a rumour too,” Katniss begins and Madge tears her eyes away from Rory.

“About what?”

Katniss manages a smile, tired and a little rough in the corners. “That we’ll be going home soon.”

Home

Madge feels her tiredness start to melt away.

We’re going home.

*

Madge holds Rory’s hand the whole way back to Thirteen, promises she‘ll never ever let go.

*

Everyone is herded to Thirteen’s overcrowded infirmary when they arrive, no matter how many times they protest they’re alright. Madge has no injuries that need tending, she just needs home, but no one listens. She shuffles alongside those in desperate need of care and daydreams of a shower, her own bed, her family.

Medics, nurses and doctors are waiting for them as they reach the infirmary and quickly begin sorting through them. Madge and Katniss are pushed off to one side, no immediate threats to their health while Leevy and Rory are pulled another way, in need of proper medical attention. Madge sinks to the floor between a box of bandages and a table covered in sterilized tools and leans her forehead on her knees, tired like she’s never been before. She can see Maysie against her eyelids, Gale, her father, Prim and the Hawthornes. Soon, she thinks to herself, soon we’ll be together again.

Time moves or doesn’t, Madge can’t quite be sure. Eventually nurses come to examine them, make sure they really are alright. There’s no available beds so they do their work right there in the corner and Madge keeps her eyes closed as she waits for her turn. I hope Rory’s doing alright.

“Madge,” Katniss hisses, kicking her in the ankle and Madge’s head pops up, assuming it’s her turn. But the nurse is still two people away and then Madge follows Katniss’ line of sight and feels her chest burn suddenly hot.

Gale

He’s standing in the midst of a flurry of activity, her heart pounding out his name. He says hers and she hears it even though he’s much too far away, feels invigorated and refreshed at just the sight of him. She stands and keeps her eyes locked with his, never once looks away and the whole world around them seems to blur, no longer mattering. She walks to him and straight into his embrace, folds into his chest like she’d never left.

“You’re back,” Gale whispers and Madge smiles into his shoulder.

I’m back.

*

Holding Maysilee is better than any medicine, salve or balm, soothes and reassures Madge like nothing else ever could. She feels alive again as she holds her daughter, feels courage and strength pounding through her blood.

“I love you,” she whispers though her tears and this is why she fights, why she has to win.

For Maysilee, Madge thinks she could do anything.

Anything at all.

*

There’s a heap of clothing on the floor and Madge lies on her back in bed, eyes closed and body humming. Gale lies on his side beside her, propped up on an elbow and she can feel him looking at her, kissing her all over with his eyes. The room is dim, her breathing slow and home is not so much a place as a feeling, like a fire boiling her blood.

“They started planning the Capitol invasion the second they heard Two had fallen,” Gale whispers, goose bumps following his fingertips across her skin.

“You’re going,” she murmurs, opening her eyes. Gale nods and his hands stop, a burning hot trail remembering where they’d been.

“This is it,” he tells her and she knows it, feels it like a storm in her chest. She reaches for his face and pulls him down to her, fills herself with Gale, entirely and completely. This is it his voice echoes as he touches her inside and out, this is the end her heart whispers back.

Soon, this will all be over.

(but for who?)

*

Her father stops by before breakfast the next day, eyes wet and shining.

“Madge,” he breathes when she opens the door and she smiles, her own eyes starting to fill with tears.

“Daddy.”

Neither one of them says anything else, they simply fall into each other’s arms and hold each other tight. Madge laughs into his shoulder as he squeezes her and there’s something magical in this moment, something bright and warm and right.

Are you watching Mama? Us Undersees, we’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it, I promise.

And if she listens with her heart instead of her ears, she’s pretty sure she can hear her mother say I know.

*

Madge has to settle back into her regular routine and it feels so strange, because everything is different now, but also just the same. She works and trains, nightmares nibbling at her mind, memories and could-have-beens lodging in her chest and freezing her all over like ice. Gunfire and blood, Rory’s gray skin, explosions rattling her bones, they’ve taken root inside her but outside everything goes along as it has for months and months, monotonous and never changing. Coin’s daily briefings greet them in the mornings, schedules dictate their every waking hour and everybody just plods along, even as Madge’s whole world tilts a bit on its axis.

Maybe nothing’s changed, she thinks as she stirs her pudding at dinner, maybe I’m the only one who’s different. It’s a bit disorienting, a bit like drifting out to sea but every time she needs an anchor to keep her steady, there’s Maysie tottering on unsteady legs across their room, Gale’s body warm against hers in bed, Posy’s excited whisper at supper, Prim’s gentle hands, her father’s tender smile, Katniss’ steely determination, Peeta’s silly jokes, Hazelle’s comforting eyes, Annie greeting her at breakfast with a breathless “I’m so glad you’re alright”.

There’s a storm raging inside but Madge knows it will pass, the people she loves like sunshine peeking through clouds.

We’re going to be okay.

Deep down in her heart, she believes it. That’s something not even going to war can change.

*

Madge goes with the Hawthornes to visit Rory, feels an odd sort of fear pooling in her gut. She knows he’s okay, on the road to recovery and still it builds, weighing down her limbs. Posy charges ahead of them, barging into the infirmary with determination blazing in her eyes and Hazelle follows after. Madge lags a bit behind with Gale, that odd worry chewing on her skin.

“Something wrong?” Gale asks and she shakes her heads, even as acid crashes against the walls of her stomach. Why am I so nervous? They head inside and the place is crowded with patients and their families, the cost of Two’s liberation a heavy one.

“Looking for Rory?”

Madge turns around and Prim stands behind her, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s pale too, hair dull and Madge thinks she needs a break, but then, they all do. Gale turns too and smiles at Prim.

“Yeah, hope he hasn’t been causing you too much trouble.”

Prim laughs thinly, her eyes not lighting up like they used to.

“He’s been great. Well, aside from constantly trying to convince everyone he’s fine to go home that is.”

Gale grins.

“That definitely sounds like him. So, where is the menace?”

Prim’s smile is weak as she points to their right.

“He’ll be along the wall over there. I’d go with you, but I’ve got so much work to do...”

Madge squeezes her arm.

“When are you off?”

“Umm, I don’t know, uh...I haven’t gone home in two days, but we lost so many in Two...” Prim trails off and Madge pulls her in for a quick hug.

“Get some rest Prim,” she pleads and Prim nods against her shoulder.

“I’m okay, really. Now go on, Rory’s waiting.”

Madge and Gale watch Prim as she slouches off into the crowd, hearts heavy.

“She’s an Everdeen, they’re tough. She’ll be okay,” Gale says and Madge nods, wishes she could believe it. They head in the direction Prim pointed, past so many beds of injured men and women, before they see the Hawthornes. Rory is sitting up in bed, colour back in his cheeks and Madge feels some of her tension ease. But she still can’t shake the image of him, limp and nearly lifeless in her arms. She tries to shake her head to clear it and Hazelle pulls Rory in for a hug, holds him so long it’s like she’ll never let go.

“I’m alright, Ma, really. Prim’s taken good care of me.”

Hazelle nods and releases him, except his hand, kept tight in hers. Posy glares at Rory, arms folded across her chest.

“You’re a jerk,” she pronounces and Rory grins.

“Ah, just the homecoming I dreamed of.”

“Really,” Posy insists, fighting the gathering tears in her eyes. “I’d never, ever forgive you if you got yourself killed.”

Rory’s smile softens and he reaches his hand out to hers, squeezes her fingers. “I know.”

Posy nods and bites down on her bottom lip. Her eyes blur with tears and then she flings herself on him, blubbering on his shoulder in a snotty mess.

“Ah come on Posy, I’m okay,” Rory says, patting her back.

“Shut up,” she replies and sits back, rubbing furiously at her eyes. Hazelle wraps an arm around Posy’s shoulders and Rory takes note of Gale and Madge.

“Posy’s right, you are a jerk,” Gale says shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Hey, you got blown up. I don’t think this is quite as bad as that,” Rory counters with a smirk and Madge feels a knot in her chest start to loosen. This is the Rory she remembers, the one they’d missed for so long. Gale rolls his eyes and sits in a chair by Rory’s bedside.

“So, what? Every time I complain about someone doing something, you guys are gunna throw that in my face?”

“Duh.”

Posy giggles a little, Hazelle’s eyes shine and Madge feels a little like she’s floating. Rory looks over at her and smiles warmly, less the little boy who lost everything, and more the handsome young man he should’ve been allowed to be.

“I’m glad you were there with me,” he says, taking her hand and Madge feels tears build in her eyes. She wishes she didn’t always cry but this is one habit she can’t seem to break.

“Me too,” she mumbles and Rory grins, that old, old Rory grin, full of mischief and good cheer.

“My hero,” Rory teases with his voice, his eyes bright and sincere and then Madge grabs him, sobbing ridiculously into his chest. Gale laughs and then his arms are around them both, Posy and Hazelle soon joining in.

(and with her eyes closed, she could swear Vick was here too)

*

Preparations begin in earnest, plans drawn up for the final siege.

A manic energy infuses the walls of District Thirteen, breathes life into the people hemmed in underground.

(soon, soon)

*

“So, I’ll be going to the Capitol instead of Leevy,” Thom tells them with a grin over lunch a few days later, Leevy, her arm bound up in a sling, nodding along. Gale sighs dramatically.

“Guess we should say our last goodbyes now,” he tells Madge and Thom rolls his eyes.

“You’re the one who blew up last time,” he retorts, words softened by a grin. Gale opens his mouth to reply but Leevy gets there first.

“How about you watch each other’s backs,” she says and Madge can’t help but nod.

Bring each other home.

Please.

*

Days tick down into hours, their day of reckoning creeping ever closer.

Soon, soon is the promise roaring in the walls of Thirteen, their rebellion ready for its final test.

Soon

*

Gale holds Maysilee in his arms, whispers softly to her and Madge leans against him, presses her cheek to his shoulder. Maysie sleeps soundly and Gale's voice is tender as he talks to her, reassurances and promises in every word.

...when this is over, I'll teach you to swim, to lay the perfect snare...

...we'll go home to Twelve, you'll love the woods...

...I'll remind you when you're older, but always listen to your Nana's advice. You can ignore Uncle Rory and Aunt Posy though...

...I love you...

Madge sighs into his skin, wants to stretch this night out for years. Instead, they have only a handful of hours before he's gone and she closes her eyes, lets the sound of him soothe her ragged edges. He is promising Maysie a million tomorrows and Madge will hold him to it, believes in him and his coming home.

They have only tonight and then the rest of their lives, days and months and years upon years.

Madge believes that.

(she has to)

*

Madge and Gale are quiet as she walks him to the hovercraft, hands linked and bodies brushing.

They’d dropped Maysie off with Hazelle, he’d said all his last goodbyes and now there’s just this walk, this one walk before he’s gone, off where she can’t follow. There are other people walking the same way but Madge barely notices them, is entirely focused on Gale and every last second she has with him.

They reach the hangar bay and families mill about, exchanging kisses and final farewells. She can see Peeta and Katniss nearby, whispering in each other’s ears and then Gale turns to face her, hands resting on her waist. She wraps hers around his neck, hands playing with the hair at the back of his head and tries to smile. Words crowd up inside her and Gale presses his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he murmurs and Madge tilts her head up, lips ghosting over his.

"Come back to me," she breathes into him and he tightens his hold on her waist, their hearts pressed together and beating in tandem. She kisses him with breathless abandon and this is not goodbye.

She can taste a thousand words on his tongue, passed silently between their lips. He will be back and Madge gathers her courage around herself like armour as he starts to pull away. His fingers catch hers and she squeezes slightly, burns the feel of him into her flesh. She inhales and watches him walk away, off to join the others and Peeta comes up beside her, slips his arm around her shoulders. She slides hers around his waist as they watch their soldiers head off to war, the final battle of them all.

I love you Madge thinks to their backs, i love you i love you i love you.

Gale turns back for a moment and Madge smiles, wants what could be his final look at her to be something worth remembering. Leevy comes up on her other side, hand finding hers and this is it.

The end is here.

(please, please let it be the Capitol's end)

(not ours)

(please, not ours)

*

(the end is here, not only in the Capitol but in Thirteen too)

(the Rebellion is launching their last strike but so is Snow)

(and this time, it really is winner take all)

*

Only one chapter left!! Thanks for sticking with me through all this, you guys are the best! :)

[giant-spider-boyfriend]

Acrid

George had been settled in, in the middle of moving his life out of the Swedish apartment and back to his family home in Michigan...and then the call back came. He knew he wasn’t getting out of there that easily. There’d always be another mission, and another, the Big Guy was just one of those difficult to replace agents. He limped over to the com and activated it. “I’m coming,” he said in response to the calling.

He pulled a jacket on and gathered his kit. Strapping the Colt 45 to his hip and rolling his shoulders. George briefly caught his image in a mirror, god he looked old didn’t he? He was only 53, hardly that old. Hard life, hard lines his father had always said and he’d embraced the concept. It was just strange seeing himself as an old man.

Not too old to go to work.

Even if he wasn’t feeling up to seeing the man who’d called him in. He caught the bus to the headquarters of Overwatch, the peacekeepers of the globe. He stepped out to see the Strike Commander standing there with a distinctly severe expression on his face. Something tragic had happened, and it had something to do with his men. George recalled making that expression back when he was in the Seals and an op was going pear shaped.

“Jack.”

“George.”

The uncomfortable silence followed and the Strike Commander wordlessly motioned for George to follow. They moved through the headquarters, there was a lot of fallen faces, Ana especially had that hard look she used to hide the real feeling beneath. So it was serious he had to assume. Serious enough to bring out the controlled disaster.

The pair stopped at the Commander’s office, and Jack paused for a moment. “The reason I called you back is because we’ve hit...possibly the worst disaster of Overwatch’s life,” he said looking up at George who stood nearly a head taller. “I know you know the risks of covert operations and intelligence work. Our Blackwatch unit is in the middle of a disaster zone.” He was being rather vague.

“Disaster zone, can’t you fish them out then? Did they cause it?” George asked, the door to Jack’s office was opened and they stepped inside. Only after the door lock clicked, did Jack decide to spill all the details.

“No, they didn’t cause it, Blackwatch were observing a cult group, some kind of omnium worshipping group. They were not to engage until they had enough info to strike at the core of the group and dissipate them…” he started.

“Things went pear shaped.”

“Yes, very. The cult got some kind of tip off that Blackwatch was among them, they captured the operative and accelerated whatever plan they’d been cooking up. The group stormed an old nuclear site, and within hours they’d caused a meltdown of spent fuel rods, we’re talking thousands of pounds of nuclear waste washing into this town,” Jack continued, his voice held as steady as he could. “Evacuation went well with the help of military police and Overwatch...but our team, hasn’t made it to the LZ, and we only got one message before we lost contact.”

Jack pushed a button on his desk. The voice of Reyes spoke: “Three critically injured, requesting support, McCree, specifically is in bad shape. I think he’s going into shock…” Static cut off the rest of the message.

“McCree, oh your cowboy, the kid;” George said with an understanding look. “You want me to go save your black ops team then?”

“That’s the idea, radiation in the intervening area is too high for anyone else to pull them out and we need to level a lot of buildings to bury the Radiation as much as possible. Hephaestus is listed as impervious to radiation poisoning, and he’s a helluva wrecking ball,” Jack said trying not to make a personal appeal. That ship had well sailed, this was just him asking for the favor he was owed. “You’d be doing me a helluva favor.”

“I’d be doing my job, Commander.” George crossed his arms over his chest. “All my gear still here?”

“Yes it is. It’s waiting in the hangar.”

“Right, gimme the coordinates. Where do you want me to take your boys to?”

“Anywhere outside the radiation zone is good enough, can you manage to find a path through? We can hook you up with a Geiger counter?”

“No, Hephaestus will just short it out, he can find a path I just don’t make any promises on whether he’ll do what you need…”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter. They’re dead if they stay, and I don’t have any other options on who to send...George, I’m...sorry. This isn’t exactly how I’d hoped we’d be meeting up again,” Jack said carefully.

A shrug of his shoulders is all George gave in return. “I have to go get ready,” he said and left the office with Jack watching him go and sighing.

“Helps coming Jesse...please just hold on,” the Commander murmured to himself.

The hangar was full of activity, medical teams shipping out to assist with injured and help with relief efforts. Loads of equipment being loaded onto ships, and then being flown out with haste. Overwatch watchpoints nearby would also be shipping out. George furrowed his brow; he didn’t know the extent of the disaster, but from how much manpower was being dedicated to it, he was starting to get the picture.

“You George?” someone said from the prep stations. “Your gear’s over here, you’re going to be on my ship. I’m doing an airdrop since we don’t have sufficient radiation shielding to get in too close. You alright with that?”

“Yeah, done it before…” he said limping to a secluded spot to pull on the special clothing. It didn’t look particularly odd, a tank top and pair of loose looking pants but within the fibres they held special purpose. The woman looked skeptical as George limped back.

“...I can’t help but notice your limp,” the pilot mentioned as she pointed at his leg curiously. He shrugged, picking up the hefty looking hammer of sorts. “Parachute?”

George just smiled and shook his head. “He doesn’t need one, and I’m not the one who’s doing the work, you just get us there ma’am and we’ll do the rest,” he said and nodded as he walked over to the vessel, something stirring in his mind. A sleeping dragon.

“Right, okay, checks are done moving out.”

The vessel was off the ground and they were headed out for the disaster zone. It wasn’t long before they were over the flaming remnants of the city. High temperature waste had ignited gas lines, burst pipes and sewage. George took a deep breath, and stepped to the open door, wind whipping at his hair. “Ready for deployment.”

“Jump now,” came the answer.

And he leaped, closing his eyes, and fading away.

The ground came fast, feet to the ground smashing into the pavement body moving to a crouched position. A surge of static crackled along the ground, and over the man’s form. Someone new had landed in George’s stead. He stood up to a full height of 7 feet, hair being snatched up by the raw static that clung to him. The hammer at his back lit up, the lightning rod for the unhinged power.

He stepped from the impact sight, looking around, a rudimentary HUD and heat mapping overlay his vision. Unique features of the nanite construct. He reduced the range, zeroing in on the human body’s signature. Then the coordinates, there you are. “Hmmm,” came the noise as bare feet slapped on the pavement. He started into a swift run, hammer pulled from his back he discharged a raw bolt into a bit of the surrounding refuse, buildings already charred started to fall. It was calculated. No sign of the Blackwatch unit no need to worry about whether one of these buildings was where they hid.

The coordinates led him to a centralized spot, radiation levels seemed to be mildest here, interesting. His swept gold eyes around. A huddled group of human figures stuck out among the radiation and flooding. Several seemed quite cold, corpses perhaps?

The door of their sanctuary had a broken lock, so it was kicked down with unnecessary violence. The group looked up aiming weapons at the creature that stepped from the smoke. There was a few moments of fear.

“Hello, do not be afraid, I’m the rescue,” came a voice that was human, albeit that voice seemed to lack much in way of correct expression. “Which is closest to death?”

Reyes cleared his throat. “Hephaestus, right, they would send you. We have 2 dead, one in critical condition;” he said. “Is there a ship coming?”

“No ship, too much radiation. I’ll be your guide,” again it was nearly there, nearly friendly almost pleasant...but inherently wrong. “We will be leaving the dead behind, they may be collected after radiation has be buried sufficiently.” He stepped over to the Blackwatch commander kneeling over the barely conscious McCree.

“Right. Men, leave unnecessary gear behind, we’re going light we have to go quickly,” Gabriel explained and like the well trained men they were, they dropped weight. Rations, ammunition and even their kevlar. If it wasn’t required for running it was lost. “We need some kind of cot for McCree it’d only slow a man down to carry him alone.”

“No need, he will not slow me down,” Hephaestus replied, putting his hammer on his back and hoisting the injured man up. “Are you ready to leave?” Reyes raised a brow.

“Men?”

“Yes, sir,” came a combined affirmative.

“Lead the way.” Gabriel watched Hephaestus turn his back to them and start back out into the ruined block.

Jesse was only barely aware of everything happening, when he’d seen Hephaestus approach him he’d been sure it was some angel or demon come to take his soul away. Must be surely. He could tell he was being carried but maybe he was flying.

It must be a demon holding him, as it tried to smile...it all felt so wrong. Hair flickering like fire in tones of red and yellow, the inhuman eyes, surely it was evil. He had no power to fight it’s hold.

Each time he closed his eyes he felt he was getting closer to hell. A Metallic taste in his mouth, the heat of flames. His hazy grasp of the world. Ruins of civilization and he swore he could hear screams, there must be screaming. The damned. That’s what they were, that mad man had said as much. The taste started to fade away but his teeth hurt, he felt itchy, his left arm was asleep. It was itchy, he wanted to scratch it.

He couldn’t move it.

Then he blacked out.

And when he was conscious again he found himself lying in a ship, someone snoring next to him, some old man. He closed his eyes and fell unconscious again.

Flashes of activity followed his long darkness, voice of people; some he recognized, others he didn’t. Many pokes, many prods, and the itching that just wouldn’t go away. His left arm was still numb, and yet it itched. He couldn’t find a way to scratch it. He’d just fade back away for a while, hovering in between awake and asleep. He thought of the monster, was this the hell he’d been brought to? Asleep, yet aware.

It seemed like an eternity, as he finally opened his eyes and was blinded by fluorescent lights in the ceiling. He felt dizzy, and sick. He coughed, and that caught someone’s attention.

“Jesse?”

Who was that? He furrowed his brow and turned his head to see. Commander? “...Jack?” was all he managed to rasp. His throat felt so dry, he tried to sit up only to find himself too weak to do so, how long had he been in bed like this?

“Hey take it easy, you’ve been through alot, you’re okay though,” Jack said in a calming tone, putting a hand on Jesse’s his right one. “Are you thirsty? I can sit you up.” McCree nodded to the question. The bed moved rather than him putting him into a sitting position. “Can you move your arm for me?”

Jesse took a few seconds then moved his right arm up, squeezing his fingers closed and then opening them. They were stiff, his arm was stiff all of him was stiff. “Stiff…” he mentioned.

“Yeah well you’ve been laying in bed for a while, are you in pain at all?”

“A little.” He looked to the glass of water Jack had in his hand. He reached out for it, nearly dropping it when the glass was transferred to his grasp. He sighed and did his best to be careful with a sip. A few swallows and he seemed to feel better. “I can’t feel my left arm...I think it’s asleep, but it’s itchy…”

Jack got a funny look on his face. One Jesse couldn’t parse. The commander seemed to be avoiding something. “I’m...I’m sorry Jesse, there was nothing we could do,” he said vaguely. This made McCree’s blood run cold. For some reason he just kept avoiding looking over at his arm. Like everything in his brain was telling him not to.

“What do you mean?” he asked, slowly letting his gaze turn, he had to know. He didn’t want to know. Nothing. There was nothing there, it was like someone had just deleted half of his arm. A pit made it’s place in his stomach. “...but...it itches...I can…” He could feel it.

“I’m sorry…” Jack repeated.

“I...can I...alone?” Jesse finally asked. He just needed space to think.

“Yeah, of course, all the time you need,” the Commander replied standing and briefly putting a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Buzz the nurse, and I’ll be right back if you need.” He stepped back and away from the younger man, closing the door when he left.

Jack was heading for his office, head focused on the ground, nibbling his finger out of habit. He ran hard into something, a person he had to assume as his head wasn’t aching from contact with something more solid. He looked up uttering an apology quickly before he too real note of who he’d ran into. “Oh...George…” he said and sighed.

“Commander, how’s the kid?” George asked taking a few steps back. Jack frown a bit and gave a vague shrug.

“He’s, alive. Thanks to you, I owe you…” the commander said softly as he rubbed his chin, taking a deep breath. “I know this really isn’t my place to ask but...would you...could you talk to him?” That cause George to raise a brow curiously.

“Why do you want me to talk to him? I don’t really know him,” George asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Jack seemed to hesitate with the explanation, eyeing the prosthetic that had replaced George’s right arm at the shoulder. No sense tiptoeing around it he had to just come out with it. “Cause, he’s lost an arm, and I don’t really know what that’s like. I don’t know how to talk about it, or help.” Finally George seemed to understand. “I know, I really don’t have a right to ask…”

“Fine. I dunno what you want me to say to him, but what harm can it do?” George said raising his hand to shut the stuttering blond up. “How old is he anyway?”

“21.”

“Lemme fetch something, and I’ll talk to your cowboy.” With that George stepped around Jack and headed for the exit.

It’d be an hour or so till George returned, with a messenger bag, and new fresh clothes. He headed for the medical wing and managed to avoid pulling any suspicion as to what was in his bag, knocking on the door to McCree’s room.

“I’m not hungry,” came a call and George snorted. Nurses, and their resident doctor could be a bit...overbearing. Ignoring the dismissal the big man pushed open the door, and stepped inside letting it close behind him.

“Don’t worry I don’t have any food,” he mused as he grabbed a chair and set it up backwards, sitting on it the wrong way around.

“Oh...uh, do I know you?”

“Nope, well, not really anyway; Heph saved your life though,” George set the bag down, and it made a noise like glass clinking. “Not that you probably remember much of that, you were pretty gone. But, Jesse McCree’s your name right? Mine’s George Pickford, formerly Lieutenant Colonel.” He offered his right hand for a shake, Jesse sort of stared at it for a while.

“Right…” he put his hand in the metal one and they briefly shook. “Nice to meet you I guess, so uh whats the story for you visiting me? You’re not Blackwatch.”

“Be honest I was asked to, cause we’ve both be in similar situations,” and George held up his arm again. “What with losing our arms in the line of duty. Guess it’s been uh tough, itches doesn’t it?”

Jesse furrowed his brow, George’s accent lended this sort of easy, fatherly vibe; but his words hit McCree a bit hard. “I...I’m trying not to think about it too much, but...yeah itches like the devil.”

George nodded as he reached down into his bag pulling out two glasses and setting them on the little tray next to the bed. Then he set down a bottle of Tennesse Whiskey and Jesse glanced at the door. “Would have been in sooner, but figured you could use something a little more potent than hospital jello,” he offered as he popped the cap off and poured enough to fill each glass about a third of the way.

“Where’d you even get this outside the states?”

“That’s Classified.”

Jesse was patient as George set the bottle back away in the bag, lest some nurse come in and attempt to confiscate it. “You on pain medication?” he asked.

“Little bit, I don’t...I don’t honestly feel much of anything.”

“Burns’ll do that to ya, I didn’t feel much but that ache, like the pins and needles when your foot wakes up,” George replied as he handed over the glass.

Jesse observed it for a few seconds, it smelled good, reminded him of home. He sighed and took a small sip, watching George take a more generous helping. “Will it...will it always do that?” he asked softly, feeling the warmth of the drink after another sip.

“Yep.”

“...oh,”

“Now I don’t mean to be depressing about it, you get used to it, you forget about it; the metal ones help but your brain will always be looking for what you’ve lost; there’s nothing you can really do about it,” George said with a bit of a smile. “Life goes on, they’ll get you fitted up with something like I’ve got. You stop thinking about it after a while.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better,” Jesse replied taking a longer sip.

George shrugged. “It is what it is, I dunno what else to say about it, you can’t dwell on it; it’s gone. It doesn’t come back,” he said as he took another drink. “All I can say is what not to do. Don’t get angry, don’t get bitter; you do that and you’ll start to give up. Not your fault, not anyone’s fault it’s gone.”

McCree gave a shallow nod, looking into his cup. “I just...I dunno, I guess…”

“You figured you were invincible.”

“I- no...well…” He went quiet.

“You’re 21, in some gang for years, then you join the league of heroes, I mean why wouldn’t you think that? Sure, you know there’s danger and maybe you’ve even figured that you’ve accepted your mortality. Then it happens,” George went on finishing his glass and setting it aside. “You bleed. It’s okay, kid; it’s okay to be scared, to wonder why, to hurt. It’s not easy really facing that and coming out with that reminder.”

Jesse sniffed and rubbed his face. He’d managed not to cry, but it was starting to hit him. Really shaking him up. He put the glass down and reached over putting his hand on what remain of his left arm. “It all just feels like a bad dream, like it didn’t happen to me...it happened to someone else,” he said and swallowed.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” George said and reached his hand over putting it on McCree’s shoulder. “Listen, you got lots of good people around you, they want to help. Just remember that. You’re not alone.”

McCree and George settled in, for a while talking about a lot of nothing. McCree found the older man good to listen to, he didn’t fool around, kept things simple. After a time George was getting ready to go.

“Hey, would you mind me holding onto the glass? I’d like another but I’d hate to keep you if you gotta go,” Jessy asked, raising a brow. George hummed.

“Sure, I already broke up the set, wife took one, just one I think to piss me off; I’m getting out of here in a few days, don’t plan on being back, so you can hold onto it,” George replied and poured a bit more whiskey into the glass. “Everyone needs a good glass for good liquor. Keep your chin up kid.” He tossed the bag back onto his shoulder and started out. “Oh...hey you know what, hows about I leave this with you. I just thought about it.” George turned back around and wrote up a number on a napkin. “There, you need something, I don’t know an ear to talk in, you take that and give me a ring. I don’t know how much good it’ll do ya, but my best friend from back in the day gave me a paper like that same deal...so I’ll pass on the favor.”

“Oh...huh thanks are you sure? I mean…” Jessy fumbled, little taken back by such /easy/ kindness even after 4 years. “I...hey, thanks. I’ll do that, if you don’t mind I mean.”

“Don’t bother me none,” George replied. “See ya around kid. Good luck, don’t let Gabe work you too hard. Don’t do anything you don’t believe in.”

And he walked out the door. “Adios, George…” Jessy mused taking a sip of his refilled glass with a smile.

Finally home, George took a deep breath, setting his bag aside and falling onto the couch. “Welp...buddy, looks like we’re finally retired,” he murmured to himself, glancing at his reflection on the TV. A figure stood behind him, Hephaestus, though it was all in his head. “Sorry, I’m...not up to it anymore. You did your best, you did enough. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, we did alright. Time to go to sleep Hephaestus...for a while.”

…’sleep?’

George leaned back. He closed his eyes. “Yeah, sleep.”

‘Okay.’ The figure disappeared from the screen.

[basically-i-write-shit]

Taking flight

Part 1 of 3  of my gift exchange gift for @tsukyamgiftexchange for @enterprisecaptainoikawa, who requested “aromantic/asexual spectrum tsukkiyama, punk tsukkiyama, band au, ice skating/yuri on ice au ahhh, professor/bibliophile au, tsukkiyama as best friends, really anything tbh bless”! I didn’t know if She meant band au as in orchestra or singing/etc. band, so if not there’s also an orchestra! Here’s the Band au: 

People always ask Tadashi about how the band stays together; he wonders why they only ask him (and he knows that they only ask him). Sure, Tsukishima and Kageyama are scary and Shouyou is always hopping from one place to another, too busy to sit down, but…Tadashi’s nothing special. He’s plain. Besides– Tadashi hasn’t been around long enough to know himself. 

Tsukishima and Kageyama are constantly bickering; if it’s not Tsukishima and Kageyama, it’s Tsukishima and Hinata, or Kageyama and Hinata. The three are an odd group, and no matter how many times Tadashi plays peacekeeper, they still argue. 

Looking back, Tadashi wonders how much trouble he’s really gotten himself into by joining Take Flight. 

“Oi. Are you even paying attention?” 

Tadashi’s eyes fall nervously on Kageyama, only to find the dark haired bassist wasn’t even talking to him but instead a dazed-looking Shouyou. 

“You’ve missed your cue like ten times. I’m getting tired of playing the same riff over and over again. Get your head straight!” 

Tsukishima, pianist, snickers at this, and Kageyama and Hinata glare at him. 

“What’re you laughing at?!” Hinata all but yells into his mic, causing Tadashi to cringe and wave apologetically to the poor man in the sound booth. 

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just that, Kageyama said to get your head straight, but I’m ninety percent sure that he’s the only straight one here.” 

Cheeks tinging red, Tadashi decides to break it up before the yelling inevitably starts. 

“Guys, we really should get out work done. Us taking forever to record this track isn’t just affecting us…” Tadashi nods to the man in the booth, and the group of people at the editing table behind him. “Shouyou, I’ll nod to you when you need to come in. I should have before, I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, Yama-chan, you’re the best!” Shouyou flings himself at Tadashi, causing him to tumble and almost drop his electric guitar. “Let’s get to work!” 

Recording is done soon enough, to Tadashi’s guilty delight, and he finds himself walking home from the studio where they’re recording their ep, Tsukishima Kei next to him. One hand is warm in his pocket and the other freezes in the cold of the winter weather; his guitar case dangles between popsicle fingers, and he finds his pace is slower than normal, despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to get home faster. Tsukishima, trailing behind him, listens to music quietly, and Tadashi thinks about how he met the pianist and got mixed in with all of this band stuff. 

“Thank you all, uh– have a great night! I love you guys, you’re the best!” 

People clap, and Tadashi – flushed pink – makes his way back behind the counter as Just a little Suga, the local coffee shop he works at. Open mic night has always been his favorite night. Sugawara, his manager, smiles at him, and hands him his apron. He’s just tying it around his waist when a redhead bounds up to him, pulling a (devastatingly beautiful) blond by the wrist. 

“Hey! Freckles! Who just sang up there! We’re in a band!” 

“A- Ah, really?..” Tadashi furrows his brows, not knowing how that applies to him. “Uh…–” 

“We want you to join it! I need a backup singer-slash-someone to duet with! And your voice is soooo pretty!” The redhead is so loud, every eye in the cafe is on him now, and it’s somehow more terrifying than singing in front of them. 

Not to mention the blond with him is so beautiful and he looks so uninterested and god, Tadashi is weak–

“Ok.” 

“Great! Here’s my number, I’ll text you!” 

Frick. 

That was a year ago. 

“Would you like to hang out, Tsukki?..” It’s a long shot– Tsukishima’s always been closed off. During rehearsals, Tsukishima grew close to Tadashi, but even then, they weren’t the best. 

“Ah. You still want to, after that comment outing you to the entire band and crew?” 

“Huh? Oh. I’m pretty open with my sexuality, so I don’t mind. Besides, I know you can’t go without making a joke at Tobio-kun’s expense.” Tadashi smiles, and shifts his guitar case, cringing when his cold fingers crack and stretch. He’s smiling at Tsukishima’s grunt in response when something suddenly hits him. “…Wait. You said Tobio was ‘the only straight one’ in the band…I didn’t know you weren’t straight…” 

“Ah. I suppose you weren’t there when I came out…” Tsukishima rubs his neck, clearly nervous, and the flustered expression on his face is something new to Tadashi. “I’m, uh… Well, I’m uh– asexual. I don’t–” 

“–feel sexual attraction. I know, silly. I’m on the spectrum.” 

“Oh.” Tsukishima frowns. “I– I thought you…” 

“I’m demi.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

“So,” Tadashi raises his voice slightly to change the topic. “How about it? Hang out?” 

Tsukishima nods, slowly, and smiles softly. “…Sure. Alright.” 

Tadashi grins. “Great!” 

Hanging out with Tsukishima is always fun. The two usually just sit around in one of their apartments together and watch Netflix, maybe drink, but it always makes Tadashi happy. Today is Tadashi’s turn to bring Tsukishima to his apartment, and when he unlocks his front door, he’s lucky his roommate is out. Noya is sweet, but he…overwhelms Tsukishima. 

Setting his guitar case down to slide off his coat, Tadashi shudders at the change of temperature. The hand that was gripping his guitar case burns with heat, and Tadashi mentally curses himself for not wearing gloves when he knew it was cold out today. 

“Do you want a drink? I think I have some beer in the fridge.” 

“No, not tonight.” Tsukishima straightens from sliding off his own shoes and Tadashi is suddenly reminded of how tall the blond is. “Can we make coffee, though? I’m freezing.” 

“So the human heater is cold? It must be cold,” Tadashi chuckles at Tsukishima’s grumble in response; he’s always joked about Tsukishima being the human equivalent of a volcano. “I’ll make coffee, but Noya-san probably used the last of the creamer, with his habits.” 

“Habits,” Tsukishima scoffs. “He drinks creamer with a dash of coffee. Literally. I’ve seen him make it.” 

“Try living with him!” Tadashi laughs, lifts his guitar up once more to drop it in the living room where the majority of his and Noya’s instruments and equipment lay. He leads Tsukishima to the kitchen, and smiles softly when Tsukishima plops down on a chair in the dining room with a heavy sigh. 

Tadashi shifts the coffee maker into the ‘on’ position and starts making the coffee; he notices for the first time how lucky he is that Tsukishima takes his coffee the same way as he does. Black (Tsukishima jokes that he likes it as dark as his soul) coffee has always been the best to him. Besides– if they were to use all of the sugar and creamer, Noya would be a walking zombie if they did. 

“How’s your mom?” 

“Good,” Tadashi smiles at Tsukishima as he settles down as well to wait for the coffee. “She just got out of the hospital last week, I think she’ll be back to normal in a few days.” 

“That’s good. Any changes in her condition?” 

Tadashi can tell the old med-school student in Tsukishima is interested, but he can also tell Tsukishima is genuinely concerned. His heart warms. 

“The tumor is shrinking, but not by much…the pneumonia really set her healing process back a bit.” 

“I see…” Tsukishima hums. “Well, I’ve only known her for a while, but she’s strong. She’ll get better.” 

“Yeah.” 

The coffee maker beeps signalling it’s finished making the coffee, and Tadashi jumps up, grabbing mugs and pouring their coffee. Tsukishima takes his thankfully, and immediately downs half of it. Tadashi just watches, smiling, as he takes a sip of his own. One thing he’s never understood about Tsukishima was how he could drink his coffee straight out of the coffee maker, boiling hot. 

“How are Akiteru and Saeko?” 

“Alright. I think Aki-nii is more nervous for the wedding than Saeko, when usually it’s the bride.” 

Tadashi chuckles, and shakes his head. “I’ve gotten an invitation already, so at least he’s not paralyzed with nerves…” 

“You have?” Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. “He knows your address?” 

“A- Ah, he, uh…added me on Facebook back when we first met?..And we got talking, and I guess…He got my address somehow?..” Tadashi doesn’t want to question it– he’s just happy he got an invitation in the first place. “I don’t know…” 

“Well, are you going, then?” 

“Yeah, of course! I mean, I’ve never personally met Akiteru-kun, but I still want to congratulate him on his marriage!” 

Kei’s cheeks tinge pink for some reason, and Tadashi is reminded of how aesthetically pleasing the blond is; with his long limbs, golden eyes, and the soft halo of yellow curls on his head. Tadashi would like to see him with winged eyeliner and maybe a nice pair of high waisted pants. Tsukishima has nice hips, and with his long legs…Tadashi would have to place a special order….

“Oi. You listening?” 

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Tsukki! Just thinking! What?” Tadashi’s own cheeks heat up, and he bites his lip. 

“I asked if you would like to be my plus one. I know you have your own invitation, but I don’t want my family asking if I’m dating��If I have a plus one, then they’ll assume I am. Either way, you’re going to the wedding, so I figured…” 

“Sure! I’d love to!” Tadashi interrupts before Tsukishima can talk himself out of the invitation. “But aren’t you the best man?” 

“Ah, Saeko doesn’t want to stick to tradition at their wedding, so Akiteru will have a best woman, and Saeko will have a bridesman. It’s…odd, but refreshing. I’m just glad I won’t be in the wedding.” Tsukishima looks happy, talking about the wedding.. Tadashi can see he really doesn’t care he wasn’t included in the wedding party. “Besides. Aki-nii says my resting bitch face would scare the poor people who made their way out to see the wedding.” 

Tadashi can’t help it. He doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t want to make Tsukishima upset, but he laughs. Hard. So hard, in fact, tears spring in his eyes and he’s doubling over the table before he can stop himself. When he straightens up he expects to see Tsukishima’s pace pulled into a frown, but to his utter surprise, there’s a soft smile on the blond’s lips. 

“He’s right, isn’t he?” Tsukishima says, chuckling to himself, and Tadashi watches him with wide eyes. Tsukishima Kei is smiling and laughing at his own expense. 

A few more coffees later, Tadashi and Tsukishima are on the couch in the living room, Tsukishima falling asleep on Tadashi’s shoulder. A documentary plays in the background, but Tadashi is too focused on the light illuminating Tsukishima’s features. Looking at his friend, he can’t help but think how lucky he got in life. 

He’s really starting to take flight; he’s glad Tsukishima is there to fly with him. 

[hopeiveryoverwatchocrp]

Overwatch Drabble - McCree

From “Watch Over Me - Chapter 6″ Tagging: @redghoulslinger

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to pop right out of my chest. It's like Reaper and Talon breaking into Winston's lab all over again! I watched my breathing, making sure it wasn't too loud for the members of the Deadlock gang to hear.

"I can't believe this," one of them barked. "How in the Sam Hill do you lose a crate of plutonium?!"

"It wasn't our fault," another yelped. "It was your bright idea have us guard it over night instead of just taking it straight back to the train!"

"The cops would have been expecting us to do that, Chopper," their leader talked back. "What's even more embarrassing is that you all got taken out by one dang, gun slingin', showoff!"

"It was dark out there, we had no idea who he was!" another of the gang members defended.

A gun slinger? Could they be talking about McCree? He did mention in his note that he was running on a lead with the Deadlock gang. He must have taken the Plutonium from them!

"I swear, if it's Jesse McCree who pulled that stunt on us, I'll make sure he never see's another sun set," their leader growled.

I listened as his footsteps drew closer to the counter, the squeaks of the stool turning as he took a seat, his lackeys following behind him.

"Oi, Betty, bring up three rounds would ya?" He commanded, looking over at the elderly woman.

"S-Sure thing," she nodded, quickly making her way into the kitchen.

I shuffled slightly in my spot, tucking my knees even closer to my chest, if that was even possible. I glanced over to the side, just barely peeking over at the open window. I saw Tracer poke her head up ever so slightly, spotting me. She signalled for me to stay quiet and lay low before giving me a thumbs up as she pointed towards the front door.

My best guess was that she was going to attempt a frontal assault? Maybe to buy me some time to escape through the window?

Not really know what else today, I nodded with a slight hesitation. She smiled at me with a wave before ducking back down.

"Hey, Wayne, look at this," I heard Chopper speak. "Someone else was here!"

"What?"

I glanced up, seeing a tiny bit of my glass suddenly move. Uh oh...

"Betty, anyone else in here?" Wayne, their leader asked.

"There hasn't been anyone in here other than y'all for the last... Half hour or so," Betty answered calmly as she placed three beer bottles on the counter, standing next to me.

"Really now?" Wayne questioned.

I suddenly heard munching, followed by, "It still tastes pretty fresh to me," Chopper spoke with his mouth full.

Did he really just eat my sandwich?! Oh no, that is just so gross!

"I hear McCree sometimes frequents this place when he's in town," the other Deadlock gangster spoke up. "Maybe it was 'im!"

"Now Betty, sweet, sweet, Betty," Wayne cooed as he moved away from his seat. "You better not be lying to me, darlin'."

"Now why would I do that?" Betty replied as she began to move to the other side of the counter.

And judging by the footsteps I heard from the other opposite side of the counter, I could make a good guess that Wayne was following her every move. No, wait... Now there were two pairs of footsteps. One of Wayne's cronies must be following her as well.

My mind began to race as my chest and back started heating up. Betty was lying to protect me. Someone she didn't even know, a mere customer! There was a high chance that those jerks might pull something on her. Try to hurt her, or worse yet, kill her in order to get the truth out of her! There just had to be some sort of way I could help her!

I looked over at one of the empty shelves of the counter, noticing a fry pan. I grabbed the handle, pulling out the kitchen utensil as I clutched it in my hands. I slowly began to crawl out of my hiding spot, creeping along the floor as I emerged away from the counter just as Wayne continued speaking.

"I'm going to ask you this one more time, and you better give me an answer I'll like," Wayne threatened, whipping out a pistol and aiming it at Betty. "Where is McCree?"

I suddenly sprang up, sneaking up on Chopper as I whacked him in the back of the head with the fry pan. He coughed out on  "OOF!" before collapsing to the floor. Wayne and the other Deadlock lackey whipped around, spotting me.

"What in the hell is this?" he questioned.

I caught sight of the elderly woman behind them, taking ever so quiet steps away from the pair. I had to think of something to distract them even longer if I want Betty to make a run for it.

"U-Unless you want to end up like your friend here," I stuttered, getting into a stance like a baseball player getting ready to bat. "I suggest you keep away from Ms. Betty, right now."  

Wayne snarled at me, aiming his gun in my direction as I shut my eyes and braced for the incoming bullets. I heard gun fire, and tiny gushes of wind blow by my face. When I opened my eyes, I noticed multiple holes in the frying pan. I looked over at Wayne, the hole of his pistol smoking. The sight startled me so much that I let go of the handle and dropped the frying pan.

"Or... you could do that." I commented.

His lackey pulled out his own pistol, aiming it at me as a way of ordering me to stay where I was. Wayne chuckles at me as he begins to turn his back on me, "Now where were we, Be--", Only to discover that Betty was gone. "What?!"

I smirked at his reaction. While he was firing at me, Betty made a break for it through the back exit of the dinner.

Wayne snarled, sending me a nasty glare as he aimed his gun straight at me and open fired. I tried moving out of the way, but I wasn't too quick enough, as the bullet just barely grazed my upper left arm. I ended up spinning before falling head first to the floor. I hissed at the insanely irritating pain, looking over to see the wound bleeding. I sat up slowly, pushing my free hand against the wound to try and stop of the blood.

As I did so, I heard footstep and when I looked up, Wayne had his gun pointed right at my forehead.

"You've got guts kid, I'll give you that," He spoke. "But you shouldn't have gotten involved."

"Blow her away, Wayne!" His lackey cackled.

If you thought I was terrified before, I was even more so now. Where the heck was Tracer? Doesn't she have some sort of plan?!

I shut my eyes again, waiting for it. I heard a gun shot fire, only I didn't feel any more pain. I opened my eyes to see Wayne's hand gun free. It had been knocked out of his hand, the man shouting a curse word as he grabbed his wrist and took a step back.

A new set of footsteps caught my attention, coming from the entrance of the diner. I looked over to the side to see a man, the hole of his revolver smoking hot. He appeared to be in his late 30's, with slightly tanned skin, messy brown hair with a matching beard and piercing eyes. He wore a light cowboy hat with a yellow and black chest plate with a red poncho overtop, brown leather glove on his right hand and a robotic arm on his left, pants with a belt that had a golden buckle that read "BAMF", and black kicks.  

"Didn't your momma ever tell ya that's no way to treat a lady, Wayne?" he spoke.

"Jesse McCree--!" Wayne hissed.

His lackey brought his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly. The front door flew open as four more members of the gang entered the diner, blocking the way from the cowboy.

"What'cha gonna do now, McCree?" Wayne teased. "You're surrounded."

He was outnumbered 4 to 1. Well, 6 if I counted Wayne and his lackey. I suddenly felt a gush of wind as I watched a blue blur entered the room through the open window, and Tracer suddenly rammed the two gangsters closest to my location away from me.

"Do it Jesse!" She shouted.

The cowboy flexed his arm out, a grin splattered on his face. "It's high noon."

Within a flash, he whipped around and nailed all four of the Deadlock Gang members behind him! He literally fired his Peacekeeper and just let it rip! He took them all down like that were nothing!

"Whoa," I breathed.

Footsteps once again caught my attention as I watched McCree walk over towards me, kneeling down beside me. "You hanging in there, kid?" He asked, pointing over at my wound.

I nodded slowly, briefly checking the wound before meeting his gaze. "Y-Yeah."

I sat up, stepping behind me as he carefully helped me up from the floor, setting aside on one of the bar stools. He then proceeded towards Tracer who kept guard of Wayne and his partner, who she had tackled into a booth.

They both stirred, pushing themselves out of the seats and collapsing to the floor. Wayne shook off his injury, tilting his head up only to lock eyes with Jesse McCree.

"Unless you want to join your friends, I suggest you two run along all nice like, alright?"

Their skin turning a pale white, Wayne yanked his fellow gang member up from the floor as the two of them squired out, Jesse growling at them as the three of us watched them take their leave, the sounds of their motorcycles fading the farther they drove away.

[readbookywooks]

13. My body reacts before my mind does and I'm running out the door, across the lawns of the Victor's Village, into the dark beyond. Moisture from the sodden ground soaks my socks and I'm aware of the sharp bite of the wind, but I don't stop. Where? Where to go? The woods, of course. I'm at the fence before the hum makes me remember how very trapped I am. I back away, panting, turn on my heel, and take off again. The next thing I know I'm on my hands and knees in the cellar of one of the empty houses in the Victor's Village. Faint shafts of moonlight come in through the window wells above my head. I'm cold and wet and winded, but my escape attempt has done nothing to subdue the hysteria rising up inside me. It will drown me unless it's released. I ball up the front of my shirt, stuff it into my mouth, and begin to scream. How long this continues, I don't know. But when I stop, my voice is almost gone. I curl up on my side and stare at the patches of moonlight on the cement floor. Back in the arena. Back in the place of nightmares. That's where I am going. I have to admit I didn't see it coming. I saw a multitude of other things. Being publicly humiliated, tortured, and executed. Fleeing through the wilderness, pursued by Peacekeepers and hovercraft. Marriage to Peeta with our children forced into the arena. But never that I myself would have to be a player in the Games again. Why? Because there's no precedent for it. Victors are out of the reaping for life. That's the deal if you win. Until now. There's some kind of sheeting, the kind they put down when they paint. I pull it over me like a blanket. In the distance, someone is calling my name. But at the moment, I excuse myself from thinking about even those I love most. I think only of me. And what lies ahead. The sheeting's stiff but holds warmth. My muscles relax, my heart rate slows. I see the wooden box in the little boy's hands, President Snow drawing out the yellowed envelope. Is it possible that this was really the Quarter Quell written down seventy-five years ago? It seems unlikely. It's just too perfect an answer for the troubles that face the Capitol today. Getting rid of me and subduing the districts all in one neat little package. I hear President Snow's voice in my head. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors." Yes, victors are our strongest. They're the ones who survived the arena and slipped the noose of poverty that strangles the rest of us. They, or should I say we, are the very embodiment of hope where there is no hope. And now twenty-three of us will be killed to show how even that hope was an illusion. I'm glad I won only last year. Otherwise I'd know all the other victors, not just because I see them on television but because they're guests at every Games. Even if they're not mentoring like Haymitch always has to, most return to the Capitol each year for the event. I think a lot of them are friends. Whereas the only friend I'll have to worry about killing will be either Peeta or Haymitch. Peeta or Haymitch! I sit straight up, throwing off the sheeting. What just went through my mind? There's no situation in which I would ever kill Peeta or Haymitch. But one of them will be in the arena with me, and that's a fact. They may have even decided between them who it will be. Whoever is picked first, the other will have the option of volunteering to take his place. I already know what will happen. Peeta will ask Haymitch to let him go into the arena with me no matter what. For my sake. To protect me. I stumble around the cellar, looking for an exit. How did I even get into this place? I feel my way up the steps to the kitchen and see the glass window in the door has been shattered. Must be why my hand seems to be bleeding. I hurry back into the night and head straight to Haymitch's house. He's sitting alone at the kitchen table, a half-emptied bottle of white liquor in one fist, his knife in the other. Drunk as a skunk. "Ah, there she is. All tuckered out. Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart? Worked out you won't be going in alone? And now you're here to ask me ... what?" he says. I don't answer. The window's wide open and the wind cuts through me just as if I were outside. "I'll admit, it was easier for the boy. He was here before I could snap the seal on a bottle. Begging me for another chance to go in. But what can you say?" He mimics my voice. '"Take his place, Haymitch, because all things being equal, I'd rather Peeta had a crack at the rest of his life than you? I bite my lip because once he's said it, I'm afraid that's what I do want. For Peeta to live, even if it means Haymitch's death. No, I don't. He's dreadful, of course, but Haymitch is my family now. What did I come for? I think. What could I possibly want here? "I came for a drink," I say. Haymitch bursts out laughing and slams the bottle on the table before me. I run my sleeve across the top and take a couple gulps before I come up choking. It takes a few minutes to compose myself, and even then my eyes and nose are still streaming. But inside me, the liquor feels like fire and I like it. "Maybe it should be you," I say matter-of-factly as I pull up a chair. "You hate life, anyway." "Very true," says Haymitch. "And since last time I tried to keep you alive... seems like I'm obligated to save the boy this time." "That's another good point," I say, wiping my nose and tipping up the bottle again. "Peeta's argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you," says Haymitch. I knew it. In this way, Peeta's not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel. "You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know," Haymitch says. "Yeah, yeah," I say brusquely. "No question, he's the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?" "I don't know." Haymitch sighs. "Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name's drawn at the reaping, it won't matter. He'll just volunteer to take my place." We sit for a while in silence. "It'd be bad for you in the arena, wouldn't it? Knowing all the others?" I ask. "Oh, I think we can count on it being unbearable wherever I am." He nods at the bottle. "Can I have that back now?" "No," I say, wrapping my arms around it. Haymitch pulls another bottle out from under the table and gives the top a twist. But I realize I am not just here for a drink. There's something else I want from Haymitch. "Okay, I figured out what I'm asking," I say. "If it is Peeta and me in the Games, this time we try to keep him alive." Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain. "Like you said, it's going to be bad no matter how you slice it. And whatever Peeta wants, it's his turn to be saved. We both owe him that." My voice takes on a pleading tone. "Besides, the Capitol hates me so much, I'm as good as dead now. He still might have a chance. Please, Haymitch. Say you'll help me." He frowns at his bottle, weighing my words. "All right," he says finally. "Thanks," I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don't want to. My head's spinning from the drink, and I'm so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. "I was wrong. We should have gone when you said," he whispers. "No," I say. I'm having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale's jacket, but he doesn't seem to care. "It's not too late," he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I've got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. "Yeah, it is." My knees give way and he's holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything. When I wake up, I barely get to the toilet before the white liquor makes its reappearance. It burns just as much coming up as it did going down, and tastes twice as bad. I'm trembling and sweaty when I finish vomiting, but at least most of the stuff is out of my system. Enough made it into my bloodstream, though, to result in a pounding headache, parched mouth, and boiling stomach. I turn on the shower and stand under the warm rain for a minute before I realize I'm still in my underclothes. My mother must have just stripped off my filthy outer ones and tucked me in bed. I throw the wet undergarments into the sink and pour shampoo on my head. My hands sting, and that's when I notice the stitches, small and even, across one palm and up the side of the other hand. Vaguely I remember breaking that glass window last night. I scrub myself from head to toe, only stopping to throw up again right in the shower. It's mostly just bile and goes down the drain with the sweet-smelling bubbles. Finally clean, I pull on my robe and head back to bed, ignoring my dripping hair. I climb under the blankets, sure this is what it must feel like to be poisoned. The footsteps on the stairs renew my panic from last night. I'm not ready to see my mother and Prim. I have to pull myself together to be calm and reassuring, the way I was when we said our good-byes the day of the last reaping. I have to be strong. I struggle into an upright position, push my wet hair off my throbbing temples, and brace myself for this meeting. They appear in the doorway, holding tea and toast, their faces filled with concern. I open my mouth, planning to start off with some kind of joke, and burst into tears. So much for being strong. My mother sits on the side of the bed and Prim crawls right up next to me and they hold me, making quiet soothing sounds, until I am mostly cried out. Then Prim gets a towel and dries my hair, combing out the knots, while my mother coaxes tea and toast into me. They dress me in warm pajamas and layer more blankets on me and I drift off again. I can tell by the light it's late afternoon when I come round again. There's a glass of water on my bedside table and I gulp it down thirstily. My stomach and head still feel rocky, but much better than they did earlier. I rise, dress, and braid back my hair. Before I go down, I pause at the top of the stairs, feeling slightly embarrassed about the way I've handled the news of the Quarter Quell. My erratic flight, drinking with Haymitch, weeping. Given the circumstances, I guess I deserve one day of indulgence. I'm glad the cameras weren't here for it, though. Downstairs, my mother and Prim embrace me again, but they're not overly emotional. I know they're holding things in to make it easier on me. Looking at Prim's face, it's hard to imagine she's the same frail little girl I left behind on reaping day nine months ago. The combination of that ordeal and all that has followed - the cruelty in the district, the parade of sick and wounded that she often treats by herself now if my mother's hands are too full - these things have aged her years. She's grown quite a bit, too; we're practically the same height now, but that isn't what makes her seem so much older. My mother ladles out a mug of broth for me, and I ask for a second mug to take to Haymitch. Then I walk across the lawn to his house. He's only just waking up and accepts the mug without comment. We sit there, almost peacefully, sipping our broth and watching the sun set through his living room window. I hear someone walking around upstairs and I assume it's Hazelle, but a few minutes later Peeta comes down and tosses a cardboard box of empty liquor bottles on the table with finality. "There, it's done," he says. It's taking all of Haymitch's resources to focus his eyes on the bottles, so I speak up. "What's done?" "I've poured all the liquor down the drain," says Peeta. This seems to jolt Haymitch out of his stupor, and he paws through the box in disbelief. "You what?" "I tossed the lot," says Peeta. "He'll just buy more," I say. "No, he won't," says Peeta. "I tracked down Ripper this morning and told her I'd turn her in the second she sold to either of you. I paid her off, too, just for good measure, but I don't think she's eager to be back in the Peacekeepers' custody." Haymitch takes a swipe with his knife but Peeta deflects it so easily it's pathetic. Anger rises up in me. "What business is it of yours what he does?" "It's completely my business. However it falls out, two of us are going to be in the arena again with the other as mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team. Especially not you, Katniss," says Peeta to me. "What?" I sputter indignantly. It would be more convincing if I weren't still so hungover. "Last night's the only time I've ever even been drunk." "Yeah, and look at the shape you're in," says Peeta. I don't know what I expected from my first meeting with Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. Not this. I turn to Haymitch. "Don't worry, I'll get you more liquor." "Then I'll turn you both in. Let you sober up in the stocks," says Peeta. "What's the point to this?" asks Haymitch. "The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor," says Peeta. "Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. And one of us is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!" He sweeps out of the room, slamming the front door. Haymitch and I wince at the bang. "I don't like self-righteous people," I say. "What's to like?" says Haymitch, who begins sucking the dregs out of the empty bottles. "You and me. That's who he plans on coming home," I say. "Well, then the joke's on him," says Haymitch. But after a few days, we agree to act like Careers, because this is the best way to get Peeta ready as well. Every night we watch the old recaps of the Games that the remaining victors won. I realize we never met any of them on the Victory Tour, which seems odd in retrospect. When I bring it up, Haymitch says the last thing President Snow would've wanted was to show Peeta and me - especially me - bonding with other victors in potentially rebellious districts. Victors have a special status, and if they appeared to be supporting my defiance of the Capitol, it would've been dangerous politically. Adjusting for age, I realize some of our opponents may be elderly, which is both sad and reassuring. Peeta takes copious notes, Haymitch volunteers information about the victors' personalities, and slowly we begin to know our competition. Every morning we do exercises to strengthen our bodies. We run and lift things and stretch our muscles. Every afternoon we work on combat skills, throwing knives, fighting hand to hand; I even teach them to climb trees. Officially, tributes aren't supposed to train, but no one tries to stop us. Even in regular years, the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 show up able to wield spears and swords. This is nothing by comparison. After all the years of abuse, Haymitch's body resists improvement. He's still remarkably strong, but the shortest run winds him. And you'd think a guy who sleeps every night with a knife might actually be able to hit the side of a house with one, but his hands shake so badly it takes weeks for him to achieve even that. Peeta and I excel under the new regimen, though. It gives me something to do. It gives us all something to do besides accept defeat. My mother puts us on a special diet to gain weight. Prim treats our sore muscles. Madge sneaks us her father's Capitol newspapers. Predictions on who will be victor of the victors show us among the favorites. Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he's got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and teaches us all he knows about snares. It's weird for me, being in conversations with both Peeta and Gale, but they seem to have set aside whatever issues they have about me. One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he even admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate." "Tell me about it," I say. "If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd be dead, and I'd be a happy little victor all by myself." "And where would we be, Katniss?" asks Gale. I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances? But there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted ... "Hunting. Like every Sunday," I say. I know he didn't mean the question literally, but this is as much as I can honestly give. Gale knows I chose him over Peeta when I didn't make a run for it. To me, there's no point in talking about things that might have been. Even if I had killed Peeta in the arena, I still wouldn't have wanted to marry anyone. I only got engaged to save people's lives, and that completely backfired. I'm afraid, anyway, that any kind of emotional scene with Gale might cause him to do something drastic. Like start that uprising in the mines. And as Haymitch says, District 12 isn't ready for that. If anything, they're less ready than before the Quarter Quell announcement, because the following morning another hundred Peacekeepers arrived on the train. Since I don't plan on making it back alive a second time, the sooner Gale lets me go, the better. I do plan on saying one or two things to him after the reaping, when we're allowed an hour for good-byes. To let Gale know how essential he's been to me all these years. How much better my life has been for knowing him. For loving him, even if it's only in the limited way that I can manage. But I never get the chance. The day of the reaping's hot and sultry. The population of District 12 waits, sweating and silent, in the square with machine guns trained on them. I stand alone in a small roped-off area with Peeta and Haymitch in a similar pen to the right of me. The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls' reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch's name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place. We are immediately marched into the Justice Building to find Head Peacekeeper Thread waiting for us. "New procedure," he says with a smile. We're ushered out the back door, into a car, and taken to the train station. There are no cameras on the platform, no crowd to send us on our way. Haymitch and Effie appear, escorted by guards. Peacekeepers hurry us all onto the train and slam the door. The wheels begin to turn. And I'm left staring out the window, watching District 12 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.