#catching fire

The nightmares after your games were horrible and inescapable.

Every night, no matter what pills you took or what sleep inducing drinks you tried, you were ripped from sleep, screaming so loudly it seemed to echo off the walls around you. Your mother has since stopped waking up to check on you, she’d grown used to the screams with how frequent they were.

In sleep, your hands were drenched in blood, crimson dripping from your fingers, splattered across your face, iron on your tongue.

Maybe it was Peeta, face gray and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, slowly becoming delirious his eyes became unfocused. No matter how much you told yourself it was only a dream, all you could see was the sweet boy watching as his life slipped away, watching the infection spread up his leg and toward his heart. He was still him in those last few days before the victory, even as he was dying, he was kind to you.

Sometimes it was the mutts with the human eyes. Glimmer or Marvel, and on the worst nights, Rue. While alive, she always held a gentle look. Soft brown eyes, determined but still so innocent despite the wrongs done to her. But as one of those dogs, those eyes held nothing but hatred. Contempt because you’d survived while she’d slowly bled out onto those flowers.

Even a change of scenery, your bedroom on the train that brought you around for the victory tour, couldn’t stop the night terrors.

And although your mother had grown used to your screams, not everyone had.

Tonight, it was Peeta again.

Although this dream was different.

He wasn’t slowly succumbing to infection tonight, instead, you were too late to realize Cato’s plan.

You’d been turned around for only a split second, just happy to have gotten Peeta to the top of the Cornucopia and away from the mutts when you realized that Cato had him by the neck with a sword at his chest. You opened your mouth to stop him, maybe to scream but when you reached an arm around to grab your bow, Cato’s blade plunged deep into Peeta’s chest, sending spurts of rouge out to paint Cato’s arm and the Cornacopia’s surface. His blood splattered across your face, warm and sticky where it dripped down your cheeks. Peeta went limp, his knees giving out and Cato dropped him, letting him slip over the side and down to the mutts below. The cannon blasted, rocking your very bones beneath your skin. He was gone, you’d failed. You could have both made it out alive and you’d let him die, it was your fault he wouldn't be returning to his family. All the work, all the effort of star-crossed lovers wasted because you’d turned your back for a second.

A scream tore from somewhere deep in your chest, ripping your throat with the sheer devastation. “Peeta!” you wailed, scrambling to the edge of the Cornucopia to peer down at him. Maybe the Capitol has misread his vitals, maybe he’d survived and you could go down and grab him and pull him to safety and everything would be okay.

A glance off the side only had it worse, chunks of him were missing. The mutts had done a number on him in only a fraction of a second, parts on his face were gone. Only one beautiful blue eye was still in place. Everything was covered in blood and-

“Hey, it’s okay, wake up-” 

Someone was gripping at your shoulders, shaking you. You threw an arm out, desperate to get the hands off. Peeta was dead and nothing was okay. How were you supposed to face the people back home in District Twelve if you could have brought him home safe but you’d let him die? The whole nation had just watched you hesitate for a moment too long and now you’d lost everything.

“Honey, it’s okay. You’re dreaming, you just need to wake up,” the voice encouraged.

Your eyes flew open so you could more accurately aim an elbow at whatever Capitol freak was trying to wake you up, surely you’d won the games and now you had to face the world without Peeta.

But you were only met with soft blue eyes, two of them. Completely intact and a little sad looking.

“Peeta!” you shrieked, throwing your arms out and over his shoulders, knocking the both of you nearly to the floor. He caught you easily, his arms winding around your waist to keep you steady. When his warmth enveloped you, the familiar scent of bread and a faint cologne, you burst into sobs.

“Oh hey…” he soothed, his fingers brushing up and down the length of your spine. “Why’re you crying, sweetheart? It’s okay, it was just a dream. I promise. You’re safe.”

You just clung to him tighter, nails digging into his shoulders in a way that had to have been painful but he didn’t say anything to stop you.

“Are you okay?” you choked, unable to really think of anything beside the fact that you’d just watched him die. He was here beneath your hands, warm and alive. You could feel his muscles shifting under your palms, feel his heartbeat against your cheek where it was pressed to his chest.

“I’m okay,” he responded, gently lifting your face up towards his till the two of you were eye to eye. “It was a dream, whatever you saw wasn’t real. I’m okay, you’re okay, your family is safe.”

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath and loosening your grip on him only marginally. He started to pull away and you gripped him twice as hard.

He laughed a little, kind of breathy and surprised. “Are you okay-?

“Stay,” you interrupted. “Please, I just need you to stay with me for a little bit.”

He nodded, agreeing without any resistance. When you went to lay down, he went with you, pulling you close to his chest. His fingertips played gently along your shoulder then slipped into your hair, rubbing soothing motions across your scalp. The touch had your shoulders loosening in moments. 

“Just go to sleep, okay? It will all be better in the morning,” he whispered, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He hummed softly and you snuggled closer.

He smelled good, clean. He did not reek of blood and death. He was warm to the touch, not cold and lifeless. You could feel his breath against your cheek, you could hear his heartbeat against your ear.

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off to his soft hums and the warmth of his body against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered softly, smiling to himself in a melancholy way when all you did was continue to sleep. “And you don’t love me but this is enough. I’ll keep you safe here.”

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