#hungergames

you jolt, your head snapping up, heart slamming once against your ribs. the sound doesn’t belong here, at least not with who’s left alive. it sounds too young.

“katniss, help me!” the voice cries again.

you don’t even need to think about it. of course everyone looks to katniss. and in the blink of an eye, she’s already moving, shooting up from the sand so fast it’s like she’s spring-loaded. her bow’s in her hand and her feet are carrying her toward the trees before any of you can react.

“prim! prim!” she screams. you’re quick to remember that’s her sisters name.

it chills you, because you’ve heard this before, this trick. you’ve heard these birds echo the voices of the dying in previous games, long before even your own. you’ve heard victors choking on sobs, usually their family begging. the sound is designed to tear you in half, and to rot you from the inside out.

“jabberjays,” you breathe, but there’s no time for any of it to sink in. you’re already pushing to your feet with the rest of them, bodies surging forward to chase after katniss.

the jungle swallows her quickly. katniss is fast, cutting through the brush with a desperate speed that leaves the plants snapping back in her wake. your chest burns trying to match her pace, branches catching against your arms as you force yourself forward. you can hear the others scattering out in a broken line behind you, some falling behind, but finnick and peeta stay closest, their voices pushing out after her.

“katniss!” your own voice breaks panicked, because the sound is too loud, all of it - her shouts, your shouts, the thunder of bodies running through the greenery. it’s too much noise, and it must be too easy to track.

castella and harmon could be anywhere. this could drag them in like a beacon. you know katniss hears her baby sister’s cry, but she has to hear you too. she has to know this isn’t real.

she’s just too fast. finnick manages to stay on her trail, but even he looks strained, jaw set as though he knows he’s seconds from losing her.

you’re running blind, lungs burning, when it happens. there’s a sharp stumble, the thud of a body hitting the ground. beetee.

it jolts through the ground. everyone falters, just for a heartbeat, and you whip around instinctively.

“beetee!” johanna calls like there’s no time to slow down, and she doubles back immediately.

you skid in the dirt, shoes slipping, and for a split second your eyes lock on rafe. he’s stopped mid-run, frozen halfway between the you and beetee, eyes flicking from you to the path katniss disappeared down.

your chest heaves, breath ragged as you rush past him. your hand catches his arm, grounding you for half a second. “go, go with them!” you push at his shoulder lightly.

he lingers just a second, scanning you, then but he listens, sprinting after finnick, who’s paused only long enough to glance back and see what’s happened. rafe gives him that sharp hand gesture where he points ahead with his hand, the kind that means don’t worry, just go. finnick’s jaw clenches before tearing off again.

then you’re dropping down beside beetee. his glasses are askew, his coil of wire half-unraveled like a trail behind him. his hands fumble uselessly, as if his brain can’t keep up with his body.

“beetee, please,” you beg, crouched low as you press a hand to his arm.

his eyes are glassy, distant. you know what he’s hearing. you know who he’s lost.

johanna kneels on his other side, one hand already braced against his back, the other swiping angrily at the mess of wire. “c’mon, genius. this isn’t where you get to fall apart.” her tone is biting, but you can see the tightness around her mouth.

you help gather the wire too, looping it clumsily into manageable coils, anything to lighten the load. between the two of you, you manage to wrestle it together and sling it back into beetee’s trembling hands.

then, both of you hook your arms under his, hauling him upright. he stumbles, but with the combined force, he finds his feet.

johanna’s voice comes out harsher than she probably means it to. “no one else is going to die. we just—” she cuts herself off, teeth sinking into her lip as she tries to swallow the burn in her chest. finally she spits it out, “we have to be careful. stick with the group.”

you nod hard, still clutching beetee’s arm as his weight leans on you. “together. we’ll stay together.”

somewhere ahead, katniss’s voice still carries. the jabberjays don’t stop. even as you and johanna drag beetee forward, the voices chase you through the trees, calling katniss’s name over and over, a child’s voice ripping itself raw. “katniss, help me! please!” it doesn’t let up.

you can hear katniss ahead, her bow catching branches as she barrels through the jungle.

and then, just as suddenly as it began, the cries cut off.

you look toward the dark tangle of trees, chest rising and falling like you’ve been holding your breath for miles. the silence lasts a second too long before it fractures.

“finnick!” a girl’s scream tears through the canopy. you jolt, head snapping to the sound. finnick himself lets out a ragged curse somewhere ahead.

“annie!” it’s his voice this time, desperate.

another jabberjay swoops low, wings thrashing the air, and the sound shifts again. it’s male now, a man’s voice howling through the branches, “katniss!”

your chest tightens, pulse hammering, but it’s the next one that cracks you open.

“rafe!”

it’s not katniss’s sister, and it’s not annie. it isn’t some nameless voice pulled out of the districts. but you know this one. it’s so familiar.

your throat goes dry, your body cutting off your breath like it doesn’t trust you to survive it. “sarah,” you swallow. your stomach caves in, folding around the name.

you both promised, in a thousand whispered plans, that you’d protect her. how did they get her voice? how did they catch the sound of her screaming?

it nearly tears you apart, even if you’re not the target, because you know rafe is hearing it too. and unlike you, he doesn’t get the buffer of disbelief. he’ll believe it, he’ll feel it in his marrow.

your legs keep moving, but the sound begins to fade. and with each step, you realize what’s happening: the voices are following the others up ahead. panic eats its way up your throat. you think that if you lose the sound completely, it means they’re too far ahead.

“c’mon,” you gasp, adjusting beetee’s weight. you steal glances at the back of peeta’s head, his blond hair bobbing just ahead. as long as he’s in sight, you’re not lost. peeta’s the thread tying both groups together.

then he slows, stops. your heart lurches, and you see him crouch.

through the break in the brush, you catch it all in fragments. katniss is curled on the ground, hands clamped over her ears, jabberjays darting like knives in the air. peeta kneels in front of her, calling to her. finnick stands like a shield behind them, swatting at the birds, jaw tight.

and rafe . . . he’s a few feet off, hands over his ears, body pitched forward like he’s trying to collapse in on himself, but he doesn’t move away. he stays close, even through the torment. and for one splintering moment, you think he’s waiting for you.

you drop beetee’s arm. the coil wire falls heavy in the dirt. your legs carry you forward before you’ve even decided, cutting through branches, reaching for him.

but when you do, you slam into nothing. the impact rattles your teeth, sends you stumbling backward with your palms stinging. confusion surges first. it’s a forcefield.

you blink, dazed, staring at the faint shimmer in the air where your body hit. then you try again, shoving forward, shoulder-first this time. nothing. it throws you back, relentless.

“no—” your voice cracks, rising with panic. you press your hands flat to the invisible barrier, dragging them down as if you could claw it apart. “no, how long ‘til it lifts?”

beetee, still catching his breath, adjusts his glasses. “if the gamemakers designed this as part of the system then it won’t release us at whim,” he says, “an hour, perhaps less, but no sooner than that.”

an hour. this is an active sector. you have to wait for an hour.

your heart breaks as your gaze locks on rafe. he’s still crumbling in the sound, shoulders rigid, face strained like he’s holding himself together by force.

you press your palm harder against the barrier, almost like you could reach him. like if you push hard enough, your hand might break through. you want to tear it away with your bare hands. you want to be in there, shoulder to shoulder, anything but standing useless on the outside.

but the arena has made sure: all you can do is watch.

you sit there the entire time, your knees dug into the dirt. your eyes never leave him. rafe shifts between trying to shut it all out with his fingers shoved into his ears and his heads bent low, and snapping up to swat the jabberjays away when they get too close to him, or katniss, or finnick.

it’s unbearable, watching him, knowing it’s sarah’s voice they chose.

and after what feels like forever, the first real movement startles you. rafe rips his hands from his ears, his grip snapping around the handle of his mace, and with a sudden, violent swing he brings it across a small cluster of jabberjays swooping too close.

the crunch being sharp, feathers scattering, finnick averting his gaze. rafe pins them into the dirt. he doesn’t look relieved. if anything, he looks colder, staring down at the bodies as if he isn’t even seeing birds anymore, but just bloodied, broken things.

your head tilts without meaning to, your palm pressing harder to the forcefield, like you could reach him if only you leaned far enough. you can’t. all you can do is watch as he sits down hard, knees bent, arms hooked over them, his forehead resting against the edge of his wrist.

time blurs. minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity. you don’t even notice it at first, not until peeta finally manages to reach katniss. the barrier collapses without warning, and the jabberjays scatter. the others begin to move, relief rushing through the group, but all you see is rafe.

you’re already moving before you even think. you drop down behind him, close enough that your knees brush his back as you settle on the dirt. your hands reach for his shoulders, light at first, the touch almost cautious. he flinches, just barely, like a twitch under your fingers, but you don’t draw away. instead you squeeze gently, then lean down, your lips pressing to his shoulder blade, tasting salt and sweat.

your arms slide around him from behind, circling his frame. you rest your cheek against his back. the sector is quiet now, the jabberjays gone. it’s over, and you want him to feel that, through the press of your arms, that you’re here.

“are you okay?” you whisper, leaning into him. you don’t really expect an answer, not after what he just went through. he’s silent, but you can still hear katniss gasping, her breaths jagged while peeta murmurs quick reassurances, telling her she’s alright, telling her the capitol wouldn’t dare touch prim.

“your fiancé’s right,” johanna cuts in, standing again after checking on finnick. her axe is loose at her side, her voice carrying that bite that always makes you wonder if there’s something else behind it. like envy, maybe. “the whole country loves your sister. if they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts, there would be . . .” she smirks bitterly, eyes flicking away, “riots in the damn capitol.”

johanna doesn’t stop there. she turns her face up, addressing the canopy above like it’s snow himself looking down. “hey, how does that sound, snow? what if we . . . what if we set your backyard on fire? you know you can’t just put everybody in here.”

“johanna—” you try calling her name low, a warning, but she barrels on.

eventually her eyes come back to the group, her tone dropping quieter. “what? they can’t hurt me,” she says. “there’s no one left that i love.”

your expression falters, your gaze slipping down to the ground beneath her boots. you pity her, almost. you can feel it in your chest, but you know better than to let it show, because johanna would tear you apart for it. so you stay quiet, watching as she looks over to katniss, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll get you some water.”

even now, she’s focused on katniss, protecting the girl who was just forced to hear her baby sister’s cries through a flock of mutts. still your mockingjay.

you glance at katniss now. her face is a mess of shock, grief, and confusion all blurred together. but you turn back to rafe. he’s still folded into himself, silent, distant. your hand lifts, brushing dirt off the fabric of his suit in small strokes, like it matters, like if you can clean away what clings to him, maybe you can take some of the weight too. you smooth the fabric at his shoulder.

“it wasn’t real, rafe,” you murmur, low enough for only him to catch. your hand finds the back of his neck, slick with sweat, and you rub slow circles there. when your palm comes away damp, you wipe it against your thigh without thinking, your eyes never leaving him.

he doesn’t answer or even move. you let him have that silence, watching the tightness around his jaw, the way his shoulders haven’t loosened even once.

then, carefully, you reach across and set your hand against his chest. his heart beats hard beneath your palm, proof that he’s still here. “strong heart,” you tell him quietly, pressing your fingers into the fabric.

his eyes drop down to your hand and he stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with the words. then he looks away, angled just enough toward you that you know he heard, even if he can’t face you yet.

“no fear,” you add, softer still, rubbing small circles into his chest, coaxing him back piece by piece.

your hand shifts, reaching past him to the far side of his head. you guide him toward you, pulling him in until you can press your lips to the side of his face, before you ease back and breathe, “let’s go, c’mon,” when the sound of the others moving nearby filters through, meaning it’s time to leave.

he doesn’t move right away. not until you rise, brushing dirt from your legs, and extend your hand down to him. he looks at it for a beat, then lets you help him up.

he still looks gutted, the memory of sarah’s voice echoing in his head. annie’s screams, prim’s cries, they even cut deep enough on their own, but sarah . . . that had been unbearable.

you keep your touch on him as you guide him forward. the two of you retrace the path back toward the beach, back to where you’d run from an hour ago.