Originally on Tumblr as this year's Halloween fic but now posted for you!

The characters of The Hunger Games Trilogy do not belong to me.

Based on Christopher Pike's "The Midnight Club".

Trigger Warnings: Major Character Deaths, reference to assisted suicide

Life Support

"Wake up, brainless."

I'm having a harder time getting up these days.

However, my eyes slowly open to see my roommate Johanna Mason staring down at my prone figure.

She gives me a smirk. "For a moment, I thought you died on me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I respond as I sit up gingerly. My head is throbbing and I reach for one of the orange pill bottles on my bedside table. I wave my hand at the twenty or so plastic cylindrical containers that each hold different painkillers of varying degrees of strength. "You'd get first dibs on my plethora of painkillers."

"It's almost midnight," Johanna informs me instead of replying to my offer. She looks over my medication stash before putting her hands to the wheels of the creaky wheelchair that the state has gifted her with. "And, it's not like I would feel any of that shit. I have a tumor resting on my tailbone that keeps me from feelinganything."

Johanna and I both are part of that special club of inoperable tumors, hers in the lower part of her spine and mine just right above my right ear. So it seemed only natural that they placed us together in Panem Hospice.

"True." Carefully, I stand up and kneel before the containers. I can't seem to find the one that I need. "Damn…"

Johanna pushes herself over to my side. "What are you looking for?"

The pain is getting worse and my vision blurs trying to read the labels. "Palladone."

"It's right in front of you," she tells me before plucking the container from my table and handing it to me. "Take it now before we head downstairs. While Peeta would love for you to pass out all over him, I don't think he'd be happy if you were completely comatose."

Grumbling, I open the container and shake out two pills before going over to the vanity where my water bottle sits. Tossing the round pieces of relief into my dry mouth, I take the bottle and quickly gulp down the remainder of the half-filled bottle.

"You must've been a real party girl, Katniss. The way you just chugged that water down…" Johanna remarks.

I look at myself in the mirror, grey-faced and grey-eyed, before reaching for the wig stand.

Once upon a time, I had beautiful raven hair that I had inherited from my father.

Unfortunately, I also inherited the malignant tumor gene from him, too.

And, just like I lost my father to this disease, I lost those locks that he adored and that he caressed before succumbing to the death that will inevitably take me too.

I adjust the dark wig onto my bare scalp before meeting her eyes in our mirror.

"Yeah, I was a real party girl."

"The new nurse is way hot," Finnick says as we walk into the sitting room. He is talking to Gale Hawthorne, his and Peeta's roommate. "You think that I could persuade her to give me a sponge bath?"

"Please," Gale scoffs. "You're the strongest out of all of us. No one is going to believe that you need assistance in the shower."

It's Peeta who spots us first and he stands carefully to give us room on the couch in front of the blazing fireplace. He smiles at me and I can't help but smile back seeing how much that one motion of his lips gives him so much life.

However, I can't help but catch the tears in my throat seeing the way he limps. The prosthetic leg that he has is of top caliber though the cancer spreading through his muscular system prevents him from a normal gait. I'm sure that he is in pain but he handles it with an unbelievably sunny disposition.

Peeta's family is of Mellark Bakery fame. There are fifty chains throughout the United States. According to his father who visits regularly, they have just signed a contract with French-speaking Canada. The kindhearted man is the only parent who actually visits the hospice.

"Do you need help?" he asks breathlessly.

I shake my head as I grip the handles of Johanna's wheelchair. "I'm alright."

"I can wheel myself over to those two losers myself," Johanna says before meeting my eyes. "Let me go, Katniss. I have to talk to Gale."

Releasing my tight grasp, I make sure that she can get over to our friend before turning to Peeta.

"Who is up tonight?" I ask him trembling. The drugs, though swift, can cause some freaky side effects. I have the shakes, my limbs disobedient as I try to still them. Peeta watches me carefully and I give him a weak smile. "'Oh true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick'."

He takes my hands to steady them. "I didn't know you were into Shakespeare."

"What girl isn't into a story about Star-Crossed Lovers?" I respond as I look down at our joined hands.

Meeting his glowing blues, I can't help but think that in another life, we would've been good together. We would live in some country house with a large meadow and just spend our days watching our children running around it. Our first born would have his eyes and our second would have Peeta's blond locks.

"'Thus with a kiss I die'," he whispers under his breath, his smile shy. "Guys can be into Romeo and Juliet, too."

"Am I interrupting something?"

We turn to see Annie Cresta, the newest addition to our group, standing by us. She is the healthiest looking, her blood disease fatal but leaving her beauty still intact.

"We're just getting seated," I tell her quietly.

She nods and then goes to join the rest of our group, sitting next to Finnick who winks at her appreciatively.

"Obviously, Hodgkin's does not temper my roommate's libido," Peeta jokes.

It's almost at the tip of my tongue to ask him about his.

Instead, we slowly make our way over to the last empty space—the loveseat. Everyone gives us knowing smiles before they go about their business. I help Peeta settle in his seat before joining him, my tired legs curling under my bottom.

"If you're tired, you can put your head on my shoulder," Peeta says.

I snort at his flirtatiousness. "I think you've been hanging out with Finnick too much."

Gale lets out a dry cough. "Let's all come to order." We immediately silence at his command. He looks over at Annie. "I think you're up for our 'Real or Not Real'."

Real or Not Real is a game we started up during group meetings. Cinna, our therapist, would make us tell each other our life stories in hopes that it would help us cope with our inevitable deaths.

However, our group seems to be the minority in believing this theory.

We don't want to know about each other. Knowing one another would make us grieve for our old lives. In the end, we don't want to grieve for each other.

It's better to pretend. You can't be sad over a stranger.

So every midnight, each one of us tells a story of their life. At the end, we all decide whether it is real or not real.

That's how I know that Peeta's family business started as a single bakery in Harlem. Or, that Gale used to play football until he passed out due to a rampant nosebleed foreshadowing his leukemia. Finnick was never sick a day in his life until a sudden twenty-pound weight loss sent him to the hospital.

Every story that Johanna has told us was never real.

This is Annie's first time.

Taking the candle in the middle of the coffee table, she lights the long tapered candle before putting it in the holder and sitting back at her spot next to Finnick.

"I want to tell you about the first nightmare I ever remembered…"

My grandmother's name is Mags.

She is the only person who ever allowed me to hide away.

My parents are socialites. My mother is of Vanderbilt blood while my father's lineage goes back to the Mayflower. All and all, the Cresta Family is important in society. Our parties are legendary and my parents are not wallflowers.

So basically, they're not like me.

I was content with hiding under chairs or tables, anything that made me feel safe and warm. Because that's how Mags made me feel.

I went to her every autumn until I had to go to school.

Mags smelled like cinnamon. I remember burying my nose against her as she hugged me, wishing that I didn't have to go home to play the perfect daughter. The dresses that my mother's personal shopper picked for me always itched and it made me miserable whenever I had to stand up straight to greet people with my parents.

So after I was done, I would hide.

It's how I found out that my Dad was doing his secretary, hiding under the lounger in his office as they met up during our Christmas party. Or, that my Mom would practically ram her fist in her mouth to throw up so she could stay skinny.

"Mags, can I live with you?" I asked my grandmother, one day.

"No, sweetheart," she whispered in my ear. "You shouldn't live in a place like this, surrounded by death."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

It was then that I looked around and noticed that there were others like her. Sitting in their chairs, connected to machines in loose blue gowns though my Mags' eyes weren't as glazed as theirs.

"It's not right that they leave you here," Mags tells me.

"But, I get to be here with you," I assure her with a smile. "We'll be with each other forever if you let me stay."

"Oh Annie, you won't feel like that forever," she responds sadly. "I won't always be here."

"I don't understand." I miss that naiveté that I used to have. "Where are you going?"

That was the first time that I learned about death. How we have a limited amount of breaths within our body and eventually we expire. I wasn't scared about the death part; I was scared about the unknown.

I was scared that I had no control over my life or on Mags'.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Mags says. "I'm old and I've lived my life. I don't mind that eventually my clock will run out."

"I'm scared for when it does." I hold her tighter trying to savor her scent and presence.

"Don't worry, my love." She kisses the top of my head. "I will tell you when I'm leaving."

That night, I dreamt that we were mermaids. We swam, hand in hand, in the furthest depths of the sea until there was nothing left but darkness and the light of land above us.

Then, Mags let go of my hand.

Mags died that night. She drowned in her bathtub.

They tell me that she probably fell asleep and didn't even realize what happened, but I know better.

She had run out of breaths.

"Wow, your story-telling style is real fucked up," Johanna tells Annie. "Totally not real."

Annie gives her a wry smile. "The way Mags died was real. But, my family is nothing but trailer park trash who couldn't afford to put my grandmother in a respectable nursing home." She reaches for the candle on the table and blows it out indicating that Johanna's guess was right.

"Was the dream real?" Finnick asks in fascination. "Your grandmother found a way to contact you?"

She nods, her deep-green eyes shimmering in the firelight. "It gave me comfort. It gives me comfort now." Annie looks at all of us. "Because when I die, I know life won't be over."

"How do you know that it wasn't just a cognitive thing?" Gale questions, his grey eyes doubtful. There are ashen circles under his eyes and the light of the fire highlights his gaunt face. "How do you know that it's real?"

"I don't," Annie responds simply. "I just have to have faith that it is."

"Or, maybe we can find out," Johanna suddenly says.

I feel Peeta stir uncomfortably next to me. Instinctively, my hand goes to his and our eyes meet briefly, drawing comfort in this small contact.

We are the two most uncomfortable with our imminent deaths.

It seems like it's just in us to fight.

"How?" I find myself asking.

"Whoever dies first makes contact," my roommate explains. "And, if nothing comes of it three days after you die, then we know that there is nothing beyond this—that we'll all just…expire."

There's another round of silence.

"Then, let's do it," Finnick agrees with a smirk. "Should we drink each other's blood or something?"

"God, no! Calm down, Twilight," Johanna retorts, her expression annoyed. "But, a blood oath does sound good."

Gale disappears and returns with a pocket knife that once belonged to his father who was in the Army. None of us know whether or not Gale's father ever returned from whatever war that he fought in.

Taking the blade, he slices through his palm then hands the knife to Johanna.

It continues down the line until the knife is in my hand.

I'm not good with blood and the meds have caused me to tremble with adrenaline and anxiety. I hold the knife and bring it to my palm though my hand is quaking.

"Allow me," Peeta says gently. His hand covers mine. "Just look at me."

I stare into his eyes, bright and blue, imagining the future that we could have had. Would we have met at school? Or, at some asinine hangout spot? Maybe I would've met him during a college tour and we would've convinced one another to go to the same place, though we wouldn't have told one another how we felt until graduation.

I go over the many different ways that Peeta Mellark and I could've fallen in love with one another.

Because the reality is too much to bear.

I have fallen in love for the first and last time with a boy who is going to die.

"Did it hurt?" he suddenly asks softly.

"No, I didn't even notice," I reply in a hush voice.

His unblemished hand reaches to my face to brush away a stray tear.

Peeta doesn't comment on the sudden rush of tears. Instead, he takes my cut palm and places it over his. I look around and see that everyone is doing the same, except for Johanna who accepts handshakes from her parked chair.

"Now we're one," Peeta tells me before grinning impishly. "Practically married."

I chuckle, my eyes rolling at his declaration. "You wish."

His usually light eyes turn serious.

"I do."

"You're getting really good at that."

I relax my hold on the bow and turned to Dr. Abernathy. He runs the Panem Hospice along with the array of nurses and therapists. Rumor has it that he had a wife who, like us, had some sort of incurable disease and succumbed to it, leaving him a childless widow.

"There's not much to do here other than this," I tell him. "This and wait for the long sleep."

"You are a morbid one," he remarks with a shake of his head. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

It's a lie. My headaches have gotten worse. I didn't go to our last Real or Not Real because the pain required a double dosage which knocked me out for the night. Apparently, I didn't miss much. Finnick told them a story of nailing another nameless chick.

My theory is that he's actually a virgin.

"You sure?" Dr. Abernathy pushes. "I heard from Peeta that you weren't feeling well the last two nights."

My eyes go to the long back porch of the hospice where Peeta sits along with Johanna looking out at the water. Panem is located on the Western coast about four hours away from Washington. From the outside, no one would even know this place housed nothing but dying kids. It is a stately mansion with pillars and an iron gate that I have no way of climbing over.

"Peeta has a big mouth," I say, picking up an arrow. "I'm okay. In fact, I think I need another MRI."

I see the doubt on the man's face. "Katniss—"

"Please." I look down at my feet. "I just have to know."

After a moment, Dr. Abernathy nods. "I'll make arrangements for tomorrow."

Taking the arrow, I place it along the bow before pulling back to aim at my mark—a tree that is a few feet away. I breathe into my target and as I exhale I let go of the arrow. It slices through the air before puncturing the trunk.

"Do you feel better hurting a tree?" The man standing next to me asks with a smirk.

"Now it's like the rest of us," I respond tersely.

"How is story time going?" Dr. Abernathy inquires. "You haven't been contributing lately."

I glare at him. "Let me guess. Peeta told you." I look over to the porch once more and I can see Peeta is alone now, his eyes on the doctor and me. "When you two meet up, do you actually talk about his health?"

"No, he talks about you a lot," he responds. "Peeta knows that he's dying—that this is real. The problem is that you don't."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The muffled sounds don't scare me. What frightens me is the blindness.

The technicians placed a light-blocking blindfold over my eyes along with ear plugs.

"Katniss," the voice coming from the other room says into my ear. "You need to be still."

I bite back the need to scoff. Be still.

I'll have all the time in the world to be still when I'm dead.

I don't respond knowing that any movement will disrupt this nearly hour-long scan.

"Okay," the technician behind the glass wall tells me. "Breathe. Then we're going to have two minutes of noise as we proceed with the MRI."

The whirring begins once more.

I will do anything to make my death not real.

"Sweetheart."

I feel a cool hand against my cheek and I open my eyes to Johanna tenderly gazing down at me.

For all the times that she is ornery, there are moments of overwhelming gentleness in my roommate.

"I'm awake," I tell her softly as I push myself up to a sitting position. My body aches badly from the tenseness of having to hold still for so long during my MRI. However, I haven't been to Real or Not Real in a few days and I don't want anyone to worry.

Especially Peeta.

As much as I'm pissed that he constantly places his nose in my business, there is something that warms my heart about his concern. No one has cared for me like that in a long time.

I'm not ready to let it go.

"Do you need anything?" Johanna asks. She looks even more worn than usual. "I'd offer you something from your treasure trove but I think you've tired yourself out enough."

I meet her eyes. "It was stupid to hope, wasn't it? I can feel the sickness even more now."

She places her hand over mine. "It's alright to hope. I think this place needs a little more of that."

I muddle through the motions of throwing on a loose sweater and then putting my wig on before I return to her.

Johanna is pale, making her deep brown eyes stand out on her wasting face. Her skin is translucent and I think that once she is long gone, her skull will look quite similar.

"I'm going to be cremated," Johanna informs me squarely. "I want everyone to remember this lovely face." She smirks at me. "You forget that everyone can read you like a book."

"Really?" I place a blanket over her lap and release the brakes of her chair so we can join the others. "Tell me more."

"I think, however, that I know you better than anyone—" she says as I press the handicap button to open our bedroom door. "—being roommates and all."

"What could you possibly know about me that no one else does?"

We begin our journey down the carpeted hallways of the mansion.

"I know whose name you're saying at night."

"I think everyone does," I respond under my breath. "Even he does."

"Then why aren't you two doing anything about it?" my roommate asks. "I don't think that Peeta will have any issues with plowing through whatever business you got going on down there."

"For Christ's sake, Johanna," I say in exasperation. "I don't want my first time to happen here!"

Johanna locks her chair suddenly before turning to look at me. "You're a virgin."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that." I cross my arms defensively. "So?"

She stares at me for a long moment before letting up on the brakes of her chair.

"Interesting. Tonight's story should be fun."

"Are you going to make up a story about your first time?" I ask as we continue into our meeting room.

Everyone is already there. Annie and Gale are playing cards with Finnick going to each person to look at each of their hands. Peeta sits in the loveseat staring at the roaring fire in the hearth. However, he turns seeing us and immediately walks over.

"I'm going to leave you two alone," Johanna tells me quickly before wheeling herself away just as Peeta stops in front of me.

Peeta meets my eyes guiltily. "I know you're mad."

"Damn right I'm mad, Peeta!" I burst out in frustration. "Why do you talk to Haymitch about me?" In private, we all call the good doctor by his first name. "You can't use me as your means of avoidance."

"I'm not avoiding anything," he responds passionately. Letting out a frustrated breath, Peeta meets my eyes. "In fact, it's more of a means of confrontation."

I tilt my head in curiosity. "What are you trying to confront?"

"That I'm in love with you—" Peeta looks up at me. It's not lost on either of us that the room has gone silent. "—and, the realization that nothing will ever come of it!" He shakes his head. "Don't you see, Katniss?" His blue eyes look brokenly at me. "Dying is not the worst part of this. Watching you die is."

I don't even realize that I'm crying until I feel the insistent tug at my hand and look to see Johanna at my side. "That's enough, Peeta." Her eyes are blazing. "You've broken her."

Peeta's manic expression softens and he reaches for me. "Katniss. I'm sor—"

I put my hand out to stop him, my breath still coming out in watery gasps. "We're wasting time. Johanna has a story to tell."

Guiding Johanna back to her spot near the fireplace, I go to my usual seat ignoring the fact that Peeta is sitting next to me.

Gale lights Johanna's candle for her before placing it in the center of the table.

"Before I begin, I want to talk to you about something," my roommate intones, her dark eyes surveying the group. "Yes, we're all dying. And, I know that it's not easy for everyone to accept, but please—let's go out with a little dignity. We mean nothing to the rest of the world. But in this room, we are each other's whole world."

"You tell 'em, sister," Finnick says admirably and leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek. Gale gives her hand a squeeze as Annie nods vehemently, wiping her eyes.

I meet her eyes and I'm surprised to see such pain inside of them. Johanna, who is usually so stone-faced, does not bother to hide the exhaustion and aching sadness inside her body.

"Now that we've got all that out of the way," Johanna continues. "I want to tell you the story of my first time."

His name is Cato.

He smells of cigarettes and vodka which I found oddly arousing at the time. In fact, even now the remembrance of his smell makes my stomach twist. I don't know how I romanticize such disgusting habits, but when I was younger I did.

Maybe my foster mother was right—that I was destined to fall for those who would hurt me.

I met him when I was sixteen. I was hanging out with a bunch of friends in a mall parking lot, because that's what we thought was cool. I'm just now realizing how fucking idiotic that is. He rolled up in his BMW asking to bum a cigarette and I was the only person who had one.

From that point on, we never left one another's side.

And for the first time, I felt the joys of romance.

Cato was my first kiss, atop a hill as we sat on the hood of his car. I remember the feel of his rough hand against my cheek and the softness of his lips. Our kiss lasted till the sun went down in front of us.

I was so in love with him that it made me sick to my stomach to think that we wouldn't stay together.

I would do anything to keep us together.

Anything.

Even give my virginity to a man who was twice my age.

"I'll take care of you," he whispered in my ear.

What did I know?

Laying underneath him in that motel bed, I trusted him wholeheartedly. I loved him wholeheartedly.

"Okay," I responded before he covered my body completely with his.

Sex is not good. Sex hurts. Sex left Cato's eyes blank as he pushed into me and set my lower half on fire.

My God, he burned me.

Because after it was over and after I felt asleep, Cato left me and destroyed my body.

I woke up alone with no feeling in my lower half.

Johanna stops, her breath labored as she rests back in her chair, her hands on her lap.

I see a bit of a tremor in them as the group sits in silence.

"Not real," Gale finally says after a moment. "That is just too fucked up to be real."

My roommate recovers and gives him a smile. "Maybe I'm just too fucked up."

"I think I should get to bed," I tell everyone abruptly, seeing her discomfort. "The MRI took a lot out of me." I stand to go to Johanna but Gale stops me and instead rushes over to the back of Johanna's chair.

"I'll take her," he insists and eyes me for a moment. "You need to resolve things."

I realize that Peeta is standing behind me, his gaze burning.

Annie and Finnick exit the room quickly, following the hurried pace of Johanna and Gale.

"I guess we need some sort of resolution," Peeta says after a moment.

"Like what?" I ask helplessly.

He approaches me and I feel palpitations in my chest that are definitely not medically induced.

"Can you tell me if you feel anything close to what I feel?"

"What good would telling you how I felt do for either of us?" I question.

Peeta's lips are suddenly close to mine, his gaze deep with the glow of the fire.

"If I'm going to die, can't I die being absolutely loved by you?"

I don't respond.

Instead, I press my lips to his in my very first kiss.

"What happened?"

I close the door behind me before turning to Johanna. "Nothing."

"Liar." She shakes her head at me, a smile playing on her pale lips. "I told you. You're like a book. I can read his kiss on your lips. Was it everything that you thought it would be?"

I go to Johanna, sitting on her bed as her head rests on her firm pillow. "I don't know what I was expecting…but I liked it." My lips rise remembering that one kiss turned to more than one. We stayed until the fire in the hearth burnt out in front of us. "Actually, I more than liked it."

"Now that's what I wanted to hear." Johanna reaches to flick my chin affectionately. "You're not dead yet."

"Was that story real?" I suddenly ask her. "About Cato?"

She turns away from me. However I see it at the corner of her eye—the slight glimmer of tears.

Then, I think that Gale never did blow out the candle.

"I heard he's married now," she says in a tight voice. "And, he has a baby on the way."

Real. The story is horribly real.

I dream of a tender kiss on my forehead and a warm hand brushing lovingly against my cheek.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

When I awaken, I turn to the clock on my side table: 11:00 AM

Johanna usually wakes up early because she likes to roam the building as exercise before everyone else wakes up. I'm astonished that I slept through her morning routine.

Sitting up slowly, I'm surprised by the grogginess that I feel and reach for the water bottle next to the clock to clear my parched throat.

The bottle is completely empty. I must've been thirsty last night. I recall drinking only a little before falling asleep but maybe I sipped on it, half-asleep in the middle of the night.

Placing it back on the table, something catches my eye.

Johanna is still asleep, her arms resting comfortably along her abdomen.

I stand from my bed and sit down next to her. "Johanna, wake up."

She doesn't respond, her head instead lolling to one side.

"Wake up…" My fingers go to her wrist, feeling nothing but the chill of her skin and a non-existent pulse. "Johanna please…wake up…not real…this isn't real…"

I can't breathe and I think it has something to do with the sobs erupting from my throat.

"Don't worry." Gathering Johanna into my arms, I begin to rock her gently, feeling nothing that indicates life in her thin and hollow body. "I won't leave you alone. I won't be like Cato. When you wake up, you'll know that you're not alone…"

I stay with her until Haymitch comes into the room and pulls my screaming, protesting self from my friend's lifeless body.

Johanna was only eighteen.

She should've been beginning her life instead of ending it.

Haymitch as well as the other people on the staff gathered the whole facility for a memorial service. The doctor talks about her blunt nature but inner strength. Cinna, who also conducts grief counseling, tells everyone how she always made him laugh.

However, our group knows her better than anyone. We know that Johanna was all of those things.

But, she was the leader of our group. The mother. The fighter.

Peeta grips my hand as we all stand in the back of the room. I haven't slept since they took her from my room. Next to me is Annie whose usually lively complexion has gone grey. Finnick stands beside her, his own eyes watery. Gale is by Peeta's side, his expression blank and lost.

What bothers us the most is the picture of Johanna—it was taken before she got sick.

It's not hard to see that she was a beautiful girl on the cusp of becoming a woman. Her hair was a deep woodsy brown. Even though it is just a picture, her confidence brimmed through, her smile shining bright with that bit of a smirk.

Johanna was never afraid of anything.

Maybe that's why she went first.

Even death couldn't scare her.

"What happens now?" Annie asks after the service closes.

I am exhausted. My head is throbbing from lack of sleep and the tumor which I can almost feel growing.

"What do you mean?" I respond.

My arm is wrapped around Peeta's overtly thin waist as we all head to my room. He gives me a sad smile, his own blue eyes bloodshot.

"Do we continue Real or Not Real?" Finnick asks.

Gale goes to my door, opening it for the rest of us to walk through. He is the one that has remained silent through it all. There was a closeness between himself and Johanna. I'm sure they weren't lovers, but he cared for her deeply and vice-versa.

Entering the room, the scent hits me immediately.

Smoke.

"He smells of cigarettes and vodka…"

The scent is unmistakable. It's in the air. I hear Peeta's breath catch at the overwhelming musk emanating from the room.

"Holy shit," Finnick breathes out in shock. "It's a sign."

I walk over to Johanna's bed; her sheets have long been removed but the memory of that last night lingers.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

"She said goodbye to me that night," I find myself saying as my hands move over the new sheets. "I thought that it was just a dream."

Gale settles next to me, his smile sad.

"I think this is all very real, sweetheart."

Weeks pass.

We no longer hold Real or Not Real because not long after Johanna left, Gale is taken to bed. Finnick and Peeta were suddenly awakened by the sounds of his gasping as a rampant nosebleed sent him to the infirmary.

It took an hour or two for them to slow the blood flow. Peeta tells me that Gale is practically nothing now, his face sheet white and so tired that his eyes barely opened the last time that he and Finnick were allowed to see him.

"Katniss?"

I turn to Peeta, who lays with me on my bed. Sometimes, he will stay with me in my room. We sleep better together and no one questions the arrangement, turning a blind eye to where Peeta goes most nights. In bed, we don't get any further than kisses or embraces. It causes my stomach to turn pleasurably.

Up close, I can watch his eyelashes flutter as he sleeps. There's a dimple hidden beneath the gauntness of his face. I want to memorize every bit of him because I'm afraid that as the tumor takes over, it will turn my brain to mush and I will lose his beauty in the process.

"Yes?"

"What do you think will happen after we die?" he asks.

"Truthfully?" Peeta nods in encouragement. "I think we have more than one life. This is just another past life and we begin again." I bring him closer to me, feeling his heart beat against my chest. "We don't remember every detail, but we get triggered by memories. I think that every time I get a little sad for no reason, it's because of some memory from the past."

"Do you think we knew each other before?"

I nod. "I wouldn't be as comfortable with you if we didn't know each other."

"Do you think we were together?" Peeta continues, a slight coloring coming to his pale cheeks.

I push myself up, my hand going to brush his soft golden hair. Peeta is handsome, there is no doubt about that, but sickness has hidden it all under dark circles and paper-thin skin. At least, the tendrils I move against are real unlike the wig that I choose to wear whenever he comes around.

"I don't doubt that."

I lean down to kiss Peeta and his hand moves to the nape of my neck to bring me closer. His touch brings me to life, jump-starting my long-hidden hopes.

Several lifetimes later, we finally pull away. We're dizzy with one another, full of love and small pockets of hope.

"Why do you wear that?" he asks me, his eyes going to my wig.

"Because I don't want to be ugly," I respond quietly. "Especially not to you."

"I've always thought you were beautiful." His hand goes to my face. "Every lifetime before, I've loved you and every lifetime after, I will love you. This face, this body is only temporary." Peeta lifts my chin with his finger. "But, that fire in your eyes? That's part of your soul, Katniss."

My hand reaches for the black mop before I slowly move it off my head. It's been awhile since I've let anyone see me like this. For a long time, Johanna was the only one.

Awkwardly, I palm at the bit of fuzz on the top of my head. "There." I toss the wig to the end of my bed. "Now you can see what an inoperable tumor can do." My fingers go to the scar on the side of my head. "Unbelievably, this didn't hurt. What hurt was them telling me that they couldn't take the thing out without turning me into a vegetable."

"Katniss…" His voice drifts in and out of sadness. "…I don't see anything but that fire in your eyes."

"I don't feel any of that." I lay back next to him. "I feel naked and ashamed, not to mention cold." My hand goes to my bald head once more.

Peeta stands up from the bed, removing his shirt and then adds it to the pile on the end of the bed.

"What are you doing?" I ask as he begins to undo the drawstring of his pants.

"Showing you that there is nothing to be ashamed of." He sits down next to me as he shimmies his bottoms off his hips. "Help me out?"

"What?" I'm momentarily distracted by a glimpse of bare chest and strong thighs. Quickly I shake off my daze and help him move the pants past his knees, exposing his prosthetic and his still-workable calf. I touch the area where skin meets metal. "Does it still feel like the rest is still there?"

"Sometimes." He places his hand over mine. "Sometimes, I think that I can run a marathon and then other days, it aches so much that I don't want to get out of bed." Peeta meets my eyes. "This is all of me, Katniss. I know that it's not much but for now this is what I'm working with."

He is long-limbed, wiry at the waist, and broad-shouldered. There is still a little bit of a tan left on his skin and it's beautiful to think that he is golden, inside and out.

My lips press to his shoulder and I hear him sigh against me.

Hands reach to unbutton my pajama top and I don't know if it's myself or Peeta because we are lost in a sudden kiss. I feel him palm my barely-there breasts, teasing at the tips, and later bringing them to his mouth to taste.

I arch into his movements trusting him as my own hand travels under the elastic of his boxers, bringing him to life in each stroke. He buries his face in my hair with a groan, his hands moving my panties off of me as I move over his hips.

It doesn't hurt, contrary to everything I've been told.

I welcome Peeta easily into me with an aching gasp and a need that begs to be fulfilled. He moves, thick and hot, buried in my insides with his lips against mine.

In this moment, we are as alive as any person walking the earth.

So afterwards, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?"

I tell him, "Real."

I awaken just as the sun rises.

"Peeta," I whisper into his skin. "You should probably head back to your room."

His skin is cool to the touch.

I know that he's gone.

Beautiful in his eternal sleep, the tears only rise in my eyes when my lips go to his and I feel no life in my solitary kiss.

"Peeta." I lay back, my head going to his bare chest. "I'll see you soon."

Haymitch doesn't tell anyone where Peeta was when he died.

Instead, he had the nursing staff discreetly take him from my room to be transported to the local morgue for his funeral.

I opt not to go. Annie, Finnick, and Gale remain at my side.

Later that week, I get called out of my room and am surprised to find Mr. Mellark waiting for me in our group's nightly meeting place. On the coffee table is a box which I assume are Peeta's things. The man gives me an exhausted smile, his blue eyes lighting up seeing me.

I imagine that Peeta would have looked a lot like Mr. Mellark if he had a chance to grow older.

"Thanks for meeting with me," he says kindly. "Dr. Abernathy says that you've been spending a lot of time alone in your room since Peeta…" The man doesn't finish instead clasping his hands together to ease his inner pain. "He talked a lot about you."

"I loved him very much, Mr. Mellark," I tell him in a thick voice. "I still love him now."

"Call me Thomas, my dear," he replies. "I was sorting through some of Peeta's things and I found something that I thought should be yours."

Taking the box, he takes out a small tin that says 'Greasy Sae's Diner' and hands it to me.

Gingerly, I open the top and find a fingernail-sized pearl inside. Taking it, I roll it between my shaky fingers and then meet Thomas' eyes. "It's beautiful."

"We used to go to the shore every summer," he explains. "When Peeta was ten, we were shucking oysters for a barbeque when he found this pearl." Thomas' blue eyes fill in remembrance. "I joked around and told him that he should give it to his future wife."

"There's no future for me," I respond wryly.

He looks to me, his hand going tentatively to my thin shoulder.

"Maybe not in this lifetime," Thomas tells me. "The next one will be better."

Three Months later…

"Is it true?" I ask him. "Someone has been misdiagnosed?"

Haymitch nods solemnly. "Katniss, I'm so sorry…"

The news doesn't pain me as much as I thought it would.

I am tired now.

Gale's time is coming fast, too. His mother and three younger siblings came to say goodbye. His brothers, Vick and Rory, show me what he must've looked like when his red blood cells hadn't plummeted to unmentionable rate.

Someone should be there for him.

"Who then?" I ask crisply.

"Annie," the doctor says. "The lab that did her initial tests was closed down for false reporting and faked labs in order to get more money for their facility. When we ran her blood again, it was clean." His dark eyes focused on my still form. "Are you okay?"

I look around the room avoiding his worried stare. I examine the mahogany desk he sits behind. Then my gaze goes to the pictures on the credenza behind him; one of a pretty blond woman followed by one of him with a handsome golden-haired man I assume is his brother.

"Yes." I meet his eyes to assure him that I'm not going to fall apart. I've grown-up. I've accepted. "Did she leave already?"

"Yes, I asked her to," he tells me. "It would make it harder on everyone else. She wanted to say goodbye but Gale is in a bad way. Both you and Finnick are not faring well." Haymitch presses his fingers to his temple. "I had a lot of hope for you, Katniss."

I cross my arms. "Don't tell me that you're starting to care."

He doesn't respond.

Instead, Haymitch takes out a bottle of bourbon and offers it to me first.

I gladly accept.

"Katniss?"

I give Gale a tremulous smile as I wipe his sweaty forehead.

The fever happened suddenly and his immune system is such a wreck that obviously he won't last the week. My once tall, brawny friend has now shrunken down to a measly 90 pounds. He can barely lift his head as I sit by his side on the bed.

"Do you believe in heaven and hell?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "I don't know. I think that everything we do in our lives is basically building the foundation for our own heaven and hell. If you do more good things than bad then you will have enough to create your own Heaven and vice-versa."

"What happens if you do one really bad thing as well as a hundred small good things?"

"I don't know," I say. "I guess it really depends on what you feel is better or worse."

"I did something bad, Katniss," Gale tells me through his dry lips. They are as grey as his eyes. "I killed her."

I place the washcloth that I was using down on his side table. "Killed who?"

"Johanna." He meets my eyes guiltily. "A few days before, Johanna told me that it was getting worse. She pissed herself and didn't even know it. Her vision was starting to go and she was losing feeling in one of her arms. She wanted to die with dignity—not as some fucking mess."

She was too nice that night. Her last story was a real one.

It makes sense now.

"How?" I manage to ask.

"After Johanna doused your water bottle with a little something to make you sleep undisturbed, I came in and I…just put her pillow over her face. There was no struggle. She gripped my arms the whole time. Then her hands just slid off me when it was over. I emptied your water bottle so you wouldn't drink anymore of what she gave you, then left."

"Oh." I'm flabbergasted at his words. "Anything else?"

"I smoked in your room," he admits. "The oath…the sign? It was all bullshit."

"Alright," I respond and meet his eyes once more. "Did she ask you to help her say goodbye to me, too?"

"I didn't do that," Gale says. "I came in and did what I had to do. Then I left." He manages to smile at me. "There was a sign, Katniss. You're the only one who got to see it."

Gale died, later that night.

It was the same night that I had a seizure.

"Then, there were two." Finnick smiles down at me.

Time passes in slow circles. I don't know if I've been in bed for two months or two minutes.

And, I'm tired.

So, so tired.

It's almost midnight," I tell him.

He looks quizzically at me, the glow of orange light on his face, before nodding.

I look to him in question, "So who tells the Real or Not Real?"

"I'll go," Finnick volunteers. "I was in love once."

I smile, my lips heavy in the lift. "Oh, really?"

My friend grins handsomely and continues, "Yes, his name is Ben."

I almost manage to laugh. "Johanna wins the bet. I thought you were a virgin."

"You're right about that, too," he admits. "I was 15 when we met. He was the boy next door. I was sick before I could ever find out if we could be real."

"Maybe in your next lifetime." My hand reaches to cup his cheek. "Thank you for staying with me, Finnick."

His breath hitches. "Thank you for being my friend, Katniss."

"I have one last story for Real or Not Real," I say after a moment.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

"What happens if you do one really bad thing as well as a hundred small good things?"

"It gave me comfort. It gives me comfort now…because when I die, I know life won't be over."

"Every lifetime before, I've loved you and every lifetime after I will."

Johanna…Gale…Annie…

Peeta.

Their voices echo somewhere inside me.

Their words emit with the last beats of my heart.

I never finish my story.

There used to be a beautiful mansion on this hill.

My grandmother told me. She had a friend who actually stayed at it once.

However, Annie Cresta never went into detail as to what happened during her stay.

It must've affected her a lot because she used her fortune to buy the property before passing away last year at the ripe old age of 90.

I have an affinity for these woods.

There's something so familiar and welcoming—like I've walked this path before.

I just turned 22 and am staying with my grandmother for the summer before deciding what I want to do with the rest of my life. I have a humanities degree and have no idea how to utilize it.

As I head towards the old property, I walk over the columns and rubble that the construction crew is set to clean up next week before this place becomes a state-of-the-art facility for the elderly. It was requested by Annie herself, in honor of her Grandmother.

Continuing my journey, I walk towards the back of the property and into a set of trees.

Suddenly, something catches my eye.

There is deep puncture in one of the trees.

Going to the spot, I place my hand on it.

"Do you feel better hurting a tree?"

The rough voice comes out of nowhere and I back away quickly.

Suddenly, I collide with something hard and my two clumsy feet twist in panic throwing me towards the ground.

However, I never hit the ground.

Instead, I open my eyes to see a deep set of blue eyes surrounded by a halo of golden hair.

"I always look at that tree, too," the boy tells me as he helps me up.

"I didn't know that anyone else came up here," I reply breathlessly.

His gaze follows my every move and nervously I toy with my raven-colored braid. My mother tells me that it's such a rare color and that I should show it off.

I prefer to keep it in a single plaited braid.

"I'm actually going to be the attending doctor in the facility that they're building," he informs me, a youthful smile on his lips. "My name is Thomas Abernathy. You know, my great-grandmother's brother-in-law actually ran the facility that was here before."

"That's a trip," I tell him and hold out my hand. "Mavis Hawthorne."

He shakes my hand and immediately a warmth travels over me. I jump back at the sensation.

Thomas tilts his head at me. "Hawthorne? The name sounds familiar."

"My Grandmother, Posy Hawthorne, has lived in the town since she was a kid," I tell him. "An old friend of our family owns this property and since I was little, I seemed to have a special love for these woods."

"Me, too," he agrees, his eyes shining at me. "It almost feels like…"

"Home," I finish for him.

"Do you want to grab a cup of coffee or something?" Thomas unexpectedly asks, his voice bashful.

The tingle in his voice brings out a long-forgotten yearning from deep within my core.

My mouth rises in a grin, seeing the dimple in his shy smile. "I'd love to, Dr. Abernathy."

"Just Thomas, please." He holds out his hand. "Let me help you out of here."

After a moment, I take his hand and his eyes latch onto the small silver ring with the pearl setting. I found it in an old vintage shop just yesterday and the salesperson sold it to me for practically nothing.

It was as if it was meant to be mine.

"Nice ring." He lifts my hand close to his lips as he examines it.

"Thanks. I have a great story to go with it."

Thomas entwines our fingers together as we walk out of the woods. "I'd love to hear it."

I look down at our joined hands, my heart racing in excitement.

I hope he never lets go.

FIN.

*Obviously, the Epilogue "Real or Not Real" does not belong to me but to Suzanne Collins.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!