Nightmares.
They're here. Hunting, searching, finding, seeking to avenge the murders they were programmed to believe to be their own: the mutts desperate to steal my life. But I can't let them; I must get back; I must keep Peeta safe.
With a burning hatred that could never have existed in her real, soft, brown eyes, the Rue mutt swipes her jagged paw at me, longing to be the one to make the fatal blow. Then, out of nowhere, in a silence that used to be alien to his booming footfalls, he appears. Painstakingly, my heartbeat falters; this isn't my Peeta: it's Snow's trackerjackered, broken, destroyed version of my boy with the bread, designed to be my murderer. From his belt he pulls a murderous spear that looks so foreign in the hands that were designed to bake, to decorate, to paint, and, pure revulsion toward my existence emanating from his entire being, aims at my heart. That's when the mutts recreate their brutal destruction of Cato on him and the ground around me erupts into violent reverberations.
"NO! PEETA! Don't leave me. Peeta… Peeta, Peeta," my incoherent sobs drag me back to consciousness and I involuntarily reach out for the arms I know will probably never be there to protect me again.
But they are. Strong, calming arms that I could never, ever mistake. Hope and a despairing longing course through my veins as I twist on the sofa, searching for a sign that I'm still dreaming.
"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs and I can feel him coming back to me; the boy who saved my life, the lives of the whole of District 13, planted those flowers for my Prim, and protected me from the nightmares that plagued my mind through in the darkness of the night. I knew he'd never leave me.
I look into the blue eyes that were my safe haven for so long and I see that he's still in there, slowly making his way back to me. Careful not to say the wrong thing, bring back the false memories and cause him any more pain, I whisper "Thank you." I try to put everything into those two words: how grateful I am that he saved my life, multiple times, that he stayed with me no matter how much it hurt him, that he came back to District 12, that he's here with me now, that he doesn't hate me for all that I've done to him.
"When we were on the train doing our victory tour, in the training centre waiting for the Quarter Quell and in the games themselves, we slept like this to protect each other from the nightmares. Real or not real?" he keeps those blue eyes fixated on mine, trying so hard to remember, to clear the haze and find the truth behind the lies he can't decipher.
So, as always, I tell him the truth, "Real. I'd wake up screaming and you'd be there to help me through the pain, calm me down, and when I asked you why you never woke me up when your nightmares broke into your dreams, you told me that it was because they were always about losing me and so when you woke up and saw me, lying beside you, you didn't need anything else to calm you down," my voice breaks as I finish and know that he senses my agony because he soothingly tightens his grip on me.
"I still have those dreams sometimes, you know, when my memories are clearest, and I get this horrendous ache in my chest, that's so familiar, but so alien. I had a dream tonight that I lost you, it felt so real that I couldn't bear it; I had to come and find you, to see for myself that you were safe. You must have left the door unlocked so I came in, trying not to wake you up, but then I heard you screaming and I felt this, this need to protect you from harm. I couldn't sit here and watch you hurting, so I shook you to try and wake you. I'm sorry, I just couldn't bear hearing your screams," pain and anguish colours his features so much that I can't stop myself. Without my usual caution I lift my hand and cup his scarred cheek, stroking the tears away, frantically attempting to wipe away all of the suffering I've ever caused this poor, innocent boy with the gentle movement. Automatically, he closes his eyes and carefully places his head into the nook of my shoulder, trying to avoid the tender spots where my burns and bruises are most prominent.
We lie there for an eternity, neither wanting to break apart what we've both craved for so long; the simplicity and safety of each other's company.
"I promise I will protect you, Katniss Everdeen, no matter what. No one will ever hurt you again," Peeta tells me, and as I stare into the eyes that could never lie to me, I know that that is what he has always tried to do, from our very first meeting, no matter the consequences for himself. I know that I trust him like I've never trusted anyone before. I know that I, too, will do anything to protect Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread.