A/N: So this is my first story coming back into the fanfiction world. Bear with me, darlings! I hope you like it. It was inspired by the song "So Cold" by Ben Cocks and Nikisha Reyes-Pile. I've been feeling Hunger Games lately, and I think this is a perfect song for it. You know the drill about the disclaimer - none of the characters are mine. This is meant to be Katniss' first visit back to District 12 after it was burned down, circa Mockingjay.
Barren
The first thing that strikes me when the engines shut off is the silence. There is nothing. No one is speaking, barely even breathing. There are no birds, no children chatting and laughing, no bells indicating that the workday is over and the miners are coming home. Nothing. Just an overwhelming silence that already is threatening to swallow me whole. As my eyes close, I feel someone's hand cover my own, lacing rough but warm fingers between mine. Gale is one of the only people that knows how to soothe me in the least these days, and I'm suddenly incredibly thankful that he requested to join me today. Frankly, there are very few people in the world that I would want to do this with other than him. I am even more thankful that he is here when a mournful voice deep within myself reminds me that most of those people wouldn't be able to come with me, even if they wanted to.
I open my eyes and turn my head to look at Gale. His eyes are concerned, although he gives me a small smile of reassurance as he squeezes my hand. Gale has been to District 12 several times since the bombing to collect information and requested items. I had asked, no, begged, to go with him over and over, but the doctors had repeatedly told me that I wasn't ready, that I was still too fragile. Perhaps they were right, considering I had spent much of my time in the past weeks in closets and boiler rooms, avoiding my assigned duties the best I could. Even Gale agreed with them. That was what frightened me most: I had been through the Arena twice now, seen and done things that will undoubtably haunt me for the rest of my life, and Gale felt that this was worse.
"Ready, Catnip?" comes Gale's voice, soft and soothing. I hadn't realized that he had let go of my hand, nor that he had undone my harness and was now standing before me with a hand outreached. My head tilts up to look into his eyes, my lower lip trembling for a moment before I nod and accept his hand, steeling myself for whatever was going to be behind those doors. Gale leads me to the airlock, and I pause to throw my quiver over my shoulder and pick up my bow. It brings me a measure of comfort to have those two things with me here, Gale and my bow. I swallow hard against the sudden thought of Peeta and how my heart aches to have him back, to have him safe. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the though of him to make room for what I am about to face. Bringing my hand up to press the button beside the door, I exhale sharply as the doors open. Nothing could have possibly prepared me.
There was nothing. Well, there was something, but it was hardly the place I had grown up in. A choked sound rises out of my throat as I cover my mouth. This was worse, much worse than I could have ever imagined. I slowly make my way down the ramp, Gale close behind. The only thing I hear now is the rush of my blood past my eardrums, pounding out a steady, staccato rhythm. Ash that I kick up with my steps is now caught in the wind, twirling around me as if they were the ghosts of the dead.
They were right when they said I wasn't ready.
Then again, nothing could have ever really prepared me.
There was almost nothing left.
District 12 was nothing but burnt wood and ash.
As Gale moves beside me, I don't dare look at him, for fear that I would lose what little composure I know I had left. Instead, my hand searches for his, seeking the comfort of my best friend. The pad of his thumb strokes the top of my hand as I survey the scene around us. From what I can tell, we had landed in the square - the pile of rubble to my left could only possibly be the Justice Building, judging from the sheer size of the pile of blackened stone. The corner of my mouth twitches, the ghost of a smirk playing on my lips for the building that had never held anything but pain for me: the place I'd received the medal for my father when he passed away, the place where Peeta and I had been reaped for two Hunger Games, the place I'd had to say goodbye to my family and friends twice. It was almost poetic justice, to see it burned to the ground.
But that small measure of pleasure did not make even the slightest dent in the sorrow that had settled into my chest, because everything else looked exactly the same. My eyes scanned the square as I shake my head. I feel like if I listened hard enough, I would be able to hear the screaming. "Gale," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Take me home, please."
The walk to the Seam is both longer and shorter than I would like it to be. Gale and I don't say a word as we walk through what was once our home. I wonder vaguely if we could ever return one day, if we win. Although now I think the better question would be if we could ever bear coming back here. I almost gawk at the rubble around us, and it's a good thing that Gale is leading me, or I probably would never make it out of the square. Everything is blackened and broken and covered in that same dark soot that covered the Seam after the explosion that took my father's life. The thought makes my stomach turn violently, and Gale must notice my distress, because his hand leaves mine to snake around my shoulders and pull me in closer to him. I turn my head to lean on his arm, eyes squeezing shut, as if the act would make everything go back to the way it was supposed to be. Unfortunately, I know all too well that that is not how the world works.
Gale's voice rouses me from my own thoughts, and I turn to open my eyes again. We are standing outside of my home, the place I grew up and loved and laughed. The place I learned to read, had tucked Prim's tail in, chased Gale around for the last rabbit leg. Gale lets me go as I walk forward, and I am unable to speak. It is in better shape than most of the places around it, but the majority of it is destroyed. Without giving it a second thought, I walk through what would have been my front door, now nothing more than half an arch. The remnants of our furniture still stand, though just as blackened as the rest of District 12. I continue on to what used to be our bedroom, and I can't help but let a choked moan slip out of my mouth as my bow clatters out of my hand: Prim's teddy bear is still sitting on the bed, and though sooty and somewhat singed, it is in good condition.
I don't know how it ends up in my hands, but the moment it is, I can't stop myself from sobbing. Gale is there within a second, strong arms wrapping around my body. I press my face into Gale's chest, knees bending to drop us to the ground. Gale pulls me into his lap and strokes my hair, trying his best to soothe me. My home is broken, and so are the people that I once shared it with, if they aren't dead. Perhaps they are the lucky ones in all of this, and that thought alone causes me to sob even harder.
I don't know how long we sit there, but by the time I am finished crying, my tears have long since run out. We sit there for a moment in silence as I breathe him in. I still have Gale, and I have my mother and Prim in Thirteen. I have Haymitch and I have Effie. And when I get back to Thirteen, I will figure out a way to get Peeta back.
"We should go," I say softly, my voice hoarse from my tears. Gale says nothing as he scoops me up to stand, placing me down in front of him. His thumb makes its way to my cheeks, brushing away whatever tears are left on my cheeks. The smile he gives me comforts me, and I take a deep and shuddering breath. There are things to be done.
Gale and I collect a few more things from my home: my father's books, my mother's medicine kits, my father's leather jacket, and, of all things, Prim's damned cat. As we sit in the hovercraft, I stroke the cat absently, eyes fixed on Gale's face across from me. This is not the end. This is only the beginning. There are bigger things to come.