Title: Cotton Fluff Ambitions
Chapter: Seven
Rating: T for language and character death
Word Count: 2,789
A/N: Oh, my fucking god, I am so embarassed! I haven't updated in almost two months! I'm so sorry! The favorites and reviews are piling in by the minutes and I cannot express my gratitude! I meant to upload sooner, but there were so many edits and I was kind of blocked. Thank you for all your support and concern. I promise that updates will be more frequent from now on. Again, if you have any questions or suggestions, you can review/PM me, or visit my tumblr: struckbylightningbowties. Thank you so much! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Glee characters, nor The Hunger Games, both of which are too amazing to be owned by me.
Sixty seconds. Kurt had sixty seconds to formulate a plan. Kurt had sixty seconds to find equipment and hightail it out of there. Kurt had sixty seconds to take in his surroundings. And Kurt had sixty seconds before hell broke loose.
The moment Kurt's metal platform rose up on land, he immediately began to look around, and felt his stomach drop in the most unpleasant, horrific way when he caught sight of this year's arena.
All twenty-four tributes were arranged in a circular formation around the shiny, golden cornucopia. The cornucopia was spewing loaded backpacks, tent packs, baskets of food, metal water canteens, all sorts of useful supplies placed randomly along the rolling sand hills.
Sand. Everywhere. As far as the eye could see, it was only flat stretches of sand leading up to the steep sides of dunes. The sun drew beads of sweat on Kurt's forehead and the back of his neck. He could already tell that this would be the constant, persistent weather, and knew that there would be many tribute deaths due to the heat.
He also could predict that finding a source of water wouldn't be easy, and most likely would be taken over by the strongest of the tributes.
Kurt turned his head, and noticed Rory, from District 11 on his right, and Lauren from District 5 on his left. Lauren's determination and bulky form would mean that she would be dominating any of the equipment on that side, so Kurt supposed his best bet was retrieving the pale white backpack several yards away from Rory.
Eleven seconds left. Just seconds. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. The cameras were no doubt airing the tributes' expressions now, snickering over who looked the most devastated and who looked ready to kill.
Kurt had never been religious, seeing as the so-called "god" had never assisted his family or any others with financial problems, and he had never uttered a prayer in his life. Somehow, at this moment, it felt right. He didn't know if it was to a god, or perhaps some spirit of his mother, or maybe just an empty plea for help.
He silently wished that his father would be alright for the years to come, and that he'd somehow find a way to keep on living despite his many losses. He wished that Darcy would prosper, and achieve all that Kurt hadn't been able to. He wished, with quivering lips, that April would clean up her act enough to help out next year's tributes. He wished that Santana, the little girl from District 11, and everyone else would have quick, painless deaths. But most of all, Kurt wished desperately that this would all end. He wished for change.
"Ladies and gentlemen, with great pleasure, I present to you the annual 28th Hunger Games! May the odds ever be in your favor…"
Nobody realized that was the cue for one frozen half-second in time. And then with a loud battle cry, David Karofsky had catapulted off his metal platform and began to race towards the cornucopia.
Other tributes, screaming and following his lead, lunged toward various weapons and began to engage in combat. Kurt couldn't think anymore. All logic, and his previously made plans were drained from his mind and replaced with electrifying terror.
He stumbled through the sand, taking in the fact that the sand would make it hard for everyone to get away quickly, but would also conceal tracks easily.
Rory had decided to run right into the heart of the battle, abandoning the backpack that had been closest to him, along with a small silver canteen. Kurt tripped in haste, sprawling in the sand and then jumping to his feet. Out of the cloud of sand appeared Quinn, with her blonde hair mussed and a streak of blood across her cheek.
She held a spear in one hand, and when she glared at Kurt, he could feel her radiating fury. Quinn, the angelic girl from District 4, the one that had giggled on camera and grinned with accented, flawless make-up, had the gruesome pierce of a murderous assassin in her eyes.
Kurt backed up slowly, blinking just to make sure that she wasn't a mirage. The clashing of weapons merged with high-pitched screams and firing cannons that signaled a tribute's death. The air was thick with sand and heat.
"ARGGG!" she screamed, charging forward and launching the spear.
It lodged in the sand next to his foot. Kurt emitted a high-pitched cry, and in his effort to avoid the spear, fell backwards and smacked his head against a rock, holding the backpack up to shield himself.
Quinn ran at him once more, this time straddling his lap and beginning to gruffly pry the backpack from his clutch. "GIVE IT TO ME!" she screeched.
Kurt kicked wildly, just as insistent to hold onto the backpack as Quinn was to get it. Her tone, the blood on her cheek, made him wonder if perhaps she had been given drugs of some sort, but this was not in any way the perfect angel from the interviews. Then again, maybe that was Quinn's approach.
Quinn retrieved her spear, hissing so much that droplets of spit splattered Kurt's bottom lip. She stabbed the spear into the backpack's front pocket and dragged down; the rip of fabric was barely audible above the continuing shouts and Quinn's growls.
"GIVE IT TO ME!"
Suddenly, Quinn was hefted off of Kurt and tossed to the side. Kurt didn't waste time scrambling to his feet and hurrying a few paces away. Blaine had picked up Quinn and pushed her down again, so she was hurriedly spitting and clawing at him angrily.
"Run!" Blaine cried.
Kurt turned on his heel and sprinted towards the dunes. Once he safely arrived on the peak of the nearest dune, he beckoned for Blaine to hurry. Quinn had gotten bored with the chase and found a new tribute to attack. Blaine started towards Kurt, but then skidded to a stop and spun around to run straight into the cloud of sand that hid the main battle.
"Blaine!" Kurt shouted. "No!"
Blaine ignored his pleas and continued on until he was consumed by the cloud. Kurt pressed his sweaty palm to his temple. "What the hell," he murmured to himself.
Kurt pondered leaving Blaine, and searching for a source of water before the survivors of the battle realized that was a necessity. But he couldn't; Blaine had just saved him. "Blaine!" Kurt resumed yelling.
He emerged from the cloud, coughing into his shoulder and carrying the limp body of his fellow District 11 tribute: Beth Corcoran. Her head flopped as she ran, with two extra backpacks and a strange wooden board also loaded in his arms.
Kurt slid down the dune and hurried towards Blaine to help. At first, he didn't know why Blaine suddenly fell to his knees. Then he saw the arrow planted in Blaine's left shoulder.
He ran faster and helped Blaine by taking Beth from him. She muttered something in her unconsciousness; damp, sweaty, dark hair against Kurt's chest. Kurt didn't know how far they ran, or where to, but eventually the sounds from the combat vanished.
Kurt slowed his pace to walk and glanced behind him to see Blaine, pale and panting, carrying all three backpacks.
"Are you okay?" Kurt asked softly.
Blaine mopped his forehead with the back of his hand and nodded blankly. Drying blood covered his neck and snaked down his arm. He winced with every step, hunched over in the slightest.
Kurt glanced down at the girl in his arms. Despite Beth's age, she was considerably light, and Kurt felt like he could carry her for miles. "What happened to her?" he wanted to know.
Blaine coughed. "Someone hit her on the back of her head. Sorry if she's slowing you down…I couldn't leave her, you know?"
Kurt smiled. "I'm glad you didn't."
"C-could we stop?" Blaine said quietly.
"Yes, yes, of course. Let's see what we have here." Kurt tossed a stare over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being pursued.
Once Blaine sat down on the scalding sand, Kurt set Beth down beside him and began to rummage through their backpacks. The first contained a black tarp, a canteen and a small loaf of bread wrapped in cellophane. The second held a sunhat, sunglasses, sunscreen, a first-aid kit and a cow skin water jug. The third had the same items as the first, including dried apple slices and thin crackers.
Kurt sighed shakily, also fishing out the empty canteen he had retrieved and the odd board of wood Beth had picked up. "Alright," he said. "Perhaps we shouldn't eat just yet…We don't have that much to spare, and I don't know how long it'll be until we can find more food."
He lifted up the water jug. "This is the only water we have," Kurt explained wearily. "We should ration it. Do you think you can hold out?"
Blaine's eyes were drooping. Kurt could tell that he was slipping away, due to his massive blood loss. He was stupid to force Blaine to walk this far.
"Here," Kurt said, grabbing one of the crackers, "eat this. It'll make you feel better."
Blaine's lips trembled as he took a timid bite of the cracker. Kurt shifted on his knees, taking out the first-aid kit. "Okay, I'm going to look at your injury," he whispered.
Kurt stifled a gasp when he realized exactly how deep the arrow had penetrated his shoulder. The entire head was buried in a gash as wide as Kurt's wrist, blood oozed from the purpling, swollen edges of the cut.
"Oh, my-my god," Kurt choked out, forcing himself to take slow breaths. "It's going to be fine. I'm going to fix it, and then you'll be fine."
Blaine's trembling had spread to his entire body. "It's bad?" he whimpered.
"No, no. Just eat your cracker," replied Kurt evenly. He dug around in the first-aid supplies, searching for some kind of fabric that would pressurize the cut after the arrow was removed. A small wad of cotton seemed efficient enough.
Kurt gritted his teeth together, placing the cotton near the gash. "On the count of three…One-"
"What's going to happen on three?" Blaine demanded, craning his neck to see what Kurt was doing.
"Two-" Kurt gripped the stem of the arrow and wrenched his hand backward sharply. The arrow pulled backward with a sickening squelch! and Kurt fell on the sand behind him.
Blaine released a strangled sob, and Kurt rushed up to apply pressure to the gash. Blood quickly soaked the cotton and he ripped through his shirt and pressed with both palms onto his injury.
Tears slipped down his cheeks plentifully as the bleeding steadily ended. He found the packaged needle and sterilized thread and began to stitch the ends of the gash together with them.
Somewhere along the way, because Blaine had been crying, Kurt told him a story to distract him. About when his mother had gotten lemons from the marketplace and together they had made lemonade. But when they tasted it, it was much too tart. He talked of how they sat on the front porch, pretending that there was sugar mixed in the lemon juice. He told Blaine about how wonderful everything had seemed that day, and how quickly it had ended. When it was over at last, Kurt wrapped his shoulder in gauze and lay down in the sand.
The sun was setting, pastel colors dashing over the darkening sky. The temperature had dropped noticeably, and a startling chill soon replaced the burning sun.
"You said three," Blaine chuckled. His eyes were glassy.
Kurt smiled sullenly. "Should we set up camp here?"
Blaine glanced down at his shoulder. A crimson patch was already growing where he was bleeding through the bandages. "I think we should tend to Beth before we anywhere else."
Kurt nodded. He decided against a fire because he knew that the smoke, and light would be prompt in such a blank landscape. He unfolded the tarp, and propped it up against the base of their dune. Blaine moved up onto it and Kurt lifted Beth beside him.
Kurt then flipped Beth over on her side so he could check out the source of her pain. Her hair was matted with dried blood. There was a two-inch cut raging down the very center of her skull. Thankfully, it wasn't deep.
Kurt used the same method he used with Blaine's gash; he stitched it up after thoroughly cleaning it. He didn't know what else he could do. He didn't have any experience with head injuries, and Beth's immediate pasty skin frightened him.
He smoothed back her hair and tipped a couple drops of water between her lips before covering her up with one of the tarp corners and kissing her pale forehead. By the time he had finished, it had grown hauntingly dark.
Flickering, bright stars dotted the black velvet sky. There was absolutely no sound. Kurt remembered the sounds of crickets chirping and of brisk conversation between men returning from late shifts in the mine. He would lie in his bed, consumed by the utterly transfixing sounds of night, and make up names for the glistening stars. Even in the Capitol, car horns beeping comforted him.
Here, there was nothing but horrific silence. It made him feel like there was someone watching. Abruptly, he was reminded of the Capitol's cameras and he swallowed hard, his dry throat agonized.
"You okay?" Blaine asked.
"Yeah." Kurt cleared his throat, sitting back and placing his hands in his lap.
"You should eat something," Blaine advised.
Kurt shook his head, still persisting to ignore the growing hunger nestled in his stomach. "I'm alright. Besides, we need to save it. I have no clue how the hell we're supposed to scavenge out here."
Blaine exhaled calmly. "Well, there must be something out here. The Gamemakers like to prolong the Games."
Kurt nodded.
"I liked that story of your mother. It seemed very close to your heart."
Kurt swallowed again. Before he could reply, the Capitol anthem blared from unseen speakers. They turned their attention to the night sky, where the a projection of the Capitol symbol was being displayed.
Kurt took a shaky breath. He hoped that he wouldn't see Santana's face on the screen.
The first was the familiar face of Sugar Motta from District Two was the first to pop up. It was clear that her throat had been slit. Sam Evans from District Three, a massive gash racing from his left eye to his jaw. Harmony Lovett from District Four. Sebastian Smythe from Five. Both from Six, Seven, Eight and Nine. Rory Flanagan from District Ten.
Something settled deep in Kurt. Santana wasn't dead, and neither was the girl she had crushed on…Brittany. There were thirteen dead, and eleven left, all spread out in the desert, watching as the Capitol seal concluded the showing.
"David, Rachel, Noah, Quinn, Finn, Lauren, Brittany, Santana," Blaine recited. "Those are the ones left."
"Me, you and Beth," Kurt continued.
He met Blaine's gaze. His hazel eyes were hooded with exhaustion and thirst, and yet, there was a spark in them. Kurt remembered seeing that spark somewhere else; in his father's eyes when the medic said his mother was going to live. But she died.
It was false hope.