Know Your Enemy - Chapter 14
Peeta was sure that they hadn't been out searching for Thresh for long, but the forests around them had grown prematurely dark in the short time they had been away from the cave. From the soft light of late afternoon, the sky had plundered its way into almost complete darkness in the space of what couldn't be more than an hour.
"Hey, what time do you think it is?" Cato asked as he looked around curiously, breaking the long but comfortable silence between the two of them. Time, much like just about everything else in the Games, was easy to loose track of.
"I'm not sure," the other boy replied, glancing up at the dark sky and then shrugging. Usually the position of the sun was their only indication of hours passing by, the only way of knowing the time in the arena. "We've not been out here for long, though. We can't have been."
"Something's not right," Cato concluded. They both knew it shouldn't have gotten dark so quickly – from burning sunlight that almost blinded the boys, transformed in what felt like the blink of an eye into a pitch-black sky, lit only by the bright glow of the moon. High up the cloudless sky, it gave off nearly the same amount of light as the sun did, reflecting it back in silvery beams.
There was something far more ominous about the ghostly light it provided, though, and the way it caught on the shadows of the trees and the gnarled fingers of their winding branches. It was setting them both on edge. Peeta pulled out his knife at the same time that Cato drew his sword higher up, its sharp blade raised a little more defensively than before.
One thing was for certain – this sudden darkness couldn't be natural and, with the Gamemakers in control, it couldn't be accidental either. Everything about the competition was too precise, far too calculated for that.
Peeta frowned. "They must be in a hurry..." he let his sentence drift off uneasily, biting his lip. Both boys knew exactly what the unspoken words meant, anyway. The Capitol was getting bored. They wanted their victor. One more tribute to go and then they'd be against each other.
"They must have wanted to put us at a disadvantage," Cato announced knowingly. Peeta cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering how the boy had managed to reach that conclusion. "It's obvious, isn't it? It's the two of us against Thresh, so they've tried to even out the odds by making it night time."
"How does that affect the odds?" Peeta replied, somewhat baffled.
The other boy shot him a loaded look that said he was missing something very obvious. "Thresh is black," Cato explained very slowly, like he was talking to a small child, and then gestured around him with his free arm. "He blends in better."
"What do you mean, he blends in… Oh." Peeta blinked, took a moment to process what the other boy had said, then blinked again. "Cato! You can't just say that!"
"Yes I can." Cato smirked back at him, chin tilted up in defiance. "Besides, I wasn't going to actually say it, but then you made me. It's not my fault you're so slow on the uptake?"
Huffing, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Cato laughed loudly at the unimpressed look on his face, the sound reverberating through the trees like an echo trapped in thin air. "Hey, shut up," Peeta said suddenly, grabbing the boy's wrist in his hand to still his footsteps.
Maybe on another day, at another time when their lives weren't so endangered, Cato would have brushed him off and ignored him. Perhaps he would have even then, if not for the low tone of urgency in the boy's voice, one that made him snap his mouth closed without question. Then he heard it. A rustle from the trees made them both spin around, two pairs of eyes flitting about the shadows in search of its source.
"Who's there? Come out and face us!" Cato yelled, lifting his sword up higher, taking it from defensive to offensive in a matter of degrees. Turning, he shifted subtly to ensure that Peeta's body was hidden away behind his own, tucked out of sight and guarded by the best form of protection he could provide – himself.
Despite his confident stance, his wide eyes gave away the sheer panic he was feeling. Peeta studied his face cautiously. He looked a bit insane again, just like he had when their supplies were blown up. Like he was about to freak out and start yelling at any moment. He couldn't have that.
Darting out from behind him, Peeta held a hand out to silence Cato's protests of 'danger' and 'get back here' before edging closer to the trees that the noise came from, knife outstretched in preparation. He stayed there for a few minutes, poised to attack, but nothing happened. He swivelled round to the other boy to shrug the whole incident off and maybe exchange a quick smile of relief, but then a piercing howl filled the air.
They both surveyed the area, confused. The sound seemed to come from all directions, as if it were a part of the very air they were breathing. Glancing around them quickly, they then twirled slowly around on the spot, edging closer together as they did so. Peeta wondered if they looked as nervous as he felt, and whether their terrified faces were being projected out on screens everywhere.
Probably. He'd bet that everyone back in the Capitol was watching with baited breath, nervous and excited as they waited for something to happen, like in bad horror films with the signature build up, dramatic music and the slow reach for the door handle. Everyone knows what's coming yet somehow they still don't expect it when the door flies open and a monster bursts out.
Peeta had just begun to chuckle nervously when a large growl erupted from directly behind him. Like the sucker he was, he jumped about a foot in the air and then tried to turn around again to look at it. He was thrown to the floor before he could, too slow to see it. A hot, heavy and hairy body covered his own, so close that it was suffocating. It seemed to be some sort of dog like animal, but Peeta wasn't sure.
"Cato, get out of here. Run!" He shouted, wrestling his head out from under the creature so he could see the other boy. Hesitating, he glanced between the animal and Peeta and then the trees around them uncertainly, like he wanted to help and run away all at once.
The younger boy growled at him, low and irritated. He could handle this thing easily, and he told him just that. Besides, there could be more of them coming. Of course there would be. Why would the Capitol stop at one? Cato needed to get away fast. Peeta would follow.
"I'll follow behind you," he panted, reassuring. Cato lingered for a moment, one sickening and heart stopping and idiotically stupid and risky moment, and then he nodded in assent and began to sprint away, expecting Peeta to be close to hand. And he would be, Peeta thought. It was just a dog.
He shifted his hand where it was cramped up next to him, tightening his grip on his knife. Kicking his attacker away from him, he grinned a little at the pained yowl it let out. Scrambling to his feet, this time he was ready when the creature threw itself towards him and he caught it fast in a headlock, knife wielded close at its temples. It snapped its razor-like teeth, growling angrily as it struggled to get away. Peeta was stronger, though, and he held onto it tightly, trying to find the exact right spot to stab it so that it would die in an instant. Jugular, he decided, or a well-aimed blow to the stomach.
Admittedly, this was a little stupid, considering it was a live animal and it wanted to kill him. He should have just stabbed it anywhere he could reach and run the hell away, but Peeta wasn't really thinking straight. The arena had taught him to kill precisely and to kill thoroughly. No one could blame him for it.
Up close, he studied the thing and began to see it for what it was at face value, a snarling entity that was obviously not natural, too large to be a dog - an odd shape, pointed at unusual angles and more threatening than any animal he'd ever seen before. It was clearly a mutt. He'd seen these before, in other years and other arenas: Capitol-made monsters that had elements of real animals but also horrible and twisted sides of their own.
Mutts used to be a regular feature in the Hunger Games, but they hadn't been around much since they'd wiped out ten tributes in one day just over a decade ago. It had been decided then that they were too deadly, too savage for the early stages of the competition. Now they tended to save them for last, the big guns to wheel out and knock over any man left standing.
The thing growled again, writhing violently in his arms. Peeta could feel every muscle in its lean body flex, preparing itself to throw him off. It was definitely a mutt, one with long, dark brown fur and grey, haunting eyes that made Peeta feel uneasy for a reason he couldn't quite fathom. He stumbled back, recoiling like he'd just been dealt a blow to his gut. The mutt advanced threateningly, and the boy couldn't bear to look away, let alone tell his muscles to move, to escape, and to run away as fast as he could.
He hit the floor hard, one palm splayed out in the dirt to keep him upright, the other still clutching his knife. Jaws wide open, the creature sprang forward. Peeta found himself lying there like a stuffed dummy just waiting to be attacked. He didn't even dodge away, didn't resist as teeth like blades punctured and pierced their way into the muscle on his shoulder, ripping it open.
Shaking himself as soon as the pain kicked in, he just about pulled up his blade up enough to stab it into the mutt's stomach. It sank in quickly, embedding itself in thick folds of skin and fur. It wasn't enough. As the knife collided, he knew that it wouldn't be a fatal hit.
Not deep enough. Still, the thing's jaw slackened and it released Peeta from the vice-like grip. Backing off with an angry hiss, the mutt almost glared at him. Peeta was momentarily struck by the way the moonlight glinted off a metal token hanging from its neck. It was engraved with a shiny number twelve.
Twelve. Peeta was confused for a second. Why twelve? Maybe it was because this was the mutt that had been sent out to kill him, he reasoned. That would mean it had a counterpart out hunting Cato. That thought made him feel sick, sick enough to adjust his grip on his blade and brace himself to fight this thing. Then he realised in horror that he was wrong – that wasn't what they meant by the unsubtle token to District 12.
The eyes gave it away – a hunter's grey eyes, straight from the seam. Suddenly it was clear, shockingly clear and all too obvious even if he couldn't bring himself to believe it. It was too ridiculous and stupid all at once, but he was sure that it was still true. How had he not noticed it from the start? The mutt was Katniss.
Peeta recoiled in horror, knife hanging limply in his hand, not able to comprehend the absolute hatred that was glowing in her eyes – were those actually her eyes? – as she lunged for him again, teeth frighteningly white and sharp. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything, not even defend himself, just stared in wide-eyed horror at what the Capitol had done to her.
Before she hit the mark, closed in on him and killed him, which was almost inevitable considering the fact that Peeta wouldn't have been able to stop her, a pained yelp replaced her snarls as she was dragged off him by something above the two of them. Cato. He'd come back. Plunging his sword straight into her stomach, he then hacked a wide slit through her throat. She staggered and then fell. The boy continued thrust his blade into her, again and again, like he didn't believe she was really dead.
Cato was panting when he finally finished with her, his cheeks red and an almost pained look in his eyes. He shot an exasperated look at the smaller boy, one that reminded him of his reassurances that he could handle it and he'd follow behind in a moment. Perhaps he had underestimated the situation a bit. Maybe even a lot.
This was the second time the other boy had killed Katniss for him, Peeta thought, and felt a strange sort of relief mingled with sadness. His heart was still stuttering out an unsteady beat, thumping erratically in his chest. Then Cato was crouching down beside him, his warm palm wrapping around Peeta's good arm.
"Are you okay?" he asked, using a finger to trace lightly over the torn flesh on the boy's shoulder. His voice was softer and way more concerned than it should have been.
Peeta nodded stiffly, forcing his muscles to move with some difficulty. He was fine, just a little shocked and a little damaged. He felt slightly nauseous, sure, but that was nothing. He had grown used to the mixture of adrenaline and panic coursing through his blood after a fight. This time the panic felt different, though. It was a panic that set into his limbs and made them ice cold. He felt like he couldn't move even if he wanted.
"Well get up then, you idiot!" Cato dragged Peeta to his feet, suddenly angry, fingers digging into his skin hard enough that it would be sure to leave bruises. It stung in a way that forced the boy back to the present, made him get more in touch with the real world and what was happening right now while also forcing his limbs to react, to get back in motion.
Back upright and a little unsteady, Peeta tried to lean in close to the other boy, tried to cling onto him for support. Cato shook him off quickly, shoved him away. Pushed him forward. The younger boy didn't seem to understand. He just stared back at him, like he was waiting for his next order, his expression lost and confused and just a tiny bit hurt.
"Snap out of it, Peeta," Cato growled, pushing him again. "Run!"
Reality crashed back down around him and he nodded, forcing his panic down so that it wasn't so stifling. There was no time for that now. Not when it could get both of them killed. So, he ran. He focused on simply making his legs move, one foot in front of another. He resorted to thinking out simple instructions in his head to help him move along, help him try and forget about the pain. It didn't help. He could still feel it, feel the pain throbbing in his right shoulder where he'd been bitten.
He did the only thing he could do – grit his teeth and ignored it, bounding after Cato as quick as his tortured muscles would allow him to. The trees were growing sparser, the forest less dense, and Peeta followed in the boy's path blindly, not even caring where they were going. He trusted Cato. They'd be safe.
Peeta felt like he should be embarrassed that he didn't kill the mutt simply because it reminded him of Katniss, but didn't have time to pursue the thought, probably not even the brain capacity spare to feel anything other than the burn of his limbs and the sting of pulling air into his lungs.
Then the shining gold of the Cornucopia came into sight and as it clicked in his head where Cato had been leading them all this time, and he sighed deeply in relief. See, he wasn't just a pretty face. Clearly the boy had earned himself that eleven for a reason, Peeta thought. He almost smiled at that, before he remembered that they were probably going to die.
Ahead of him he saw Cato nearly collide head-on with Thresh, who had come barrelling out of the forest on the other side of the clearing, a group of around seven mutts hot on his heels. The boy let out an animalistic growl as he lunged forward to attack the dark-skinned boy. It was a scramble, flailing arms, a sharp sword clanging harshly against the sharp-tipped machete.
Peeta was still watching the two of them struggle against one another when another mutt attached itself to his back, snarling hotly against his ear. He shook it off desperately, kicking out behind him as he continued to run, trying to make it to Cato so that he could help but before he even came close, another mutt joined the first and dragged him down. It was like déjà vu, except this time there were two mutts instead of one, and this time neither of them were Katniss.
This time he was ready to fight back.
At least, he would be. Peeta struggled for a second to get the knife in his hand in the right position to attack, gripping the metal handle so hard that it carved deep red lines into his palm. He tried not to look the mutts in the eyes as he wrestled with one, keeping it's snapping teeth as far away from himself as he could. He yelped out loud when one aimed its bite right for his crotch, like it knew how much that would hurt, fending it off with a swift kick to the side of its head.
He couldn't keep control for long, though, and one of the mutts managed to land a blow on his damaged shoulder while the other took the opportunity to sink its teeth into his leg, making him cry out in agony. He bit his lip hard, contained the pain as best he could and stabbed the closer of the two straight through the neck, tossing it to one side before rolling upright to reach the other one.
It ripped its teeth into his leg once more before he managed to drag it up to face level and drive his blade in right between the mutt's eyes – light brown eyes that used to sparkle with a certain naivety and innocence. Now they glittered with hatred and anger. Peeta groaned and closed his own eyes, blocked everything out as his weapon dragged the life out of the little boy from Three.
Pushing the second limp body to one side, he scrambled to his feet, blissfully unaware of the severity of his injuries until he tried to walk. Staggering forwards, his tattered limb could barely hold him upright. His leg screamed for attention, but he forced himself to not look at it, knowing that the sight of torn flesh and blood would only unnerve him further.
He shuffled forwards, slower than before, and his bad leg dragged slightly behind him. At least it was still functioning. Comforted by this, he turned around to survey the rest of the scene. Not too far away, Cato was still mid-fight, but he seemed to be standing strong as he kicked out at the mutts swirling around his legs and slashed at the bigger boy with his sword. You could see his years of training with the easy way he handled his weapon, like it was an extension of himself.
The same could not be said for Thresh. The boy was looking weaker by the minute, swaying slightly on his feet as he attempted to dodge the mutts and blows from Cato's sword. Somewhere down the line, he'd lost his machete. A mutt bit into his ankle, dragging him off his feet as Peeta watched.
Even though it looked like the other boy pretty much had it all under control, Peeta again hastened to join them. He knew how vicious the mutts could be. Cato might get hurt. Limping towards the fight as fast as he could, he quickly traded the knife in his hand for the dagger from his pocket. It was a little longer. Sharper. More effective.
Peeta edged forwards, ready to fight again, but he was stopped before he could get close enough to do any real damage. All of the mutts cocked their heads simultaneously, standing to attention just like they were receiving an order in their ears. He hesitated as they all turned away from the two boys in battle to look directly at him. The mutt at the front – Peeta didn't want to think about who it was, so he didn't bother trying to figure it out – lifted a paw toward him in a very deliberate manner.
If he thought they were natural before, he really didn't now. Just seconds later, the entire group of mutts (five at his last count) began their race toward him. He could only formulate one clear thought before they reached him – 'Oh, crap' before vicious snarls were all that he could hear.
They were on him in an instant. Peeta didn't have time to try and figure out their weak points or formulate any sort of plan of attack. He just had to attack. Desperately swinging his dagger around, barely able to see through the dark and the fur and the sharp, sharp teeth, he just hoped against hope that he'd get a lucky swipe and injure a few of them fatally, wiping them out.
He managed to get a few of them down, whimpering and bleeding, but others quickly replaced them. The other mutts were joining in – there must be at least eleven on him now, teeth piercing his skin and claws scratching deep gashes across his body. He grit his teeth, all the while kicking out at them and swinging his fist around blindly. He could barely focus, what with the piercing pain of the mutts eating away at his flesh and the agony from his already injured leg, but he forced himself to try.
Then a mutt ripped a massive chunk of his flesh out at the very spot on his shoulder that had been ripped apart earlier. He screamed out before he could stop himself or muffle the pain, anything. Peeta cursed lowly under his breath. If Cato heard, it was bound to have distracted him.
Gritting his teeth and blinking away stinging tears of pain, he tightened the grip on his weapon and valiantly pierced his way through the mass of heaving bodies again and again, only knowing the times when he was hitting the mark because of the pained yelps that would come from above him. They weren't a very freqent occurrence though, and he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker.
Although the pack of mutts had begun to lighten slightly but there were still a good number above him, on him, all around him. He knew that if he didn't move now, he probably wouldn't be able to at all. He grunted again as he landed a powerful kick on one of the smaller mutts with startingly red fur – Foxface. Kicking out once more, he felt no guilt when the blow to her side left her staggering back, winded.
The mutt whined, looking surprised that he had hurt her. How fitting: a stupid mutt for an even stupider girl. Not letting himself linger long enough for the satisfaction to set in, he hauled himself back to his feet. He had to get away from them before they wounded him too much. The only way to get away would be to climb to the top of the Cornucopia.
Just about struggling free of the mutts attacking him, Peeta crawled in the direction he'd last seen the other two fighting. Through bleary eyes he could just about make out Thresh on the floor, his body shaking and convulsing uncontrollably. Cato must have punctured a nerve or something, preventing him from getting up again. It looked like he was in a lot of pain.
Cato himself was getting bigger by the second, shouting something. That confused Peeta, until he realised that it was just the other boy running over to him. Closer and closer, the panicked, concerned expression on his face grew clearer, more frantic as his eyes scanned the damage to Peeta's body.
Reaching the other boy, Cato gripped his right hand tightly and pulled him forward, upright and on towards the golden horn. It was their one shot at safety. Peeta's legs were tripping behind him worse than ever, but he forced them to work as best he could in an attempt to make the task of dragging him along less strenuous for the older boy. He didn't want to be a burden to him.
So he struggled through, trying not to take advantage of the support Cato was offering him. That being said, it was obvious he needed the other boy's help. He couldn't seem to get anywhere on his own. Honestly, he could barely even walk. Cato turned around in manic desperation the third time Peeta tripped, hand almost slipping out of his grasp.
"Stop trying to do it on your own, would you? It's obvious you can't!" Peeta whimpered in pain as Cato jerked his right arm, his shoulder wound ripping completely apart. Peeta felt woozy as he looked down and saw the bright white of his bone, thick red blood already clotting on the skin around it.
"Shit." Cato's eyes widened and he let out a choked gasp that was a little more like a sob. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I just… You're going to have to work with me here, alright?"
When the younger boy nodded, he tugged him closer, wrapping his arm round Peeta's waist and pretty much carrying him the last few precious feet to the Cornucopia. Setting the boy down, Cato turned and sliced one of the few remaining mutts in half almost symmetrically with one hard blow from his sword. Almost all of the other mutts seemed to have lost interest in them, turning their attention instead to eating away at the dark-skinned boy.
"Alright. Peeta, you're going to drag yourself up and then help me up, okay?" Cato had adopted a soothing tone, which might have been convincing if his face wasn't stretched so tight. His eyes were terrified. "Do you think you can do that for me?" Not waiting for an answer, he hoisted Peeta up above his head as high as he could manage. The younger boy wasn't exactly light, but what did he expect?
He tried his best to be gentle but he was more bothered about being quick, scrunching his face up with the effort it took him. Cato nearly dropped the boy as he grappled desperately for a good grip on the edge of the golden horn. Peeta's dagger clattered to the ground beneath them as he used his left arm to search for a good place to hold onto. He was barely able to move his right.
After a few moments of fumbling, he managed to find a ridge. He held onto it tightly then moved his right hand up to join it, though the effort made more tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He felt like he was on fire, his shoulder screaming at him to stop. Ignoring them, he used some of his last surges of energy to pull himself over the edge.
As soon as he was stable, the boy turned around to shoot a grateful smile at Cato. It was only then he realised that there was still a mutt clawing at the boy's ankles, one which he couldn't fight off because his arm – and, in turn, his sword – was still raised, ready to catch Peeta if he lost his footing and tumbled back down again. Stupid, stupid move.
Leaning over and reaching down, Peeta offered his hands out to him. Grateful, Cato gripped onto them both tightly and began to haul himself up, apparently forgetting about the deep wound in the boy's shoulder as he pulled on it without even attempting to be gentle.
Peeta closed his eyes, didn't let the pain show as his damaged skin tore open even further as a result of the strain and continued to help Cato up anyway. He wouldn't have offered his right arm if he couldn't deal with it. He just wanted the boy up here, safe on the Cornucopia with him and away from those horrible mutts.
A few moments later, Cato managed to scramble up beside him on the top of a golden ridge that jutted out slightly away from the main part of the horn. They both sighed in relief, looking down at the mutts. About six still remained, and all of them had returned to the task of devouring Thresh. Of course they had. They were no longer interested in the two boys who had evaded them and managed to make their way out of reach – it appeared that they were clever enough to know that they couldn't eat something they couldn't get to. Thresh, on the other hand, provided them with an instant promise of food.
"We're okay," Peeta whispered in awe, voice hoarse from his shouting earlier.
Cato nodded then turned to look at the other boy again. The soft smile on his lips died almost instantly as he caught sight of all the blood that stained Peeta's leg and torso. It was horrible, gory and far from okay. The more he looked, the more his eyes widened again in the desperate, tender sort of fear that Peeta had only seen in him once before, back when Clove had been hurt.
"Peeta…" The boy almost whimpered as he surveyed his friend's bleeding, bruised, and battered body. His multiple wounds were all varying degrees of seriousness – some were light, simply a graze from sharp teeth, but the majoriy deep and ragged and oozing blood.
The wound in his shoulder was the clearly worst. It was angry and swollen already, still bleeding. The sticky red substance was almost all Cato could see apart from the eerily white bone that poked out through the sea of blood. The flesh on either side was taut and looked like the uncooked, raw meat from a third-rate butcher back in the Seam.
"Look, Cato -" Peeta paused for a moment as he gasped in pain. "Just do it quickly, okay?"
Cato stared at him, bemused. Do what? For a moment, he thought that the blood-loss, or maybe some kind of concussion, had left the other boy disorientated and confused. He was about to go into mother-hen mode, and then he got it. Peeta was asking him to kill him.
It hadn't even crossed his mind that the two of them were opponents now. One of them had to die. It was just the two of them left, and the Capitol would want their victor. Well, there was still Thresh, but judging by the way his shouts were fading away in the distance, he didn't really stand a chance. He probably wouldn't hold out for longer than another five minutes. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, the familiar boom of the cannon rang out to confirm the boy's death.
"I'm not going to kill you." He snapped, irritated. "I didn't do all that to get you up here safely to then watch you die." He glared at Peeta who frowned back at him, seemingly confused. His lips parted to form an 'oh' but stilled and froze before he actually said it, stretched around the unspoken word in a perfect circle.
"But -" he groaned again. "I'm not gonna even last the night." He whimpered, definitely not above begging and guilt tripping at this point in time. "I'm… I'm dying here anyway. There's no point dragging it out. Cato, please, just do it already. Please? I want this."
Drawing his sword slowly, Cato studied his face through narrowed eyes, tracing his features like he was memorising them. Peeta watched at him in partial relief, but he couldn't quite fight down the indignant spark of surprise and betrayal that the other boy had given in so easily. A small part of him had been convinced that Cato would at least try and fight for him, would attempt to convince him that together they could beat the inevitable. Apparently not, though. Whatever, at least it'd end soon. And he'd pleaded, right? Cato was being merciful. He should just be happy and grateful for that.
"Thank-" But Peeta didn't manage to get the second shaky word out before Cato had tossed the weapon to the ground over the side of the Cornucopia. It landed in the green grass beside Peeta's abandoned dagger, metal blades catching the silver glint of the moonlight.
"What did I just say?" Cato growled, spinning around to face the younger boy again. "I'm not gonna let you die and I'm especially not gonna kill you. I'm not gonna do that."
Reaching out, he wound his hand around Peeta's and gently twined their fingers together. It was to comfort the injured boy, of course, but also to help himself to think. He had to figure out what he could possibly do to help the other boy before it was too late. That meant he had to think fast. He was sort of good at that.
Pulling out his water skin, he decided that rinsing the wound should help at least a little. Slowly dribbling it over the tattered flesh, he let out a low huff of frustration when he noticed that it was near empty. Peeta had one aswell though, so maybe together it would last. He just had to use it a bit more sparingly than he perhaps wanted to.
Silent up until now, Peeta hissed in pain as Cato dabbed some of the blood away with the course material of his sleeve. "Sorry," the boy muttered, not looking at him.
"Listen, Cato..." Using his good hand, he cupped his fingers around the other boy's chin and tilted it so that he couldn't avoid his gaze. "We both know there needs to be a winner. I – I want it to be you. You want it to be you. Just – think of the pride it will bring to your district." He valiantly attempted to persuade him, even smiled encouragingly. Maybe the effect a bit spoiled by how he was panting with the effort it took to ignore his injuries, but he was doing his best here.
"Shut up, I don't want to hear –" Cato started to say, but Peeta shifted his hand so that it covered his mouth and silenced him.
"I can't think of any life while you're not here. I think accepted it days ago that I... I just. I don't want to do this. Please, just, make it quick." He lowered his voice to a whisper and swallowed his pride. "It's hurting."
Of course, he was well aware of how pathetic he looked and sounded. He was sure it was the only thing that would get through to the other boy – convincing him that death was what he actually wanted. His eyes still stinging with unshed tears from earlier, he allowed a few to slip free and run slowly down his face.
Cato's expression remained hard and determined, but Peeta didn't think he imagined the slight glisten in his pale blue eyes. He almost smiled. Beneath all of his bravado, the boy was truly caring. When they first met, he would never have expected that.
"What makes you think I could live without you?" Cato demanded in a low voice. "No, you're going home Peeta. You are. Pride to my district, all that stupid crap I said before… before this," he gestured between the two of them. "That doesn't fucking matter, Peeta. What matters is you, and you're going to be okay. I swear that you are."
More than anything, it sounded like he was attempting to reassure himself of this. Peeta sighed. "Cato, thanks for… for everything, but I -"
"No." A tear escaped his eye and he wiped his cheek angrily. "Shut up. Don't start with some sort of stupid goodbye. Don't you dare even think about it. Don't. You're going to be okay. I promised you that you'd be okay, so you will, goddamn it! You have to be. If you die, I -" His voice rose with frustration and his face screwed up as he tried to think of an adequate ending to that sentence.
Then suddenly his face seemed to clear, tightly knit eyebrows relaxing and the worried crease between them smoothing out into nothing. For a fraction of a second, he honestly looked happy. It was gone in a flash, but it had definitely been there. Keeping his fingers laced with Peeta's, he used his other hand to rummage about in their light backpack until he found what he was looking for – the medicine they had for Clove.
Thinking back to her injuries, the bloodied skin and torn flesh, Cato was sure that this top quality Capitol-brewed stuff would be able to help Peeta a little. Maybe a lot. He faced the boy again and grinned.
"What did I say? We're gonna get you home, Peeta, we are, we are -" He unscrewed the cap and dabbed his fingers in, beginning to smooth it deep into Peeta's wounds. When he winced, Cato did feel a bit sorry for him. It probably hurt like hell, he thought. So he smiled sympathetically at the boy and rubbed soothing circles into the back his hand. He wasn't too surprised by the heated glare he was receiving.
"Cato." He said the name with a sort of exasperated venom, in a tone he saved only for the other boy. He hadn't used it since the start of the competition, back when they still didn't like each other. It was somewhat harder and sterner now, though. More tired. He'd accepted his death already, accepted defeat. Cato hadn't. Wouldn't. He'd walk happily to his own death before the boy beneath him drew his last breath.
"Peeta." He returned with a sceptic smile.
"You're – you're..." He struggled for the word. "You're insufferable."
"Yeah, of course I am." Cato laughed scornfully, and then filled the wound up with what was probably too much medicine, but whatever. He was sure that would increase the chances of it working. The more the merrier, as the saying goes. "I'm insufferable because I'm not letting someone I love die, and I'm helping them instead. Definitely insufferable."
Peeta stared back at him, his mouth falling open. Cato pondered for a moment at what he'd done wrong. It must be the cream. Maybe they didn't do it like that in District Twelve, or something. If that were the case, though, surely Peeta would have said something earlier. Wouldn't he? Maybe not. After all, the boy was convinced that he wanted to die. Stupid.
Forcing himself to stop guessing before he sent his mind reeling, he settled on waiting for the other boy to explain it to him as he dabbed at his shoulder wound just a little more. He could really use a bandage, he thought, to seal all of the cream in or something. He huffed in frustration, ready to make demands up to the skies towards the sponsors who were bound to be watching. Come to think of it, where were they in this time of crisis, anyway?
Then he remembered wrapping Clove up in bandages. Well, Peeta wrapping Clove in them. That wasn't the point. Maybe they still had some left…
"Someone you what?" Peeta finally gasped out.
Cato frowned distractedly, wondering what the hell he was talking about. He tried to figure it out as he dug into the bag for the bandages, replaying their conversation in his head as he did so. Yes! There was still a small roll left. He congratulated himself (well, Peeta actually, seeing as he usually did most of the 'medical care' and the packing away) for saving them before returning to what the boy had just said. Someone he - then he realised what he had blurted out before.
Someone I love.
"I… I didn't mean that," he stammered at once. He could feet a blush work its way down from his cheeks to cover most of his skin in blotchy red patches on his neck and face. Peeta raised an eyebrow at him, his lips curling up into a soft smile. "Seriously, I didn't!" Cato insisted indignantly, somehow blushing more.
"You love me," Peeta announced proudly, now grinning.
"No I don't!" It had been a stupid slip of the tongue that didn't mean anything. He didn't love the other boy. Right? Staring at him, Cato tried to figure it out for himself. One thing was for sure – Peeta and his stupidly smug smirk were a complete pain in the ass. When had he even learnt to do that?
Of course he didn't love Peeta. He hated him. At least, he had at the start, and he was sure that you don't start loving someone you hate without realising it, right? Except, looking back, maybe hatred was a little too strong. It had been a lot more like jealousy – he was was jealous of how the boy had manipulated the other Careers and stolen some of Cato's limelight, and of how he had charmed the audience at the interviews so damn easily when everyone else had to try so hard, and that stupid burning costume that caught everyone's eye right away, captivated them so much that they never wanted to look away. Or maybe that was just him.
And, for all that Cato tried to convince himself that he hated Peeta, he knew that he liked him too. In fact, he really liked him. The boy was the sort of pain in the ass you only get with someone you know well and like a lot, the kind that makes you feel fond and warm and safe. Cato liked being with him, talking to him, laughing at him and knowing that he was alive. He enjoyed being able to see his little quirk of the lips when he was in a bad mood, but Cato had made him laugh and the exasperated little sigh and token shake of the head he'd do when the other boy had done something stupid.
Kissing him. Cato really liked kissing him.
Proving his own point, maybe, he leant forward to catch the other boy's lips with his own again. Peeta didn't respond at first, and Cato was a bit worried that he'd scared him off, but then he felt the other boy start to kiss him back eagerly, burning hot and passionate and different from before. Definitely different – it was far more confident, for one thing. His tongue even darted out to lick into Cato's open mouth, catching him off guard and then pushing it's way deeper when the boy's jaw slackened in surprise.
They kissed like they'd never kiss again, and hey, maybe they wouldn't, but Cato wouldn't allow himself to think like that. He couldn't afford to.
Breathing, Cato quickly discovered, was a lot more difficult when your mouth is otherwise occupied. He was sure that this hadn't been a problem before. Reluctantly pulling away, he panted to catch his breath, earning a frustrated whimper from the other boy and several sloppily placed kisses that just missed his lips.
Pausing for a moment, he added that to the list of reasons why he needed to keep Peeta alive – extremely good kisser. He couldn't deprive the world of talent like that. It would be selfish. He carefully ignored the jealousy that bubbled in his gut at the thought of the other boy doing that with anyone else.
"What were you saying?" Peeta muttered, nudging his nose against the other boy's cheek. His smirk was back, and smugger than ever, and Cato barely resisted the temptation to kiss it away. Barely.
"Shut up," he huffed instead. "That doesn't mean that I love you or anything."
Even saying the words made him blush again. He was probably a horrible shade of purple by now, his mind lamented. What made it even worse was the fact that Peeta was laughing at him, quiet chuckles pressed into the base of Cato's neck.
Pushing him away sightly, Cato grabbed the bandage from where it was balancing somewhat precariously on the edge of the ridge. How had he not noticed that before? He'd have never forgiven himself if he'd let it drop to the floor because just he was too fucking sentimental and idiotic and he'd chosen the wrong moment for them to have a moment, or whatever the fuck that was.
Determined to finish what he started – saving Peeta, that is – he began to get to work at wrapping the thin material around the wound, which was already looking slightly better. He lifted Peeta's arm up gently at the elbow, ignoring the boy's mutters of 'ouch' and 'that hurts' as he began to wrap it in a sort of V-shape around his armpit, covering up as much of the blood as he could manage.
Satisfied by the sight of a sterile white bandage, which made everything seem so much more manageable, he decided to work on clearing up the rest of the boy's wounds, though they didn't seem to be as desperately in need of it as his shoulder had. Beginning to feel stirrings of hope, he let a small smile settle on his face as he tended to a nasty set of bloody red teeth-marks that marked the skin on his leg. He'd done just about all the absolutely horrible looking ones when Peeta began to speak again.
Here he goes, Cato thought with a sigh, but smiled up at him anyway.
"I still think you should just kill me," he announced. If he weren't so injured and bandaged up that he could have, he would've almost definitely crossed his arms, and Cato could swear that was an actual pout gracing his lips. He wouldn't ever admit it, but he thought the boy looked adorable.
"Well then, let's agree to disagree." Cato gave Peeta a slight smirk of his own. He was better at it, anyway. After all, he had more practise.
"Cato, stop joking around. You don't seem to understand that this is serious!" His voice rose. "They have to have their victor! They have to! And I'm not gonna be able to enjoy being a victor if you're dead!"
"Peeta, I don't think you understand! You seem to think I'm going to be able to skip around and celebrate and lead a happy life with a fairy tale ending if I win, but you're wrong. That won't happen, no matter how much you want it to, and do you know why? Because, funnily enough, I don't want you to die either. I mean, I… I like you, you know? I really like you. I might even… you know." He blushed, hands fumbling around in the air between them to distract the other boy from his stupid burst of honesty, or whatever. "Look, I've already told you how I feel haven't I? And it's not as if I'm upset you haven't said it back, even though you know, you could've, but whatever, we both know that we care about each other and – what?" He stopped as he saw Peeta roll his eyes.
"I do too, you know." He said softly. "I – I like you, or whatever it is we're calling this. I like you a lot, Cato, and that's why you can't die. That's why I have to."
Their eyes met, fierce and sincere and determined. The two of them were locked in a stare, like the first to blink would be the one to lose or something childish. Neither of them was willing to look away, give in, and relent. They were at a sort of stalemate. What the hell could they do? Neither one of them was going to allow the other one to die. But one of them had to, right?
Distracted by their inane little staring contest, neither of them noticed the soft beeping coming from above them until a small silver parachute landed next to Peeta's head. Cato looked at it, surprised. He'd forgotten that things actually existed outside the arena, that there had been millions of people watching him stammer out his feelings in the least eloquent way possible. How embarrassing.
Curious, he was about to reach for it when another joined it, and then another. Looking around in confusion, he wondered if there had been some sort of mistake, like a malfunction in the parachutes department. He half snickered at the thought, imagining an office full of Capitol people clutching their ridiculous wigs in panic as the gifts flew out of the room. He shook his head, clearing away the improbable image. These were the Hunger Games – there were never any mistakes.
Peeta nudged him back to the present with a sharp elbow in the side, nodding his head to the skies where at least two more bundles were on their way to join the other silver offerings.
Growing increasingly confused, he opened up the first one that had landed. It was a really stupid gift, a little collection of heart shaped sweets that he scoffed at for a moment, before he remembered the similar present they had gotten when they had kissed outside the cave. It wasn't the most helpful gift they'd gotten, but it was kind of sweet, no pun intended. At least it's the thought that counts.
Calling out a slightly insincere thanks, he turned and offered one to Peeta, who nodded and then popped his mouth open expectantly. Of course, he was going to have to feed it him. Rolling his eyes, he tossed it into the back of the boy's throat as fast as he could, aiming for the tonsils and laughing loudly when Peeta spluttered on it and nearly choked. Serves him right, really.
Turning back to the other assortment of gifts – there were well over a dozen now, and more arriving every time he looked back, the reached for another in the hopes that it would contain something more useful, like water. Water would be nice. He was thirsty.
He was about to open up the next parachute when a satisfied little sigh echoed around the arena. A human sigh, Cato realised after a second of tensing up, half-expecting more mutts to appear – ones that would be able to climb the Cornucopia and kill them. Apparently though, the sigh hadn't been intentional as it was quickly followed by a short cough of embarrassment and a muffled declaration of 'I didn't know the microphone was on, you could have warned me!' before the voice went on to address them.
"Tributes," the person, who Cato quickly recognised as Seneca Crane, began. "There's been a slight – well, not exactly slight, it's kind of major actually – change in the rules..."
From the sound of his voice alone, Peeta could imagine the mischievous smile on the man's face. He wondered for a moment how someone who seemed so sunny and friendly,could ever be brutal enough to be Head Gamemaker. Distracted by this thought, the boy almost missed his next words.
"…Allowing for the last two remaining tributes to win. Both of them. Joint victors."
It took a moment for it to register, and even then it felt like a sick joke rather than a reality. Cato and Peeta just looked at each other for a minute, not quite comprehending what the man just said. Not only was that a shocking statement, but the announcement seemed totally out of the blue. It was completely unheard of for rules to change in Games, mainly because there weren't any rules really to be changed – just that twenty-three of the tributes die, and the unspoken rule against cannibalism, but whatever, that didn't count.
This was basically the whole structure of the Games themselves being changed around, just for them. Of course it was a little much to take in. Seneca Crane, being the generous man he was, gave them a second or two for it to sink in, not just for them, but the rest of Panem too. Everyone else would be just as shocked at the announcement, from the citizens in the Capitol to the people watching at home in the Districts.
"Luckily enough, it seems we have our last two tributes already." He commented, his tone almost teasing as he waited for some sort of reaction from the boys, who still sat frozen in place. Another few moments went by, and nothing happened. The man paused, clearly at a loss for what to do, then began to babble just to fill the silence. "That's it everyone!" he crooned delightedly. "This is the end. We know that none of you could stand to see such beautiful love torn apart."
There was a rustle at the end of the line, and something that sounded distinctly like 'that's enough, Crane, you've said enough'. Clearing his throat again, the man let out a nervous giggle. "Sorry about that. I think I got a little carried away. Anyway, let's give it up for our two victors of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games, Cato and Peeta of Districts Two and Twelve!"
He cheered loudly like a kid opening Christmas presents, apparently unable to contain his excitement. Then the Capitol anthem began to blare out triumphantly. The screams, squeals and cheers of the Capitol viewers were played through whatever the Gamemakers used to contact them – speakers? That didn't matter, though.
That was it. Game over. They'd won.
A/N: Hi guys! As always, thank you for reading. If you have a spare moment, please leave us a review. Feedback is always welcome, we love hearing what you guys think. On another note, wow, it's kind of taken a really long time for us to update this time. Sorry about that! Hopefully the super-long chapter will compensate? Also, we finally made it to over 100 reviews, so thank you all very much for that. It really means a lot! Have a nice week, and hopefully we'll see you again soon.
PS, thank you to Through Darkness Into Light for catching the typo and telling us about it!