The Cost of Survival

Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings

The Santana-Johanna (Johtana?) scene/s in this chapter were especially difficult to write because they were among those that I had a concept of from very early on in this project, months ago, and I wanted to get it just right. Not quite sure if I got it, but I tried. :))

Also, I'm still working through the next chapter but I think I can get it out by next weekend. If I scrounge up enough time I might even have it ready by New Year's. I mean... no promises, but reviews always get me itching to write as much as possible, so we'll see how things go. :) Thanks again for y'all who reviewed! :D

Chapter 14

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

It was an hour or two after the interview. Brittany couldn't be sure. The concept of time wasn't exactly easy to determine without a watch or clock within her line of sight. If anything, the only way Brittany could feel the passage of time at the moment was with each pulse of pain through her body.

Mrs. Cohen-Chang dug up one last pill that was supposed to ease Brittany's pain enough to let her sleep, but that hadn't been strong enough. Everything still hurt, and it was keeping her awake. Maybe it did diminish the pain a little bit, but her body was throbbing in so many different places, Brittany couldn't really tell anymore.

She almost envied Tina and Amy right now, who were fast asleep, Amy on Santana's cot at the foot of the bed, Tina on a blanket set up on the floor next to Brittany. They deserved some rest though. She could only imagine the stress they might have gone through in patching her up once they saw her. Until now, Brittany couldn't remember how she got from the forest to the bed. The experience with the Peacekeepers ended in a haze of agony and she couldn't recall when or how it had stopped.

How long they spent scrounging up treatments and painkillers and whatever might be useful was beyond Brittany, but she was grateful for it. Tina had even insisted on spending the night here, to keep an eye on Brittany. Mrs. Cohen-Chang even offered to stay as well, until Tina insisted she should go home and help Mr. Cohen-Chang with the kids.

Brittany tried to express her gratitude to Tina, but she just waved it off, saying they were friends and should look out for each other, that Brittany would have done the same if they were to have switched places. Still, it was touching to see how Tina was going out of her way to help. Tina and Mrs. Cohen-Chang and even Amy.

This situation was inconveniencing so many people and it was so frustrating.

And beside all of that frustration was the fear, bitter against her tongue, heightened by the tremors of pain.

She was scared that the Peacekeepers might come back and do worse. Or might even turn to Amy and put her through the same experience. After that long, horrible night, Brittany now knew that there was nothing they weren't capable of. Expecting the worst was better than hoping for the best if these Peacekeepers were the subject matter.

She was also scared of tomorrow. Of seeing the Games truly begin. Of seeing Santana get struck down.

But more than ever, Brittany was afraid of never being able to talk to Santana again. After that heartfelt interview that had Brittany struggling to breathe through the sobs and the overwhelming combination of physical and emotional pain, there was nothing she wanted more than for them to see each other just one more time. She needed to tell Santana that it was okay.

Even if Brittany's entire body was suffering agony like she'd never before imagined possible, even if her heart ached at the thought of the fate of her mother and what might await Santana, even if it was disturbing to know that there was some link between Santana's actions and that awful night, there was no way that Brittany could ever blame Santana for any of this.

Just seeing Santana's face on that screen, though it was hazy and pixilated, Brittany could feel how much Santana was beating herself up about this. Guilt and shame was in every breath Santana took, and it was so abundantly clear in that whispered, shaky apology.

How could she ease Santana about it?

Brittany badly wished there was an answer to that question, because at the moment, no solution was presenting itself.

If they were in front of each other right now, Brittany would have told Santana that she wasn't being resented or blamed. That if there ever was an explanation, Brittany was willing to hear it from Santana, and try to understand the why of it all.

This was Santana. She would never cause it on purpose. Brittany knew that.

Wincing and scrunching her face up, Brittany lifted the less damaged of her hands. It had only a couple of bruises and one splinted finger. She moved with as much slowness and care as she could, and wiped at her eyes.

The contact reignited the pain in the swollen, stretched skin covering her face.

She really wanted to know why.

And as far as Brittany was concerned, Santana shouldn't be blaming herself for this. The Peacekeepers were the ones at fault. They did this. They were the ones who were heartless monsters. They had no hearts and they had no souls.

When her parents first disappeared, Brittany had felt anger consume her. It was this burning rage that seared her skin and darkened everything around her. It made her hands shake and her breathing speed up.

Over the years, it dulled to an ember that just glowed every so often. Brittany couldn't afford to feed a temper when Santana became more and more of a handful, the older they got. It was bad when her mother died, then it became nearly uncontrollable after her father was executed.

With Santana to take care of, Brittany was able to keep her own anger in check because someone else had so much of it that needed to be eased. If there were two people in this house with raging tempers, nothing good would come of that, and Amy would grow up in a house full of snarling and roaring.

But now, with every little movement accompanied by excruciating agony, Brittany felt that anger coming back, growing stronger and hotter.

Easing her hand back onto the bed, Brittany felt the soreness to her shoulder dull a little as she forced it to relax. Cooling the anger wasn't that easy.

Brittany hated the Peacekeepers now more than ever. Hated the Capitol. President Snow. Everything.

She hated this damn situation with every fiber of her being, and it grew with every throb of pain pulsing through every injury. If there was only some way for her to get back at them, put them through the misery they had put her through. They forced her to grow up and become an adult when she could have spent her days playing in the forest or doing her homework or laughing with her friends. In those moments when she could loosen up and mess around with her friends, she had been happy.

Now, how could any of them go back to that happiness?

Quinn and Puck, there was no way of knowing where they were now, and Brittany couldn't be sure if they were happy or not. Mike and Santana… whether or not one of them comes home a victor, they surely weren't going to come home the same. Nobody ever came home the same. Being in that arena changed people. Tina… she would probably take a long long time to get over this. Though she didn't talk too much about it, Brittany could tell she held a quiet hatred towards this life. It wasn't as loud and obvious as Santana's or Puck's had been, but that didn't make it any less intense.

And Brittany?

She would probably always remember this.

And as of now, she had no idea how she was going to heal.

Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games.

Santana tightened her hold on the pillow on top of her head, using it to cover her ears, a pathetic attempt to block out Brittany's voice. She must have gone through so much pain for hours. The extensive damage throughout her body showed that the Peacekeepers really made full use of the time they had been given to carry out their assignment.

That's all it was to them. An assignment. A job to do. An order to follow.

It didn't matter to them that when they set out to pummel Brittany and Quinn, their targets had been unarmed and outnumbered. Innocent and unprepared. They were completely defenseless, without any chance of fighting back or running away. To endure the punishment was the only choice they had.

They were both victims of the Capitol's sick ways.

This must be what Johanna meant when she implied Santana may get into trouble with President Snow. Damage like this may have been his direct orders. Shame washed over Santana as she recalled how the idea used to thrill and challenge her. Now faced with the consequences, she felt struck down by how immature the thought had been.

It was sickening to realize the part Santana played in those beatings that both Quinn and Brittany went through.

What kind of friend was she, to do that to them? Who was selfish enough to put people she cared about through an experience like that?

If it weren't for her hardheaded attitude, maybe Brittany and Quinn wouldn't have been hurt so badly. Brittany would still be able to stand and walk about the district, getting work done and earning enough money to feed Amy and herself. Quinn would be able to do her work and… get through the day without the added pain of any injuries sustained from that punishment.

And how was Mr. Pierce?

Santana had yet to see him and find out how he was, but now she couldn't help feeling like he might have gone through some form of punishment too. The Peacekeepers were bent on dealing out as much damage as possible, why stop at Quinn and Brittany when they could go for Brittany's dad, too? He was so conveniently in their custody after all.

Another wave of shame washed over Santana when she realized she didn't try telling Brittany about her father. It was a pretty good opportunity. And there were enough vague and cryptic words associated with family that Santana could have used to get the message to Brittany.

That chance was long gone now.

With a groan of frustration, Santana released the pillow and clambered out of the blankets. The little clock at her bedside showed that it was barely midnight. At this rate, she probably wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Hopefully Brittany was getting some sleep. It would help. Her body needed the rest to be able to repair itself.

For the umpteenth time, Santana wished she could be back in District 7 instead of trapped here in the Capitol. She should be taking care of Brittany right now, doing whatever it took to make up for what she went through. She should be standing over Brittany, watching over her and protecting her from further injury, instead of tossing and turning in a comfortable bed miles away.

Santana ran her hands through her hair and held onto a fistful of strands. There was so much going on and her head was exploding with all these thoughts and it was impossible to go to sleep like this. She shut her eyes tightly, and that brought up those pictures of Brittany. Seeing Brittany in pain reminded Santana that Quinn suffered too. And Mr. Pierce was somewhere in the Capitol and he probably had no idea his daughter just experienced something so horrible. Or did he?

Not knowing anything for sure was driving Santana mad.

She almost lunged forward to grab the clock and throw it at the wall, but successfully caught the impulse and wrestled it down. Her hands were shaking and her body felt restless. Her eyes felt tired.

Actually, her whole body and everything felt tired and drained, but Santana was too pent up to relax. How could she, knowing her friends were suffering? Brittany was suffering.

Pulling on some clothes to wear, without really thinking about what she was going to do, Santana stepped over the dress still on the floor, and exited her room. Most of the lights were off outside. The toast and celebration Holly wanted so badly probably didn't last very long if everyone was in bed already.

Movement down the hall caught Santana's attention, and as she drew closer, she noticed someone sitting at the table, bottle in hand, drinking in the dark. The automatic response would be to assume that it was Judy Fabray again, and that brought with it the usual anger and hate.

But as she took in the silhouette, Santana realized that this one was leaner than Judy, and there was no mistaking that spiky hair.

"That you, Santana?" The words were slightly slurred, but understandable enough. Johanna titled her head. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah." Again, the thought of asking Johanna for advice crossed Santana's mind. But judging by the limited light hitting that bottle, it looked to be more than half empty. Now might not be the appropriate time for decisions or serious conversation.

Johanna waved her free hand, gesturing for Santana to take the seat opposite.

What was the worst that could happen?

Besides, this was better than being alone in her room, trapped with all the thoughts of Brittany and Quinn and Mr. Pierce. Santana sat down on her usual chair, across Johanna. Eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness, Santana could make out the dark, brooding expression Johanna wore. It was there pretty often, especially when she wasn't talking, but it looked more intense tonight.

It dawned on Santana that she rarely ever knew what was going on in Johanna's head. Until now, the reason Johanna freaked out in the townsquare those years ago was a mystery to Santana. All she knew was that it affected so many people after, and it was what started the severely tightened security and curfew.

"Y'know…" Johanna put the bottle down on the table and slid it across to Santana's side. "It doesn't just end with being a victor."

Santana accepted the bottle and took a sip without hesitating. Somewhere in the distance, the audio recordings still played out, and the images still flashed. Santana swallowed and again wished for this all to be done.

Puck had no idea how lucky he was to be done with this.

"What else is there?" Santana took another sip and passed it back to Johanna. The action felt almost like a night with Puck, when they would take turns like this, sharing a bottle in between sucking each other's tonsils out.

Selfishly, pettily, Santana kind of wished she could have another session with Puck to be able to forget this for a little while.

The way Brittany disapproved so much of it cut through the thought, and intensified Santana's guilt. She felt her lip quiver, and her eyes started stinging again. A shiver passed through her body. In the quiet stillness of the near-empty dining room, another scream from Brittany echoed.

"They own you once you get out." Johanna said, "And y'know sometimes…" She took a long swig before passing it back to Santana. "Sometimes I think the real winners are the ones that don't make it out of the arena."

In a grim way, Santana could almost understand what Johanna meant. If there was anyone in their childhood gang who won, it was Puck. At least he wasn't going through any suffering anymore, and never would. The rest of them? Santana didn't doubt that there was more to come.

"They probably are." Santana took her turn with the bottle, then passed it back. For one brief, lifting moment, Santana imagined what it would be like if she died in the arena, if she was a winner in the way Johanna had put it. At least then, it would be over. No more parading around, no more cameras or makeup or dresses or stylists or prep team. No more Capitol. No more Peacekeepers.

No more District 7.

But Brittany though…

After the physical agony she went through, how could she survive the emotional stab that Santana's death would bring? As bad as things were now, Brittany would probably still be distraught if Santana didn't come back.

She remembered that conversation they had just after one of Santana's raids to bring bread to the table. Brittany had sounded so concerned at the time, enough for her to make Santana promise to be more careful in the future.

A lot of good Santana did in keeping that promise.

"Y'know…" Johanna leaned against the table, heavily enough for it to creak a little. "After the Games, you have to deal with all the attention stirred up if you're one of the popular ones." She made that 'you're fucked' chuckling sound again. "And you are definitely one of the popular ones."

"There're a lot of photo shoots and fanmail, that doesn't sound too bad." Any other time, it might have been almost okay. But given what was done to Brittany, there was no way Santana could possibly have the patience to deal with camera people and stylists hanging around all over District 7, keeping her from focusing on taking care of Brittany.

Johanna shook her head and waved her free hand dismissively. "There's more to it than just that." She took another swig. "Listen." There was a conspiring tone to her voice, and Santana found herself inching closer, intrigued. "There're things going on… things that… aren't exactly brought to media."

"Like what?" Santana raised an eyebrow, not quite sure where this was going. This sounded like one of those hidden behind-the-scenes secrets of the Games, and she wasn't sure if it was going to be a serious confession or just some other petty gossip only Holly or the stylists would be interested in.

Licking her lips, Johanna patted her chest to indicate herself. "Us victors…" There was spite in the way she almost spat out the word. "There're things the people uptop want us to do…"

By the way Johanna actually shuddered, Santana could guess that these things the victors were being asked to do were things that weren't pleasant. The question was how they were unpleasant. What exactly were they being asked to do? Santana wished Johanna would stop dancing around the topic and just go straight to the point.

"Like what?" Santana asked the same question and put more force into it.

Johanna still didn't just say it. "Y'know these things… it's required." Not letting go of the bottle, Johanna slid it towards herself and took several more long gulps, then continued speaking. Bitterness was creeping into her voice. "Required by the Capitol. Snow. Same difference."

Getting frustrated by how vague this was, Santana tried again, "What is it? What're you supposed to do?" This wasn't the kind of vagueness that Brittany used, which was more like a coded message to be figured out. This was more like Johanna rambling aimlessly, making no sense at all.

"Me," Johanna pointed at herself, then swooped her hand from left to right, "I wouldn't go along with it."

"With what?" This was getting frustrating. Santana was already tempted to swat the bottle right out of Johanna's hands.

"I refused." Johanna banged the bottle against the table, disrupting the silence with an echoing thud. "I just… I couldn't do it!" The strength drained out of Johanna, transforming her from the tough victor Santana was used to seeing and changing her into someone weaker. All that armor Johanna always wore just gradually crumbled until it was like it was entirely someone else sitting in front of Santana.

"And… my dad wouldn't let me do it even when…" Johanna took a shaky breath, "Even when it was starting to look bad."

It was getting on Santana's nerves that she still had no idea and couldn't figure out exactly what Johanna was talking about, but seeing her suddenly so vulnerable was making Santana hesitate. Pestering for more concrete answers would just be insensitive, and Santana had already made more than her fair share of insensitive choices.

"I refused," Johanna ran her fingers through her spiky hair, and from here Santana could see a sheen of sweat over Johanna's forehead, and her hands actually looked even more shaky than Santana's were. "And my family paid the price."

That hit Santana hard.

This sounded way too familiar. Johanna went against the Capitol and her family suffered for it. Santana went against the Capitol by regularly going against their rules. Brittany paid for it. Quinn paid for it. This was something that was so normal here and the average citizen had no idea.

And it also explained why Johanna's family quietly disappeared, one by one, after she came back from the arena.

"And your father…" Johanna was speaking again, and the unexpected subject demanded all of Santana's attention. For a moment, she stopped hearing Brittany's voice. "He wasn't really part of any of it but he still…" Stopping midsentence, Johanna shook her head.

Santana's hands clenched into fists. "Why?"

"I'm sorry for the price you had to pay for what I did." Johanna kept her eyes down as she spoke.

All the hate Santana used to have for Johanna came rushing back at full force. It was her fault that Dad was killed in front of the whole district. It was her fault Santana's life changed completely. It was her fault Santana had to resort to stealing just so she wouldn't die of starvation. It was her fault Santana had to deal with the likes of Peacekeeper Sylvester.

It was all because of Johanna Mason.

Santana bit her lip and tried to hold back the rush of rage.

District 7. 69th Hunger Games.

A jog through the forest helped Santana clear her mind, and she resisted any urge to go berserk on the nearby trees by reminding herself that if she gave in, she would get a long lecture from both Dad and Brittany. And they would make her feel guilty about it and she would regret it and it would be this big mess of sulkiness and moodiness and Santana wasn't quite up to that.

The jog could have been longer, but one of the Peacekeepers stopped her and told her to go home because loitering wasn't allowed. Rolling her eyes, Santana bit back a string of retorts, and went straight to the townsquare.

That was when she saw Johanna Mason walking about.

More like darting from one direction to the other. Her movements were jerky and her trembling hands were held close to her chest. The odd behavior was starting to draw attention, and Santana moved to join the steadily growing crowd. Drawing closer, she noticed that Johanna's eyes were bloodshot, and wild-looking.

It was bizarre to see the sight. When Johanna came back a victor two years ago, Santana had still been grieving her mother's death. But seeing the way Johanna fought in the arena and overcame obstacle over obstacle, outwitted every opponent, overpowered whatever was thrown at her… it had been inspiring. After that, Santana tried to emulate Johanna's strength and perseverance.

For a while, it got easier to deal with the pain and anger by jogging or practicing with axes when the Peacekeepers weren't looking. The physical exercises actually helped Santana clear her mind when the thoughts were becoming overwhelming.

Seeing Johanna's face now was unnerving.

"Where are they?" Johanna threw her hands up and shouted at nobody in particular. "Where the fuck are they?"

Someone in the crowd on the other side dared to ask, "Who?"

Johanna darted to the other side of the circle forming around her, then she moved again to another spot. She ran her hands through her hair, her eyes flitted side to side. "They know who." Suddenly, she lunged forward, grabbed a Peacekeeper and pulled him towards herself. "They know who I'm talking about." She shook him. "Where are they?" At that last part, Johanna's voice cracked.

The Peacekeeper pulled her hands away from him and shoved her back. "Go home, Mason." He turned to the bystanders, "Get moving, all of-"

"Don't fucking listen to him!" Johanna shouted over the order, causing people to freeze in place, shocked by the show of defiance. "Don't fucking listen to any of them!"

"Mason, stop making a scene and go home." Another Peacekeeper stepped forward, rifle out, ready to use it if necessary.

Johanna turned to face the new threat and bared her teeth like a trapped animal. "Don't fucking tell me what to do!" She jerked backward, hands clutching her head. "All of you stop fucking telling me what to do!"

"This looks bad."

Santana jumped at the sudden voice behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Brittany there. "I thought you were at work."

"Mrs. Fabray got a call telling her something was going on in the townsquare." Brittany explained while three Peacekeepers approached Johanna step by careful step, like sudden movements might startle her into doing something dangerous. The way she was behaving seemed so unlike her usual self and it was unnerving. Brittany cast a nervous glance at the scene before continuing, "She had me go over here to find out."

"Get away from me." Johanna was staggering backwards, looking from Peacekeeper to Peacekeeper and trying to avoid them. She bumped into one behind her and it was like someone had activated a switch.

A scream that barely sounded human tore out of Johanna's throat as she lunged, driving her right into the Peacekeeper in front of her, sending them both sprawling onto the ground. "You took them all away!" The wail was accompanied by punches Johanna threw at the Peacekeeper's chest.

Santana could only watch in shock. She felt a hand take hold of hers.

The second Peacekeeper clutched Johanna's short hair and yanked her away from the first Peacekeeper. Well beyond being calmed down, Johanna's hands lashed out at the air, desperate for something to grab onto, just inches away from reaching the helmet of the Peacekeeper tugging at her hair. When a third Peacekeeper moved towards her, Johanna kicked at him, driving him back when her foot met his gut.

Still tightly gripping Johanna's hair with one hand, the second Peacekeeper reached forward and caught hold of one of her wrists. Though she struggled against him, he was able to wrench it behind her back, effectively limiting her movement. As if realizing the position she was in, Johanna seemed to redouble her efforts to fight back, clawing at the helmet behind her while kicking at the other two Peacekeepers that tried to draw nearer.

"Mason, calm yourself!" The harsh order came from Peacekeeper Sylvester, entering the scene with her gun drawn and aimed right at Johanna's head. It had the effect of Johanna seizing all movement, but what she said in response surprised Santana.

"Do it then." Johanna gasped as the Peacekeeper holding her hair jerked her head back. "Just fucking shoot. There's nothing left for me here. Nothing!"

Brittany squeezed Santana's hand.

Instead of shooting, Peacekeeper Sylvester nodded and one of them moved forward and drove the butt of his gun into Johanna's stomach. It drove the breath right out of Johanna, and she probably would have doubled over if the grip on her hair and arm hadn't been keeping her back arched.

That triggered some unspoken order, because the two Peacekeepers were suddenly all over Johanna, hitting everything in reach while she was kept restrained. The whole time, Peacekeeper Sylvester just watched with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. Every time a particularly loud scream left Johanna, Sylvester would scan the crowd, as if to make sure everyone was watching.

Santana felt her stomach squirm. "When are they gonna stop?"

"Soon, I hope." Brittany whispered, tightening her hold on Santana's hand.

"But they're hurting her…" Santana couldn't help but step forward, "They've done enough damage by now." It felt so wrong to just be standing here, just watching as the Peacekeepers beat Johanna. She was a victor who went through the worst in the arena to come home a hero. Why were they treating her like a common criminal? Why were they still hitting her? They wouldn't even let her fight back anymore.

Santana tried to move further forward, but was stopped by Brittany's hand still clutching hers. "Britts, look what they're doing," Wincing at another grunt of pain from Johanna, Santana tried to convince Brittany that they couldn't just stand here. "We should stop them. It's going too far." At the rate they were going, Santana was afraid the Peacekeepers might actually kill Johanna this way.

"I don't want them to hurt you." Brittany tried to pull Santana back. "San, don't."

The plea was whispered, but Santana was struck by the force of it when she saw the look in Brittany's eyes. She looked scared and desperate and it was enough to get Santana to stop and hesitate.

Behind her, she heard a heavy thud.

Santana looked to see Johanna on the ground, blood dripping from her nose and a cut on her lip. Grimfaced with their guns drawn, the Peacekeepers towered over Johanna's vulnerable body.

"'Sthat all?" Johanna coughed and shakily tried to push herself up into a sitting position. She spat at Peacekeeper Sylvester's feet. "I'm still alive."

"Why is she talking like that?" Santana asked, not sure who she was directing the question to, but wishing someone would answer. This wasn't right. It was like Johanna wanted nothing more than to be dead.

After she fought so hard to survive in the arena, why was she trying to die now?

In response to Johanna's taunts, the Peacekeepers resumed the beating, kicking at whatever was in reach. The gathering crowd watched without moving until Santana tried again to move forward, only to be roughly pulled back by Brittany.

Then someone else took action. A man threw himself at one of the Peacekeepers, grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Johanna.

"How dare you assault a Peacekeeper?" Peacekeeper Sylvester grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and wrenched him away from the Peacekeeper he was holding. With a jolt, Santana realized that was her father.

She squeezed Brittany's hand.

It was like they forgot Johanna was still there. The body they were kicking around just moments ago wasn't the focus of their attention anymore. Just like that, they started to beat Dad. The hard butt of a gun smashed into his face, an uppercut met his chin, a huge boot drove into his stomach.

As the beating continued behind her, Peacekeeper Sylvester paced along the inner ring of people around the grisly scene. Santana swallowed and felt like throwing up. She remembered Brittany going through the experience of having her father publicly beaten several years ago, and how she got through that was beyond Santana. Right after, they took Mr. Pierce away and he had never been seen since.

Was the same thing going to happen to Dad?

The idea terrified Santana.

"Let this be a lesson to any of you who may have some stupid notion in your heads," Peacekeeper Sylvester said, "That you have a say in what Peacekeepers can or cannot do."

"But…" Santana winced as each hit was driven into her father's body. "Britt, how…"

While Peacekeeper Sylvester was speaking, one of the other Peacekeepers pointed his gun at Dad's head, and before Santana could really take in what was going to happen, the loud sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the district.

"No… no, that didn't just happen." Santana heard her own voice come out soft and squeaky. The scene in front of her grew out of focus and smudgy. Not thinking anymore, just taking action, driven forward by the wrenching sharp pains in her chest, Santana lunged forward with every intention of attacking the Peacekeepers.

Something was clutching her by the waist and yanking her backwards, further away from her father and the Peacekeepers and Johanna Mason. The bodies of the people gathered around the scene were now blocking her view, and Santana struggled to go back in there. Her knuckles were itching to be against those Peacekeepers. Those fucking Peacekeepers. She wanted to drive her fists into those visors until the material cracked and shattered into their faces.

Brittany, though still young, was already fairly strong, and easily held Santana back.

Soon enough, she was holding Santana up. Her legs gave way and all the strength crumbled while energy drained out of her body until she just collapsed into Brittany. The shoulder she pressed her face against was comforting, but it wasn't enough to ease the pain clawing out chunks of her and ripping her apart.

Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games.

That was three years ago. It was a pretty long time.

Three years, Santana had to figure out taking care of herself. Three years, Santana had only Amy and Brittany to call family. Three years, Santana grew up nursing nothing but hate for the Peacekeepers, for the Capitol, for anything that resembled authority and restriction.

In those three years, she hated Johanna. It dulled as the months came and went. Santana found it easier to focus her hatred on the Peacekeepers. They made life hell for everybody on a regular basis. They always have and they always will. Johanna Mason was just one person who caused the death of Santana's father. It diminished Santana's respect for her, but it wasn't the amount of damage the Peacekeepers did. They destroyed Brittany's life.

"I don't know what to say." Santana finally broke the long silence that had enveloped the whole room.

"If you blame me for it, I get it." Johanna said. "I would, too." She tilted her head up and finally looked Santana in the eye. It was hard to doubt the sincere regret in them. "I do, too."

"I… I did blame you for a while." Santana thought she heard movement coming from the hallway that led to their rooms. "I still do sometimes." The way Johanna was slumped in her seat, sorrow in her dark eyes, was so unlike the way she always carried herself. It actually made Santana feel bad about how bluntly she had said it.

"He shouldn't have died like that."

It stung to hear that being said out loud. Santana had thought it for so often, but it was different to hear Johanna actually saying it. All the what-ifs threatened to rush over Santana and overwhelm her.

"Just don't." Santana managed to get out two words before her eyes started stinging again and she knew her voice wouldn't be able to steady itself for a while. She didn't want to cry in front of Johanna, and held back the warmth behind her eyes and willed her tears not to come gushing out all over again like what happened at the interview.

Johanna at least had the decency to look sideways. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Santana felt herself regaining some semblance of control and sniffed. Blinking cleared her vision out a little, and she quickly wiped at the little tears that tried to crawl down her cheek. "Just… yeah. Whatever."

It sounded cold and stupid. Santana tried to elaborate, thankful that her voice at least sounded steadier than she felt. "I dunno if I forgive you or whatever but… thanks… for this talk." That sounded alarmingly awkward out loud. Santana wasn't sure if she should have bothered saying it or not.

"I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you."

Santana stopped herself short of saying there was nothing anyone could do. That sounded like a sincere offer. Johanna went through a lot and was probably more torn up on the inside than she was letting on, especially given the fact that her whole family was taken away from her because of something she did to piss off the Capitol.

If she were in that situation, if both Brittany and Amy were killed, and even Quinn, and maybe Tina and Mike too… Santana wouldn't know how to get by. As it were, she could barely keep herself in one piece at the thought of Brittany being beaten and severely injured.

But that offer…

If things didn't work out and neither Santana nor Mike was this year's victor… if not even Rachel won… maybe there could still be hope for Quinn if Johanna was involved. And maybe Johanna would be willing to help with Brittany. If anything, Johanna would understand.

"Do you really mean that?" Santana decided to ask before dumping anything on Johanna.

Johanna answered the question with another question. "What do you need?"

"Quinn Fabray." Saying the name felt odd in Santana's mouth, and even though Mike didn't get to properly spell out the details, it wasn't far-off to guess that Quinn must be in bad shape right now. "Do you remember her?"

"Fabray's daughter," Johanna nodded. "Yeah."

Things sounded serious now, and neither of them were reaching for the bottle anymore. Santana wasn't quite sure if Johanna was in a fit enough state of mind to make a decision this big, but what other chance did they have? There wasn't any other time. Tomorrow, Santana was going to be in the arena and it wasn't a guarantee that she would be coming out. It was now or never.

"She's here." Santana said, "An Avox in the fifth floor."

"She's what?" Johanna straightened up and pushed the bottle further away, "I thought she ran away with that Puckerman kid."

At least Johanna was still capable of remembering details like those. Santana took it as enough of a sign that Johanna could handle this news. She was tough enough. More or less. "Yeah, and they got caught. Puck's dead." It still hurt to acknowledge it out loud. Santana could think all she wanted about how envious she was of Puck being done, but it still felt like poking a tender, very tender bruise whenever she said it out loud. "And Quinn's an Avox."

"Okaay…" Johanna sucked in a breath and let it out in a long, low whistle. "Okay."

Santana paused to gather her thoughts, and to let Johanna have some time to gather hers. "And I found out about this by visiting the other floors. I've been meeting with her at night."

"Explains why you and Mike look so sleep-deprived every morning."

"Well… yes." Santana considered pointing out that Mike had only ever gone with her once throughout their stay in this building, but that felt beside the point right now. She returned her focus to the bigger situation. "And… the Peacekeepers…"

"Found out." Johanna finished.

Santana bit her lip, feeling the guilt come back at full force.

"What did they do?"

They beat the shit out of Brittany. Santana's mouth only opened and closed wordlessly. Last night when she confessed it to Mike, Santana had already been in a broken down state and nothing was holding her back and the wrenching pain had everything go flooding out. And in that moment, she felt close to Mike, like he was finally paying attention and finally with her and she could trust him.

Right now with Johanna was different. They weren't close, and Santana hated her for a few years, and this was the most open they had ever been with each other. Ever.

And to start with, Santana just wasn't an open person.

Even before Santana could say it, Johanna's eyes widened as it dawned on her. "Who did they take it out on? Brittany or Quinn?"

"Both." It was like her own guilt was strangling her and choking out the words. Santana felt like a horrible person. A horrible friend. How could Brittany ever forgive Santana for this? Did Quinn blame Santana, too?

"Were they killed or…" Johanna left the sentence unfinished.

Santana swallowed and needed a breath to rally herself before she said, "They're still alive. Barely."

Johanna nodded to show that she understood. Thankful that she wouldn't have to go into detail, Santana wiped at eyes she hadn't realized started watering again. She felt drained after a long day of confession after confession, and one huge apology and all of this guilt weighing her down.

"What do you want me to do?"

That was such a direct question, Santana realized she didn't have an answer. "I don't know, really…" She admitted. "I guess… I dunno…"

There seemed to be more sounds of muffled movement down the hall, but Santana ignored it and tried to come up with something more concrete to say. "Just… if I don't make it out of the arena…" That was another thing that hurt to say out loud, no matter how many times she said it to herself inside her own head. "Could you look out for them? Help Quinn somehow? Keep an eye on Britts?" Her voice shook again at the mention of Brittany's name.

Santana remembered the promise she made the last time she and Quinn saw each other. If there really was a way to get her out of here, Santana would go for it. She would make sure Quinn finally got to a place where she could be safe. Away from all the rough hands and heavy boots and threatening guns.

But it was hard to figure out a way to keep that promise if Santana lost in the arena.

This was the only alternate option Santana could think of.

Johanna's eyes darkened, and a grim look set over her face. "I'll do what I can."

Ever suspicious, Santana noted that it wasn't exactly worded as a promise, and that made it difficult to determine how genuine it was. But the look to Johanna's eyes seemed like it meant something. And there was the fact that if anyone in this building could understand what Santana was going through, it was Johanna.

They weren't close, and they had never been friends, but Santana felt like maybe she could trust Johanna with this.

The sounds from down the hall grew louder, and Santana realized she could hear yelling. This time, she was sure that it wasn't Brittany's tortured screams, because there was no mistaking Judy Fabray's rough voice.

"Worthless! That's what you are!" The words were sharp and piercing, and with a wrenching feeling, Santana realized it was coming from Mike's room. "You're so fucking incompetent, there's no way you're surviving in that fucking arena! I barely got out of there in one piece, what makes you think you'll get through it, you skinny little shit?"

Clenching her fists, Santana got off her chair and turned to meet Johanna's eyes. She was standing up too, tension in her movements, concern on her face.