The Cost of Survival

Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings

Crazy short chapter today coz it's kinda just filler-ish. :))

Chapter 23

Day 3

Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games.

The lizards didn't bother pursuing. That, Mike was thankful for. There wasn't much he knew about those lizards other than the fact that they'd managed to puncture his boots with deep holes. A little more time and they would have gotten to his skin. Mike had a feeling those teeth would have done something terrible to him if they'd successfully touched him.

Staying light on his toes, Mike moved the lizards out of his mind and scanned the cavern for any signs of the Careers, or even of any other tribute that might have tried to claim this place as theirs.

No matter what, Mike would only ever think of this place as Harmony's. A near-drowning experience she saved him from wasn't easy to just push out of his mind.

She seemed like such a pleasant, energetic person, too. Maybe if she'd grown up in District 7, they would have been good friends. It was easy to imagine someone like her playing games and conjuring fantasy worlds with Brittany or laughing at Puck's antics or trying to get Quinn to smile.

Mike groaned and flopped onto the ground at the edge of the lake.

He was doing it again.

These what-ifs and regretful thoughts were of no help to anyone. There was no room for being like this if he really wanted to get back home. He had to toughen up and be nothing like what Judy Fabray said he was.

He could do this. Santana said he should at least try.

And there it was again. Santana.

Mike focused his mind on his actions, on pulling out the thermos and filling it with water and putting in a few drops of iodine, on leaving it alone to take effect, on crawling towards the lake and feeling for the plants he knew were edible.

The worries about whether or not Santana was okay still plagued Mike's mind, but he kept them at bay and put as much concentration as he could into getting his work done.

Blocking off everything but what he was doing turned out to be a bad idea.

It dulled his senses and diminished his awareness. By the time Mike heard the sound of running feet, it was too late to rush to the nearest exit, or to hide in the same spot as last night. Whoever it was sounded like they were already nearing the entrance.

Clutched by the haunting feeling of déjà vu, Mike grabbed for his bag and had just enough time to dive behind a large stalagmite near the lake before the running person arrived.

Person. Just one tribute. That meant less of a threat than a vicious pack like the Careers. Mike took consolation from that fact and watched as the tribute continued to run even as the sheer size of the cavern distracted his attention. He looked up and gaped at the high ceilings and towering rock formations without bothering to stop running or at least look where he was going. The light revealed the tribute's features to be Finn's.

Not looking where he was going resulted in Finn tripping and losing balance. He hit the ground heavily and rolled down the slope. The same slope that sent Mike crashing into the lake and nearly drowning.

Reminded of Harmony, Mike considered revealing himself and diving in to help Finn if he fell into the water. Mixed thoughts rushed through Mike's mind as he struggled with the decision. Thoughts of whether or not it was a good idea, whether or not Finn would be grateful, whether or not it was worth it, and where the hell was Rachel?

Eventually, Mike was saved from having to come to a decision. Finn managed to stop his fall just before reaching the water. Dazed, he stay still for a while, curled up and breathing heavily.

Concern and curiosity managed to cling to Mike as he watched, torn between staying safe and hidden, and throwing himself into uncertainty by approaching Finn.

The tall tribute wiped his face with gloved hands before unsteadily rising to his feet, inhaling deeply and yelling Rachel's name. It was loud, echoing throughout the cavern and making Mike wince.

Just short of hyperventilating, Finn paced back and forth, clutching at his hair and whimpering words that Mike couldn't catch. The nervous, distressed behavior could only mean that the seemingly inseparable District 5 couple had been separated. There was no sign of Rachel, as far as Mike could tell. Whether or not she was injured or in danger was another story.

Finn seemed to be trying to calm himself when he finally stopped pacing and moved closer to the lake. Trying to think more like Santana, Mike moved further behind the stalagmite and stayed out of Finn's line of sight. This wasn't the right time to try approaching Finn. He was in a far too agitated state to be near anyone. He couldn't be trusted.

"I'm going to find you, Rach!" Finn shouted his vow to the rocks and walls, "I promise I will find you!"

Mike listened to the sound of Finn sloppily drinking the water without bothering to purify it, then what followed were footsteps again, and another echoing yell for Rachel. Still careful to stay out of sight, Mike took a peek over the rock to see Finn retreating down another tunnel.

District 7. 69th Hunger Games.

Bundled up in a faded old jacket with a mixture of open rips and sloppily stitched tears, Santana trudged through the thick snow. Cold wind numbed her fingers and bit at her hands, nose and ears. The still-healing welts across her back were acting up and making each step more painful and difficult than it should have been.

It was tempting for Santana to just turn back and head home, where there was warmth and shelter waiting for her.

But there was more than that to greet her if she came back empty-handed. There was Brittany with wide, scared eyes, forehead creased with worry, voice wavering and shaky. There was the sound of tired lungs heaving and weak coughs wrenching themselves out of a little girl. There was the heated air of someone with a high fever.

There was Amy bundled up in every blanket they owned, skin burning hotter than the fireplace, but still shivering, coughing and sneezing.

The memory of it was still fresh in Santana's mind. She promised that she wasn't coming back until she found a way to help bring about Amy's recovery. Brittany was scared and pleaded with Santana not to do anything impulsive or dangerous or both.

There was still Santana's other promise to consider. The fiery pain shooting through her flayed back was a persistent reminder. Brittany really wanted Santana to cut down on the theft.

As tempting as it was to steal the money they needed to afford the necessary pills and potions, Santana knew that there was way too much to be risked if she got caught. For one thing, Brittany couldn't handle taking care of two people right now. For another, Santana wasn't ready to renew the welts that weren't even done healing yet.

And there was that promise.

Still, Santana was determined to find a way, whatever it took. The Puckerman house didn't have anything to offer. Puck's drunk father just said he didn't give a fuck before he slammed the door. The Cohen-Changs couldn't afford to spare any of their money because they were struggling to keep their baby alive. Tina at least looked really sorry about it. The Changs weren't home, all of them out trying to get work done and scrape up enough money to get through the winter. The Roses were having a bad year and were struggling to stay open, so Santana got nothing from them. The other residents of the district either said they couldn't or simply refused to open the door.

Santana suspected that a number of people in the district were afraid of extending help because of her track record with the Peacekeepers. They were getting tighter and more aggressive. Nobody wanted to get on their bad side, or be seen with people who already were there.

Running out of ideas, Santana was now making her way to the Victor's Village. It was getting late and the curfew would be implemented soon, inviting even more trouble Santana just couldn't afford right now.

It wasn't just donations Santana was asking for. She was willing to sell anything and everything she could. The problem was just that hardly anyone was interested, or able to afford it, or willing to risk being associated with her.

As she neared the Fabray house, Santana already doubted that there would be any success. Though Quinn was nowhere near as snooty or selfish as she was irritable, the Fabray parents were a different story. They didn't give a damn about anyone in the district. Everyone could just burn to death in a raging fire for all they cared, as long as their house remained intact and their image remained perfect.

Still, it was worth a try. Santana was desperate and running out of options.

Raised voices reached her ears, coming from further inside. Santana reached over to knock, but stopped when she noticed that the door was unlocked and slightly ajar. It took a brief moment of hesitation for Santana to decide to open the door completely and invite herself inside.

The shouting got louder as she followed it through the living room and to the dining room, where the scene that greeted her made her freeze.

"You fucking destroyed it!" Mr. Fabray's face was red, from the throbbing vein at his forehead to the tense lines that stood out on his neck with each yelled word. "Worthless clumsy piece of shit, what did I tell you about being more careful?"

Quinn was curled up on the floor, trembling and covering her head with bruised arms. "It's just a scratch," Her voice was shaky and breathy, almost a sob. "I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"That was sent in from the Capitol!" Mrs. Fabray wasn't any better, screaming and jabbing her finger at the small table they kept in the corner of the room, to hold things like picture frames or a vase or a newly acquired bottle of some form of alcohol. "It was a gift for a victor! What do you have to say for yourself?"

It was as Mr. Fabray was raising his first to deliver one out of how many more blows Santana didn't see, that she decided to step in and announce her presence. "So this is how the perfect Fabray family works."

Mrs. Fabray jumped a little, startled. Quinn lowered her arms to stare in shock. Mr. Fabray was the one with faster reflexes. In just a few big strides, he had eliminated the distance between himself and Santana. In one quick swing of his hand and another couple of steps forward, he was clutching Santana's throat and slamming her back against the nearest wall.

The impact sent jolts of pain racing through her flayed skin, and Santana had to force herself to resist the urge to send her fists straight for Mr. Fabray's face. Instead, she swallowed with difficulty and said, "Can't change the fact that I saw what I saw."

"You will be quiet about this." Mr. Fabray bared his teeth and increased the pressure against Santana's throat.

She squirmed and tried to loosen his grip, but it stayed firm.

"What do you want?" In contrast to the brute force her husband automatically went with, Mrs. Fabray walked over and narrowed her eyes at Santana. "Food? Money?"

Getting dizzy and dazed from lack of air, Santana couldn't reply.

"Russel." Mrs. Fabray turned to focus her stare on her husband. "Loosen your grip."

"Yeah." Santana pawed at the hand clutching her throat, trying to pry the thick fingers away. "Loosen your grip, Russel." There was no longer any point in pretending to be respectful towards these people. They didn't fucking deserve it.

That only further agitated Quinn's father. His face grew even more contorted with rage, and the vein sticking out of his forehead grew more prominent. The pressure against Santana's throat increased, getting tighter and tighter.

A strangled whimper was the only sound she could make now. Her vision was getting blurry, and darkness was eating at the edges.

"Daddy, let her go." Quinn's voice sounded distant, like Santana was hearing it from somewhere far away. "Please."

The pressure grew even tighter. Santana couldn't breathe. The face in front of her became nothing more than a red splotch amidst a messy blur of dark colors.

Then just like that, the pressure was gone and Santana was on her knees, coughing out and gasping in great gulps of air and struggling to bring focus and clarity back into her eyesight. She felt dazed and unsteady, but there remained the same underlying hatred for the two people in front of her. They were supposed to be adults. Parents. Instead, they were acting like Peacekeepers.

Though Brittany and Santana had their suspicions and kind of knew about the problems for a while already, majority of the district still had absolutely no idea.

Mrs. Fabray –no, Judy—crouched down next to Santana and at first seemed like she was about to offer comfort and a pat on the shoulder. Instead, Santana felt her hair being bunched up and jerked back, exposing her throat and forcing her to look up and meet Judy's eyes.

"Now let's talk. What will it take to keep you silent?" Judy pulled Santana's head further back. "And don't forget the influence I hold here. I can have you flogged to within an inch of your life if you so much as whisper about this to anyone."

"Mom-"

"Quinnie, we will deal with you later." Judy's voice softened into a fake, sickly sweet tone as she briefly turned to address her daughter before returning her focus to Santana. "I'm quite sure you're aware that more than enough Peacekeepers would be happy to comply, given your behavior towards them."

Whatever Quinn did to that fucking table can't be that bad. It barely looked like a big deal to Santana, but some sense of concern was what compelled her to say, "I can replace it." The words felt rough against her stretched out, bruised throat and she would have been mildly surprised if they could immediately understand what she said. It sounded like grunted gibberish to her own ears.

"What the hell are you on about?" Russel's growled out question showed that he was just barely keeping himself from going at Santana again. Or Quinn.

"The table. I can sell you mine." Short, clipped sentences were the most she could manage in this state. Santana hated being in this position, with her sore throat so exposed and her face forced to look directly at someone else's. "It's in good shape. From the Capitol, too."

The table was even older than Santana, and it had been there for as long as she could remember. Her parents used to talk about how there had been a time, decades ago, when an old District 7 victor had been generous enough to import things from the Capitol and gave it away to friends in the district.

It was valuable, both as an object to sell, and as something that held Santana's memories of meals with her family and scraps of food snuck under it to later be given to Brittany.

Again, Quinn tried to protest, but was silenced by glares from both of her parents. They were quiet for a while, thinking it over, weighing out their options.

This was taking too long and Santana didn't want to be stuck like this any longer. "I need the money." Admitting it out loud was difficult and humiliating, but it would be so much worse if she got herself into trouble again with the Peacekeepers for being out past curfew. Brittany and Amy were waiting and Santana didn't want to keep them worried any longer.

Soon enough, Santana came to an agreement with the Fabrays. They'd buy the table, so that if anyone asked where Santana's medicine money came from, it wouldn't look like a donation and nobody would think the Fabrays were getting soft.

That would be all anyone would know about it.

Arena. Bottom of the Cliff. 72nd Hunger Games.

The first thing Santana became aware of was the stiffness to her muscles, most likely after yesterday's exertions. Next was the soreness that enveloped her arms, back and shoulders. There was a headache, too, particularly concentrated at the side of her head. Then there was the dry roughness to her throat, turning any attempt at swallowing into a nearly impossible ordeal.

Licking at her lips, Santana also realized how dusty she was, coated in a layer of the rock bits shaken off of the ceiling by the tremors. A groan rumbled in her parched throat when her first attempt at movement increased the soreness. Her muscles shook under the strain and every bruise felt like it was being squeezed and stretched at the same time.

"Fuck." Santana hissed the word out through clenched teeth and willed her body to move. It started with bringing her hands down against the floor and pushing her torso up, then commanding her legs to help support her weight on her knees. The movement, however slow and slight, shook off and stirred up some of the dust. Several larger chunks of rock she hadn't realized had been on top of her also tumbled off and hit the ground.

This was taking a lot longer than it should have. Lauren should be bragging by now about how it took her a much shorter time and way less effort and Santana was being a weak and skinny little toothpick about it, the fall wouldn't even hurt a toddler.

Lauren.

The silence that was gripping the small cave, save for Santana's panting breaths, made Lauren's absence intensely obvious. Where was she?

Santana looked up to see the steep slope that brought her down here, with a gaping hole where one of the mole mutts came from. Up at the top of the cliff, the bulky, still form of a dead or unconscious beast was easily recognizable, but Santana saw no sign of her ally.

Either she had been ditched while she was out cold, or Lauren's body had already been picked up and taken away by the Gamemakers.

Both scenarios made Santana uncomfortable. The former stirred up a sense of betrayal that she hurriedly turned into irritation or anger or hatred or some similar emotion that sounded less like being offended. Santana didn't want to care or even to seem like she cared. The latter was just as confusing because Santana wasn't at all fond of Lauren, but it wasn't like her death was something to celebrate.

Santana resolved the potential turmoil by acknowledging and focusing on the fact that she had more important things to focus on. Thoughts of Lauren or Brittany or Quinn or Mike could wait. There would be time enough for that later. There was no room for it now.

The fall had left her badly bruised but it could have been worse. There were several rips along the sleeves of her jacket and a gaping rip at the back, between the shoulder blades. Though Santana knew the worst of her bruises would be turning into some very ugly swelling soon, it was better than being skinned by the rough rocks. Without the thick material of the jacket, she would have been a lot worse off.

Standing up with slow, careful movements, Santana resolved to stay strong and just ride out the pain because she came out of this quite lucky. And as far as she could tell, she hadn't broken anything. It really wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Brittany would have been proud of this sort-of positive outlook.

Suppressing a dorky smile, Santana started looking around for her axe and bag. She knew she had been holding at least one of those before falling. It couldn't be too far away.

Soon enough, Santana noticed the axe a couple of meters up, half buried into the rock.

"Shiiiit." Santana dragged the word out in a long, frustrated groan. It looked like some effort would be required to pull it free. Most of the blade was wedged deep into the stone. Judging by the look of things, Santana suspected there had been a small landslide caused by all the tremors. It must have been part of the reason why the axe was buried in so deeply. And now that Santana was observing the scene, she noted that the hole, which looked a lot smaller than a mole mutt, must have been closed slightly by the falling rock and debris.

Staring at stuff wasn't going to bring the axe any nearer.

Santana mentally chided herself in Lauren's aggressive, competitive voice before making her way towards the rock formation, ignoring the stiffness and the soreness.

This was for Brittany. She was watching and she was waiting. This was for Quinn. She needed help. She needed to be saved. This was for Amy. She looked up to her 'other big sister'. Santana knew she couldn't just give up now. She was going to climb up this rock formation and get her axe back and get the fuck out of this arena alive.

The first movement, reaching upward, pulled painfully at the developing bruise between her shoulder blades and over her sides. The second, grasping a handhold of rock, wasn't so bad, made relatively easy by the gloves she was still wearing. The next part was the real bitch. Pulling herself up took more effort than it should have and hurt a lot more than she had anticipated.

With literally painful slowness, Santana climbed upwards amidst the protesting muscles and agitated bruises. When her hand grasped the axe's shaft, a warming sense of triumph filled Santana, giving her a brief burst of inspired strength and energy. It was what she used to pull the axe free with two strong tugs.

The second tug yanked the axe free too suddenly. Santana was thrown off balance and experienced another fall, this time landing heavily on her back.

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

When Finn was shown still running along the tunnels, almost in a frenzy to find Rachel, Brittany didn't think much of it. There was little she knew about the District 5 tributes other than the fact that Finn seemed kind of… slow and Rachel was really distant during the interview even if during the Opening Ceremony, the two seemed like an oddly inseparable couple.

But when the screen cut back to Santana, Brittany was tightly hugging a pillow. It was from Santana's cot and still held traces of her scent and it helped keep Brittany from completely freaking out.

Santana had reclaimed both her bag and her axe and was now limping along a tunnel. The effort seemed to be draining her. There was an exhausted look to Santana's eyes as she brought a thermos to her lips and drank sparingly. When she stopped and put the water away, it seemed to take great effort.

"If we had the money to sponsor them-"

"We don't."

Brittany ignored Tina's dismissive, pessimistic tone and just kept going. "I'd get Mike crystal armor so that no knife can ever cut him again and no District 2 tribute can hurt him. I'd get Santana a unisus so she can take it as her steed and run through the tunnels and never get tired or fall off of cliffs."

An irritable grunt was the only reply Tina was willing to make.

Those were unrealistic ideas, Brittany knew that, but thinking like this helped her. It was easier to imagine positive outcomes and better situations for Santana and Mike.

There was another couple of shots of Finn's desperate, worried face, and then it switched to clips of the Careers walking around, hunting, but finding no sign of any nearby prey.

When it went back to Santana, she was collapsing in front of a bush growing out of the rocks. It had berries.

Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games.

Santana examined the berries, saw how many of them there were, covering the bush and tempting her with how shiny and round and juicy they looked. There was something familiar about them though.

It took a moment or two to figure out where she'd last seen them.

Eventually, Santana remembered how she had once picked berries like these after her shift at the logging site and proudly presented them to Brittany, who only got angry and said each innocent-looking berry was actually just pretending to be innocent so that it could lure people into a false sense of security before suddenly murdering them.

Although her grumbling stomach and tired body wanted nothing more than to be filled, Santana knew she shouldn't try eating any of those. If Brittany was watching right now, she would have been intensely disappointed if Santana was careless enough to make the same mistake.

What little smugness she might have enjoyed from successfully remembering and recognizing the berries was hard to dwell on because Santana wasn't sure how much further she could walk without food or rest. The hunger wasn't a prominent feeling, but Santana knew she'd hardly been eating in the past three days and she badly needed the strength and energy that food provided. The limited water she was allowing herself to drink dulled the thirst, but it was still there and not completely quenched.

Rest… was something she wanted right now.

Santana sat down near the bush and started rifling through her bag for the ointment from Johanna. This area seemed more or less safe. At least safer than the spot where the mole mutts came out of nowhere. Santana decided she could try using the ointment on the worst of her bruises. After that, maybe a quick nap would be nice. Then she'd search for food and water.

The ointment was easy to find without the blanket taking up most of the space in the bag. That was when Santana realized it was still up at the top of the cliff, nicely next to the mutt's body because Santana hadn't been able to pack it during the attack.

With a grunt of irritation, Santana uncapped the ointment and started applying it to the sore spots along her sides, and again on the half-healed scratch from the mutt during the very first attack. She rolled up her sleeves to assess the state of her forearms, and was just considering removing the jacket to be able to check on her shoulders.

Then she heard it.

A piercing scream of pain that sounded far too much like it was Brittany's.

Images of the bloody pictures rushed through Santana's mind, reminding her of all those hours spent tied to a chair listening to that voice and those pictures. The awkwardly bent ankle, the battered and mangled hand, the red skin of her bleeding back, the gashes across her sides. The fear and agony in those blue eyes.

At the next few screams, Santana realized that it wasn't Brittany's voice.

And then it's a scream for Finn's name.

Not Really Necessary Commentary:

Chapter 24 is almost done, but it's a lot shorter than I expected it to be, so I'll still try to figure out what to do with it, but I'll probably have it up next weekend or after two or three reviews. Whichever comes first. :))