Chapter 23: You Might Lose More Than An Arm
July 9: Day Three of the Games
In the Arena
The one flaw in Billy's plan to collect water was the fact that the water collecting had to be done at night — and that was the only time that they could move without being oppressed by the heat. So, by Billy's reckoning, he and American hadn't traveled very far from the Tesseract, not as far as they could have, anyway. He knew America was aware of that fact from the way she was constantly on edge and seemed to expect something awful to happen at any given moment, too.
He felt bad that she felt like she had to watch out for him. He was just fine on his own; hadn't he been the one to figure out how to conserve water and how to survive? Just because he wasn't good at bashing people to death…
He shook his head. It was early morning now, and they had found a good place to hide so that Billy could set up his water at what he was assuming was around midnight the previous night. Now that it was morning, he had slipped outside to check on the tarp and pull it inside before the sun could get too high. The last thing they needed was for any of their precious water to evaporate on them because they left it out too long.
He had just screwed the cap on the water bottle when he felt the change in temperature that was a shadow passing over him, and when he glanced up, knowing there wasn't a cloud in the sky, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "America?" he asked tentatively — and then again, louder, when there was no reassuring answer.
Billy didn't have much of a warning besides that passing shadow before the new player struck, rushing forward with a long, thin blade drawn. Yuriko had likely been swinging to cut his head clean off, but Billy instinctively raised his arm in defense, and while he hadn't been decapitated, it hurt.
He cried out, holding his arm. He was already losing plenty of blood from just the one hit, and what's more, she must have broken something, because it hurt, so much that it was hard to pay attention to the crazy lady trying to take his head off, though that was definitely something he should be paying attention to.
Thankfully for Billy, his loud shout had been enough to get America up and rushing out of their hidden cave, hardly even pausing before she barrelled right into Yuriko and knocked her over, managing to bash her in the side hard enough to loosen her grip on her sword. But as America moved to kick it out of her grasp, Yuriko gritted her teeth and returned with a hard hit in the center of America's stomach that had her gasping.
America was furious, and it showed as she sidestepped Yuriko's sword swipe and bared her teeth, both fists raised. The brass knuckles glinted for just a moment in the desert sun before she bashed Yuriko once more, and the dark-haired girl returned the favor by cracking America across the face with the hilt of her sword, unable to get enough movement for a full swing with America inches from her face like that.
America responded with a headbut that left both of them bleeding from the face, though as America wound up for another hit, she heard a little whimpering noise that stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over at where Billy was curled in on himself, holding his arm — by that point completely unaware of anything else that was happening around him. He was pale and had his eyes closed, and he did not look good.
Yuriko moved to take advantage of America's distraction while America hesitated over Billy's expression, and she would have run her through if her blade hadn't met, very suddenly, with a mace.
America spun, surprised, but she wasn't going to question it when she saw the boy from Five step in to fight Yuriko. They could kill each other for all she cared, as long as it freed her up to help Billy.
She rushed over to where her friend was and had to frown at how much blood he had already lost. The wound was substantial, but it didn't look like he'd broken anything… But that little witch must have done something, maybe poisoned the sword, she wasn't sure, because the color Billy was turning… it wasn't good.
She didn't have time to patch him up properly, not with the fight as close as it was, and she kept half an eye on the tributes from Five and Ten as the desert air rang with the metallic clang of a mace and a sword meeting repeatedly, carefully pulling Billy into what little shade she could find before she took stock of him.
"Come on, stay with me, you idiot," she muttered to Billy under her breath as she grabbed every single strip of fabric she had torn from her pants at the start of the Games and very quickly packed the fabric around his arm. She crouched down to pick him up, careful to keep his injured arm against her so that she was putting pressure on the fabric even when she had her hands full carrying him, and when he whimpered, she shushed him and looked downright distraught.
The boy from Five cried out when Yuriko managed to get past his defense and struck a glancing blow, not enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to hurt, and America paused despite herself. He hadn't turned the sicky gray color Billy had. Instead, redoubled his efforts to take Yuriko down.
So why was Billy hurt and not the boy from Five?
"Let's get out of here," she muttered to Billy, his pack over her shoulder as she took off across the desert, not too concerned with finding another hiding place as she was with putting distance between herself and the fight — and with finding someplace she could better dress Billy's arm.
Bucky kept Yuriko's attention on him for a little while longer — at least until America was no longer visible across the valley — before he tried to disengage. He wasn't actually sure he could beat Yuriko, if he was being honest, and he had really only stepped in because he'd heard the boy from Twelve in obvious misery and wasn't about to let one of the Tens make the situation any worse.
But when Yuriko noticed the change in tactic, she curled her lip at him. "Losing your nerve?" she half hissed out.
"Just don't feel like wasting my time here," he shot back, catching the sword with the edge of his mace only a few inches from his chest. Yeah, it was definitely time to leave. That was too close, and he knew it.
"But we're just getting started," she replied as she made a lunge for him.
He sidestepped her — but only just. When she passed him by he was quick to swing the mace around in her direction to keep her from spinning around to stab him on a backswing. The mace made contact with her left shoulder with a terrible crack that was only rivaled by the scream she let out immediately afterward.
Bucky's eyes widened, and he very quickly backed away as she swung out half blindly with her sword arm. He didn't know quite what he'd done, but it sounded painful… He didn't think he could do it again, or even get close to her again, either.
She was furious, and clearly hurt, and by the way her breath was heaving, it was clear she wasn't sure how to handle it either. And miraculously for Bucky, she simply started to back away from him, breathing heavily through gritted teeth as she held her sword up between them.
He didn't think of the pithy parting comment until she was out of earshot, and as he turned toward the desert cliffs to try and find someone else, he muttered to himself, "Yeah. If I find you trying to pick on someone small and defenseless again, I'll break the other shoulder."
America hadn't taken Billy too far, though she had found shade, and the way the cliff had been shaped by wind and sand, any other tributes could only see the little corner if they were almost on top of it. It would have to do for now, because she didn't think Billy could stand much more movement, and when she heard the terrible scream from Yuriko, she smiled to herself… until there wasn't a cannon to follow it up.
She kept her gaze up and her ears peeled for a while longer, but when there was still no cannon, she let out a breath and turned her attention back to Billy as she did what she could to wrap up his arm and keep him from bleeding much more.
"Black Bolt, if you're watching, now would be a great time to send me a parachute," America muttered, though she didn't really expect anything. She didn't know what he could get her besides some miracle medicine or something. Sewing kit, maybe. "Bubble wrap would be great," she grumbled as she finished her work and leaned back. She was covered in Billy's blood, but she didn't seem to notice it at all as she watched one of her best friends curled in on himself, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his arm was patched.
It took her a few long moments to come down from the adrenaline of everything that happened, but when she did, when she really started to go over everything that had happened in her head… she started to swear under her breath.
It hadn't been Yuriko. She was an idiot — she should have realized it the second she saw that it was Billy's left arm. That's where they'd put the trackers, the ones with the poison. Whatever they had used to hold that stuff, it must not have been able to stand up to a serious blow like that.
"Should've ripped it out while I was in there," America muttered to herself, gently rearranging Billy to try to get him more comfortable, though at this point, she was wary of going back in to do just that and risk him losing even more blood. As it was, in the state he was in, she didn't think she could get him to drink anything, but he would need to replace everything he'd lost. If he didn't stop shaking…. She'd start forcing water down his throat if she had to.
For the time being, though, she would just sit with him. She didn't know how else to combat poison, not when she didn't know what they'd done. She would sit, and she would ignore the growing rage in the pit of her stomach that wanted so badly to scream at the sky and point out to all of Marvel that if there hadn't been a tracker in Billy's arm, he wouldn't be this bad off. He'd have a better chance.
He still had a chance. She wasn't saying he was out. No, he was going to win the Games by just sitting there and letting her kill everyone else for him, if she had to go through every single tribute left to do it. He just… had to hold on until then.
….
Capitol Building for the Mentors
…..
All of the victors had been set up with tablets specifically for use in getting sponsors so that they could keep track of what they had, who wanted to give money, that sort of thing. They didn't have much of a capability beyond a basic money transfer and accounting program as well as an archaic messaging system, and yet somehow, Skye had rigged Logan's to give a little 'ding' when she sent him a message — and he knew it was her, even half asleep, because the message popped up with her face beside it.
Some great TV this morning. And not the Games. I've never seen Fury and Hill the same shade before — they look good as a matched set.
Logan had to smirk on seeing that, because yes, the two SHIELD big wigs had more or less matched. The debriefing after the mission to Eleven was … lively, to say the least. Neither of them cared that he'd killed the Head Sentinel. But that was about all they didn't care about. Although Hill wasn't upset about the mission as a whole but more about the details themselves... Fury was. A lot.
They did, however, agree wholeheartedly that he should not have brought the rebel from Eleven back to base with him, and neither of them had appreciated it when he pointed out that the guy was unconscious the whole time, and that the mission was done fast and clean — though the snarky little 'you're welcome' at the end of his sassy debrief probably didn't help his case much.
He picked up the tablet and sent his response. It's just one of life's mysteries on how that's even possible.
But .. that was about all the time he had to himself before he had to get going. The kids in the arena would be moving again soon — midday had passed in the desert, and he hoped he hadn't missed anything too vital. So, he got himself upright, cleaned up quickly, and headed back to where the victors were gathered up to watch.
He was hardly through the door of the victor's lounge before Black Bolt had taken him by the arm and pulled him aside, his eyes wide as he pressed a scrap of paper into Logan's hands that read, simply, 'I need your help'.
"Let's do it," Logan said with a nod. "What did I miss?"
Black Bolt let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, looking more upset than anything else as he tapped his arm, about where the trackers the kids had been given would be, and signed out Billy's name — most of the victors knew the alphabet, at least, and Black Bolt often used that to communicate with them.
"What do you want to get him?" Logan asked as he pulled Black Bolt into a room where the cameras were easily blocked.
M-e-d-i-c-i-n-e, Black Bolt spelled out slowly. P-a-i-n, he added in explanation.
Logan looked both ways and blocked the cameras in the room from seeing his hands before he nodded and quickly signed out: One time or a whole bottle?
Black Bolt startled into a smile when he saw Logan signing, and his shoulders relaxed substantially as he realized that meant he didn't have to spell everything out. Not one time, he signed back quickly. The tracker broke; feeding him poison. Black Bolt glared even at the thought of it as it was clear exactly what he thought of the whole system that had been set up.
Logan let out a slow breath and looked thoughtful for a moment. They won't send anything to reverse it.
No, Black Bolt agreed.
"Quill too?"
He's next, Black Bolt signed, nodding quietly. His kid helped Billy get out.
Then he'll be easy.
Yes. Black Bolt sighed. I can't do it on my own.
Don't have to. Logan gave him a little smirk. I'll hold him down for you.
No, Black Bolt replied, though he couldn't help but return the smirk. You're right; he will be easy. He was mad about the poison too.
Logan nodded and stepped back to let the older man lead the way back to the other victors, and when they were back within the more public area, Black Bolt was sure to spell out his t-h-a-n-k-s and look pained about how long it took before he headed over to talk with Quill.
In the Arena
Betsy had spent her time since the bloodbath trying to keep cool — or as cool as possible, anyhow. She'd set a few traps and managed to snag some sort of bird, though she had no idea what it was called. But it was miserable enough being alone that she decided she wanted to get into the game, if nothing else just to get the stupid Games over with.
And that was never going to happen until everyone started dropping off. She let out a deep breath and got to her feet slowly. Even in the shade, she'd managed to get a sunburn, and her hair was sticking to her neck and shoulders.
She'd tied the windbreaker around her waist and headed back toward where she thought the Tesseract was. Sore, worn, and burnt — she was ready for something, anything else that wasn't baking in the desert.
But the first sign of any other tribute wasn't at all what she had expected. Quiet conversation between another alliance, or maybe the sounds of a fight or a mutt, she had prepared for. But this guy was whistling, just strolling across the desert as if it was a nice evening out for him.
She stopped and turned toward the shadow in the desert that gave away the other tribute, brushing the hair out of her face as she watched him move. "What's got you in such a chipper mood?" she called out, wondering if he'd spotted her yet.
The tall tribute from Eight turned her way with a crooked grin, facing her direction but not specifically toward her just yet. "It such a fine evenin', and such fine company," he said easily. "Ain't every day ol' Remy's in the company of a model so famous in de Capitol."
"And I've never looked worse," she said with a little laugh. "My deepest apologies."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Dat ain't your fault, cher. This desert doin' murder to everybody in it."
She seemed to materialize out of the shadows. "You say that now," she teased. "But you don't know how bad it is."
He turned to face her properly and broke into an honest grin. "Now, see, cher, you been undersellin' your self. You look better'n fine. Moon'll be coming up right quick, and it'll just make you dat much prettier," he said.
"Moonlight hides a multitude of sins," she replied. "Almost as well as candlelight." She slid down from her spot higher up the hillside from where he stood and shot a smile his way.
"Now dat is a pretty picture," Remy said with a smile to match. "Too bad we ain't got no candles out here."
She let out a little laugh, though she still kept a bit of her distance. "Have you seen anyone today?" She sounded a bit anxious about the idea of it.
"Nobody as pretty as you, cher," Remy said with a wave.
"You're a charmer," she said, still smiling. "But I'd rather listen to pretty words than wait for the next creep to come around the corner. Do you mind if I keep you company for a bit?"
"Mind?" Remy looked as if the idea was simply unthinkable. "Cher, you de best company I seen in t'ree days."
"Goes both ways, Cajun," she replied before she slid down the rest of the way to the path he was on.
"Well, den. If you got a place picked out to stay, dat's fine an' good, but ol' Remy found himself a sweet lil' hidey hole 'bout a hundred yards back."
"Is it big enough for two?" she asked.
He grinned. "Jus' might be."
"Then lead the way," she replied with a smile. "The spot I had was little and barely passable."
He offered her his arm. "Don't you worry, cher. Dis might jes' be nice and cozy."
