The dawn broke, the light creeping in through the dingy curtains. Burt turned his head to look at it, his arms folded behind him. The Hunger Games began today.
He sat up slowly, aware of every creak and snap in his body. Normally these things didn't bother him. Normally he just laughed, or joked to Carole that he was getting old. But today he felt it, down to his bones.
Carole was asleep, curled on her side away from him, her arms wrapped around her pillow. She'd been crying last night, when she thought he was asleep. He wished he'd pulled her close and let her cry on his shoulder, but he hadn't been able to move. He'd just been able to lie there and listen until her sobs eased and her breathing evened out and she began to snore softly, her nose congested from her tears.
His wife had cried herself to sleep and he hadn't done a damn thing. And he couldn't bring himself to care, because his son had probably done the same thing.
He stumbled from their little room to the bathroom, then to the kitchen to make breakfast. He couldn't comfort Carole, but he could at least feed her. There were eggs in the refrigerator that someone had brought over last night. A luxury. Burt cracked them open and began to work.
The eggs were sizzling in the skillet when he heard Carole move from the bed. She stumbled out and they stared at each other in long silence, until Burt moved to take the eggs off the flames and Carole headed for the bathroom. By the time she emerged, he had breakfast on the table.
The sunlight was streaming into the room now, through the dingy glass and slanting across the scratched table. The table that had been given to them in order to hold a family.
Burt sat at one end, Carole sat at the other. Together, they ate their eggs in silence.
***
Finn had to pee.
Sue had made him drink water all morning. "I want you both going into that arena hydrated," she said. "Thirst will hit you quicker than hunger. When that gong sounds, remember the plan. Get a few things, work together, and then get the hell away from the Cornucopia."
"I know," Finn said, exasperated. "You've told me all morning."
"And I'm going to keep telling you, just to make sure it sticks in your thick head," Sue said. "Now drink."
So he drank. He'd been drinking all morning, and now, frozen here in this tube, standing on a metal plate and about to go up into the arena, the one thing Finn could think was that he had to pee.
He couldn't see anyone else. The Launch Rooms were small and shut off so he was alone. Even Raven had disappeared. They'd dressed him in a long-sleeved red tunic with a belt, a vest, tight fitting but comfortable pants and high, soft boots, brought him here, and the tracker had been implanted (which had hurt). Now it was minutes away.
There was a noise near his ear. His stomach lurched and he thought he was going to throw up, but then he had to concentrate on keeping his balance as the plate he was standing on rose through the tube and he burst into the sunlight above.
A voice. "Ladies and gentlemen! Let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"
Finn blinked against the light, and his breath caught in his throat as he reminded himself not to move until he heard the gong. The forty-eight tributes stood in a circle around the Cornucopia. It was even bigger and shinier than it looked on television, and stuffed with backpacks, weapons, gear, pots, food, and bottles of water. The prizes were spread out on the ground as well, scattered all around the meadow.
The meadow. What amazed Finn most was where they were, in a meadow. He'd seen Games before. They never started in a place like this, with green grass and flowers and birds and blue skies above their heads. There was a snow-capped mountain in the distance, and forest all around, although it was a long ways away. They'd have to run.
He was positioned well. Kurt was two tributes away, and the Careers were all across the circle. Good. That would make it easier to get what they needed and get out. Finn tensed, his muscles tight and ready for action.
The gong sounded, and he lurched off his plate, running.
His hand closed around a water bottle before he was even aware of what he was doing. He spied a backpack further on, but wasn't sure if he could get to it. There was a small knife on the ground and he grabbed that.
The air around him had exploded with sounds. Some of the tributes had been right off the mark- he saw one curly-haired boy already running towards the woods, a backpack on his back and a machete in his hand. Others had been slower; he heard a wrenching, shrieking scream and he knew the first death had happened already.
Ten yards in front of him was the small pack. It wasn't going to have much, but it was going to have to be enough. Finn ran for it, and someone grabbed him from behind.
He had the knife, but he wasn't ready to use it yet. He whirled and saw the tribute from District 6, who'd just managed to get a grip on his shirt. He swung, a blind, desperate, unplanned blow, and struck him across the face. The District 6 tribute stumbled back, and Finn dove for the pack. He landed short, scraping his elbows and knees along the ground, and then scrambled forward and grabbed it.
A pack, a water bottle, and a knife. That was enough for right now. Sue said just a few small things. He turned to run and saw Kurt. Kurt was scrambling for something in the grass, and two tributes were closing in on him. One was a Career.
For a moment, Finn stood frozen. He could run now. He had a few things, he could run and let the others kill Kurt and then he wouldn't have to do it himself later. He could get away and get into the safety of the forest….
But he'd never be able to live with himself.
Finn roared out a cry and launched himself at the Career tribute. It was Krev from District 2, and just as Sue predicted, he was caught by surprise. Finn still couldn't bring himself to use that knife, but now he was feeling free with his fists and he landed three good punches that sent Krev staggering.
Kurt cried out, and Finn turned back around to see Kurt on his back, kicking at the tribute who was looming over him. She had already gotten her hands on a mace, and Kurt rolled just in time to keep his head from exploding underneath her blow. Finn looked around, grabbed a rock from the ground, and threw it. It hit her square in the forehead, knocking her off balance. Finn reached down, grabbed Kurt's hand, and hauled him to his feet.
"Come on," he gasped. "Let's get out of here."
They began to run.
The grasses whipped their legs, and Finn could feel them even through the thin pants that he'd been issued. They ran through the meadow, stumbling over the uneven ground. Finn's legs were burning and his lungs felt like someone had dropped molten metal into them, but he kept running. The damn treeline didn't seem to be getting any closer, but the sounds of shouting were becoming more and more distant. Beside him, Kurt was panting, his breath coming out in ragged sobs. It was just the pounding of their feet and the voice in Finn's head, the one that kept yelling at him to run.
Finally, they reached the tree line. The grass gave way to pine needles and dead leaves, and the canopy of green overhead blocked the sun. Kurt fell down against a tree, clutching his side, his face sweaty.
"I don't care if they're coming," he said. "I can't run anymore."
Finn would have answered, but now that they had stopped his stomach was rebelling. He staggered a few steps away and leaned over, holding on to a tree as he vomited up everything he had eaten that morning. He tried to stop- vomiting would dehydrate you, or at least they'd said that in training- but his stomach wouldn't listen. He vomited until there was nothing left but dry heaves, and then forced himself to breathe through it.
Finally, he was able to straighten up. His legs were tightening, and he limped over to where Kurt was still slumped between the tree roots. "We're going to have to move soon," he said. "Get deeper into the woods where we can hide. That's probably our best bet for a while."
Kurt nodded, his eyes still closed. "I don't suppose we managed to get any water."
Finn hadn't even looked at the supplies yet, but he remembered the bottle. "Don't drink too much," he warned. "I don't know how easy water's going to be to find."
Kurt took the bottle and opened his eyes to shoot Finn a look of intense gratitude before drinking in measured sips. Finally, he handed the bottle back to Finn, a third empty. Finn wiped off the mouth of it and drank half of what was left. It didn't leave them much, but if he didn't, he wasn't going to get anywhere.
"Let's see what we've got before we go on," he suggested. He opened the small pack he'd managed to grab. It didn't have much- just another water bottle, this one wide-mouthed, metal, and empty, a fire-starting kit, and a bundle of herbs. Finn looked at them, frowning. They seemed vaguely familiar.
"Tobacco," Kurt said. He struggled to his feet, then winced and grabbed at his ribs.
"Dude. You okay?"
"I think so. I…" Kurt took a couple of steps and winced again. "No."
Finn looked out at the meadow. No one was approaching. He stepped forward and helped Kurt unbuckle the belt around his waist and flipped up his tunic. There were no cuts, but the bruises were already forming. "Ouch."
"Understatement," Kurt said dryly.
"Can you breathe?" Finn asked.
"Yeah. It hurts, but I can do it." Kurt studied his torso. "I couldn't have hurt myself too bad."
"You mean that tribute couldn't have hurt you too bad," Finn said. He thought back to the little he knew about first aid. "We could put ice on it."
Kurt glared at him. "And where are we going to get ice, Finn?"
They stared at each other, and then Finn burst into laughter. Kurt tried to laugh, too, but the pain in his ribs made him double over. The laughter stopped quickly.
"We're going to have to do something about it," Finn said. "Pressure?"
"That might work. What else have we got?"
Finn studied the rest of their loot. He had the water bottle with a little water left in it and the knife. Kurt had managed to grab a bag as well. It wasn't even a pack, but a burlap sack. The sack had a pack of crackers, a hard cheese, three throwing stars, and a bigger knife than the one Finn had found. "Here," Kurt said, handing Finn the food and the stars. He took the knife and cut the burlap sack so it formed a neat strip, and then pulled his tunic off and put his arms out. "Tie it around my ribs," he ordered. "As tight as you can."
Finn nodded and picked up the fabric. It was rough and itchy and he was sure he'd be hearing about it for a while. He approached Kurt and then hesitated. For all that they were brothers and had hugged and touched hands, he'd never put hands on Kurt's bare skin before.
Kurt saw his hesitation and rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Finn? You choose now to have a gay panic attack?"
Finn opened his mouth to snap back when they heard something snap. Someone- or something- was near by. Kurt was right- it was stupid anyway- and Finn took the burlap and tied it as tightly as he could around Kurt's ribs, as fast as he could.
"Any better?" he whispered. Kurt nodded. He picked up his knife and Finn picked up the pack, and they began to move.
After a few minutes, nothing jumped out at them or slaughtered them, and they began to relax a little. The need to pee was returning fast, and Finn took a moment to slip into the woods to take care of that. When he came out, he found Kurt staring around, a furrow between his brows.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes. I'm just thinking that we need to find water soon. What we've got won't last us very long."
He was right about that. "Any ideas on where we find it?"
"The ground slopes down that way," Kurt said, pointing. "Water doesn't flow uphill. Let's go that way."
"Okay." Finn shrugged and followed.
The woods smelled good. Finn wished he could enjoy walking through them. The ground was soft under his boots, and the shade felt good. He felt sticky and sweaty, but other than that, he was holding up pretty well.
Kurt had found a long stick. It was knobby and awkward, but it was enough for him to lean on. It seemed to really help him. "We need to keep an eye open for a good stick for you to make a staff out of," Kurt said, scanning the ground. "That little knife is more of a tool than a weapon."
"Yeah," Finn said. "I think-" he broke off, because he heard that snap again.
"Somebody's here," Kurt whispered.
"It could just be an animal," Finn whispered back, drawing closer.
"I don't think so."
"What do you want to do?"
Kurt looked around, biting his lip. "Stay close to me," he said finally. "If it is someone, take my stick and use it as a staff. But I still think this is the best shot we've got at finding water."
Finn nodded and slowed his pace a little more. They continued walking in silence, until Finn saw a flash of red. A tribute. He put up his hand and blocked Kurt, who stopped immediately.
"There's got to be water around here somewhere," they heard a voice saying. Male voice, young. Kurt and Finn exchanged glances.
"We'll find it," someone answered. Finn's eyes widened. He was pretty sure he knew that voice. "You doing okay?"
"I'm hanging in there. We should have gotten more from the Cornucopia."
"No, we needed to get out of there."
"That's Blaine," Kurt whispered. "That changes things."
"You think he's going to be willing not to kill us now that we're in the arena?" Finn asked skeptically.
"I think we've got a better shot. He got a five for a training score." Kurt frowned. "Besides, we need water."
"Right." Finn sighed. "Keep your knife out, okay? This could get nasty."
He felt like they were walking into a trap, but as they got closer to the two tributes, his misgivings began to fade. Neither of them were taking any trouble to hide their tracks or be all that stealthy, probably because they didn't know how. Just like Finn and Kurt. "We should change the color of our shirts somehow," Finn told Kurt.
"How?"
"You're the clothing lover," Finn said.
"It's not like I have dyes on me."
"Mud," Finn suggested as they trudged along. "Ash."
Kurt shuddered.
They'd walked about a mile when Finn finally got a really good look at the other two tributes. One was definitely Blaine. The other was from District 9, if Finn remembered right. He was skinny and weedy, and probably in his early teens. Blaine was carrying a spear, but it was a wooden one with a stone tip. It would only be truly effective if Blaine knew how to throw it. The other boy was carrying a pack slung over his hip, but by the looks of it, it couldn't contain much. He didn't have a weapon.
"We're probably supposed to kill them, aren't we?" Finn asked tentatively.
"That's what we're here for," Kurt said, but he looked as sick as Finn felt. "Finn… I don't know. I mean, I think I could kill someone if they attacked me. I wanted to kill that girl with the mace in the meadow. I tried. But to just attack someone and kill them in cold blood?"
"I know what you mean." Finn sighed. "Look, it's not like we're well armed anyway, and you've got your ribs. We don't have an advantage or anything. We'll keep an eye out, but we won't attack them unless they attack us. We aren't ready to start taking people on."
"We're prey, not predators," Kurt muttered, but he nodded. They were in agreement.
Finn felt a little better, and he and Kurt made a little less effort to hide themselves. They were still walking in the same direction as the other two tributes, and Finn had a feeling that would happen until they found water. Soon they were level with the other two boys.
Finn wasn't sure if he was surprised or not when Blaine didn't greet them. Instead, he just watched them warily, his grip tightening on his spear. Neither Kurt nor Finn offered reassurances, they just kept walking, their own weapons at the ready. The four boys fell into step, each pair watching the other tensely.
Hell with the tributes- the tension was going to kill Finn now.
Four sets of footsteps. Four sounds of breathing. The four of them marched in unison until a new sound broke through their silence.
Water.
The boy from District 9 broke into a run, and Blaine laughed. But Kurt caught Finn by the arm. "Don't drink from the stream," he said. "We'll make a fire and boil some."
"Right."
The stream was absolutely beautiful, crystal clear and gurgling over smooth rocks. It took everything Finn had not to do exactly what the boy from District 9 was doing, which was kneeling beside the stream and scooping water into his mouth. He smiled at Kurt, feeling a little more hopeful.
That feeling died immediately, when the boy from District 9 started gagging.
"Gray?" Blaine asked, moving to the boy's side. "Gray? Are you okay?" Gray had fallen to the ground, his muscles convulsing. Finn watched in horror as he began to foam at the mouth. "Gray!" Blaine cried, falling to his knees. "Gray, what… you can't!"
It took a long time for Gray to die. Blaine tried to help- he used some technique where he pumped on Gray's chest and tried to restart his heart, but in the end, it was no use.
"The water," Kurt said. "It's poisoned."
Gray jerked one final time and the lay still. In the distance, a cannon fired. Finn jerked. He'd forgotten the cannons that came with each death, and this was the first time he'd heard one in the arena.
"The others must have been while we were running," Kurt said softly. Finn just nodded.
Blaine was on his knees, closing Gray's eyes. He bowed his head for a long moment, and then picked up the pack Gray had been carrying. "Come on," he said. "They won't come for the body until we get out of here."
"Where are we going?" Kurt asked, a slight emphasis on the word we.
"I don't know. Follow the stream, I guess," Blaine said. "If nothing else…" he trailed off, completely unsure of what to say.
Kurt looked up at Finn. "Well? What about it? You're the one who didn't want us forming an alliance with Blaine."
"You know a lot of that was for show," Finn said, and sighed. He still didn't like the idea, but right now, he couldn't see another choice. It was form an alliance or kill each other. And while he was pretty sure he and Kurt could take Blaine in a fight, especially with a poison stream to work with, he really, really didn't feel like finding out right now. "Okay. Let's go. All of us."
They began walking again, the three of them together.
***
They didn't dare to light a fire that night, even though it was cold.
"There's another problem," Finn said as the three of them sat on the ground, each of them eating two crackers with two slices of cheese. "We don't have much food."
"We could hunt," Blaine suggested.
Kurt shook his head. "I don't think so. I haven't seen anything, but even if there is, if it can drink out of that stream, do you think it's going to be good for us to eat?"
Blaine swore softly under his breath. "The same thing is probably true for the plants, too," he said.
"So this is it?" Finn asked, looking at their sparse collection of food. "This is all we've got?"
"It is," Blaine said. "We're going to have to get more."
"Or," Finn said, "there's another option."
"What's that?" Kurt asked.
Finn looked pointedly at the stream. "We drink."
"What?"
"We drink," Finn said again, his voice growing stronger. "What's the difference? There's no food. There's no water. We've got sticks and knives and rocks to fight with. Kurt's hurt. We're all going to die anyway. Why should we die for anyone's entertainment? Let's just drink the water, die in thirty seconds, and be done with it."
Blaine sat back, staring at the stream, his face pale.
"No," Kurt said. "Finn, don't do that."
"Why not?" Finn demanded. "It would show them! I'm not just some… some toy that they can kill off for some show! Maybe I'll be dead, but I won't give them the satisfaction of enjoying it!"
"He's got a point, Kurt," Blaine said. "I don't like it, but he's got a point."
"No." Kurt was shaking his head hard. "No. I can't believe either of you would even think of this! We've gotten through today. A lot of tributes died, but we got through today. I'm not giving up just because we've hit a snag!"
"A snag? It's die fast or die slow, Kurt!" Finn shouted.
"There's got to be water somewhere in this arena, Finn!" Kurt shouted back. "Otherwise it would be a very short Games! And I am going to find it!"
"And do what? Start killing people? Because I don't think you can do that!"
"Well, you can't either! You've had the knives! You didn't want to attack Blaine and Gray any more than I did!"
"Which is why we should just drink the damn water!"
"Screw you, Finn! I am not going down without a fight!"
Without warning, the sky opened up. Water rained down, even though there hadn't been any clouds there before. It drenched all three of them, dripping off their hair and noses.
"Guys," Blaine said excitedly, "I don't think the rain is poisoned."
He was right. It wasn't. Kurt dove for the water bottles and opened them up, and soon they were filled to overflowing. Finn tipped his head back, mouth open as the water poured down, and Blaine followed suit.
The water stopped as suddenly as it had started, like a faucet turning off. It left puddles on the ground and all of them sopping wet.
"Do you think they heard us?" Blaine asked. "Is that why?"
"I don't know. They probably had to give water to the others, too," Finn said.
Kurt frowned. "If they're giving us water by rain, it probably means that no other source of water is safe. Don't drink from anywhere but the water bottles." He scoffed a toe through the mud. "We should probably also use the time to muddy up our shirts."
They did that, stripping their wet shirts off and stomping them into the mud. For a moment, they were three teenagers again, playing at a silly, stupid game and laughing. But the sunlight was fading and when they pulled their shirts back on, reality set in. There was no place to sleep but on the wet ground, and lighting a fire was both risky and impossible with the wood all being wet.
"We should keep watches or something," Finn suggested. "I'll take the first one."
"Okay. Wake me up when you get tired," Blaine said, leaning against a tree. He was asleep in minutes.
Finn crept over to where Kurt was sitting. He looked positively miserable, with his hair plastered against his forehead and covered in mud. "How's the ribs?" he asked.
"Hmm? Oh. I'm all right." Kurt sighed. "Just thinking."
"What are you thinking?" Finn asked warily.
"A lot of things. How to get food."
"What, do you have ideas?"
"I might," Kurt said with an enigmatic smile. "I need time to think about it though."
"Think all you want," Finn said. He patted Kurt on the shoulder. "But make sure you get some sleep, too. Okay?" Kurt nodded. Finn picked up a stick they'd found as they'd followed the stream and a knife. At least he could keep himself awake on watch.
***
"Eighteen deaths in the bloodbath," Atella Gentes was saying on the screen. "Now, in a normal Games, that would be a high number, but in this Quarter Quell, that's like nine deaths in the opening fight, a typical count is ten or eleven deaths, so these Games are actually starting out a little slow."
"Well, if you only count the fight at the Cornucopia," Papus Aelia corrected her. "Remember, there were four tributes that died of poisonings as well, bringing the first day count up to twenty-two."
The Hudson-Hummel apartment was crowded again tonight, but Carole barely noticed anyone else. She sat on the edge of her seat, her hand tight around Burt's barely daring to breathe.
Kurt and Finn were both still alive. Celia had died in the bloodbath and Emily had died drinking the water, but not Kurt and Finn. The tribute field had been cut nearly in half, and both of them had survived.
On the television, the commentators were still talking, showing footage of the scenes at the Cornucopia. Carole watched eagerly as the District 1 tribute once again attacked Kurt and Finn once again threw his rock, and the two of them escaped. The focus was really on the girl's recovery and the way she took out the tribute from District 6, but in the background Kurt and Finn were visible, running away.
"I've got to say, Atella," Papus continued, "some of the betting has certainly shifted. The tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are traditionally strong, of course, and continue to be in these Games. But there are some real contenders from the other districts."
"I know! And two of the tributes that have the entire Capitol talking are the brothers. Between the both of them surviving the battle at the Cornucopia and being able to get water, and their alliance with Blaine Anderson from District 10, the odds on Kurt Hummel and Finn Hudson have gotten considerably better."
A ragged cheer went up inside the apartment, elation and relief coloring almost every face. Carole closed her eyes, savoring the knowledge. They were alive. They were doing well. They were together, they'd formed an alliance, and they knew what some of the dangers were. Kurt would keep Finn from following his stomach to his death, and Finn would be able to help Kurt physically defend himself. There was hope.
"Turn it off," Burt grumbled.
"Leave it on," Carole said. "I want to see what they have to say about some of the others."
"Turn it off!" Burt shouted. Everyone in the apartment fell silent, and Burt stood up and snapped off the television. "Just… turn it off. It means nothing."
"Burt-"
"Don't 'Burt' me, Carole," Burt said. "It doesn't change anything. They still can't both come home."
"I know that," Carole said slowly. "But they made it through the first day. That means something."
"Yeah. It means they'll die tomorrow," Burt said. Will stood up and tried to reach out and touch Burt, but Burt shook him off. "All this means," Burt said, his words slow and deliberate and angry, "is that they have to suffer more before they die. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to analyze it, and I sure as hell don't want to watch it!"
"Burt," Will tried, "Carole's right. A lot of people were betting they wouldn't make it through the first day. They've proven a lot of people wrong."
"Doesn't matter," Burt said. "Nothing matters. They're dead, Carole, and the sooner you get that through your head the sooner we can…" he stopped, his face twisting into a spasm of pain. "Fuck!" he shouted, slamming his hand against a wall. Everyone flinched. "There's no point in hoping, Carole. No point at all."
"That's all I have, Burt. Hope and you," Carole answered.
Burt's expression broke her heart. "I can't do this," he said, his voice broken and cracking. "I'm sorry. I just can't."
The door slammed behind him.
Carole stood in the middle of the crowded room, everyone silent, everyone watching her. "He's not gone," she heard herself saying. "He's not gone. He's not leaving. He'll come home."
Will touched her arm. "Carole…"
She threw him off. "He's not gone!" She whirled on him. "There is still hope! I can't give up on this family! I won't give up-" she broke off, wiping her face. "We finally got a family, after years of just limping along with some broken remnant. We finally have something worth cherishing, worth fighting for. All four of us. We are a fucking family, Will, and I am not letting it go without a fight! I won't!"
Her words fell on the others, and she saw it. A flicker of interest on Puck's face. Guarded happiness on Mercedes'. Apprehension on Quinn's, respect on Santana's.
"I'm going after him," she said.
She ran down the stairs, the words giving her speed. I an not letting it go without a fight. Without a fight. She got to the bottom of the steps and out the tenement door when she spotted Burt. She ran after him and grabbed his arm.
"You listen to me, Burt Hummel," she said, holding him still so he couldn't move. "Nine months ago, you and I stood in front of our friends and family and we took vows. We promised that we were a family."
"Carole, I'm not leaving-"
"Shut up," Carole ordered. "You know what? We can't save Finn and Kurt. I know that. Believe me, I know that. But why should we go down without a fight?"
Light flickered in Burt's eyes. "Carole…" he looked around.
There was no one in the street. Carole leaned in closer. "We could do it, Burt. We could make things hell for the Capitol. Maybe not across Panem, but definitely here in District 8."
"We can't do that, Carole."
"Maybe we shouldn't be the only ones making that decision," Carole said, unable to believe she was saying it.
"Carole," Burt's voice was desperate, "you're talking treason." But he looked more alive and more hopeful than he had since Kurt's name had been called at the reaping.
"I know," Carole said. "But look at our lives, Burt. Look at our world. If they die and you and I do this together, what have we got to lose?"
Burt's eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Nothing," he said. "Absolutely nothing." He sighed. "I'm not making any promises," he warned her.
"I'm not asking you to," Carole said. "But it's something to get us through."
Burt nodded. "It is," he agreed, and pulled her in close. They stood in the middle of the street, holding each other, until the sound of a Peacekeeper patrol a block over made them cautious again. "Come on," Burt said, holding out his hand. "Let's go back home."