I wake up from dreams of bombs and screams, of seeing Prim die a hundred different ways, watching Gale and Peeta torn to bits in front of me while I stand there, helpless. There are thin curtains around my bed and bright lights overhead. I must be in a hospital. I try to look around, to get my bearings, but every muscle in my body is stiff and sore. After a few deep breaths I manage to turn on my side. The curtains don't reach the floor and I'm able to make out the legs of another hospital bed on the other side. I'm trying to remember how I got here, where here is, I barely know who I am.

And then it all comes crashing back. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I was in the Hunger Games. Remember who the enemy is. The exploding arena. The hovercraft. Haymitch. Peeta is safe. Thirteen. Twelve. We have reason to suspect it's been attacked by the Capitol. Gale. My mother. Prim.

I sit bolt upright, toss my legs over the side of the bed, and try to stand but my legs are jelly and I go down. "Katniss?" A voice from the other side of the curtain says in response. Peeta? It sounded like Peeta. I'm feeling a little disoriented. Of course it's Peeta. I watch his feet touch the ground and walk around to an opening in the curtains. He looks better. He's wearing the same cream colored shirt and pants that I have on and he's been cleaned up significantly. Wincing slightly in pain, he kneels down next to me and with some effort pulls me upright and into the bed. I don't object when he pulls the covers over me, because my head is pounding again and I can't think straight. I look up at him and see that his face is clouded, concerned. Twelve.

"Any word?" I ask, knowing he'll understand. "Haymitch was here a few minutes ago. He said that there are some survivors," Peeta says, taking my hand. "Thirteen send out hovercraft to pick them up but we don't know how many there are yet. Or who." Some survivors. That sounds like nearly the entire district was killed. Surely that can't be right. I feel hollow, empty with fear and I'm sure Peeta feels the same. His family was there too. "When will we know?" I ask and my voice sounds small, like a child's. He shakes his head. "Haymitch said it could be hours until they get them to Thirteen."

I feel myself floating away, the drugs they must have given me telling me to sleep, calling to me, telling me to blackout until the wait was over. Peeta must see this because he strokes my forehead, something he's done before to help me sleep. I use the last of my energy to move to one side of the small bed, making room for him. Maybe I am channeling Johanna's lack of modesty. Supposedly we got married in secret and I'm pregnant, so what did I care if anyone from Thirteen found us like this. The whole country saw more in the first games anyway. Now that there's been a rebellion, for the first time in seventy-five years, I wonder absently if anyone really believed those things or if they all saw through the lies the Capitol was making us tell. Well, what did any of that matter anyway?

All that matters, all that has ever mattered, is that Prim is safe. And there's nothing I can do about that but wait. Peeta lies down next to me and holds me close, my head on his chest, his arms around me. He kisses my forehead lightly before I go under again.

When I wake again, it's because Peeta is gently shaking my shoulders. It's easier to get my bearings this time and my eyes snap open at the prospect of news. Peeta and I are not alone. Instead, Gale is standing over us, his face unreadable. Gale! Gale is here in Thirteen. I sit up too fast and get dizzy but try to ignore it. Peeta looks about as uncomfortable as I feel, and gets out of my bed as quickly as he can.

"Hey Catnip." Gale says, ignoring Peeta and sitting on the edge of my bed. I throw my arms around him and breath him in before pulling quickly away. "Prim? My mother?" I ask and I can hear the terror in my voice. "They're safe. I got them out in time." He says, but doesn't make eye contact with either Peeta or me. Something's wrong. "Are they okay?" I ask urgently. "Where are they?"

"They're fine." Gale says, but he still doesn't meet my eyes. "They're helping with the injured." I look at Gale and try to figure out what's wrong. "Hazelle? The kids?" I ask. If he was able to save my family, then surely his own is safe. He nods. "They're here too." It dawns on me and I look at Peeta. He's leaning against the wall and looks as white as a sheet. I turn to Gale and ask the question that I know Peeta can't. Gale shakes his head, still looking down.

"Peeta," he says softly, and finally looks up at him. "I'm sorry. No one has seen them." Peeta just nods and looks at the floor. Tears fall from his eyes. I turn back to Gale. "But…" I start desperately, "Maybe they're alright? Maybe they're still in Twelve?"

"Katniss," Gale says softly.

I recognize that voice. It's the same one he uses to approach wounded animals before he deliver a deathblow. I instinctively raise my hand to block his words but he catches it and holds on tightly.

"Don't," I whisper.

But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. "Katniss, there is no District Twelve."

The room starts to close in around me. As if from a great distance, I hear Gale speaking to me, saying words I can't understand. I look around frantically and see Peeta slide down the wall and onto the floor, putting his head into his hands. Gale takes my shoulders, still speaking but the ringing in my ears is back and I can't make anything out. I give him a hug, murmur a thank you for saving my family and get out of bed. Tentatively this time, not wanting to collapse on the floor again. I manage to stand up and walk over to Peeta, holding the bed for support.

My family is alive and Peeta's is not. I kneel down in front of him, the ringing blocking out his sobs but I see his shoulders shaking. His father, who promised to take care of my sister during the first games, who used to love my mother, who would buy my squirrels. His brothers, who I just didn't know—I did I never get to know them? His mother, who had hit Peeta for burning the bread was still at the end of the day, his mother.

He did not deserve this, especially not when it was I who shot the arrow. I put my arms around his shoulders. How many times had he held me during my nightmares? This was the worst nightmare of all, because there would be no waking up from it for Peeta. I hear Gale say something else and vaguely register his footsteps walking out of the room. Gradually, the ringing in my ears stops and my hearing seems to come back because I hear Peeta quietly crying in my arms.

He will never be able to forgive me for this. It's selfish, I know, especially when he's just learned that he's lost his family, but I need to prepare myself for this next loss. I can't see any way around it, Peeta will be lost to me after this. A well of sadness begins to open in my heart at this impending loss, because it will be a loss. Despite myself, I start to imagine a world in which Peeta won't speak to me, won't even look at me because he knows that my actions brought about the death of his family. I'm sick to my stomach when I think about this but I can't place why. I only feel a numb fear creeping over me as I hold Peeta in my arms for what will surely be the last time, because how could anyone get over something like this?

And all at once I'm disgusted with myself for trying to comfort him at all, and I'm suddenly terrified of what his face will look like when he stops crying and looks up at me. I don't think I can bear to see hate in his eyes, not right now.

I pull away from him and mean to get up, to go to the door, to run down the hall, out of Thirteen altogether. But Peeta takes me hands and when he lifts his face up it's not full of hatred. He just looks confused and sad, in pain. "I'm so sorry, Peeta." I say numbly. It's the only thing I can think to say, even though the words feel hollow. He shakes his head and wipes his face on his sleeves. "You didn't do this." He says and squeezes my hands. "The Capitol did this. Don't let them confuse you. They did this. They are always the ones to blame." And suddenly he does sound angry, but not at me. But it's fleeting and a second later he looks deflated and broken. But he doesn't blame me. He's always been better than me, always been good.

I really don't know what to do now. I've never been good with my own emotions, much less the emotions of others. So I do what I think my mother would do. I get him on his feet and walk him to his bed. I help him in, cover him with the thin blanket. This simple task was too much for me and I know immediately that I need to lie down. I'm really starting to regret how many times I tried to knock myself out in the hovercraft because I seem to have a much worse concussion than Peeta. All I know is that if I don't get off my feet I'll end up on the floor again and I don't want Peeta taking care of me when it should be the other way around.

But I don't go back to my own bed. Before I really know what I'm doing, I'm climbing in next to Peeta. This time I hold him, I let him rest his head against my heart, I try to make him feel safe in my battered arms. I brush his hair with my fingers. I try not to think about what Gale's face would look like if he found us like this a second time.