for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

[whisted]

Jack Simpson is enjoying this.

That, more than anything, is what has Horatio Hornblower feeling so painfully trapped. There had been a terrible sinking in his gut when his own name had been called during the reaping. There had been a heavy weight that lingered even after his mother's hand was dragged from his shoulder and his father's voice had vanished from his ears. For all that had ripped something from him, the odd inevitable hadn't been so terrible. A piece of him, even now, thinks he could manage to have properly accepted it.

But then, through the haze, had come the harrowing sound of Simpson's name. That had been far too much far too fast. That had been the worst sort of death warrant; the immediate shifting of hope toward dying at the hands of anyone but his District's other tribute.

None of the rest of it had helped, of course. Being dragged far from home was excruciating. Being poked and prodded and needled and explained to, by tense displeased voices, that he somehow didn't even stand and wear his clothes correctly was torturous. Even the odd comfort of being handed into the care of his mentor was undercut by the horrific fact of Simpson standing nearly constantly beside him, practically preening with a nauseating sort of pride.

In defense of the prep team, of course, Horatio apparently doesn't know how to stand properly. It doesn't matter that his fingers grip tight to the chariot, or that all he properly has to do in the Tribute Parade is actually stand still with the faintest bit of a smile. It's just a blessing, Pellew is certainly sighing to himself, that the Capitol seems to find a tribute managing to fall off the back of a chariot faintly endearing.

(Simpson will make his life hell for it later. Thankfully, Horatio doesn't anticipate having that much more life to have to suffer through.)

It will be better, he tells himself, when they can be separated in the Training Center. It will almost be enjoyable, perhaps, to have these few days of being able to make some small amount of space for himself before Jack Simpson thoroughly enjoys killing him.

Comments

Day 1/Night 1

[whisted]

Day 1

Read constructs a shack. Hales and Kelly hunt for other tributes. Bracegirdle sprains his ankle while running away from Bonny. Cheng makes a slingshot. Neuville sees smoke rising in the distance, but decides not to investigate. Groves diverts Gillette's attention and runs away. Mallory is pricked by thorns while picking berries. Clay receives medical supplies from an unknown sponsor. R. Wall, Galante, and G. Wall track down and kill Turner. Sparrow sprains his ankle while running away from Hornblower. Finch discovers a river.

Fallen Tributes
6 cannons

Hepplewhite, District 3

O'Malley, District 7

Seymour, District 10

Becket, District 1

Simpson, District 11

Turner, District 4

Night 1

R. Wall sets an explosive off, killing Neuville. Cheng cannot handle the circumstances and commits suicide.

Galante tries to treat her infection. Groves and G. Wall sleep in shifts. Finch, Clay, Bracegirdle, Mallory, and Gillette sleep in shifts. Kelly and Read discuss the games and what might happen in the morning. Bonny thinks about home. Sparrow and Hales sleep in shifts.

Norrington and Hornblower sleep in shifts.

---


Horatio is dozing against James's shoulder when the cannons go off. The six rounds thud dull in the distance, as uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach as they had been through the rest of the day.

He's beyond glad that they're hidden away where they can't see the sky of the arena. He's beyond glad he doesn't have to see Jack Simpson's face even this one last time, even as far removed as it would have been. It's much better to simply press his features in against James's shoulder and try to find enough solace to sleep properly.

Of course, there can't be any proper sleep in the arena.

There's no abstraction when he dreams. There's no phantom as terrifying as what had actually happened. It's simply a matter of his mind being unwilling to move on from the first horrible hour of the Games. Over and over, he feels Simpson's hand on his shoulder. Over and over, his fingers twitch against James's side, clutching at the ghost of the other boy's hair.

Then, suddenly, the fitful cycle is interrupted. Suddenly, the reality playing in his head switches tracks--and it's two years ago, and Jack Simpson is alive, and Jack Simpson's hand on his shoulder isn't going to end in Jack Simpson's corpse.

There's a strangled scream in Horatio's throat as he jerks awake. Hopefully the sound of a distant explosion will serve as cover for the way he startles awake.

[all_at_sea]

James is numb. He's really too tall to stay sat like this for so long, in such a confined space, but it's either this or a tree, or death. He'd take numbness over the other options, and shifts when he can. Despite all the movement, the little noises in his sleep, Horatio's head is still resting against him. James doesn't have the heart to try and move him off, and as some of his movements are quite sudden, he'd rather not let him rest his head against the cave wall. He'll brain himself against the rough wall, and James is not about to let that happen.

The canon fire is distant, muffled by the wind and the rustle of the trees and the walls of their hideaway. It's not peaceful, but it is quiet, and for that James is thankful. It means if someone approaches them, he can hear it. He expects most people have bedded down now- it's dangerous to try and find your way in the dark in the arena, and best only to move if you have to.

He's not expecting anything to really happen until the morning.

He's also not expecting anything more than soft noises and movement from Horatio, so when the scream comes it makes James jump- not a great thing for a tall boy to do in a cave. Biting back a curse, James' hand goes to the top of his head, his other hand on Horatio's elbow.

"It's alright, it's alright." He says, glancing out the cave mouth into the darkness. There's silvery smoke in the distance, some sort of explosion or fire he supposes, but that's not pressing. Horatio is his concern.

[whisted]

His own hand is over his own mouth before Horatio is properly awake. There's a panic in his eyes that takes a moment to shake as his body tugs instinctively against James's fingers on his elbow.

It takes a few heartbeat for James to be James. It takes another few for his heart to begin to slow again toward something he can actually breathe through.

There's an apology somewhere in his throat. He can't quite choke his way around it.

[all_at_sea]

James sees the panic, he sees fear, he feels Horatio pull away.

He has to fight the urge to bundle Horatio up in his arms, he has to fight away the upset at the fact Horatio moves away. Horatio is scared, he's just woken up, he's somewhere unfamiliar and it's dark. Outside it's still an inky blue, but the cave makes it hard to see clearly, and rationally, James understands why Horatio tugs his arm away from the comforting hand. It might well not be comforting.

He doesn't move, he doesn't crowd the other boy, not until he can hear Horatio's breathing become slower and deeper.

"I'm sorry." He says, keeping his voice down. If someone had heard them, he doesn't need them being able to pinpoint where they are.

"Are you okay?"

[whisted]

If they live that long, Horatio is already certain it might be a comfort to wake up and burrow in close against the crook of James's neck. If they live that long, he can imagine dispelling nightmares by hiding against the warm scent that clung to James's skin beneath the sweat and dirt and copper of blood.

For now, it helps to have a few minutes to reboot his brain--to remember why he is where he is, who he's sitting across from; how Jack Simpson can't hurt him anymore.

Horatio waits until he's certain of his voice before he lets himself whisper into the space between them. "...s... s-sorry. I'm...."

He shouldn't say it if it's not true. He takes another breath to be certain.

"I-I'm okay. Are-- A-are you?"

[all_at_sea]

James nods, and then, because he realises in the darkness that the moment might not be so obvious he speaks, voice still low.

"My legs are asleep, but that aside, I'm fine."

Although he does now have a headache, but he knows sharing that fact might just make Horatio feel worse, so he leaves it out. He reaches over gently, a hand touching Horatio's knee.

"Nightmare?"

Horatio can talk about it if he wants. They both know it was a nightmare, but if he wants to deny it, James won't push. He's just very much aware that Horatio probably won't want to go to sleep again for some time, if at all the rest of this evening.

[whisted]

The hand in the semi-darkness is James. Horatio can't be stopped from jumping slightly, but he settles almost instantly, fingers scrambling to catch hold of those resting on his knee.

This is a hellish place he's woken up to, but it's less hellish with James.

"...y-yeah."

Better, surely, to be honest. Easier, surely, for the gentle reminder that it's all right to cry.

"You s-should... You can-- I'll watch. You should sleep."

[all_at_sea]

Horatio is right and James should sleep. He should at least try, even if he doesn't feel he'll ever actually be able to sleep.

"I will. But I can stay awake with you a little while. If you want me to." He offers. It might well be dark and they might have to speak in whispers, but the way Horatio gripped at his hands just shows how much the young man doesn't want to be left alone right now.

[whisted]

A deep breath doesn't clear away the shadows. Focusing on James's fingers curled snug around his own is infinitely more reassuring.

"O... O-Okay."

If James is offering, it must be okay. If James thinks it's okay, then it won't be what gets them killed.

Slipping closer is a slow, careful thing.

[all_at_sea]

He hears, and feels, Horatio edge carefully closer to him, and that's okay. He lifts his arm, cautiously winding it around Horatio's shoulders to hold him close. It's a natural movement, he doesn't even have to think about it, his body moves of its own accord. It's comforting, to both be close as they can be.

"I was thinking about tomorrow." James says, voice still soft. "We should move away from here, and find some food if we can, get some more water. And probably find a good tree we can stay in overnight, I don't think we should use this place a second night in a row."

[whisted]

Ultimately, there's a rhythm to it--a beat Horatio couldn't define but feels flowing easily between them. He shifts and James shifts. He sinks closer and James's arm settles tighter. They don't move in perfect concert, but the process of nestling in beside each other again comes easy and natural, as if they'd been doing it for years.

They can sit here. They don't have to fall back into terrifying dreams or start running immediately. They can sit, and Horatio can find his breath properly off of James.

"It... I-It looked like there was old... o-older growth a bit farther north. That'd be... good. For-- sleeping."

[all_at_sea]

It's all a little easier if they can be together, close together, safe and still and nothing can get in between them. They're stronger this way, more resilient to everything around them. James has no idea how you work out how old a tree is, although he supposes it's logical that bigger ones are older.

"That sounds like a good idea." James agrees, fingers smoothing over Horatio's side. It would sound like a better idea if he had any faith in his tree-climbing abilities. But he can learn. He has to learn, to keep them both safe.

"How far away, do you think? Do we have time to find water and food before we'll have to make our way there?"

[whisted]

This is easier. This isn't reality crushing down on them and bending them into submission, or nightmares being too painfully real to breathe through. This is James holding him gently. This is planning something simple. This is the sort of quiet survival the life outside the Capitol actually half-prepares all children for.

"Probably... better to find a place first."

This close, it's easy enough to set his head against James's shoulder. It isn't sleep, but it's restful.

"Keep hold of it during the day and... scout for food and water after. So we aren't... scrambling at dusk."

[all_at_sea]

"That's a better idea," James admits freely, nodding in the darkness and then gently shifting, his head gently resting against Horatio's, trying to find a patch of the rock wall that doesn't dig into his back. "I suppose we want to be settled by dusk."

Settled and fed and watered, and ready to go on watch again, in turns. Although he has to admit, considering the scream that woke Horatio, sleeping in a tree might not be a great idea.

He licks his lips, wondering how to phrase the question, how to ask how they're going to stop either of them falling out.

"What... Are you going to be alright, sleeping in a tree?"

[whisted]

"As long as we find a good tree."

He should take over the watch. He should let James sleep. Despite that, Horatio lets his eyes drift shut a moment, breathing in deep to find his center.

"You find one with a few solid branches close together and-- fill it in a bit with fallen ones."

There hadn't been a huge call to build nests for the night back home, but it was a good way to stay hidden while hunting.

[all_at_sea]

James smiles sleepily, shifting a little closer, burrowing a little more into Horatio's side and into the wall behind them. "Like birds?"

That's what it sounds like they're going to do, build nests like birds do, and curl up and sleep. It would be nice, he supposes, if he wasn't sure he'd topple out in the night, or the branches would give way beneath them.

Maybe if there weren't people out to kill them, maybe if they didn't have to find trees with good vantage over the terrain, maybe then it might even be enjoyable.

"I think you might make a better bird than I do."

[whisted]

Birds is a nicer metaphor than hunters. It sets his shoulders loosening once again, deeper into a feeling of being himself.

"We'll be all right."

His fingers shake carefully to free his hand. His arm squirms carefully to pull from between them, arm pulling around the older boy's shoulders carefully.

"You should get some sleep."

[all_at_sea]

James doesn't protest.

But then again, he doesn't sleep well either, jumping awake every half hour, every sound outside jolting him into wakefulness and the nightmares in between hardly encouraging him back to sleep.

But he tries to at least doze until there's enough light to see by, to avoid falling over debris in their way. They shouldn't stay hidden- that doesn't make good TV and the Gamemakers should only a small mercy in leaving them alone overnight.

They won't be so kind again today, James is sure.

They squeeze their way out of the cave, and James feels utterly numb, sore all over. He stretches, grinning at Horatio as he does so, because he knows he looks silly.

"Shall we try and find our tree-house?"

[whisted]

The world looks less surreal when they pull themselves out of the cave now. Something seems to have settled. Reality seems to have found its way into the Arena, sharpening the trees and brightening the sky.

Horatio finds himself reaching for James's hand; for even the briefest contact with that grin.

"Mmhm."

They can't walk holding hands. They have to creep more subtly than that. There has to be stopping and starting, quiet breathless moments of listening to sounds just beyond them.

But, ultimately, it leads them to a sturdy tree. There are low enough branches that James should be all right. There are a few close together, that look like they might be easily made sturdy for the night.

His fingers catch at James's sleeve, tugging insistently as he peers up at the branches.

"--this is it."

[all_at_sea]

They can't hold hands, but that doesn't mean that they don't stay close as they move through the forest. James has the machete in hand, but his other hand periodically reaches out for to touch Horatio's hand or arm, when they stop and huddle together listening it's difficult to stop himself from entwining their fingers together. They need to remember that they aren't alone, and this is the best, quietest, way James can think of doing that.

He's surprised that they don't see head nor tail of any other Tributes, but he's also very glad of the fact. If they can keep out of the way as long as possible, that gives them more chance to get out. He only hopes that the Gamemakers are busy focusing on whoever else is left, otherwise this rather uneventful walk in the woods is going to become very unpleasant very quickly.

Honestly, he'd be lost without Horatio. He's watching Horatio creep through undergrowth without making a noise- James knows he sounds like a bull in a china shop in comparison. All the trees look the same to him, apart from the width of the trunks and their colours, but Horatio clearly knows much more about forests than he does. When the tug at his sleeve comes, it's at the base of a tree that, to James, looks just like a dozen others they have passed. Maybe the branches are thicker, the leaves are denser and will offer more cover but other than that? It's a tree.

"Alright." James says, looking up into the canopy. He has to learn how to climb this tree. He can climb other things. He has no concerns about rope ladders or walls, a tree should be no different.

He takes a breath, look at Horatio and trying not to seem nervous. "Shall we make sure I can get into it, before we look at getting new carpet?"

He isn't the sort to make jokes, but it does at least give him something else to focus on as he hands over the machete, and then starts looking for hand- and toe-holds in the bark, pulling himself up until the first sizable branch offers a better grip. From there he could glance down at Horatio, but it's easier not to. Just focus on the area ahead of you.

The only problem with dense leaves is that they block what is above you. He doesn't hear the buzz of the nest until too late, until he's no more than a few feet from one of the insects resting on the branch he's holding onto. He's never seen one in person, only heard of them. It's huge, eyes dark and reflecting his terrified face as it washes its mandibles with its forelegs.

For a second, just a second, he wonders if it's seen him. But of course it has.

Suddenly the hum of the nest becomes a roar, and the Tracker Jacker on the branch leaps into the air, it's stinger pointed directly at him.

"RUN!" James shouts, letting go of the branch as the creature narrowly misses his head. Falling several feet to the ground is preferable to being stung, but hitting every branch slows down his decent, and knocks the breath out of him. When he does hit the ground, he's already winded, and there's a mass of the insects right behind him.

[whisted]

It's going to be all right. It's not going to be easy, but it's going to be all right. Horatio can believe that while James takes a deep breath. He can believe it if James can make a small joke and heft himself up into the unknown.

They'll make camp here. They'll drag branches together and create a place to settle properly. They'll be able to actually breathe in a small space together. He'll be able to sleep again, pressed in safe and secure against the older boy's side.

It looks promising. It looks like James will be fine to make his way into the stable branches just above where anyone will think to look for them.

And then, suddenly, it changes.

The orchards in District 11 had been more or less safe, but there were more than enough trees that had been nested for the sliding roar to send ice down Horatio's spine. His fingers move by complete instinct to his side--for the pouch of herbs he doesn't have strapped there, because he isn't at home. He's here.

He's here, and James is shouting for him to run.

"--James--"

He can't run. He can't do anything but duck closer to the tree, reaching to tug at the taller Tribute's slightly crumpled form.

"James, come on."

It's one thing if they lose each other briefly while running. It's another thing entirely if James is stung to death.

[all_at_sea]

James can't believe that Horatio hasn't run, that he's dallied and even come back towards the cursed tree, and as he gasps for breath he tries to push Horatio away, to get him moving. But it's clear from the beginning that Horatio isn't going anywhere alone and there is no time to discuss the matter. James pushes him again, beginning to run even as he does so, trying to keep Horatio in front of him and away from the insects.

But it's too little too late.

The sting gets him on the back, almost exactly between his shoulder blades, and it feels like he's been stabbed. The force of it is enough to send him stumbling forwards again, but he keeps his footing somehow, crying out even as he keeps running.

He has to run. He has to move. He has to get Horatio away.

His vision is swimming only a few steps later, and he can barely make out trees and the shape of the younger boy in front of him. His limbs feel heavy, sluggish, and either they are heavier, or they are running through air as thick as syrup. He doesn't know which is true, but the air burns in his throat. The buzz of the Tracker Jackers is mixed with the whine of the Peacekeeper's sirens, and he sees the flash of white out of the corner of his eye.

"Peacekeepers!"

Somehow he manages to move faster, grabbing Horatio and tugging him away from the armed patrol, tumbling down a slope that he hadn't seen. The leafmould is slippery, damp and thick, moving beneath their feet as the earth slides down, but he doesn't dare to stop running. He can't stop. His father will be angry, so very angry, if he's late home.

[whisted]

They just have to run. They just have to get away from the hive and find some new shelter. This is a known problem, after all. This is solvable.

And then James, who had been stumbling slightly behind him, shouts and catches hold of him.

He's stumbling before he's even properly understood that he's being tugged along with James. His breath comes sharp and just a hint terrified as he tries to keep himself upright.

"--James." He can run and gasp out words, hopefully. "James, just-- k-keep running. It's-- It's o-okay, just-- run."

[all_at_sea]

James knows he has to run. He knows that running is the only chance to get home before his curfew, he knows that the Peacekeepers right behind him hurt him if he's late. He knows that he can't let go of the thin hand that's in his, no matter what, because he has to hold on. The whys and hows and whos are hazy, the pain in his back and in his burning lungs makes any thought apart from run impossible.

The ground evens out, running is easier. The hum of the Peacekeeper's ships is still right behind them, the electric whine of their weapons seems to get louder and louder in James' ears. It fills his head, and then he's not sure if it's coming from his head or not.

It's too dark. The light is mottled, blocked out why hundreds of airships high above. He's never seen so many, he's never thought so many could exist, but every Peacekeeper in Panem must be behind them now. How can they escape that? How can they keep running?

And there, up ahead, is his father.

Lawrence's expression is unhappy, his thin lips pressed into a thinner line.

James' feet start to slow, his hand slipping out from the vice-like grip. If he must speak to his father, he'll do so alone.

His pace is slower now, a jog as he comes up to the man. It's his father, he's sure of it, although perhaps it's really President Sawyer. The grey hair is the same, the disappointed, down-turned mouth, but the rest of the features swim in and out of focus.

His feet knock against something as he comes to a stop, as his father, or President Sawyer, opens his mouth to chastise him. He's done wrong, he knows it. He should be punished for it.

And then the world explodes. Dirt and plant matter and bits of bark fly everywhere, the force of it sending James backwards. Particles rain down, bits of tree and sticky bits of insect and clods of earth fall, but all James can hear is a ringing in his ears, and a world of greys surrounds him, hazy and indistinct and full of the smell of burning.

[whisted]

It can be still be fine. James is still clinging to his hand and running in as straight a line they can manage. They still just need to make space from the hive and find a new place to hide. They just have to hope no one's heard them tearing through the woods.

Then, suddenly, James isn't next to him anymore.

The sudden loss of the other Tribute's hand from his own sends Horatio stumbling. He shouldn't turn around. He shouldn't go back and drag James along again. He should get clear of the swarm. Despite that, he feels himself skidding toward a halt, scrambling to slow and spin around.

"James--!"

He knows that stumbling. He knows that slight glaze in the other boy's eyes, even across the distance between them. He takes a breath to start running back. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees the flash of someone running away from them.

And then the world explodes.

For a few heartbeats, Horatio is entirely blind. As the halos fade from his eyes, he's almost certain he's still blind. The smoke is thick, obscuring James into a hazy blotch. It burns his lungs as he breathes in, taking a first stumbling half-step toward the taller boy.

This is almost a good thing, he tells himself as he shakes his head against the ringing. This will confuse the tracker jackers. If they're lucky, this will completely dissipate the swarm. His cough is rough and hacking as he finally thinks to pull his arm over his lips, stumbling forward again to try and catch at James's arm.

"James." His voice is muffled, but that has to be a good thing as well. "James, listen to me, okay? Take-- take my hand."