Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

Johanna presses her torso and head against the wall that separates her cell and Peetas. The water drips off the short strands of her hair, causing it to clump and form puddles on the floor. The water is embedded in her skin. It’s all she feels. The sharp zap of the electricity being rushed through a wire before a crisp sizzle is all she hears. She’s shaking but trying desperately to not fall apart, she’s a tough girl. She’s had to be and nothing little like being tortured is going to change that. She’s not weak. They’re weak. They’re weak for doing their job. For not refusing. For not rebelling. For not helping.

Heck, even Peetas stronger than them. Johanna had always seen right past the fierceness hidden behind each and every of his heavily calculated actions. Helping save Katniss, himself and his entire district? Messing around as a young boy in love, living the life with a girl she knew didn’t want him like that. Right now all she sees is the fierceness hidden by years of his soft persona that she doubts is fully real.

One thing to say about Lover Boy is he’s passionate. He resists , he fights back. He tries to not let them have theirs way with him. It doesn’t work though, but he tries, so she gives him points for that. Maybe that’s what makes his screams that much worse.

She allows herself the smallest of pity parties, before being interrupted by screaming. At first she thinks it’s the mutts in the arena coming to chase her again. She gropes around the cell trying to find a weapon whilst trying to calm down her overly beating heart. The sound roots itself into her head and sticks there for the entirety of the next two hours (she thinks) it continues on for. Unwilling she begins to link things up, the tone, the pitch. Johanna likes to think that not many gory things have the ability to shake her but when she pictures the way those screams are released she has to fight the urge to throw up what little food they’ve given her. A hand inside a males torso grabbing the larynx and twisting the lungs around and around the trachea, tangling the alveoli. It’s counterpart perhaps holding onto his jaw dragging it down to release the sound that is the peak example of pain. It’s hardly human and so high pitched it doesn’t sound natural but feral enough that she knows it is. It’s clear he’s loosing energy but the scream keeps going. It never stops. She tries blocking it out and has to stop a relieved sigh when it stops as he is dropped back in his cell.

“I’m starting to think you want to give me nightmares Lover Boy,” she tries to joke. She can hear how laboured his breathing is and the sharp exhale after every breath.

“I don’t- I don’t- I can’t- nightmares- stop,” he forces out and his voice sounds ragged like nails have freshly ripped out the lining in his throat. Johanna hums in agreement. She knows what it feels like to have your ability to talk taken away from you and replaced with an all consuming pain.

“I know what you mean,” she whispers, the wall prevents her from seeing the small smile Peeta gives with his mouth bright red and full of blood. She does hear it, however, when he spits it out, a sound she’s begun to become accustomed to.

“Still got all your teeth?” She asks, only half joking. In response, Peeta makes a small wounded sound in the back of his throat which she takes as a yes.

That night when all is still, she fully realises how young the pair of them are. Her being twenty two and him only seventeen. If they were older it wouldn’t leave much of a scar because they would’ve finished developing but since they’re still so young, him a teenager for axes sake, it’s going to stay rooted inside of them for the rest of their lives. She half believes she deserves it but nothing could fool her that he does. He’s always been to good for his own good, maybe they know that and it makes them enjoy corrupting him more.

She drifts off to sound of sobbing that echoes like the water dripping through their cells.

2.

Primrose Everdeen has looked up to her sister since she was old enough to know who she was. She simultaneously hated and loved her for trying to make her life easier, not stuck in the group home or entirely starving. She loved her dearly because of that and how she could always make her laugh or comfort her when she needed it. She hated how she never allowed herself time for herself, time to heal, rest. She could see that clear as daylight while in Thirteen. Not like she didn’t know the horrors of waking up with your heart in your throat and fear deep rooted at the front of her mind. She understood the feeling of being trapped in a vision of a monstrous possibility. Those types of nightmares plagued her for about year in the lead up to the 74th reaping. She healed, not killed. She cleaned not spilt blood.

On her day off from working in the hospital she had taken a trip to go see Peeta, slightly annoyed at him for being the cause for her sisters discomfort. He looked to be asleep despite it being only one in the afternoon. That was one of the best things about Thirteen, their ability to stimulate night in the middle of the day due to have to stimulate that too. She was happy with his progress, all his doctors were, but they all knew he was untouchable asleep. His mind was naturally imaginative, being an artist having proved that, so Prim wouldn’t even try to imagine what horrors his brain feeds him when he is in no circumstance to fight back against it. The doctors have studied his sleep pattern in hopes of understanding it enough to administer pills to chill him. Today there’s two doctors on duty, one with a clipboard and pen and the other empty handed. The nod at her as she moves closer to the glass.

Prim thinks this is the most peaceful she’s seen him since arriving back from the Capitol. Despite the heavy band around his waist, they’ve allowed him to move his arms which are currently situated next to and above his head. His legs are also tied down and his flesh foot twitches, she recognises the pattern of tapping he did during his last interview that faithful day. His chest moved up and down to show his breathing but other than that, he doesn’t move.

“This one’s remarkable,” the doctor without the clipboard says, leaning over the shoulder of the person with it.

“Tell me about it,” the one with the board says. Prim turns around to watch their exchange and tries not to intrude.

“I don’t see why the Mockingjay cares about him so much, he’s a danger to her,” the first one says.

“She loves him, that’s clear,” the second one reminds him.

“He tried to kill her, why would she love him?” The first one seems really confused.

“They’re young, they can excuse things like attempted murder besides it’s not what he’s actually like and you know it,” the women chastises. The man sighs.

“I don’t know why that should matter, oh, here we go again,” at first Prims confused on why he said it but then she hears a sharp beeping she recognises to be the sound of a heart rate spiking.

“Should we just knock him out? Or send someone in?” One of them asks, it becomes background noise to Prim as she turns away from them. She walks closer to the glass to observe the problem. The first thing she registers is how quickly his chest rises and falls, faster than she’d presume possible. On closer inspection, she can see the sweat streaming down his forehead mixing with his tears, the way his body is fighting back against the bounds. He eventually opens his eyes but it’s clear he’s not awake, they’re glazed over with terror and perhaps a bit of madness. His hands fail around and it’s like he’s trying to hold onto something, to ground himself. His silent tears have grown into full on sobs and eventually screams. Prim thinks she knows how to deal with this, after her sister but this is different, so different.

His screams sound unnatural like something absolutely barbaric is being done to him to cause it. Prim goes through the potentials in her head and comes up with the theory that he’s having a flashback of his time in the Capitol.

“What’s wrong with him?” The question slips out of the female doctors mouth and she hurriedly puts her hand to her mouth, a mark of shame.

“What do you think?” Prim snaps, his scream is killing her because all she can imagine is Katniss’s reaction to it, she’d try to wake him up, to comfort him, to reassure him. She picks up her ID card and sticks it into a stop in the door, allowing her access to his room.

“Everdeen, what are you doing,” the female one says.

“Your job apparently,” she says, referring to their lack of help towards his case. It’s a low blow and she knows it. She’s out the door before the doctor can make a comeback.

He looks so vulnerable spread out like this. It’s hard for Prim to believe that this persons killed people. Tried to kill her sister. She used to think of him as the perfect surrogate big brother but now all she sees him as is an obstacle. Something to tackle to get to where she wants to be, happy with her sister. His screams are still persistent and she wonders if Katniss can hear it from the lunch hall. She’s also half amazed at how long he’s able to endure it. She’s not conscious of walking over to his side and shaking one of his arms, managing to catch one mid manic movement.

“Sh, you have to wake up, you can’t be safe until you do,” she whispers like she would to her cat. His eyes flash open, wild and dangerous for just a second.

“You’re safe, I promise,” she continues. His eyes soften immensely and his frantic movements come to an abrupt halt.

“Prim,” he says weakly, looking directly into her eyes that are exactly one shade off of his. She unconsciously stretches her hand out to wipe the hair away from his forehead. He freezes under her touch.

“You’re safe,” she repeats. His voice shakes only slightly as he stammers out,” there’s no such thing as safety.” Prim doesn’t want to guess what she means and hurries off to join her friends and family in the lunch hall, meeting Katniss’s inquisitive eyes with an empty smile.

3.

She’s grown accustomed with his teasing presence. He moved into her house, unable to stay in his a minute longer with the echoing emptiness. He’s with her but not, they sleep in separate rooms. She’s lying awake, afraid to dream once again. She’s beginning to think it’s becoming more of an often occurrence than her actually sleeping. That’s not to say she likes it like that. Sure the nightmares are bad but listening to him suffering through his are worse. She’s long since stopped waking him up in the dead of night because the flash of mutt in his eyes stayed with her all the way into her dreams and there was something uneasy hanging over them at breakfast that following day.

She tries counting sheep but before she knows it, they turn into faces of people that she either killed or had torn apart from her. Prim circles around and around her head joined by Cinna, Finnick, Mags, Boggs, her father, and more than she could count on her fingers. They don’t say or do anything but what really kills her is their smiles. Hopeful, happy. The faces of people who were living their ideal life in the hard fought land. Except she knows they couldn’t because they’re dead. They’re dead and it’s all her fault. They had lives, loved ones but they’re dead. They’re dead and it’s all her fault. Even opening her eyes couldn’t grant her escape from her nightmare. The images still play around in her head and she doesn’t know a way to get them to stop. Prims smiling face turns into an expression of utmost pain and sorrow and it’s too much for Katniss to bare. She wants to wake up, or snap out of it. She isn’t really sure if she fell asleep or not.

Something even more spiked with pain, a scream, cuts through the night. That wakes Katniss up with more fevor than if someone dropped a bomb on her. She sits up and grasps the bed sheets, wildly taking in the still dark room. Her room. So what is making that sound then? It’s not her, she’s checked and besides, her throat would be on fire if it was. She shakily gets to her feet, wrapping her duvet around her shoulders to try and fight against the cold. Though her teeth don’t chatter, he legs shake but maybe not with cold something more like apprehension. The sound is persistent and the closer she gets the more panicked she makes out the sound to be. She knows it’s him but that shocks her. He doesn’t scream. He freezes. He waits. He appears and watches her sleep though the door to give him a small piece of mind. He doesn’t scream. It’s a rule. He doesn’t scream. The words are pronounced with gaps in between in her head.

“Katniss?” She inwardly cringes at that voice, the tone making him sound so close to dying. It’s whispered but clearly painful. She turns on his bedroom light and the first thing she sees is him hiding himself under his cover.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, softly to not startle him. He whips the covers off of him.

His eyes are wide with fear.

“They- you- ow-,” not a word that comes out of his mouth is she able to make sense of. The tears that fall from his eyes make home in his mouth and he begins choking. Katniss moves closer to him, knowing if she doesn’t do something there’s a change he’ll wallow in self pity to death and that’s something she doesn’t want. It is him after all.

“What did you see?” She whispers, stood right by his bedside.

“Ow,” he replies, his eyes are still wild and not honing on a single object, rather the room at large.

“You’re safe,” she murmurs trying to fight the urge to wipe away the hair on his forehead.

“I-“ he tries to say. Katniss shushes him, bringing a finger to her lips. She seems him try to focus on the single object and it seems to take more concentration than it should. His eyebrows are drawn down and there’s a small frown on his face.

“Katniss,” his voice is weak. Very very weak. Clear but still. “Stay with me?” His voice perks up a bit at the end and something resembling hope sparks in his dull eyes.

“Always,” Katniss whispers, unsure wether or not she’s allowed to join him in bed.

“In,” he says, that’s all the invitation she needs. She scrambles round to the other side and slips off her duvet and it falls in a dry lump to the floor. His sheets are cold but he’s warm. So warm. Without even thinking about it, she crawls up next to him. He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him so she’s pressed right up against his side. He’s warm. To warm.

“I’m not leaving you, not again,” she murmurs, the tendrils of sleep already grabbing hold of her brain.

“Please don’t,” he says, fighting back he shake in his voice. ‘I promise I won’t’ is on her lips but she doesn’t get around to saying it. She’s asleep before she gets the chance, lulled by Peetas mere presence, his body against hers and the fatigue that’s been biting at her for the best part of a week. She sleeps and doesn’t wake up until late afternoon when Peetas regained his smile. She smiles at him to. She loves him. She knows it but doesn’t want to except it. Katniss Everdeen loves Peeta Mellark. Girl loves boy after boy has loved girl for oh, so long. The smile she paints on her face isn’t forced at all, the fact alone makes her happy. With a life she can build with Peeta she can be happy, he can be happy, they can be happy. Be the teenagers they were never allowed to be.