Promises of a Sacrificial Lamb |Destiel x The Hunger Games|

-11-

"Cas?"  I raise my fist to knock on the door, softly.  "Are you okay?"

No answer.  I knock again.

"Can I come in?  I just want to make sure you're all right."

I barely hear his faint voice saying something.  It's muffled by the door.  It doesn't sound angry, so I assume it's okay for me to come in.  I suppose I'll find out soon enough.

It's dark and cold in his room.  The only lights are coming from the wall of glass as the nighttime city gleams and glows through the window.  Cas is sitting on a small velvet sofa that overlooks the skyline, his sorrowful face illuminated by the gold and blue and pink hues of the vibrant city.  His arms are tightly wrapped around his abdomen, and he doesn't even seem to notice me as I step inside and close the door behind me.

"It's my fault,"  he mumbles, so quiet it's almost inaudible.

"What do you mean?"  I ask with a frown.  My footsteps seem like thunderclaps in the silence of the room as I move to sit beside him.  "What's your fault?"

"The fight,"  he says.  He doesn't take his blank gaze away from the cityscape outside.  "It's my fault.  If I would've stuck up for myself, you wouldn't have had to intervene.  Now that boy wants to kill us, and he's going to.  It's my fault."

His words sting like lemon juice in an open wound.  Does he really believe that all of this is his fault?  That because he was rightfully afraid to stand up to a strong and aggressive Career tribute, it's his fault we're targets now?  Far from it.  None of this is his fault, and it pains me to hear that he thinks so.

"It's not your fault, Cas,"  I tell him, and I genuinely mean it, too.  "I don't think it's anybody's fault except his.  That boy seemed to have it out for us long before what happened in the gymnasium.  Remember lunch?  He was the one looking to start a fight, not us.  Don't blame yourself.  You did nothing wrong."

The tears in Cas' eyes almost appear violet from the city lights as he turns to look at me.  He only holds my gaze for a fleeting moment, for the very second one of the tears spills down his cheek, he turns away and fixes his attention on the floor beneath us.

"You said you stepped in because you were mad,"  he says in between unsteady breaths.  "Why?  You could've gotten hurt."

"And what, I was just supposed to stand by and let him hurt you instead?  He was harassing you for no reason, and it made me angry.  I had to step in."

A faint smile tugs at his quivering lips, but it fades almost as soon as it appears.  "Thank you,"  he murmurs; he cuts me off before I have a chance to say anything else.  "But I don't want to be the weakling anymore.  Everyone knows I'm the weak one, the one who cries at the drop of a hat and can't sleep at night because he's so scared of everything that's happening.  I don't want to be that person anymore, but I can't stop.  I don't know how.  I don't know anything other than how terrified I am.  That District One boy saw it.  That's why he's going after us, and everyone else will, too.  I just know it."

His voice is starting to break, and it's squeezing all the air out of my lungs, clutching my aching heart with icy fingers.  "You're not weak, Cas.  We're being pitted against twenty-two other kids in a televised fight.  It's normal to be scared.  I am, too.  You're not weak for admitting that, and you're not weak for crying, either.  None of this is morally right in the slightest, and honestly, I'd say you're handling it pretty well considering what happened to you in the past."

At this, he glances back up, violet tears glistening in the light.  This time, he doesn't turn away when another trickles down his cheek.  "I still can't believe this is happening,"  he whispers, shaking his head and tightening his arms around his abdomen.