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"No!" (M/N) cried as he sprung forward. It was too late to stop the arm from descending, and he instinctively knew he wouldn't have the power to block it. Instead he threw himself directly between the whip and Shoto. He'd flung out his arms to protect as much of Shoto's broken body as possible, so there was nothing to deflect the lash. (M/N) took the full force of it across the left side of his face.
The pain was blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light crossed his vision and he fell to his knees. One hand cupped his cheek while the other kept him from tipping over. (M/N) could already feel the welt rising up, the swelling closing his eye. The stones beneath him were wet with Shoto's blood, the air heavy with its scent. "Stop! You'll kill him!" (M/N) shouted.
(M/N) got a glimpse of his assailant's face. Hard, with deep lines and a cruel mouth. The powerful arm lifted again, his sights set on (M/N). (M/N)'s hand flew to his shoulder, hungry for an arrow, but, of course, his weapons were stashed in the woods. He grit his teeth in anticipation of the next lash.
"Hold it!" a voice barked. Shota appeared and pulled (M/N) to his feet roughly. "Oh excellent." His hand locked under (M/N)'s chin, lifting it. "He's got a photo shoot next week modelling wedding outfits. What am I supposed to tell his stylist?"
A flicker of recognition passed through the eyes of the man with the whip. Bundled against the cold, (M/N)'s face free of make-up, it wouldn't be easy to identify him as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half his face swelling up. But Shota had been showing up on television for years, he'd be difficult to forget.
The man rested the whip on his hip. "He interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal."
Everything about the man, his commanding voice, his odd accent, warned of an unknown and dangerous threat. Where had he come from? District 11? Three? From the Capitol itself?
"I don't care if he blew up the damn Justice Building. Look at his cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" Shota snarled.
The man's voice was still cold, but (M/N) could detect a slight edge of doubt. "That's not my problem."
"No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first call I make when I get home is to the Capitol," Shota said. "Find out who authorised you to mess up his face!"
"He was poaching. What business is it of his, anyway?" said the man.
"He's his cousin." Katsuki had (M/N)'s other arm now, but gently. "And this is my fiance. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us."
They were probably the only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it was sure to be temporary. There would be repercussions. But at that moment, all (M/N) cared about was keeping Shoto alive. The new Head Peacekeeper glanced over at his back-up squad. With relief, (M/N) could see they were familiar faces, old friends from the Hob. He could tell by their expressions that they weren't enjoying the show.
The first one stepped forward stiffly. "I believe, for a first offence, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out the firing squad."
"Is that the standard protocol here?" asked the Head Peacekeeper.
"Yes, sir," the Peacekeeper responded. Several others gave a nod in agreement. (M/N) was sure none of them actually knew because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey was for everybody to bid on the drumsticks.
"Very well. Get your cousin out of here, then, boy. And if he comes to, remind him that the next time he poaches off the Capitol's land, I'll assemble that firing squad personally." The Head Peacekeeper wiped his hand along the length of the whip, splattering them with blood. Then he coiled it into quick, neat loops and walked off.
Most of the other Peacekeepers fell into an awkward formation behind him and followed. When they looked at (M/N), he mouthed a quick "thank you", and then they were gone.
"Shoto." (M/N) turned, his hands fumbling at the knots binding his wrists. Someone passed forward a knife and Katsuki cut the ropes. Shoto collapsed to the ground.
"Better get him to your mother," Shota said.
There was no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sold them the board that served as her countertop. "Just don't tell where you got it," she said, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square had emptied, fear of getting the better of compassion. But after what just happened, (M/N) couldn't blame anyone.
By the time they had laid Shoto face down on the board, there were only a handful of people left to carry him. Shota, Katsuki and a couple of miners who worked on the same crew as Shoto lifted him up.
A girl who lived a few houses down from (M/N)'s in the Seam, took his arm. His mother kept her little brother alive the previous year. "Need help getting back?" Her eyes were scared but determined.
"No, but can you get Rei? Send her over?" (M/N) asked.
"Yeah," she said, and then she left. (M/N) grabbed Shoto's jacket and hurried after the others.
"Get some snow on that," Shota ordered over his shoulders. (M/N) scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it against his cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. His left eye was tearing heavily now, and in the dimming light it was all he could do to follow the boots in front of him.
As they walked (M/N) heard two of Shoto's crewmates piece together the story of what happened. Shoto must have gone to the old Head Peacekeeper's house, knowing that he always paid well for a wild turkey. But instead he would've found the new Head Peacekeeper. No one knows what happened to the old one. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning, apparently still in command of the district, but now he was nowhere to be found. The Head Peacekeeper put Shoto under immediate arrest and, of course, since he was standing there holding a dead turkey, there was little Shoto could say in his own defence.
Word of his predicament spread quickly. He was brought to the square, forced to plead guilty to his crime, and sentenced to a whipping to be carried out immediately. By the time (M/N) showed up, he'd already been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty.
"Lucky he only had the turkey on him," Shoto's crewmate said. "If he'd had his usual haul, it would've been much worse."
"He told the new Head that he found it wandering around the Seam. Said it got over the fence and he'd stabbed it with a stick. Still a crime. But if they'd known he'd been in the woods with weapons, they'd have killed him for sure," another crewmate said.
Snow began to fall, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. (M/N) stumbled up the walk to his house behind the others, using his ears more than his eyes to guide him. A golden light coloured the snow as the door opened. (M/N)'s mother, who was no doubt waiting for him after a long day of unexplained absence, took in the scene.
"New Head," Shota said, and she gave him a curt nod as if no other explanation was needed.
(M/N) was filled with awe, as he always was, as he watched his mother transform from a woman who called him to kill a spider to a woman immune to fear. When a sick or dying person was brought to her... that was the only time (M/N) thought his mother knew who she was.
In moments, the kitchen table had been cleared, a sterile white cloth spread across it, and Shoto was hoisted onto it. (M/N)'s mother poured water from a kettle into a basin while ordering Eri to pull a series of her remedies from the medicine cabinet. Dried herbs and tinctures and store-bought bottles. (M/N) watched her hands, the long, tapered fingers crumbling this, adding drops of that, into the basin. Soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she gave Eri instructions to prepare a second brew.
(M/N)'s mother glanced his way. "Did you cut your eye?"
"No, it's just swelled shut," (M/N) said.
"Get more snow on it," she instructed. But he clearly wasn't a priority.
"Can you save him?" (M/N) asked his mother. She said nothing as she wrung out the cloth and held it in the air to cool.
"Don't worry," Shota said. "Used to be a lot of whippings before the old Head. She's the one we took them to."
(M/N) couldn't remember a time before the old Head Peacekeeper, a time where there was a Head Peacekeeper who used to whip freely. But his mother must have been around his age and still working at the apothecary shop with her parents. Even back then, she must have had healer's hands.
Ever so gently, she began to clean the mutilated flesh on Shoto's back. (M/N) felt sick to his stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from his glove into a puddle on the floor. Katsuki put him in a chair and held a cloth filled with fresh snow to his cheek.
Shota told the miners to head home, and (M/N) saw him press coins into their hands before they left. "Don't know what will happen with your crew," he said. They gave a nod and accepted the money.
Rei arrived, breathless and flushed, fresh snow in her hair. Wordlessly, she sat on a stool next to the table, took Shoto's hand, and held it against her lips. (M/N)'s mother didn't even acknowledge her. She had gone into that special zone that included only herself and the patient and occasionally Eri. Everyone else could wait.
Even in her expert hands, it took a long time to clean the wounds, arrange what shredded skin could be saved, apply a salve and a light bandage. As the blood cleared, (M/N) could see where every stroke of the lash landed and felt it resonate in the single cut on his face. He multiplied his own pain once, twice, forty times and could only hope that Shoto remained unconscious.
Of course, that was too much to ask for. As the final bandages were being placed, a moan escaped his lips. Rei stroked his hair and whispered something while (M/N)'s mother and Eri went through their meagre store of painkillers, the kind usually accessible only to doctors. They were hard to come by, expensive and always in demand. (M/N)'s mother had to save the strongest for the worst pain, but what was the worst pain? To (M/N), it was always the pain that was present. If he were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because he had so little ability to watch suffering. His mother tried to save them for those who were actually in the process of dying, to ease them out of the world.
Since Shoto was regaining consciousness, they decided on a herbal concoction he could take by mouth. "That won't be enough," (M/N) said. They stared at him. "That won't be enough, I know how it feels. That will barely knock out a headache."
"We'll combine it with sleep syrup, (M/N), and he'll manage it. The herbs are more for the inflammation-" his mother began calmly.
"Just give him the medicine!" (M/N) shouted at her. "Give it to him! Who are you, anyway, to decide how much pain he can stand!"
Shoto began stirring at his voice, trying to reach him. The movement caused fresh blood to stain his bandages and an agonised sound to come from his mouth.
"Take him out," (M/N)'s mother said. Shota and Katsuki literally carried (M/N) from the room while he shouted at her. They pinned him down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until he stopped fighting.
While he laid there, sobbing, tears trying to squeeze out of the slit of his eye, he heard Katsuki whisper to Shota about President Nezu, about the uprising in District 8. "He wants us all to run," Katsuki said, but if Shota had an opinion on the matter, he didn't offer it.
After a while, (M/N)'s mother came in and treated his face. Then she held his hand, stroking his arm, while Shota filled her in on what happened to Shoto.
"So it's starting again?" she said. "Like before?"
"By the looks of it," Shota answered.
(M/N) didn't know exactly what his mother meant by things starting again, but he was too angry and hurt to ask. It registered, though, the idea of worse times returning, because when the doorbell rang, (M/N) shot straight out of bed. Who would be at their door at this hour of the night? There was only one answer. Peacekeepers.
"They can't have him," (M/N) said.
"Might be you they're after," Shota reminded him.
"Or you," (M/N) said.
"Not my house," Shota pointed out. "But I'll get the door."
"No, I'll get it," (M/N)'s mother said quietly.
They all went, though, following her down the hallway to the insistent ring of the bell. When she opened it, there wasn't a squad of Peacekeepers, only a single, snow-caked figure. (M/N) quickly recognised her as the Mayor's daughter, who he had spoken to a fair few times. She held out a small, damp cardboard box to (M/N).
"Use these for your friend," she said. (M/N) took off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. "They're my mother's. She said I could take them. Use them, please." She ran back into the storm before they could stop her.
"Crazy girl," Shota muttered as they followed (M/N)'s mother into the kitchen.
Whatever his mother had given Shoto, (M/N) was right, it wasn't enough. His teeth were pressed together and his flesh shone with sweat. (M/N)'s mother filled a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shot it into his arm. Almost immediately, his face began to relax.
"What is that stuff?" asked Katsuki.
"It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," (M/N)'s mother answered.
"I didn't even know the Mayor's daughter knew Shoto," Katsuki said.
"We used to sell her strawberries," (M/N) said almost angrily. He didn't know what he was angry about, though. Definitely not angry that she brought the medicine, surely.
"She must have quite a taste for them," said Shota.
That's what bothered (M/N). It was the implication that there was something going on between her and Shoto. And he didn't like it.
"She's my friend," is all (M/N) said.
Now that Shoto had drifted away on the painkiller, everyone seemed to deflate. Eri made each of them eat some stew and bread. A room was offered to Rei, but she had to go home to the others. Shota and Katsuki were both willing to stay, but (M/N)'s mother sent them home as well. She knew it was pointless to try this with (M/N) and left him to tend Shoto while she and Eri rested.
Alone in the kitchen with Shoto, (M/N) sat on Rei's stool, holding his hand. After a while, (M/N)'s fingers found his face. He touched parts of him he never had cause to touch before. His eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, the line on his nose, the burn on his face, the hollow at the base of his neck, before finally working his way to his lips. Soft and full, slightly chapped. His breath warmed (M/N)'s chilled skin.
(M/N) wondered if everyone looked younger asleep. Because right now Shoto looked like the boy he ran into in the woods years ago, the one who accused him of stealing from his traps. What a pair they were - frightened, but fiercely committed, to keeping their families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because they'd found each other.
(M/N) thought of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day he brought Shoto to swim, that time (M/N) twisted his knee and Shoto carried him home. Mutually counting on each other, watching each other's backs, forcing each other to be brave.
For the first time, (M/N) reversed their positions in his head. He imagined watching Shoto get chosen for the reaping, having the male torn away from his life, becoming some stranger's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with them. Living next to them. Promising to marry them.
The hatred (M/N) felt for him, for the phantom lover, for everything, was so real and immediate that it choked him. Shoto was his. He was Shoto's. Anything else was unthinkable. Why did it take Shoto being whipped an inch of his life for (M/N) to see it?
Because he was selfish. A coward. (M/N) was the kind of guy who, when he might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This was the boy Shoto met in the woods today.
No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does.
There was a small voice in the back of his head telling him he saved Katsuki. A feeble attempt to make him feel better. But (M/N) knew good and well that his life back in District 12 would be unlivable if he let that boy die.
(M/N) rested his head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for himself. Wishing he had died in the arena. Wishing the Head Gamemaker had blown him to bits the way President Nezu said he should have when (M/N) held out the berries.
The berries. (M/N) realised the answer to who he was laid in that handful of poisonous fruit. If he held them out to save Katsuki because (M/N) knew he would be shunned if he came back without him, then he was despicable. If he held them out because he loved the blonde, he was still self-centred, although forgivable. But if he held them out to defy the Capitol, he was someone of worth. The trouble was, (M/N) didn't know exactly what was going on inside him at that moment.
(M/N) began to question things. He wondered if the people in the districts were right. That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, (M/N) must have known it wouldn't be enough to keep himself, or his family, or his friends alive by running away. Even if he could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Shoto was today.
Life in District 12 wasn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, one would have to stop running and face whoever it was that wanted them dead. The hard thing was finding the courage to do it. Well, it wasn't hard for Shoto. He was born a rebel. (M/N) was the one making an escape plan.
"I'm sorry," (M/N) whispered. He leaned forward and kissed Shoto.
His eyes fluttered open and he looked at (M/N) through a drug induced haze. "Hey, (M/N)."
"Hey, Shoto," (M/N) said.
"Thought you'd be gone by now," Shoto said.
(M/N)'s choices were simple. He could die in the woods or he could die here beside Shoto. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble."
"Me, too," Shoto said. He just managed a tiny smile before the drugs pulled him back under.
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