I never thought I'd be so relieved to step foot in our ninth floor apartment. Finishing up the few remaining hours of training after my fight with the boy from District 1 was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. All the other Careers kept flashing me knowing smirks or intimidating smiles. The quieter tributes avoided me as best as they could. Apparently I've already earned a reputation with everyone, and it's not one I'd been hoping to achieve.
Cas and I get ourselves cleaned up before we eat with the rest of our team, and I'll admit I'm dreading this evening's conversation. Who knows if they heard what went on today? They might know nothing at all, but guilt and fear have been gnawing on my insides for hours on end. I wish I could go back in time and prevent any of that from ever happening, but I can't, and now I have to live with the consequences.
At least the food is amazing tonight. Roasted duck, ham, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a very tempting apple pie for dessert. Maybe I can drown my sorrows in food. Maybe that will make me feel better.
Crowley and Meg join us at the table again. For a while, no one speaks. The sounds of cutlery clinking against our plates is the only thing keeping the silence from becoming unbearable. Perhaps I'll be able to leave when I'm done without having to explain what happened earlier.
I spoke too soon. Rowena smiles, draws a breath, and asks, "So how was your first day of training?"
Cas spares me a nervous glance. We might be able to skirt around the subject of the fight if we're careful. I wouldn't put it past Rowena to skin me alive if she finds out what I did.
"It was good," I reply, hoping nobody notices the slight tremor in my voice. "We learned how to start a fire and make some basic snare traps."
"Anything else?" Bobby inquires, his unreadable stare fixated on me and me alone. His tone is dangerously steady.
He knows. He must know.
I try to brush it off and play it cool. He hasn't said anything about it yet. "Cas passed the edible plants and insects quiz with flying colors."
Rowena seems pleased with our accomplishments. She gives us a dainty clap and tells us to keep up the great work, all the while our two stylists simply nod in agreement. Bobby is the only one who's acting skeptical, and I'm afraid he's going to blurt it out any second now. I don't like the glint in his eyes.
Relief floods through me, though, when our mentor finally nods his head and returns his attention to his plate of food. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe I panicked over nothing, and—
"I heard you got into a fight today, Dean."
No, I definitely panicked over something. Fantastic.
With the appalled expression on Rowena's face, you'd think I murdered her dog and left it to rot in her backyard. Bobby is back to staring at me with that frustratingly indecipherable face. Cas has stiffened, shrinking down into his shoulders as suffocating silence falls over the table. Part of me almost thinks Crowley and Meg look impressed but are keeping their expressions neutral to avoid a scolding. I see my new reputation has not been limited to the training gymnasium, but has indeed followed me up to the safety of our apartment. Wonderful.
Everyone is silent, staring, waiting for an answer or explanation from me. I can't help but feel like I'm on trial.
"The other boy started it," I mutter. I hope no one can hear my heart beating out of my chest. "He was pushing Cas around, and it just made me mad."
I see Cas looking at me out of the corner of his eye. We still haven't discussed what happened at length.
"Young man, I cannot believe you got into a fight on your first day of training!" Rowena rebukes.
"And with a boy from District One," Bobby adds with a raised eyebrow. Great, what doesn't he know about the whole ordeal?
"He was from District One?!"
"Guys," I intervene, desperate to stop this train from derailing any further. "It's not a big deal. The guards separated us before anything really happened. It's fine."
Rowena opens her mouth to object, but Bobby raises his hand to tell her to drop it. I'm surprised. I thought for sure he'd be scolding me, too, especially considering the reproachful tone in his voice, but maybe not. Maybe he doesn't mind as much as his attitude is portraying.
"So did you find anything else you're good at other than making dangerous enemies?" he asks after a beat, his stare seeming to pierce right through me.
I'm losing the energy to speak as the paralyzing guilt begins to consume me yet again, and Cas seems to notice. He takes a deep breath and answers the question for me. "Not really. Nothing too special."
"Well, you'd better get cracking," Bobby says. "In a couple of days, you'll have your private sessions with the Gamemakers. That's where they'll give you a score based on the skill you present to them. I'm sure you probably know by now, but better scores mean more sponsors."
The two of us nod without a word. We know how the private sessions and scoring system work after years of being subjected to watch the Hunger Games on TV. That doesn't make it any easier to figure out what we're going to do about it.
"And I don't mean to scare you boys, either," Bobby goes on, "but the less sponsors you have, the less likely you are to survive, especially now that the Careers have your scent. They're deadly kids. They won't hesitate to kill on sight."
My blood runs ice cold. Next to me, the color drains from Cas' face. He's trying his hardest to hide it, but his lip is starting to quiver. I know what that means.
"Bobby, don't say things like that!" Rowena hisses before I have a chance to speak. "You're supposed to mentor them, not scare them half to death!"
"I'm just stating the facts," Bobby says. "Would you rather have me sugarcoat it? This isn't a magical realm where there's always a happy ending. This is about life and death. I'm just telling it like it is."
All conversation skids to an abrupt halt when the sound of a chair scraping across the floor echoes in the air, and Cas rises to his feet. His expression is vacant, but in the light of the chandelier, I see that his eyes are brimming with tears.
"I'm not very hungry," is all he murmurs before he disappears down the hallway and into his room. The closing of his door makes my heart ache.
If looks could kill, Bobby would be dead four times over. I glare at him. Rowena glares at him. Even Crowley and Meg glare at him, because it's obvious Cas didn't just get full out of nowhere. He barely touched his food. The anger I felt earlier is beginning to trickle back into my veins, and it's making my hands shake.
"You don't have to sugarcoat everything, Bobby," I snap as I stand, "but it wouldn't kill you to be a little more sympathetic from time to time."
No one objects as I leave the table and venture down the hall toward Cas' closed door.
I don't hear anything coming from the inside of his room. I want to go in and check on him, to make sure he's okay, but would that be stepping over a boundary? He might want to be alone. It's his room, and he shut the door. He looked distraught before he left, though, and I don't want him to be alone if he's dealing with something like that. It doesn't hurt to try.
"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.
"I know." I have to let go of a shaky sigh before it builds up in my chest any more. "But you're brave for sticking with it. I hope you know that. You haven't given up, and I'm not gonna leave you hanging, either. We're in this together."
I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him for everything he's done here in the Capitol, especially after the horrible and tragic incident with his older brother, but I can't quite find the words to articulate it. I wish I could.
I'm surprised when Cas suddenly lets out a feeble chuckle. "That's part of the problem," he says, and when I give him a puzzled frown, he elaborates. "Listen, Dean, I really appreciate you wanting to protect and look out for me. Trust me, I really do, but if I could stand up for myself, you wouldn't have to. If I could stand up for myself, maybe the Careers wouldn't look at us like meals. Maybe we wouldn't be viewed as such easy targets. Maybe we would have a better chance in this thing if I wasn't such a baby."
His words are like a punch to the gut. "Cas—"
He doesn't stop. "Both of us know you're the one who's more likely to make it out of here, and your chances would be even better if you didn't have to worry about me. I don't know why, but I'm your weak spot, Dean, and it's causing more trouble than it's worth. I'm putting you in danger because you're trying to look out for me, someone who doesn't even have a snowball's chance at making it through the first day."
"That's not true." I'm starting to lose control of my own voice. Everything he says only shatters my spirits more and more. "None of that is true."
He doesn't seem to hear me, or even notice me, for that matter. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing a stream of tears to slide down his flushed face, and struggles to take in a breath. "I wish there wasn't a force field on the roof."
My heart stops working. Time seems to slow to a painful standstill. I don't want to believe what I'm hearing. I can't. It's too much. Is he really hurting that badly?
"Cas, don't say things like that." Now I'm the one who's barely audible. Each word gets caught in my tight throat. It stings, and it makes tears burn in my own eyes.
Why didn't he tell me before?
I reach for his hand, but he stands before I have the chance. "I'm sorry," he whimpers, silently shuffling toward the spotless window. "I didn't mean it. I'm just so scared, and I don't know what to do."
With his back to me, he's nothing but a silhouette, outlined by the vivid colors of the city. I can see his shoulders wavering with suppressed sobs. I want to do something, anything, to ease his misery, but what could I possibly say in a moment like this? He has every right to feel the way he does. Twenty-two other tributes are plotting our demise as we speak. His brother was murdered in the exact same competition we're training to participate in. It's morbid, absolutely macabre, but knowing the true depths of his suffering hurts more than I could ever imagine.
I don't know what to say. Nothing comes to mind. So instead of speaking, I join him at the window. Without a word, I clasp his shoulder, turn him around, and gently pull him into my arms.
He's tense at first, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise, but when I tighten my arms around his shuddering body, he starts to relax. He melts all of his weight into my chest. He releases a trembling sigh and burrows deeper into my shoulder. His fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt with a grip so secure I think he might never let go.
He's warm. I can feel the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. His soft hair is tickling my neck. And he still smells like vanilla.
I don't want to let go, either.
I'm not sure how long we stand there, locked in that reposeful embrace while the city gleams behind us, but it doesn't matter. The tension dissipates from my stiff joints, loosens the pressure in my chest, as Cas holds onto me like his life depends on it, and I hold onto him, wishing and praying for all of our problems and turmoils to go away. I know the world doesn't work like that, though, so I'll settle for this. I'd say it's second-best.
Slowly, his breathing steadies and returns to a normal pattern. His tremoring ceases. His strong grip on my shirt relaxes, but not his grip on me. He's still clinging to me like a koala, and I can't help but smile at the thought of it.
"Better?" I ask him. I know I am.
I feel him nod against my shoulder. "Much," he says softly. The vibrations from his voice make my skin prickle with goosebumps. "I swear, you're too nice to me. I don't know how you put up with all of my meltdowns."
"I'm not putting up with anything," I say. "You could have a thousand meltdowns, and I'd still be there every time to make you feel better. That's what friends are for."
Cas breathes out a faint laugh. "Oh, so we've reached that stage already?"
"Of course. Why not? You're a good person, Cas. I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else but you."
And I mean it, too, no matter how odd it may sound. We've only known each other for a few days, but to me, they've seemed like years. The two of us have already been through so much that it's impossible to not feel like close friends already. I trust him. I admire his bravery for facing this after what happened to his brother. I admire his kindness, his soft-spoken demeanor. He might not believe it, but he's exactly the type of person I want to have by my side through this whole ordeal, and I can only hope I'm being that person for him.
Even though I can't see him, I can feel him smile, can feel his body shiver with a gentle sigh. "I'm glad you're here, too," he murmurs against my shirt.
A twinge of disappointment shoots through me when Cas finally releases me and takes a step back, but I try to brush it off. I still feel the ghost of his warm, comforting touch on my back, on my shoulder, and it makes another wave of goosebumps dance along my skin.
"I wanna try the weapon stations tomorrow," he declares so abruptly that it almost knocks me off balance. I must have a dumbfounded look on my face because he continues within moments. "I don't want to be the scared one anymore. If I learn how some of that stuff works, maybe I won't be so freaked out. Maybe the Careers won't look at us like we're wounded animals, you know? Besides, Bobby said we need to figure out what skill we're presenting in our private sessions. I don't think I'll get a very good score for showing off my memorization skills."
He brings up a decent point. The Gamemakers care about one thing and one thing only, and that's how deadly you are. Being quick or smart or crafty means nothing. If you can't throw knives perfectly or excel in brutal hand-to-hand combat, you won't get a good score. It's all about putting on an entertaining show with them.
But he also brings up a decent point about learning how the weapons work. I'll admit that I was afraid of working in the fields and handling sharp sickles the very first time I started, but once I learned how they functioned, my fears shrank, and I grew more confident with them over time. If Cas and I check out and work with the different weapons in the gymnasium tomorrow, we might get used to them and conquer the anxieties they bring. That, in turn, could ease some of his distress about everything, and that alone is enough to convince me.
"If you want to," I tell him. "I don't want you to force yourself if you don't feel like it, though."
He shakes his head. "No, I want to. I don't want to put all the pressure of keeping us safe on you. I want to help. I'm still gonna be scared, of course, but you'll be there with me. That'll make it easier."
It's such a simple statement, but it warms my heart and makes me smile like never before. He trusts me enough that my mere presence calms his nerves. I don't know what to say.
So I don't say anything. A bright smile still lights up my face as I pull him in for another hug, this one much briefer but still pleasantly uplifting. He laughs at the sudden movement, and I can't help but laugh, too.
Our plan is set. We're going to start off the day with a refresher of the stations we visited today and then slowly work our way up to the weapons. I'm not sure which ones we'll visit for sure, but I suppose that's something we can figure out when we're in the gymnasium. I have faith that we'll find what's best for us. We work well together, and I couldn't be happier about it.
It's getting late, and it's been an excruciatingly long and exhausting day. We're going to need all the rest we can get if we're going to make it through two more days of intense training, and that doesn't even include the private sessions. Just thinking about that is a taxing challenge in itself.
As I make my way to the door to return to my own room for the night, Cas speaks up just as my hand touches the handle. "Hey, Dean?"
I turn around, meeting his wide bright blue eyes. He's absentmindedly picking at his fingernails again.
"I, uh..." He pauses, looking as if he has a hundred things to say but is stumbling over what he wants to spit out. Finally, he shakes his head, a feeble smile tugging at his lips. "Never mind. Just...thanks. For everything."
I return his smile in a heartbeat. "Don't mention it. I'm here for you."
But I can't help but wonder what he wanted to say as I burrow under my blankets and try with all my might to fall asleep before dawn breaks.