It's still just barely past dawn when I leave the hollow and get my bearings. Golden rays of the rising sun pierce through the canopy and awaken the rainforest around me, bringing forward a new day. If I'm quick, maybe I can beat some of the other tributes to the Cornucopia and get the supplies I need before they arrive. It's early. It's possible that most of them were still sleeping or far away from the glade the Games first began in when Claudius made his announcement. With that in mind to fuel my determination, I start speed walking.
Journeying into the unknown, potentially certain doom, brings a slew of thoughts to mind. I wonder how excited and eager the people of the Capitol are about the restocking of the Cornucopia. Usually I think scenarios like these are called feasts, big events that are sure to lure in the tributes who are desperate for life-saving supplies. I suppose I'm one of those desperate tributes, aren't I? Here I am, well aware that I'm waltzing straight into a trap that will undoubtedly end with bloodshed so I can save my district partner. I just hope it won't be my blood that gets spilled.
Then my mind wanders away from the twisted Capitol citizens and focuses on home. Whenever feasts happen, almost everyone gathers in the square to watch, especially if their own tributes are still alive. I wonder if the people of District 9 are gathering there now, watching in fear and apprehension as I make my way to the Cornucopia in search of that vital antivenom. Is my family there, surrounded by the support of the rest of the district? Charlie, too? What about Cas' family? I can't even imagine what they must be going through right now. So much rests on this one feast. My life, Cas' life. Whatever happens in that glade is going to decide whether or not District 9 has a shot at obtaining new victors.
But no pressure or anything, right?
It's a futile task to ignore my own worries about everything that could go sideways out there. Instead I let the terrible thoughts come and go, try to redirect my anxious attention to the peaceful rainforest around me. I haven't traveled by myself since the beginning of the Games. It feels wrong without Cas by my side, with only a switchblade and my own inner voice to keep me company. I hope he'll be okay in the hollow while I'm out. It hardly looks like a hollow from the outside, so I'm relying on the fact that no one will stumble across it and find him when he's weak and unable to defend himself. I'll just make sure to get the antivenom and return as fast as I can.
Thinking about him makes another confusing burst of warmth trickle through my body. He said he liked me, more than a friend. I think about all the times I caught him looking at me, all the embraces where he held onto me like he never wanted to let me go. And the way he dodged Caesar Flickerman's question about if he had feelings for any of the tributes. I was probably the answer. I suppose I had an inkling, deep down in my subconscious, that there was something more to the glint in his eyes whenever we exchanged smiles, spent time together, but nothing could've prepared me to hear those intimate words come directly from him in such a grave moment.
And how do I feel about him? Truth is, I'm not entirely sure, and trying to piece together my jumbled and messy emotions only confuses me more. I've caught him staring and felt something in return, but I don't know what. I feel safer than ever whenever our arms are wrapped around each other, but maybe I just trust him with my life. I enjoy his company and adore all the conversations we have, but maybe his personality is just compatible with mine. He's kind. He's caring. He's reliable, funny, shy, endearing.
He's attractive, too.
I don't know what to think anymore. That warmth in my chest is only growing, overwhelming me and my muddled feelings. I don't know if it's just a deep caring for someone I trust, another piece of my home here with me in this nightmare, or if it's something more. I'm skeptical to call it love because I've never experienced such a thing. Not in the romantic sense, anyway. I've only ever known familial love, and what I'm feeling right now certainly isn't that. It's different. Scarier, more perplexing, but also more electrifying. I'm not quite sure what it is, and I've only ever felt it when we've touched, locked eyes, been in close proximity.
Do I like him, too?
I reach the line of foliage that separates the rainforest from the open glade where the Cornucopia resides, and everything gets pushed from my mind, everything except the task that lies ahead of me. I duck down behind a dense fern, the blood roaring in my ears as I carefully scan the clearing. It doesn't look like anyone is around. Not a single soul. All I can hear is the gurgling of the nearby stream and the birds chirping high up in the trees. Has no one else come to claim the loot that's practically spilling out of the golden horn? Surely I can't be the only one here, the only one interested by Claudius' announcement. This seems too simple, too easy.
I stay hidden in the foliage for a moment longer, trying to formulate a plan in my racing mind. There could be other tributes all around me, concealed by the shrubbery like I am, all of us waiting for the other to make the first move and dart out into the glade to retrieve the supplies. Or, I could be alone. It's impossible to tell, and the uncertainty only worsens my growing terror.
There are silver trunks and boxes and containers piled deep into the mouth of the Cornucopia. One of them has to hold that precious antivenom. It doesn't look like any of them are marked, though, so I'll have to do some rummaging, and quickly.
Is there seriously no one else here? It can't be that straightforward. Where's the entertainment in that? I mean, it's fantastic for me, but maybe the Gamemakers really overestimated the needs of the rest of the tributes. Maybe I'm the only one who's desperate right now.
Still, I can't swallow the fear swelling inside of me. Anything could happen once I leave the safety of the foliage. Anything. But I know I can't back down, no matter how terrified I am. If I don't get that medicine, Cas is going to die. Plain and simple. And I can't die out there, either. I'm his last hope. If I die, he dies, and I can't let that happen. I made a promise. I have to get that medicine and stay alive for his sake.
Which means I have to venture out into the open and forage the Cornucopia, the place where so many tributes meet their ends.
With a trembling breath, I reach up and hold the little rectangular locket hanging from my neck. It's still pleasantly cool to the touch. I think of the people pictured inside, the people who care about me and are counting on me to make it out of this situation alive. They believe in me, and I have to believe in myself, too.
I tuck the switchblade into the lower pocket on my right leg. The sound of my boots hitting the rocky ground echoes in my ringing ears as I hasten to the mouth of the Cornucopia. It's so quiet and desolate now, not like the very first day when the ghastly bloodbath occurred. But there isn't a speck of blood, a single trace as to what happened here just shy of a week ago, and it takes every last bit of power I have to push the images of what I saw out of my head. That's not my main focus now. Getting the antivenom is all that matters.
The first trunk I pry open is full of food. Helpful, but not my objective. The next two are teeming with shelter kits, tools to build tents and make fires. I toss those aside and keep searching. There's a small container lying on the ground that looks promising, but when I open it, it's just soup. I won't lie and say I didn't take a sip before closing the container and discarding it.
I'm starting to get frustrated and panicky. I've been here for too long. Someone is bound to come running soon, and I still haven't found a container of medicine. Not even something as simple as painkillers, let alone the antivenom I specifically came here for. Dread courses through me when I think about the possibility of the Gamemakers and Claudius lying to get me to come here and encounter another tribute, but the next container I open up holds a bottle of pills. Now I find the painkillers. So where's that antivenom?
I don't get a chance to keep looking. I'm just popping open the locks to another trunk when I feel the knife press against my throat.
"Hey there, best friend."
My blood chills to ice. I can't move, can't breathe, but I don't even need to see the owner of the knife to know who that cold voice belongs to.
A rough hand seizes my shoulder and whips me around. I come face-to-face with none other than Cresh. I don't even have time to process my terror before he sends his fist flying across my jaw.
Pain shoots through my bones, rattles inside my skull as I stumble backwards. The taste of blood fills my mouth. I see him stalking toward me again. I try to lift my arms in a feeble attempt to block his attack, but he just plants his foot right on my stomach and kicks me back so hard that it knocks all the air out of my lungs. I can't suppress a yelp when I collide with a pile of metal containers and tumble to the ground, taking them with me.
"Man, I feel like it's been forever since I've seen you!" Cresh chuckles. He's coming back, tossing the fallen containers aside to reach me. I don't have time to think. I grab one with shaking hands and hurl it at his chest, try to scramble away before he can get me and hurt me and kill me like he's wanted to since the beginning.
It doesn't work. Unbridled panic surges through me when Cresh snatches the fabric of my shirt and yanks me to my feet. He slams me against the hard wall of the Cornucopia, pins me to it with his powerful arms. The back of my head ricochets off the metal, sends a wave of unbearable agony through my skull, makes my vision spin. My eyes barely have a second to focus before another punch lands on my nose.
More pain, and a sickening crunch. Hot liquid oozes out of my nose, over my lip, into my mouth. I can't feel anything other than the pounding headache that worsens with every rapid beat of my heart.
"You know," I hear Cresh say over the shrill screeching in my ears, "it wasn't very nice of you to run away from me during the bloodbath. Made me feel like you didn't want to hang out with me."
He punches me again. I already feel my skin swelling and bruising.
"That's for ignoring me," he says. When he lowers his punch and slugs me in the gut, my knees almost give out from underneath me. "And that was just for fun."
His venomous laugh chills me to my very core. He's going to kill me. And he's going to do it slowly.
My own terrified cry echoes in the air when he grabs my shoulders and flings me off my feet and to the ground. Again, I try to scramble away, but he catches me, lifts up my trembling body, rams my head against the corner of a trunk. Black spots start to dance in the corners of my vision. A horrible blend of blood and saliva dribbles out of my mouth as I try to stand, try to rise to my feet, but nothing is working. Nothing feels right. It's difficult to move my arms, my legs. I can't think properly. Everything is a foggy mess.
"You look like you need some help," Cresh says. With the strength of a thousand men, he hauls me upright, only to strike me in the jaw and send me stumbling back to the ground yet again.
I can barely move anymore. Agonizing pain shoots through every part of my throbbing, aching body. Taking even the smallest of breaths hurts. Wheezes rattle in my tight throat. Blood leaks from my nose, floods my mouth, trickles over my lips. I clamber to my hands and knees, attempt to crawl, but to where, I have no idea. I don't even make it an inch before Cresh delivers a swift kick to my ribs, and I cry out, collapse to my stomach. I don't think there will be any getting up from this one.
There's no fight, no energy left in me when he rolls me onto my back. I can't do anything when he plants himself on my waist and holds that knife to my throat again, pressing his knees into my sides so I can't move. Tears burn in my eyes when I see the ferociously gleeful grin on his face. He could've killed me right off the bat. Just slit my throat when my back was turned and moved on. But no, he's enjoying every second of this. He wants me to suffer.
"Now that I have your attention, let's chat," Cresh sneers. He's so much heavier than he looks. "So tell me, Winchester, where's your boyfriend? It's not like you to go anywhere without him. I was hoping this could be a party of three."
I stay silent and force myself to stare right back at his cruel face. If this is it, if I'm going to die at his hands, then I refuse to break down and give him the satisfaction of an easy win, no matter how petrified I am. If there's one thing he can't have, it's my dignity.
My stomach churns when a wicked smirk twists its way onto Cresh's expression. "Wait, let me guess," he says, taking the cold knife away from my throat to sweep a strand of hair from my forehead. The sharp blade hovers dangerously close to my eye. "He's sick, isn't he? That's why you were here rummaging around like a bull in a china shop. Looking for medicine, I presume? How sweet. Such a shame he'll never get it."
As fast and sudden as lightning, Cresh stabs the knife into the ground just to the side of my head. He hadn't meant to go for the kill, but I still jerk away, a yelp escaping my mouth and a rush of paralyzing adrenaline flooding through my veins. I'm faintly aware of his amused laughter as I realize I'm not dead yet.
I can't control my frantic breathing as he grabs a handful of my hair, plucks the knife from the earth, forces my head back against the ground. "Just checking to make sure you're still listening to me, Winchester," he says. It's like he's trying to tear the hair right out of their follicles. "Thought you might've started to space out and think about your sick little boyfriend. Does he pull on your hair like this?"
An uncomfortable pang shoots through my pounding head as he rips at my hair. A cry threatens to slip out, but I bite my tongue. I will not give him the satisfaction. I will not give him the satisfaction.
"You know, I've been waiting a long time for this moment," Cresh drawls, letting go of my hair and instead tracing my jawline with the tip of the sharp blade. "I've just been itching to see you bleed, hear you beg for mercy, watch as the light slowly drains from your eyes. I think you're gonna be my favorite kill by far."
I can't stop myself from flinching when he nicks my cheek. I feel a small droplet of blood pooling out of it.
It's almost impossible to keep up my defiance when he leans down, close to my face, a murderous glint in his eyes. "But let's have some fun first," he purrs. "I'm gonna ask you some more questions. Every time you don't answer me, I'm gonna put another cut on that pretty face of yours. How does that sound?"
I stay silent again and brace myself for the next wave of pain. I still wince when he nicks the spot just beneath the other.
This is it. This is where it all ends. He's going to torture me until I die, and I won't be able to return to the hollow with the medicine like I promised.
"You should've come here with a weapon, Winchester," Cresh says with a shake of his head. He almost sounds disappointed. "That would've been so much more fun."
Reality skids to an abrupt halt around me. For a fleeting moment, I forget Cresh even has me pinned down. The switchblade. I put the switchblade in my pocket before I started searching in the containers. And I'm still free to move my arms. If I can reach that pocket without him noticing—
"I'll ask again," Cresh goes on. Suddenly I'm not afraid of the knife he has pressed against the side of my face. Newfound determination courses through me, stimulates my numbed senses. "Where's your boyfriend? If you tell me where he is, I promise I'll make your death a tiny bit quicker."
Silence. I stare him down, ever so slightly slide my arm toward the pocket on my right leg. This time I barely even flinch when he cuts open the skin just beside my eye.
"I don't know why you're so hell-bent on keeping his location a secret, Winchester," Cresh sighs. My fingers graze the button keeping the pocket shut. "You're gonna die here, and my partner and I are gonna find him. We're gonna find him, beat him, cut him up until he can't even cry for help. But this time, you won't be around to save him."
Rage boils inside of me. I gather up all the blood and saliva in my mouth and spit it at his face. I almost feel triumphant when he wipes it off with an outraged growl.
Then he takes the knife and drives it right through my left palm and into the ground below it.
The pain is immediate and beyond excruciating. A long, howling scream rips apart my throat. My eyes squeeze shut, head tilts back as the sound of my own scream echoes in my ringing ears. Hot blood gushes out of my punctured hand. I can't move it. It's pinned to the earth by the knife. My entire arm has gone numb, consumed by unbearable agony.
My vision starts to fade. My breaths grow heavier, more labored. It's a challenge to even remember to breathe. The pain ebbs and flows like a rippling pond. A feeble moan slips past my lips as my eyelids begin to flutter. I'm being pulled toward unconsciousness, and I'm not fighting it. Anything to make this torture stop.
But I'm not allowed to. My sluggish heart races and I'm startled back to reality when I feel Cresh—I think it's Cresh—slap my face. "Don't go passing out on me, Winchester," he says. His voice sounds so distant. "I'm not done talking to you."
I struggle to open my eyes, focus my foggy vision on the boy sitting on top of me. No, I can't let myself slip under, no matter how desperately my broken body wants to. I can barely think through the torment that's overwhelming me, but I have just enough willpower left to remember what I was doing.
Cresh stabbed the wrong hand.
I fight to keep myself awake and conscious as I move my right arm back toward the pocket on my leg. I stare Cresh down the entire time I do so.
"You're a lot more stubborn than I thought," he says. "I kind of admire it. It'll just make killing you that much more fun."
I touch the pocket's button. Carefully, quietly, I unclip it.
Cresh retrieves another knife from a belt on his waist. This one looks even sharper than the other. "Now, where were we?" he muses, his sadistic grin returning. "Maybe we should cut up your lips next. No more kissing your boyfriend for you."
My trembling fingers wrap around the hilt of the switchblade as Cresh traces my lips with the tip of the knife. I slide it out of my pocket.
"Or maybe..." Cresh pauses, seeming to be deep in thought. "Maybe I should just kill you now. I think that's what I'll do." He lifts the knife away from my face, that horrible grin stretching from ear to ear. "Any last words, Winchester?"
No words. Just a distressed shout.
I press the button to release the blade and drive it into Cresh's stomach as hard as I can.
His scream stops my heart. He's stunned, can't react, blood oozing out of his abdomen and staining his shirt. I shove him off me and to the ground far away and clamber upright just as I hear someone else yelling his name.
His district partner. He must've been waiting nearby.
Panic overwhelms me. Everything is happening so fast. Cresh is still writhing on the ground, my switchblade protruding from his stomach, and I hear pounding footsteps approaching. My left hand is still pinned to the earth. I can't move it, can't get away from the scene before the other boy from District 1 finds me.
The thought hits me before I have a chance to plan it out. I grab the hilt of the blade keeping my hand on the ground and pull on it. Another wave of intolerable agony shoots through me, messes up my vision, makes a pained scream rise out of my burning chest as the knife slides past skin and bone and muscle and finally out into the open. There's a ghastly hole in my hand that I try my best to ignore, because I see the other District 1 boy now, and he sees me.
He's just raising his spear to throw it when I reel back and hurl the bloodied knife at him. There's a sickening thud as it lands in his chest. The booming of the cannon rattles my shuddering body as he slumps to the ground.
I'm barely in control of myself anymore. Reality is spiraling. Cresh is still alive. I can hear him. He's trying to pull the switchblade out of his stomach, but I reach the blade before he does. I yank it out, plant myself on his waist as he did to me, and stab it into his chest without even hesitating.
I'm not sure what happens then. Some animalistic survival instinct takes over, completely overwhelms me. Maybe a bit of anger and hatred, too, for everything he did to me. I stab him again and again and again, long after I hear the cannon signaling his death. And I don't stop until I look down and see all the splattered blood that isn't mine covering my hands.
I drop the switchblade, hear it clatter to the ground as I stumble backwards, off the motionless body of the boy I just murdered. The breaths come in hysterical gasps. Tears pour out of my eyes. Bile rises in my constricted throat; I try to swallow it down. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't believe what just happened, what I've just done.
What did I do?
No time to think. I'm still alive, somehow. I have to get out of here before someone else comes running. I pick up the bloody switchblade with my good hand, wipe it off on my pant leg. I almost fall over when I clamber to my unsteady feet. Frantically, my chest on fire and my entire body weak and numb and ready to collapse at any given moment, I rifle through the containers nearest to me. I still have to find that antivenom.
There's a roll of gauze on the ground. My left hand is all sorts of broken and destroyed, probably beyond repair, and I might not make it back to the hollow if I lose any more blood. I unroll the bandages with my trembling right hand and wrap it around my left as tightly as I can. Blood already begins to seep through it, but it's better. At least I can't see the gaping hole anymore.
As I search, I see a lone sword tucked away in the corner of the Cornucopia. It isn't as long as the ones I practiced with during training, but I don't hesitate to grab it. I might need it for later. There's a clean knife on the ground, too. I take it for Cas.
I find the antivenom in the second container I try. It's in a small trunk, a syringe filled with blue liquid. I toss a few strewn bottles of painkillers into the trunk as well as the knife and switchblade, close it up, and hasten out of the mouth of the Cornucopia as fast as my tortured body will allow. It's difficult to ignore the two bodies of the boys from District 1 as I stagger out into the open air.
I plunge to my knees at the edge of the gurgling stream. I scrub the blood off my right hand, scoop a handful of cold water and rinse the blood from my neck, my face, my nose and mouth. My nose has stopped bleeding, thankfully, so my mouth is free of that metallic tang, but the cuts from the knife still ooze. It's as good as I'm going to get.
It's a miracle I'm able to stay on my feet as I blunder through the dense rainforest. The world spins in violent circles. I keep running into trees, stumbling over ferns and roots. My skull hammers with every rapid, heavy beat of my heart, but I don't slow down. I can't. I have to make it back to the hollow before I collapse.
Somehow, by some divine blessing, I see the vines come into view through my whirling vision. I sweep them aside and almost tumble down the slope into the safety of the hollow. I made it. I survived. Just barely, but I still survived. Relief starts to wash over me.
Then I notice Cas lying on his side. He isn't moving.
Pure dread seizes me as I drop the trunk and sword and shake his arm. "Cas?"
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
This can't be happening. "Cas." I shake him again. Tears prick my eyes. "Castiel!"
This has to be a dream. This has to be some cruel, vivid hallucination caused by my head injuries. There's no way this is happening. I never heard another cannon. He can't be dead. He can't be. I survived the feast, got him the antivenom, made it back in one piece, just like I promised. He can't be—
I almost jump out of my shoes when he suddenly sucks in a violent breath. Convulsions shake his body as he flops over onto his back. It's the worst fit yet. Panicked and desperate and hardly controlling my own arms, I fumble with the locks on the trunk and grab the syringe filled with the blue liquid. I have to press my knee over his elbow to keep his arm steady enough for me to jab the needle into it and squeeze the plunger. Slowly, the blue liquid disappears into his arm.
And just like that, as if I've injected some magic elixir, the convulsions stop. Cas goes perfectly still, a long sigh of alleviation spilling out past his parted lips. His eyes remain closed as I watch his chest rise and fall with slow, blissfully normal breaths. I think it worked. The antivenom worked.
He's going to be okay.
The relief—the real relief—is so staggering that I feel the ground start to sway beneath me. It was all worth it. The pain, the torture, the anguish. All of it was beyond worth it. I barely even notice my own injuries. None of it matters. I'm still alive, and Cas is, too. That's all I care about. We'll deal with the rest of it later. For now, he needs rest, and so do I.
Something catches my eye, something lying on the ground and glinting in the light that's peering through the curtain of vines. I shift to get a closer look—every muscle in my body screams at the slightest movement—and I see that it's an opened locket.
Cas' opened locket.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I pick it up, gaze down at the photos tucked inside, just like mine. There's a picture of his parents, wearing the same faint smiles as my parents in my locket. Then there's a picture of little Gabriel, and of someone I don't know. My heart pangs when I realize it must be his older brother Michael, the one who didn't survive his Games six years ago.
And on the right, formatted identically to my locket, is a picture of me. I barely even recognize myself. I look so much younger, so much happier, more at peace than I'm sure I do now.
I gently shut the locket, hold it in my good hand for a moment longer, try to calm my frayed nerves. Then, without a word, I take the chain of the necklace and clip it back around Cas' neck.
I hardly make it to the corner of the hollow before I slump against the rocks and slip into unconsciousness.
The next time I wake up, it's early evening. I was out almost the entire day. Shadows pool onto the ground, line the walls of the hollow. The nighttime birds begin their songs. Insects chirp and buzz. The hot, muggy air has started to cool off. The pain in my head is almost unbearable, still throbbing with every heartbeat. My stiff and sore body aches more than ever.
But no, none of those things are what roused me. When I completely come to, when my numb senses struggle to return to normal, my blurry vision focuses on Cas, his concerned expression as he crawls to kneel at my side.
He's alive. He's awake. And he looks better and healthier than I've ever seen him in the arena.
It takes a moment for the ringing in my ears to subside. Then I hear his frantic, worried voice as he asks me what happened, if I'm okay. He reaches out to touch the cuts on my face that feel crusted with dried blood, but I'm far from troubled about my injuries right now. All I can concentrate on is how elated I am that he's okay.
I practically leap forward, despite the agony, and throw my arms around him. It's like all of my pain instantly melts away when I bury my face in his shoulder, clutch the fabric of his shirt, hold him tighter than I ever have before. He's so warm. I can feel his heart beating, and it makes goosebumps prickle along my skin, makes that warmth bubble inside my chest yet again.
"It's good to see you, too," I hear Cas say with a faint laugh.
A smile tries to form on my face, but it's fleeting. There are so many conflicting emotions, so many confusing feelings, rampaging around inside of me. The warmth is the strongest it's ever been. My heart is pounding so fast that I can't keep track of its beats anymore. We're both still alive. That's fantastic. Of course I'm overjoyed, but I can't ignore a pang of fearful uncertainty. What would've happened if I had died back in the Cornucopia, or I'd been too late to return to the hollow? Losing Cas is unimaginable. I can't even bear to think about it. So what is this unfamiliar feeling I was trying so hard to decipher before I arrived at the golden horn?
I loosen my grip on him, lean back so I can look at his face. His bright blue eyes meet mine, and it's like no one else in the world exists except us. I'm so full of adrenaline that I barely notice my own hand trailing up his back, over his shoulder, up to rest on his cheek. His eyes widen, just slightly, but he doesn't move. I wonder if he can hear how loudly my heart is racing.
Then, just like before I left, an impulse strikes me, resonates deep in my gut. It's so overpowering that I can't let it go. I don't know what it means. I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm scared and tentative and unsure of where it's taking me, but I have to trust it, because it's making me lean back in. Somewhere, in the depths of my subconscious, I know it must be right.
When his lips touch mine, I know it's real. That everything I've felt when I was with him was true and genuine. That the warmth prickling in my chest was not from familial love or even love for a close friend. That all the stares, shared smiles, longing embraces meant so much more than I initially thought.
That I like him, too.
I feel Cas freeze when our lips meet, but it doesn't take him long to relax, melt into my hand, melt into the kiss that's making sparks dance over my skin. He reaches up to drape his fingers over my wrist, rub his thumb along the back of my hand. My pain doesn't exist. I only notice his gentle touch, the electrifying warmth of his lips pressed against my own.
I have to pull away to catch my breath. I rest my forehead on his, keep my hand on his cheek. He's breathing heavily, too. I feel his skin flush under my palm.
Then, I feel him smile, but only just barely. "Okay, it's really good to see you," he pants.
I return his smile, so overwhelmed with emotion that I'm not sure how to process any of it. I stay leaning against his forehead, trying to let everything soak in, trying to let my mind slow down and take in what's happening.
I don't have a chance to think for very long. Cas' smile vanishes. He tightens his grip on my wrist, draws a trembling breath, and his voice is softer and weaker and more desperate than I've ever heard it.
"Don't stop."
My heart skips a beat. The air gets caught in my throat. I don't hesitate to lean back in and press my lips to his. Heat explodes inside my chest, trickles through my blood. My hand moves by itself, trailing away from his face and to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. I can feel his breath on my cheek. I can feel every rapid beat of his heart. He feels like a dream, too blissful for words, and all I can think about are his lips and his smile and his voice and how happy I am that he's still alive, here with me, kissing me.
And that makes me realize something, something I never thought I'd experience. As we sit here, lips pressed together, bodies close, simply grateful for one another's presence, the realization hits me like a brick wall. It's so powerful that I know, without a doubt, it's real, and I can't help but smile against his mouth as the sensation washes over me.
I think I've fallen for him.
I've fallen for the boy from the fields.