#castor steal things quickly and come back challenge

[whimperwoods]

Arms of the Enemy (D&D Whump) - 8

This is Part 8!

Here are part 1, part 2 , part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, and part 7!

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in  the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies.  In the space between the Old One and the Emperor, they might be able to become something else.

(Also Ed has emotions and Castor has a plan b.)

tw: panic attack (maybe?), tw: aftermath of torture, tw: feelings of shame and self-loathing, tw: brief suicidal ideation, tw: powerful mood swings, tw: Ed’s general bad time coping,

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump,@burtlederp, @newandfiguringitout, @kawhump

Side note: The d&d mechanics stuff is more a fun challenge for me than necessary for world-building, but I DO feel I should mention I only just realized warlocks get their spell slots back on a short rest and not only a long one? On the one hand I now understand why it’s an actually playable class, on the other hand, I have already established that Castor only gets his back on a long rest, so I’m beefing up all his invocations to compensate.

***************

Castor felt deeply, deeply foolish. He was on the ceiling, but now both of them were visible and Amara was shouting “Hey,” and they were in big trouble. He muttered an invocation under his breath and flung a wave of magic behind him, slowing down everyone on the stairs, and kept running. Hopefully, it would take their pursuers longer to look up than it took him to get out of the line of sight of the stairs and up into some kind of dark corner.

<<Do you trust me?>> he asked Ed.

The other man was silent, his presence a mental weight against the edge of Castor’s awareness, but just as Castor was ducking into an embrasure and trying to keep both of them out of the dim light that seeped through the arrow loop inside, he got an answer.

*****

<<Do you trust me?>>

Ed wanted to vomit. Of course he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. But of course he did. He had to. He thought, all of a sudden, of his hand in the mage’s, last night. “Squeeze my hand if it’s ok to move you,” as if he’d had any choice then, as if he had any choice now. But he’d done it. He’d done it. A contract. It was done.

Ed was still trying to breathe when they stopped moving and he realized he hadn’t been focusing his eyes, hadn’t seen a thing as they slipped into a tiny space that, he realized a long moment later, was meant for an archer. Did he trust Castor?

<<Yes>> he answered, his voice a whisper even in their minds. His face flushed with shame. He was a disgrace. He was either lying or telling the truth and he didn’t know which was worse. Why had Castor asked him? Why was he pretending Ed got to decide? Ed had decided one thing, and now they were visible and hiding and he didn’t have any more plan than the warlock did.

He realized he was shaking, so hard he was sure Castor could feel it. They were visible. They were visible, and Castor had no plan because Castor was a planless idiot. But he had no plan, either, so apparently he was, too.

He could feel Castor’s presence in his mind even as the man stayed silent, a gentle pressure he could feel even though he suspected he shouldn’t, and it was almost comforting. His breathing eased slightly.

<<Ok>> Castor said, <<So, technically I can be a little bit invisible any time? Only a little bit invisible. And only in shadows. But the problem is it’s only me. So I’m gonna need to uh - well. This is the best place I could think of to leave you. It’s uh - it’s hidden, mostly, and it’s safer than the ground.>>

Ed instinctively tightened his arms around Castor’s neck and shoulders. <<No!>>

He could feel Castor almost-answer, could hear him almost-speak, and anger washed over him. His words came out hollow, ringing empty between their minds because the flood of emotion running through Ed was too big to fit into them.

<<No,>> he told the mage, <<No, you’re the one who brought me out here. You’re the one who started all this. You brought me out here. I could have been - could - have been - >> He knew what he could have been. He could have been dead, or much farther on his way to it, and he didn’t want to be dead, and he didn’t want to be dead, and he was still rambling in Castor’s mind in spite of himself.

<<It’s your fault I’m alive. It’s your fault I’m alive and not in my cell and they’re going to punish me for it. They’re going to punish me for it.>> His stomach felt cold and solid, and he wasn’t sure if he was afraid of his captors or himself, saying things he meant and didn’t mean and couldn’t mean. He was shaking. Oh gods, he was shaking.

<<They won’t.>> Castor’s voice was soft. Gentle. Ed only half heard it. <<They won’t. I have . . . things. There’s more I can do. I’ll be with you the whole time, if you’ll let me in. And I won’t let them hurt you. I’d been planning to hide you here in the fortress, but the game’s up for both of us so now we’re onto plan B and I’m getting you out of here. I just need you to hold on. I just have some things to steal first, and I’m the only one who can be invisible this way. And then I’ll be back. I promise.>>

Ed felt hot where he was angry and cold where he was afraid, and a great sucking tornadic hole in the middle, tearing him apart. Sir Edmond of Lumenea was not this. He was not so small. So afraid. So dependent. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. And he didn’t want to die. He couldn’t want to die. He wanted to be alive. He wanted to be alive.

Castor stood on the side of the wall and rearranged both of them awkwardly, laying Ed down on the tiny patch of floor and tucking his legs in as tightly as they would go. Ed almost cried out at the pain, but forced himself to hold it in, keeping the noise down to a soft grunt he had to hope no one heard under the chaos of low, slowed-down voices shouting several yards away.

Oh. Sounds. That was right. Sounds. Sounds. He hadn’t been listening to the head-sounds, and he had to not make real sounds. At least, he had to not make them here. <<Help me look out,>> he demanded, off topic and with his head still reeling dizzily, <<Help me see, I need to know where we are.>>

*****

Castor’s spine felt electric, prickling with the sense that something was wrong with Ed. He knelt on the wall, making the most of his spider climb as he adjusted himself within the tiny space to lay a hand on Ed’s cheek and turn the man’s face toward him. He looked deeply into the knight’s eyes, trying to pick apart what was fear and what was something else - whatever it was that wasn’t right.

Instead, he suddenly felt awash in a wave of confused emotions, fear and anger and despair flooding out of Ed and almost overwhelming him.

<<No,>> he said gently, trying to keep his voice even and not let on that he’d felt unasked-for reverberations that strong. <<Just stay. It’ll be ok. I promise.>>

The wave of anger that crashed across Castor’s mind was purer and clearly intentional, a mental shove that drove him backward in surprise, making him let go of Castor’s face and sit back into his heels.

<<So that’s it, then,>> Ed said bitterly, <<All that and in the end you think I’m useless. I can’t help. You don’t want me. You’re just going to leave me here with nothing like I’m useless.>>

This was so not the time for a big argument. Especially not when he remembered all the things that weren’t anger that he’d felt before Ed started lashing out.

Castor breathed deeply, centering himself, and then leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Ed’s, pushing as much calm, care, and intent through their mental link as he could. <<Ed, I’m coming back for you. I swear. I - I swear by my master, I’m coming back for you. I just can’t steal things with you on my back.>>

Ed shuddered underneath him, another reverberation from Ed’s mind washing over Castor’s again, the same confusing blend, but with the anger leaking out, leaving a flash of cold and sorrow before it faded away again.

The knight’s hand wrapped around Castor’s wrist. <<Let me help you. I just need a view of what’s below us. And an idea where you’re going.>> His voice was sad, now, thrumming with something that hurt to listen to.

<<Alright,>> he answered, not sure he had any other real option, against that kind of hurt. <<But we have to be careful.>>

<<Alright,>> Ed agreed.

Getting a good peek outward took some doing, but they managed, and Castor was surprised to hear a loud clattering noise a good distance away from their hiding place. Their pursuers were still slowed, but barely, the spell on the edge of running out. It was a relief to hear the people below shout slowly about following the noise. He pulled Ed back into their arrow loop.

<<There.>> Ed sounded exhausted. <<Done.>>

Castor didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know what to make of any of this, really. Any time he tried to think it through, things all got tangled, both because this was complicate and because he never seemed to be able to get a bead on Ed’s mind, or perhaps his feelings. <<Thanks,>> he answered, after a moment’s adjusting to what had happened.

<<I'm, uh. I’m a little bit magic.>> Ed was starting to sound more himself, and Castor wasn’t sure if it was because of or in spite of his clear exhaustion. Either way, it was a relief, if a small one.

<<I noticed.>> Castor wasn’t sure whether he should ask about it or not, but he was sure he needed to get his supplies and get them out of here, so he saved the question for later.

<<Sorry about not mentioning before,>> Ed added.

<<Well, at least I know you have that trick if something happens. And I can keep an eye on this place while I’m gone, if you’ll let me.>>

<<What do you mean?>>

Castor found himself suddenly unable to look the knight in the eyes. <<If you’ll let me, I can see and hear what you see and hear. As long as we keep the link going, I can blink out of my own senses and into yours. It’s uh - I don’t do it a ton. But I can check in every couple of minutes to make sure you’re still alright.>>

A twinge of surprise pulsed through their mental link and Castor wondered, passively, whether their unusually strong link might mean some day Ed could look through his eyes, too. The surprise backed off into silence, but Castor let Ed think through it, just listening to the footsteps below and waiting for an answer.

<<Yeah, alright,>> the knight finally said, <<How do I know when you turn it back off?>>

<<I dunno. But we both have to be willing for it to work. So if you don’t want me to see what you see, you can shut me out. I just won’t be able to reopen from a distance so if you do that before I get back, I won’t be able to get to you unless you’re still here.>>

<<Got it.>>

<<I have to touch you.>>

The knight’s fingers wrapped around Castor’s wrist again. <<Done.>>

Castor twisted his arm until he could hold Ed’s wrist, too. Then he focused on the half-prayer that would open the link, whispering the invocation under his breath as quietly as he could.

*****

Ed had expected to feel it when the connection between the two of them changed, but instead he was alerted to it working by a deep gasp from Castor. The mage let go of Ed’s arm and slapped his hand over his own mouth to keep from crying out, and when his voice started up in Ed’s head, it sounded tense and pained.

<<I’ve got your skin, too. The senses of it, I mean. Touch. I’ve got your sense of touch. Gods.>>

The hand Castor had against the wall, stabilizing his disorienting sideways kneel, was quaking faintly, and when he moved the other hand away from his mouth, it was shaking much harder, shaking visibly, like Ed was sure his own did, these days.

For a moment, he felt pity for the mage, but then a wave of anger came behind it. Why should he feel bad? Why should he pity a man for suddenly sharing in the pain of what his own people had done? Why should he feel bad for his old enemy when he’d never asked him to climb into his mind and body, when he’d never asked for any of this.

Pity and anger warred in his chest as he listened to Castor’s body take deep, gasping breaths, like he was trying to steady himself against the pain.

<<Sorry,>> the mage gasped again, <<Sorry, I didn’t mean to - fuck. I think while I’m in there - we both have to calm down together. I can feel your heart racing in there. That’s. I’m not. It’s just supposed to be sight and sound. It’s. I hate it. I see me but don’t feel me. That’s new. Fuck.>>

Ed timed his breaths to Castor’s body’s breathing, feeling his tangle of emotions start to fade again, unsustainable. He was tired. Gods, he was tired. They’d only just woken up and come here and he was already so tired. Slowing his breaths just made it harder to fight it, harder to focus on anything but the pain and the exhaustion and his presence in his own body.

<<Ok,>> Castor said, <<Ok. Ok. Back in a moment. Gotta make sure it works.>>

He hadn’t felt Castor get closer before, but now he felt him leave, the feeling of surprise he hadn’t realized was coming from Castor easing and the mage’s voice quieting just slightly as he rambled more <<Ok. Alright. Ok>>s.

Castor’s return was announced by another deep, pained gasp of air from the mage’s body, but this time Ed felt Castor’s presence solidifying in his mind.

He felt no particular sensation that told him Castor was on his left side, but sensed it somehow regardless, moving his right hand almost instinctively to clasp his own left shoulder comfortingly.

<<Oh,>> Castor whispered, right there and so, so quiet, <<Oh, Ed. I’m. I knew, but - I didn’t.>>

Something about this, about holding his own shoulder to touch Castor, about the half-daze of knowing things he couldn’t know, sensing things that weren’t there, cut through him to the core. <<I need you to come back soon,>> he answered the mage, <<I need you. I can’t stay here. It’s too small. It hurts. We have to go.>>

Castor moved fast this time, out of Ed’s mind and into his own body again before Ed had finished realizing what he’d said. A moment later, Ed had processed the fact that he’d begged and not begged, said what he shouldn’t and meant it and felt nothing bad in the moment of it, and Castor’s hand came down gently to rest over his own, warm and comforting.

<<I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go. I won’t be long. Just stay quiet, and the moment I sense any trouble, I’ll come to you instead of the mission. I’ll be checking back in. I’ll be - I’ll be checking.>>

Ed couldn’t possibly answer. He couldn’t. Something had broken open again, something real was obvious and aching and right there in the open where Castor couldn’t miss it. He shoved against the other man’s presence in their little arrow loop, but he knew without asking that whatever his mind or heart or soul had managed of a shove hid nothing of the whatever-it-was this extra closeness had cut its way down to.

Castor straightened up, peeked around the edge of the embrasure, and hurried outside and away, into the shadows where he’d be invisible, apparently.

Ed laid where he’d been left, feeling like a crab cracked open, the meat inside exposed to the open air. It ached, but it was a good ache, and he didn’t have the energy to hate it. Tears slipped from his eyes and he didn’t stop them, letting them flow silently down his cheeks and leaving alone the question of where they were coming from. It was dangerous, with him like this. Too dangerous. He breathed, and cried, and wondered when he’d feel Castor’s mind drawing closer again.

*****

Castor’s body ached faintly in all the places Ed hurt, a ghost of the way it felt to look through the man’s eyes. It wouldn’t let Castor go. He moved as fast as he could without alerting anyone, the ache lingering somewhere underneath the skin it didn’t belong to. He moved. Shadow. Shadow. Ache. He planned each move as he made the one before it, hurrying from shadow to shadow, where he’d be invisible, disappearing into the blind spots of the universe. He needed to hurry.

Lost in the shadows, he ached.

[thegirlfromoverthepond]

At the Zoo - Chapter 4

To my friends, @xerxia31 and dandelion-sunset – thank you  so so much for your beta skills and for challenging me, always …

To my @akai-echo … you stun me everytime, with the art you create for my stories … you are a gem.

As usual, please please leave a message, a comment, an ask, anything to let me know whether you liked this chapter or not.

Here on FFN // AO3

4. Pelecanus onocrotalus.

Over the weeks, time and time again, Peeta found himself in the red pandas’ pen, watching the babies grow from the cutest fur balls ever to toddlers trying to get out of the nest.

Katniss was always the one to suggest they go monitor their growth, that it could be good for the show - the pandas had always been a favorite of the visitors - if he could get more images of them.

He always ended up taking pictures with his own phone, rather than the professional camera.

He always ended up staying later than anyone else when he went to visit the pandas.

He ended up staying later than anyone else when Katniss was working.

He pretended it was pure luck that they seemed to end their days at the same time. There was so much to catch at the zoo in the few remaining days, they had to spend there. Peeta tried to take as much shots of the everyday life of the place as he could, whether it was the crowds of people walking the paths, looking at the animals with big round eyes, or keepers  stealing time with their animals, taking the time necessary to make them feel home.

Peeta always tried to take the unexpected shots, the one nobody else would dare to take. He once waited for hours just to see a bear plunging into the pond under his waterfall, relishing in the cool water, mouth open to suck the droplets. The shot had been one that the network praised, that made the zoo happy - that made everyone happy.

He started taking more and more of those kind of shots, always lingering on the southern side of the park. He kept telling himself it was because the ground there was almost flat, making it less painful walking on his prosthetic - and being near the aquatic department was a sure bet to have fun with Finn - all the while being very close to the aviary.

Very close to Katniss.

Not that he did it on purpose, mind you. He just happened to be there when she was too, right?

Like the particular Thursday when he found himself in the most funny day of his life. Everything started with the daily dispatch of the tasks for the camera crews. The keepers usually shared information about their sectors, about what was going to happen, or if anything special would occur which would be good for the cameras.

That Thursday, though, Gale started with an unexpected pitch. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Operation Pelican Day. We’ll need as many volunteers as possible for this adventure. Do we have any volunteers, or do I have to ask Effie to pick some of you?”

The journalists and cameramen all looked at each other, trying to decipher the meaning behind Gale’s words. Operation Pelican? Pick people? Were they in an alternate version of the latest dystopian movie?

“For our new friends here, let me tell you this - it’s worth seeing. And filming.” Gale answered the silence plea of the journalists - without giving away too much. “We have to clip their wings today.”

Peeta wondered if that was supposed to help them understand how big a day it was, how Gale thought it could make good television. But it didn’t.

As things turned out, it made hilarious television.

The camera crews discovered very early in the day that being able to clip the wings of the pelican implied being able to catch it first. Which seemed easier said than done.

Peeta tried to do his job as professionally as possible.

He really tried. As did his colleagues.

Castor nearly collapsed on the ground laughing several times.

It all started with a group of keepers gathering around the pond, like soldiers getting ready for a war, Gale dispatching them at “strategic locations”, urging them to hide as much as possible.

Because obviously,

They were all witnesses to the greatest spectacle they’d ever seen. Several keepers were hidden around the pelican pond with large nets, trying to catch the birds that were sliding slowly across the water, failing almost every time. Added to that crowd, Gale was on a small boat, paddling around with Johanna behind him with her own dip trying to catch the pelicans escaping the pond.

And try they did.

Pelicans turned out to be very sneaky birds, who easily avoided every attempt at being caught. They swam away from the banks of the pond every time they came close to a keeper, as if they could sense their presence nearby, teasing them as they slid away from them, a mere inches from the tip of the nets trying to catch them.

Reinforcements were brought in, in the form of a small boat, complete with a floating team, ready to catch the birds.

If they could.

Gale made a first crossing, paddling the boat to the small island in the middle of the pond to drop one of the trainee keepers with a larger net, before taking Johanna, armed with a fishnet, on board with him.

Then began a game of hide and seek, between all the keepers, who kept jumping from behind the bushes or  trees where they were hidden, and the birds, who kept escaping the nets thrown at them. Endlessly.

Causing Johanna to fall into the pond’s water twice. Causing Ellen, the trainee, to fall on her behind three times, and to escape the dangerous beaks of the birds twice as many times. Causing a gathering of keepers and visitors around the pond to laugh at the adventures of the keepers - who weren’t the last ones to laugh either.

Making it even more difficult to catch the birds.

Peeta felt like he had fallen into an episode of Laurel and Hardy, the implausibility of the scene unfolding before the lens of his camera - and yet, it was real. Very real. Everybody was having fun, trying to catch the birds. He could even ear Annie’s laugh, clear like the morning, as she was nearby, waiting for her “patients” to arrive.

He could feel something bubbling in him, something from deep down he wasn’t able to immediately identify that started to make his belly warm. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

When Gale and Johanna both fell out of the boat, he knew.

For the first time in more than a year, he heard it. The sound of his laughter, coming from his throat, spreading through his body, relaxing his muscles and joints, relaxing his jaw, releasing endorphins.

For the first time in more than a year, he laughed.

Laughed at keepers trying to catch pelicans, laughed at their own cries of joy, laughed at the life pouring out of them, that seemed to come into him, making his breathing easier, his burden lighter.

“You should laugh more often.” A soft voice came from behind him, so soft he might think it was the wind talking. But it was her, of course. “I like the sound of your voice.” She added, before moving, passing in front of him, as she shouted at the disheveled crowd of keepers.

“Come on, it’s only five pelicans! We can do this guys!”

Katniss walked straight to the bank of the pond, on the opposite side of where the pelicans were gathering.

“I’ll divert their attention so you can grab them,” she told the other keepers, before she started making noise with her mouth to attract the birds.

Which led to the capture of two of them, whose wings were clipped by Annie immediately before they were put in a transport box until all the birds were done with.

Which happened in a matter of minutes.

When the pelicans were all back onto the water, as if nothing had happened, Katniss turned back to the group of soaked keepers gathered around. “So, once again, the aviary saves the day, right? The drinks are on you guys!”

Peeta watched the crew from the aviary depart, leaving the rest of the keepers to deal with the mess the pelicans made. Everywhere around, he could see long, white feathers on the ground or in the bushes, even in the hair of the keepers.

Katniss came closer to him as she was making her way out of the Pelicans Pond, closer than was necessary. He was putting his camera down, getting ready to move to the next pen they were supposed to film, when she stopped right next to him, leaning in slightly to talk just to him.

“I hope you can make it tonight…. It will be at Sae’s, at seven.”

She moved away from him, swiftly, with the grace of the animals she loved so much. Her words lingered in his ears, a soft music echoing in his mind, soothing him, quieting his demons.

She had that power over him, he realized, to bring the calm back with just a word or a touch, just like she had done at the giraffes’ pen a few weeks ago, bringing him back from his flashback.

He stopped packing his camera, a thought crossing his mind.

His last flashback had been with the giraffes.

Weeks ago.

Weeks.

Not days.

Weeks.

Almost two months ago.

When he was used to have one or two per week.

He didn’t know what had happened here to stop the attacks. Maybe it had to do with him being focused on work again, or being outside every hour of the day, or the animals, he really didn’t know.

All he knew was that he felt better - so much better than the first day he had walked into the zoo.

“Mellark? You coming?”

Turning his head, Peeta saw his teammates walking away from the pond. His epiphany had obviously taken more time than he thought, but for once it didn’t matter. He packed quickly, jogging to catch up to his co workers, a slight smile on his face.

If he could go two months without a flashback, maybe he could go way longer. Maybe, there was hope for him, at the end of a very long tunnel.

He found himself outside of Sae’s dinner a few minutes before seven, wondering whether he should go in or not. Sure, he was pretty sure Katniss had invited him, but would he be welcome there? Would the other keepers, and the staff he wasn’t used to dealing with, be happy to see him?

“Bread Boy! You coming in or not?”

Peeta turned his head towards his name, seeing the now familiar face of Johanna looking at him, holding the door opened with one of her hands, the other waving at him to come closer.

“I don-”

Johanna carefully closed the door, walking towards him, stopping a few feet away before she started talking.

“Come in, she’ll be here soon. She just called Gale to say she was leaving.”

“I have no clue who you’re talking about, Johanna,” Peeta answered, casually sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he looked inside the diner.

“Small, black braid, grey eyes? The one you stare at every day? The one who looks at you as if you were the sun itself? You sure have no idea?”

His eyes snapped back to Johanna. Did he really hear what she just said? Katniss was looking at him?

He never caught her eyes on him, never once. Maybe Johanna was making fun of him...

Maybe Katniss was too, talking about him with her friends, telling them about his attack…. But no, he hadn’t heard anything about it so far so  He lowered his gaze to the ground.

“So, you coming in, or not?” Johanna was starting to get impatient, if the stomping of her feet on the ground was a sign.

“I don’t know… it’s not my scene, really…” The desire to run away was getting stronger and stronger now - the irony he couldn’t run on his prosthetic wasn’t lost on him either.

“It’s not your scene unless you make it yours. Look, Peeta….” Johanna paused, and he heard her sigh, but it was the sound of his name that made him look up at her. She never called him by his name, always using silly nicknames she seemed to have an endless list of.  “I don’t know what happened to you, and it’s not my business.”  As Peeta started to open his mouth to talk, she stopped him with a wave of her hand.

‘It’s written all over your face. Or it was, whatever, as I said, not my business. But you have a choice, now. You come in and mingle with us, or you stay out, and keep not living your life. Road’s not taken, and all that Frost shit.”

Without another word, Johanna turned on her heel, opened the door to the diner, the sound of  music and  conversation flying to his ears. She watched him for a few seconds, holding the door for him, until she shook her head, disappointment on her face when he didn’t move.

The sound of music and chatter died.

Peeta remained alone, on the sidewalk, watching through the big windows people having a normal evening.

For a few seconds, he wondered what would have happened if someone else had held the door open for him - would he have had the same thoughts? Would it have changed what he was doing right at this moment? Watching from afar?

Wasn’t it what he always do? Watch from behind the lens of the camera, away from the action, never a real part of it.

Just a witness.

Never a participant - even in Afghanistan. He had made images, filmed what happened. From afar, never willing to give his opinion, keeping to what he thought the media would expect.

Just filming the others.

His friends, or complete strangers, making stories fit for the news, never the vision he had of a conflict.

Or of the zoo he was working in.

Never participating in the life around him.

Following.

His brothers, his parents, his friends, orders.

Maybe it was time to actually do something he wanted.

For him, only.

Peeta shook his head, took a deep breath, then turned to the right, facing the door.

It couldn’t be that hard, right ?

It wasn’t.

He was met by the sound of music, unending chatter, forks and knives clicking.

The sounds of life.

“Peeta! Come on over!” a voice called after him. Finnick was waving his hand in the air, beckoning him to come closer, showing him the empty chair at his side. “Kitty Kat will have to find another place to sit, right?” the keeper added, smirking.

“I guess so…” Peeta answered, almost shyly. He took a deep breath, taking the time to let all the smells get into him - some familiar, like Finnick’s faint smell of chlorine he carried with him, some he couldn’t really recognize.

He bathed in the sounds, in the warmth surrounding him, agreeing to whatever Finnick ordered that was placed in front of him. He bathed in the laughter coming from their table, in the sounds the cooks made, the rock music that played behind them, the colors of the diner - neons flashing pink, the red of the benches , more laughter, more sounds, more noise …

Until the familiar tickling in his head started. The first signs of an upcoming attack fell upon him - Everything was too loud, too bright, too shiny - he needed to get out as fast as possible, get away from the crowd, escape or he would found himself hit by a bullet - or a bomb …

He couldn’t hear any music anymore, just the sounds of bullets flying around him, teasing him, playing with him.

He could swear the next one would hit him.

He jumped out of his chair, the pain in his head unbearable.

Escape was on the other side of the door.

The cool air hit him right in the face.

Cool.

The wind on his face.

Sounds, still.

Someone shouting.

At him, most probably. Because that’s who he was. The one people shouted at, because he was always in line to take a good shot.  

“Go back inside!” he heard a woman’s voice shout.

“Should we call 911?” someone asked, a man, for all he knew.

“No. I’ll handle it,” the woman firmly said. The voice was a familiar, though, even if Peeta couldn’t place it. “Deep breaths. Breathe in through your nose, then exhale through your mouth. Slowly. Count to three, yes, just like that. I want to hear you breathe, Peeta.”

The voice was calm, almost relaxing. Almost soothing.

“You just breathe, Peeta. Focus only on your breathing, there’s nothing more important than that. Don’t let anything derail you from your breathing. Nothing can disrupt your peace of mind. Nothing. You’re stronger than your fears.”

Peeta didn’t know if he could trust the voice he was hearing. The ruckus in his head was stronger, maybe, the demons too strong for him. It was easier to get lost in them than to fight.

He had no reason to fight.

“What’s going on? What happened? What are you doing, Jo?!”

He heard another voice, through the noise in his head, through the pain and commotion. It was a sound he knew, something he could hold onto. Someone he knew he could trust.

A link back to reality.

Peeta forced all of his will to hang onto the voice that had struck through his mind like a lightning.

He forced his nails to dig deeper, harsher into the skin of his palms, to make the monsters go away.

He didn’t want to lose his grasp on reality.

He failed.