Blaine shoots off to the side as soon as the countdown hits zero. He doesnt look sideways, only prays Tish was smart enough to think of something. Blaine takes a giant detour, dragging himself through the thick layer of snow as fast as he can.

A big blizzard seems to have started simultaneously to the clock hitting zero and his vision is blurred. At least it will cover up his tracks. It feels as if everyone around him has run towards the Cornucopia, he hears screams and yells, and screams and yells cut off midway through them. Grunts and blunt object hitting hard surfaces. He gets to the back of the Cornucopia and is met with nothing, no one. Hes the only one who thought of this.

He puts his palm flat against the surface and starts to climb. Ignoring the stinging pain the ice cold metal leaves on the inside of his hand, Blaine climbs and climbs until hes reached a flat part of the Cornucopia. He still hears screams and shrill voices, they sound scared and angry all together. Its probably best to find the most secluded place of the Cornucopia, much higher up. Climbing hurts, and he sighs in relief when he gets to the point. His hands are in agony, which Blaine ignores as he takes his place in between two pointing ends on the metal construction. He pulls his hood over his head and curls up as tightly as he can.

His hands feel like they are burning and when he inspects them, he finds blisters all over the palm. Frozen, from climbing the ice cold metal, he thinks. Hes not entirely good with medicine and healing, but he knows these blisters can get infected if he doesnt treat them right. He tucks his hands inside his coat and puts them under either of his armpits, he guesses warming them up now might be the best thing.

He tries to drown out the sounds of people dying below him by humming songs, but he cant get too loud either or theyll know hes there. He hums Quinns song for what feels like ages, constantly aware of the dead bodies beneath him. Is Tish amongst them? Or Pennie? Is Barse killing people, or was he smart and good enough to be able to think of something else?

Blaine doesnt know Barse very well, doesnt feel protective over him the way he does over Pennie or Tish, but the way Barse has been protecting Pennie makes him have a soft spot for him. It might also be just knowing his name, knowing where hes from. Blaine needs to stop thinking about the people wholl die in order for him to live. He needs to think of people wholl live, too, if he gets out of this alive.

He thinks of his mother and his father, how theyre sitting in front of the television right now. Anxious, that face again. That face his mother had all the two weeks Cooper had spend in the Arena. He sees his father, pacing the floor and worried. He sees Cooper, he sees Quinn, but most of all he sees Kurt. He sees Kurts surprised face after he had pressed their lips together. Kurts silver lines, and his silver tattoo. The silver streaks in his hair. Everything is cold and everything is Kurt. He cant make sense of what is happening anymore, he has stopped humming without realizing and all there seems left to do is clattering his teeth together and shaking all over.

He shakes and clatters his teeth, doesnt hear anything but the wind blowing around the Cornucopia and eventually everything turns black as he falls into a deep unconsciousness. Theres no dreams, no visual ones, all he hears is piercing shrill screams and the wind whooshing around him. Its not until the cannon starts announcing the end of the bloodbath that he comes to his senses.

Around him the blizzard seems to have stopped, and hes still alive so he reckons no one has thought to climb the Cornucopia the way he had. Or maybe they were smart enough not to do it. His hands sting with pain and when he gets them out from under his armpits to inspect them, he sees the blisters have only grown since he last saw them.

When he tries to hear what is going on around him, hes only met with the sound of the cannon going off. One, two, three... -

By the time its over its gone of fourteen times. Fourteen deaths in the bloodbath. Hes not sure if its a record, but he knows its a lot. When the anthem starts, hes happy to see neither Tish, nor Pennies or Barses pictures up in the sky to announce their passings. He climbs over the to the edge of the Cornucopia to take a better, more relaxed look around the Arena now hes not on a countdown or avoiding a bloodbath and stuck in a snow blizzard. He stands up carefully, making sure to watch out for any activity around him. The sky is dark, though the moon on the white snow gives the Arena a glow brighter than a usual night would be.

He makes a slow turn, locates a frozen over lake to his right and the trees behind the Cornucopia, which all seem to be pine trees, do form a forest bigger than he had first anticipated. For food, he assumes, that would be the best place to hunt. First hed need hunting gear, though, or at least some rope or strings to set traps. He needs something to catch water in and maybe something to drill through the ice lake. He also needs something to cover his tracks in the snow with.

He doesnt hear anything below him, but just to be sure he lies flat on his stomach and pulls himself to peek over the edge of the Cornucopia. It seems like every trace of a body has already disappeared. The snow is smooth and white, still falling slowly. Theres no traces of footprints or anyone being close to the Cornucopia, so he almost decides to go down and see if he can retrieve some equipment, when something ruffles in the snow about twenty meters away from him.

Right next to where Tishs platform was, a small figure appears above the snow. Blaine chuckles, she had taken the element of disguise pretty seriously. Tish stands up. Her nose is blue, almost dead from buried in the snow for so long and her fingers dont look much better. She looks around dazedly, spots Blaine above her and starts moving towards him. Just as shes about to smile, something flashes in the corner of Blaines eye. His head snaps towards it, then back to Tish and he knows -

Shes gone for. Theres still someone beneath him in the Cornucopia. Tish falls backwards, a spear pierced through her stomach. Immediately around her, the snow turns into a bright red color. If the look of it wasnt so utterly disturbing, Blaine would laugh about how much it looks like Caesars hair. Tishs eyes are wide with horror, but she doesnt make a sound. She keeps staring at Blaine, who covers his mouth with a blistered hand. He holds himself tight and it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to scream. He keeps looking at Tish, needs the last thing she sees to be a familiar face.

Ill take care of them, he thinks, your mother, your siblings, your father. Theyll never want for anything, except for you back. Ill take care of them.

“Close your eyes,” he mouths, but she either doesnt understand or is too far gone to comprehend anything right now. He keeps looking at her, hopes whoever is watching her from inside doesnt notice shes staring at the top of the Cornucopia rather than just the sky. The pool of red snow around her turns wider, her breathing is heavy and irregular. Blaine can hear it from where he is twenty five meters away from her that shes groaning now. He waits, watches her as his tears stream and freeze on his face before they fall.

Tish doesnt close her eyes, her breathing comes in short spurts and Blaine wishes he could do something, anything, to make her suffering halt. The pool of blood around her is an ugly reminder of her pain and he tries to focus on her eyes. They look at him pleading, desperate, until theyre not looking at anything at all anymore.

A cannon sounds as soon as her eyes turn empty, Blaine wonders if the tracker in their arms can feel a pulse as well as send out their location. He tries to keep his sobbing sounds to himself when obviously hes not alone in this place. Theres someone right below him, someone whos not too shy to take a spear and throw it at an innocent bystander. Most likely a Career. He needs to be quiet, sit it out and dont sleep until he knows hes safe to get down from his spot.

He crawls back, as quietly as humanly possible, to the secluded place between two larger parts of the Cornucopia and curls in on himself. He cant make a single sound, he knows that, and so he only sings to himself in his head. Still the only song that comes up is what he has now dubbed as Quinns song. He pulls the hood of his jacket tighter around his head and rests himself against the metal structure behind him.

He tries not to cry, doesnt want to come across as weak to people who might sponsor him, However, his tears start flowing and they freeze on his face as soon as a hovercraft retrieves his body. His hands feel numb now, painful and numb at the same time and its the oddest sensation hes ever felt. He feels grief, too, grief for Tish and for those fourteen others who havent made it through the bloodbath.

Tish, small and smart, beautiful sweet Tish. Hiding in the snow. He wonders if maybe more people have thought of that, hiding in the snow. Hiding in plain view, its something hes heard one of the trainers at the training center go on about. He wonders where Pennie and Barse are, when theyre obviously still alive.

Twenty four to start off with, fifteen dead. That leaves nine of them. He counts. Himself, Pennie and Barse are still alive, plus six others. Both the Tributes from One, the girl from Two, the boy from Four, the boy from Six and the girl from Seven. The rest is gone, dead. Just eight people to survive now to get back home. Mom, dad, Cooper, Quinn, Kurt. He repeats the names in his head like a mantra. Mom, dad, Cooper, Quinn, Kurt. Its as if they take over the list hed created before the games. He keeps thinking about them, the reasons to live.

He doesnt know how long he sits atop the Cornucopia, waiting for the sun to rise and daylight to start. He doesnt notice his fingers turning white and then blue, he doesnt even realize how cold he is until he cant feel his nose anymore. The blisters on his hand shrink, wrinkle and they dont look very pretty but he cant seem to care. Hes hungry, though he guesses he could go without food for quite some time, and hes thirsty. He knows snow is mostly clean and if he could just get to the top layer of it he could get some liquid in his system, yet he is too afraid to move. He doesnt want to announce his presence to whoever is waiting for him inside before he has a plan.

Just as the sun starts to rise and Blaine almost gives up on his life, he sees it. A tiny parachute comes flying his way. It makes a tingling sound that Blaine hopes with everything he has the person below doesnt hear. The parachute lands a little higher up on the top corner of the Cornucopias tail, and Blaine assumes this is the Gamemakers way of making their Games a little more exciting. Not much has happened, he reckons, since Tish has died.

So as the sun rises in – does the sun even rise in the east in the Arena, how artificial is the climate in this weird place? Still, as the sun rises behind him, he starts his climb. Hes tired and every bone in his body hurts and is frozen. He manages to stretch the sleeves of his tracksuit over his hands so they dont get injured any more, but he feels the seam at his shoulder rip as he does so.

Its an uncomfortable angle and the point is small, he glides back down a few times and tries his best not to cuss when he does so. Still, after five attempts he reaches the top and is able to grab hold of the parachute. He clamps the edge of the small basket in his teeth and lets himself glide down again.

Beneath him on the ground he hears snow cracking and he stays as still as he can. At least the parachute has stopped making the tingling sound now hes gotten hold of it. He crawls back to his secluded corner and waits for the cracking to stop. It seems like someone is circling the Cornucopia, most likely thinking of what to do next. Blaine curls in on himself tightly, wraps his arms around his legs and hugs them close to his chest. He keeps his ears open to any sounds there might be, and eventually the crisping footsteps in the snow grow distant. Whoever was staying down here has decided to go out and hunt for – people – game?

Blaine peeks around the corner where hes hidden, sees a tall male figure walk towards the pine tree forest behind the Cornucopia. He watches carefully from his corner, until the boy has disappeared deep into the woods. He wishes he knew their names now, knew how he could locate them and know their weaknesses and how to avoid them. He wonders if this guy is one of the surviving Careers, but he guesses not as he is operating on his own. He wishes they werent so thickly packed in clothes so he could recognize the guy. He is about sure the guy isnt Barse, Barse didnt have an aim so clear it would hit Tish in the gut straight away and he also doesnt think Barse would kill if not absolutely necessary.

For now hell assume this is the boy from Six, the only boy apart from Barse, Blaine and the careers who survived. Blaine stays in his secluded corner for ten or twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, longer, before he dares to open the gift that had been sent to him via parachute. Inside he finds a tin can and a note.

Keep warm, keep moving. - C

He opens the tin can enclosed in the parachute and welcomes the smell of broth. For a few tiny seconds Blaine believes its his mothers, but when he puts the can to his lips and practically laps it up, he knows its Capitol made. Still, its in this moment he understands its still his brother out there whos trying to get him out of the Arena. No other person in the world would have thought of sending him this specific recipe. Its salty, its got meat and its liquid. Its warm and its everything he needs to gather strength to keep moving.

He drinks half the content of the can, then closes it up tightly again and holds it close as he starts descending from the Cornucopia to the waiting snow. He walks around it carefully, tries to find something to wipe his tracks with once hes on his way out of here, when he finds a sleeping back and gloves inside the hood. He grabs the bag, in which Six had obviously been sleeping and rolls it up as tightly as possible. He stuffs the can of soup inside it, hopes the thick layer of wool from the bag will keep the liquid at least a little warm. He finds a rope not far away from the sleeping bag and ties it around it, then throws the entire thing over his shoulder and hauls the rope around his torso to his back, where he ties it up.

Blaine winces visibly when he tucks the gloves over his hands, makes it a bit more dramatic than it actually is, in hopes to get some medicine send his way. The Sponsors have proven now that they are behind him, sending him warm broth on the first day is not something hes ever seen sponsors do before.

Grabbing two knives that were left behind, he starts towards the lake. Hes not sure why, but he thinks the lake would be the safest now. He assumes everyone has gone around to the trees to find shelter, and Cooper has told him to keep moving. The lake seems the easiest place to do that. He walks and walks, ignores the stinging that starts in his hands now blood starts flowing better again. Hes afraid of what hell find in the blisters when hell take of the gloves. He doesnt know if it was a good move to warm them up under his armpits the night before, hopes he had washed them properly before entering the Arena and wont catch an infection from there.

As he walks towards the lake, he looks around him. The entire Arena seems deserted, and the gruesome ambiance seems only to intensify with that realization. There hasnt been any sound of birds or animals since Six has left the Cornucopia. All Blaine can hear is the crispy sound of his boot in fresh snow and his own lungs making a squeaky sound as the shrill air around him fills them. He hadnt noticed until now, until he started moving, that the air is so thick with coldness. He wonders how any of the others are holding up.

Even in the bright afternoon sun, Blaine can feel his nose starting to freeze. The tears the cold forces out of the corners of his eyes freeze before they get the chance to fall, his lips are dry and chapped from just the temperature and his entire face hurts from the sharp wind hitting against it. He keeps walking, keeps moving, makes sure his blood keeps flowing.

He does reach the lake after a long walk, much longer than he had anticipated. Or so, he thinks. Theres no way other than the sun disappearing behind the trees across the lake that indicate the time. And then still, he has no idea what here is real and what is Capitol coordinated. For all he knows the days only last five hours in the Arena.

As the sun sets, Blaine makes the decision to walk around the lake and disappear into the forest as far as possible. Its slightly uphill and he wonders if hell even find shelter or water up there, but getting as far away from the center of the Arena seems like the best plan he has. Or just the only plan. His brain is cold, frozen, he cant think straight anymore.

He keeps walking, dragging his feet through the snow and eventually he holds up on the trees. Hes rounded the lake fully now and the trees are getting thicker. He hears birds whispering and sees the moon shine bright between the tops. Five more minutes, he thinks to himself, five more minutes until I stop. He drags, drags, walks on further than he can and when hes just about to give up and settle in for the night -

“Blaine?”

Her voice is soft and small, the big blond curls are gone and in its place is a tight ponytail. Shes tugged completely inside her coat, has nothing on her other than that and shes white as a sheet. When Blaine looks at her fingers theyre completely blue, her little finger on her right hand has already turned black and though Blaine wishes he didnt, he knows it means theres no means of saving it. All they can do is wait for it to fall off.

You, me or Pennie.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, maybe a bit harshly, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he does. He crouches down next to her. “I have some warm broth, or at least it was warm when I left the Cornucopia. We can share it?”

“Why?” She asks.

“Because I want to. I need a friend, and it looks like you could use some help.”

“Why dont you just kill me now?”

“Pennie, Im not going to kill you sweetheart. I dont want to kill anyone. What do you say we just stick together and warm up?”

The girl doesnt have much fight left in her, nods silently and scoots over under the large tree she was hiding to make place for Blaine next to her. She helps him untie the sleeping bag from his back, and holds the can that falls out of it in her little hands to warm them up.

“Have people passed here?” Blaine asks her and she shakes her head.

“No one has passed me since the cannons started announcing deaths. Do you know who that cannon after the anthem was for?”

“Tish,” Blaine nods curtly. It hurts to say her name, hurts even more to think that hell have to watch her face and only her face up in the sky in a few minutes when the anthem will start again.

“Im sorry,” Pennie says and squeezes Blaines hand.

“Thank you,” Blaine says softly, remembering Tishs wide and empty eyes, “Barse is still out there somewhere, do you know where he is?”

Again, she shakes her had in denial. Blaine takes the tin can from her and cricks it open. He takes a few sips for himself before handing it to her .

“Drink up,” he says, “its broth, itll help you warm up and strengthen up. We need to keep moving.”

“I dont want to move,” she replies with a tiny voice, “no one has passed me here, I think were safe here.”

“To keep warm,” Blaine replies, “we have to keep moving to keep warm and keep our blood flowing.”

Pennie merely shrugs, takes large gulps of the broth Blaine shared with her and crawls in on herself once she is finished with it. Its obvious she doesnt want to leave this space and Blaine understands, or so he thinks. She hasnt seen anyone but Blaine since she took off from her platform at the Cornucopia and she now associates this spot with safety. He looks around, the forest is much darker at night than the open field where hed spend the previous night, he has a sleeping bag and gloves and weapons. The Arena has been eerily silent since Tishs death and so maybe it isnt a bad idea to give his legs some rest after the long walk hed taken to get to where he is now.

“Okay,” he relents to Pennie, “well sleep here and well move tomorrow. We need to get to fresh water and some food. Maybe try and find a secluded place where we can start a fire. You can help me with that, right? You were so good with the basic survival skills in training, I need you to start a fire then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees and grabs the sleeping bag to open it up and climb inside. He beckons for Pennie to join him. Theyre both small people, her more so than him, but tucked tightly together inside the thing, they share body heat and will manage to keep warm throughout the night. Around them they hear soft crisps of where maybe rats or mice are moving, Blaine assumes he should hunt them to get some food but doesnt dare to disturb Pennie, whos sleeping soundly against his chest.

He closes his eyes, tries to ignore the images of Tishs blood and empty eyes that overflow his mind as soon as he shuts them, tries not to see the spear that had been pierced through her body. He buries his head as far in his hood as possible, thinks of silver lines surrounding deep, green and gray eyes. He thinks of Coopers wavy locks and Quinns blonde curls. His mothers tight, brown bun and his fathers hazel eyes. He thinks of Tishs empty eyes and Tishs blood. Everything he sees; Tishs empty eyes and Tishs clear, red blood in the otherwise white, unblemished snow. Tishs smile and determined posture. Tish emerging from the snow, her talent for disguising herself. Her blue, cold nose and her eyes widening when she spotted Blaine atop the Cornucopia. Everything he sees, everything he dreams is about her tonight. His body tosses and trashes as well as it can, locked in the bag with Pennie pressed close to him, he dreams about her. About the girl who wont return home to her mother, whos parents are now grieving. His fifth grade teacher, her mother, they lost her. He lost her.

He lost her, and soon the anthem starts. Pennie moves in her sleep, but doesnt wake and so Blaine is left alone to watch her face up in the sky. Now everyone in the Arena knows it was Tish who died right after the deaths were announced yesterday. Yesterday, its been a day since hes lost Tish. He takes his time to grieve his Districts girl, before he slumbers with Pennie close against his chest.

When the sound of a cannon wakes him, Tishs name is on his lips.

Blaine looks around, theres a faint light glowing through the trees but it cant be much later than seven in the morning. The air around them is still cold, and though sharing a sleeping bag and body heat with Pennie has helped them both to survive the night, its still so cold Blaines entire body shivers and hes hurting to his bones. He knows he needs to move, needs to set his joints and blood flow in motion again before he literally freezes to death.

The Arena is still grimly quiet, no sign of life other than a few birds chirping above them. The silence around them makes every fiber in Blaines being anxious. Something about this Arena is off, something isnt right. There had been too many deaths at the bloodbath and not enough since. Just now, out of the blue at the point where he suspected everyone would be resting, a defenseless person died. If they were defenseless at all. He needs to know whats going on, needs to know why everything is so quiet.

“Lets pack up and start moving,” Blaine says to Pennie, “well find some firewood and start a fire.”

“How many are there left?”

“You, me, Barse and five others.”

“Eight? Just eight left? Wow, I thought Id die before the top ten.”

“Yeah, you did well Pennie. Youre in the top eight.” Blaine starts moving out the sleeping back, then urges Pennie out and starts rolling the thing up. He ties the rope around it tightly again, before tying it around his back. He tucks his hands in his coat pockets and urges Pennie to take the gloves. Theyre too big on her, but at least shell have something to keep her fingers warm. They start moving, slowly, because Pennie complains about her toes hurting and Blaines afraid theyre just as far gone as her little finger. Shes a burden, mostly, but Blaine cant leave her behind. If anything, he needs her to start a fire, he doesnt know how to do so on his own.

She gathers firewood along the way. Its mostly tiny twigs and small pieces of wood, she says its better if Blaine cuts that off with his knife once theyve found a place to start the fire. They shouldnt drag the heavy things along. Blaine agrees, remains at the lead of their two man pack and walks as deep into the forest as possible, as far away from the open field as he can possibly get before starting the fire. He thinks its best if they start paying closer attention to animals, too, but he hasnt seen much other than birds yet and theres no way he can kill birds with just the throw knives he has. His stomach is clenching, begging for Blaine to get something solid inside it but he has to survive without for now.

Its strange, how all the sensations together dont just make him want to give up the way Pennie begs him to give up.

“Here, Blaine,” she says, “we can sit down here and start the fire. Its a perfect place.”

“No,” he answers determined, “were going as far away from the field as we can get.”

She follows him obediently, groans with every step she takes as they walk further and further away from any life they heard. The trees get thicker and the day seems to get darker with it, though it cant be much later than ten in the morning. Blaine takes his steps with force, tries to encourage Pennie with just his step as he walks. He hums a sweet, familiar song softly and it doesnt take long for Pennie to giggle a little and hum along. They hum for a while, and then Blaine starts singing and Pennie sings along.

They harmonize easily, Pennie is quite a good singer. They sing and laugh and walk, sing, laugh and walk, sing, laugh and -

“Pennie?”

“Blaine!”

“Pennie!?”

“Blaine, I cant -”

He rushes to her where she collapsed. Shes breathing heavily, her eyes are glazed and she looks around hazily. He hadnt noticed until now shed lost one of the gloves and the twigs she had been collecting are splayed around her.

“My legs,” she says, “I cant feel my legs anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I dont know,” she cries, “I think I just collapsed. Or maybe I tripped. I cant remember.”

“Shh,” Blaine whispers, “its okay honey, well camp here for the day. I think were far enough.”

Theyre not nearly far enough. He still sees trees ahead, they could have walked on for a few kilometers before they would have reached the edge of the forest, but he cant leave this little girl here. So he ignores all his instincts and unties the sleeping bag from his bag. He unfolds it and helps Pennie into it.

“You stay here and watch our stuff,” he says, handing her one of the knives, “Ill go get some thick branches to keep our fire going.”

He goes off to cut some branches, cuts some bark of the trees and he fills the tin can with the top layer of snow. He reckons its best to melt the snow and warm it up a little, maybe boil it to clean it, before drinking it. The entire time hes away from Pennie he waits for the cannon to sound, waits for someone to pop up from behind the trees and shoot an arrow through his gut.

Nothing comes. Hes met with silence, only silence and nothing but silence. Its not right, nothing about this place feels right and though it might have to do with being in an Arena where hes supposed to fight to death, he feels in his very core that something more is going on. Gathering the supplies under his arms, he heads back to where he left Pennie behind.

Getting there, hes happy to see shes started without him. Shes used the knife he left with her to transform one of the twigs to a fire-making device. She takes one of the bigger branches from Blaine, inspects if its dry enough when she approves, starts digging a small hole into it with the knife. She instructs Blaine to get some pine needles from the trees to put in the hole shes digging and curses the forest for not having proper leaves. Blaines not sure why, or what to say to her. Hes not even sure if what shes doing or saying makes sense at all, since she seems a bit out of it and confused still.

Eventually she grabs the pointy twig and puts it atop the pine needles and smaller twigs in the hole, puts both her hands at the top of the twig and starts rolling it between her fingers. She does this two times, three times, four times before she drops it and screams out in agony. She cries, yelps and throws her hands over her head as if getting them as far away from her as possible would help the aching. Blaine looks up, sees the blackness of her little finger has extended to two fingers next to it, and on the other hand the palm had gone so cold, or dry, its now bleeding where the twig had rubbed against it.

Still, as shes screaming out in agony Blaine notices her legs arent moving or trashing the way he had expected them too. Was she actually right, does she really have no feeling in them anymore? She doesnt seem to notice the lack in movement in other parts of her body, her hands the main focus. After a minute of screaming, which Blaine prays to Gods he doesnt believe in wont attract other tributes to their site, she lowers her hands and wipes the tears on her face with the back of the bleeding hand.

“You have to … -” she starts, but Blaine has already grabbed the twig in his hands and put it on the wood board. He puts his hands flat around it and starts twirling it around in his hands quickly. He moves his hands up and down, tries to create enough friction for a flame to start, ignores the painful blisters on his hand as good as he can. He manages a tiny puff of smoke before Pennie puts her hand on top of Blaines.

“Youre bleeding,” she whispers, and surely the blisters have burst open and blood is now covering his hands. The blood is thin, streaming freely and as he watches it flow the pain seems to register in his brains. It probably would have been better if Pennie hadnt stopped him, he could have ignored the pain longer and hed have managed to build a fire. Now, though, now hes seen his hands broken open and raw with dry blood. He wonders what the temperature around him is, that his blood seems to freeze so quickly.

Tiny drops fall in the white snow below them, his blood mixing with Pennies until they cant tell apart which drops are whose anymore. Blaine glares at the branches angrily, as if just his stare might light them. He crawls close to Pennie, puts an arm around her and holds her close. Shes shivering all over, her teeth are clattering together and she keeps crying and apologizing. She keeps saying its her fault, and sorry Blaine, you would have been better off without me. You should just kill me and go on, Im useless.

Blaine tells her no, tells her hell stay with her until she can walk again. He knows she wont, not if they cant warm her up. If they dont start a fire somehow soon, he knows shell freeze to death. He takes off his coat and wraps it around her shivering shoulders, ignores the sharp wind slapping against his skin where the seam of his tracksuit ripped. He crawls close to her, covers her head with the hood of his jacket, and pulls her to his chest.

He keeps his ears focused on the environment, while he strokes his hand up and down Pennies arm. She keeps talking to him for a short while, but eventually her speech becomes gibberish and soon after that her gibberish just disappears. Her breathing regulates between shallow and heavy sighs, she doesnt respond to Blaines words anymore, and when she slumps in his arms completely he knows this is another girl hell have to say goodbye to soon.

He tries not to hold her too close, reckons the closer he holds her, the harder it will be to let her go. About five times he thinks shes gone, but the cannon doesnt sound and she inhales deeply before continuing her shallow breathing pattern. The sixth time he waits for the deep breath, the frown on her face before shallowly breathing again, but the sixth time it doesnt come.

Its as if the cannon for Pennie echoes louder around the Arena than any of the other cannons have so far. Shes limp in his arms, wearing his coat and with her legs in his sleeping bag. He closes his eyes for a short second, swallows back tears and composes himself, before he starts working. He needs to be quick, he strips Pennies lifeless body of his coat and sleeping bag, grabs the one glove thats lying next to her and ties the bag around his torso and waist again. When he hears the hovercraft approaching, he knows he needs to move.

Hes not sure why, but he decides to move towards the lake for now. He needs to get away from the place where he lost Pennie to the cold. His footsteps in the snow make a crisp sound again, and aside from his breathing its the only sound he hears. The air around him is cold, though it seems to get a little better with every step he takes. In his head, meanwhile, he counts tributes. With Pennie gone there are just seven of them -

Boom!

Six of them left.

He keeps walking to the beat of names and numbers in his head, keeps walking until its dark and another day has gone by. The air around him isnt as sharp or cold as it was anymore, though the wind still hurts the open wounds in his palm. He doesnt reach the lake until the moon is completely overhead and it has to be midnight. The Arena is still quiet, he hasnt come across a soul and tributes are dying one by one, rather than in battles.

He about to settle down in his sleeping bag just before the anthem starts playing and shows him who the two cannons throughout today have been for. Of course, Pennies face will be up as well, but shell be last. High up in the sky a picture of the female tribute from District 1 is displayed, then the girl from Seven and eventually Pennie. He repeats the list of Tributes in his head, takes these three off it and realizes theres no more pairs now. The only female still alive is the one from District 2, the others he still needs to face are all male. He recites the five of them in his head as a list of simple numbers. Even Barse, the only one he does know by name, becomes a simple number. He keeps repeating it, as a mantra, first the numbers of the tributes he still needs to survive and then the list of people hell get back to.

Pennie died from hypothermia and Blaine has a vague suspicion thats how the girls from One and Seven got to their deaths as well.

He chuckles slightly, thinks of how bored the people from the Capitol must be. Day two is coming to its end and there havent been any fights. The Arena is quieter than any Arena has probably ever been before and everywhere Tributes are just trying to stay warm. He wonders if the Careers are even still together, or planning on killing anyone if they come across them. Theres only three Careers left, the two boys from One and Four and the girl from Two. No matter if they decide to kill someone, Blaine decides its best to avoid them at all costs.

For now, though, with the moon shining bright above him, he decides its time to rest.

As soon as he rolls out the sleeping bag, he hears the same tingling sound hed heard atop the Cornucopia. He looks around to locate it, follows the tiny parachute until it settles not that far away from him in the snow. He doesnt even need to climb a tree to retrieve it. The tingling sound stops as soon as Blaines hand is on the can and the Arena turns silent again. Blaine settles in the snow where he grabs the parachute and opens it. Inside is a note, again from Cooper.

A special someone told me this will heal your hands pretty quick. - C

Inside, he finds a little cream pot he recognizes from somewhere and when he opens it, the silver cream immediately clears it up. Kurt.

Suddenly, just looking at the silver cream inside the pot makes it feel as if Kurt is right next to him. Or maybe its because the cream smells like Kurt. He applies it to his hands generously and the effect immediately soothes him. He tugs it away in the glove he took with him, then tugs the glove inside the sleeping bag and settles himself for the night.

He buries his face in his hands, pretends its just to be comfortable when in reality he wants to smell Kurt in everything he can. Smelling Kurt is an amazing medicine, not just for his hands and the blisters on them, but for his mind as well. Closing his eyes against the images of the Arena by night, he lets images of Kurts flawless face flood his mind. He practically moans when he presses the palm of one hand against his lips and it almost feels as if Kurts lips are on his again.

The chestnut hair with silver streaks, he sees them and wishes hed had more time to tangle his hands in them. He imagines kissing those lips properly, rather than just a desperate hard press. Wishes he could map Kurts mouth with his own, maps Kurts skin with his mouth. Hold him close and whisper sweet nothings. He imagines running his hands up and down Kurts pale, strong arms, imagines them wrapped around him.

He hadnt even thought of Kurt that way, not when he was busy training and trying to learn how to survive. Not when hed been desperately trying to figure out his talent and now when he was so sure hed ruined any chance of getting a high rating. Not when his rating had been so terrible, hed been the worst Tribute of them all. He hadnt thought of Kurts lip the way hes thinking of them right now. He hadnt even really thought of Kurts lips like that when hed pressed them hard to his own, it was just an urge he hadnt been able to suppress.

Still, now he smells Kurt in his hands and he sees Kurts face at the forefront of his mind, he realizes hed been attracted to him the moment hed turned around and introduced himself. He was drawn to Kurt in a way where he knew they would get along. He may have blamed it on their musical connection at first, but he knows now there was something else, something more.

Its amazing, too, how quickly he had accepted everything about Kurt. His talent for designing, the fact his mothers death had hurt him so bad he stopped singing. Hes accepted Kurts tiny worries without a doubt, it was Kurt who made him accept the difference between Capitol people and District people werent something Kurt could do anything about. He wonders if Kurt feels the same way, its not like Kurt had any chance to react or respond before Blaine had to go off into the Arena.

And oh dear Lord, if he dies, what will Kurt think? Can he ever tell Kurt what he feels or will he even have the time to figure out completely what it is he feels. He knows Kurts special, realizes hes important when just his smell can put his mind at ease the way it does. Hes in an Arena full of threats and death around the corner, but with this physical reminder of Kurts existence somewhere else, he feels completely safe and comfortable.

With Kurt on his mind, his smell on his hands, he finds a vivid dream of silver lines, silver streaks and silver clothes. Pink, lush lips and green-gray eyes. Kurt smiles at him, doesnt say a word but takes his hand. Blaine braces himself but Kurts hand is soft and gentle, doesnt hurt his palms in the slightest. Together they walk through a forest thats bright with the sun overhead. Its warm where they walk, the leafs crisp under their feet and Kurts hand in his own remains a solid safety. Blaine walks straight ahead while looking sideways, only ever looking at Kurt.

The paleness of his skin, the long neckline which was so comforting to cry into, the curve of his lips. They all equal absolute and utter perfection, something Blaine wants to tell Kurt but he doesnt dare break the palpable silence. Its a precious calmness he doesnt want to let go, not in the beautiful forest with this serene bliss surrounding them.

Its Kurt, eventually, who breaks the silence. When he turns his head towards Blaine, something about him looks funny. His mouth doesnt match his face and at the side of it two white fangs point out of it, and then Blaine notices his eyes are a deep, dark brown instead of the silver-green hed expected to see. Kurt opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but out comes a low, rumbled growl -

Blaine scrambles up from his spot under the tree as soon as he wakes. In his haste to get out of where he is, to run away from the pack of wolves gathered not more than twenty meters away from him, he trips over his feet inside the sleeping bag. He crawls out of it as effortlessly as possible, then starts running in the thick snow. The wolves, mutts he assumes, run after him. First its one, then its two and soon there are five wolves on his tale.

They howl as they run, and theyre getting closer and closer the farther Blaine runs. Theyre faster than he is, practically flying over the snow. Theyre made to outrun him, made to hunt him down and rip him apart. Still, he wont give up without a fight. He wont give the Capitol the satisfaction of single-handedly killing him. He runs, runs until his lungs give out and runs even farther than that.

When his pace slows just a tiny bit, the wolves start surrounding him. Before long one grabs hold of his leg. He doesnt stop, keeps running and shakes the sharp mouth off himself. The wolves keep biting in his direction, but he flails with his arms and makes sure his legs keep moving as to not be an easy target. He runs until his legs start seizing up and even then he knows he needs to do something.

His mind races the same way it did when he was scanning the Arena at the countdown before the bloodbath. He stops at nothing, keeps moving while he thinks up a plan, ignores the pain when a wolf manages to grab his upper arm, he simply shakes the animal off and when another comes at him from the other side its like hes slapped with reality, feeling the knife heavy in his pocket. He grabs for it, manages to hold it and waves his arm vaguely in the direction of where the wolf comes towards him. He hits bulls eye right away, slitting the wolfs throat with no mercy.

The wolf hits another one as he falls, giving Blaine a full empty flank on his right where he does the first thing he can and grabs the bark of a tree. He climbs it like a monkey, loses his boot to the sharp teeth of a wolf biting at it, but hes at the top of the tree before the three remaining wolves can get to more of him.

He stays in the top of the pine tree, looking down at the wolves circling it. Hes not comfortable, but he manages to sit down on a bigger branch and steady himself. Hes got nothing on him anymore, all his supplies left at his resting place.

The wolves below him howl to the top of the tree and when Blaine has caught his breath and gets to chance to get a good look at them, his suspicions get confirmed immediately. Their eyes are too human, too full of evil and murder to be mere hunger and animal. Theyre bigger than usual wolves, or so he reckons, and they keep circling the tree when Blaine believes any ordinary animal would have continued their hunt elsewhere.

Around him, high up in the tree, he notices the day around him has gone light again and he also notices the air around him is warmer than the day before. Its still cold, but not the sharp sting against every exposed bit of skin that made it impossible to focus on anything else. Now he has time for that, he isnt too cold anymore and immediately he notices the empty feeling in his stomach, the head ache coming up and the thick feeling of dehydration in his veins.

His arm is dripping blood where the wolf had grabbed him, the sleeve of it ripped even more than it had been before. The wounds are deep and painful, and Blaine has nothing to treat them with. Even if the wolves would leave him alone and hed had a chance to get out of this tree and back to his supplies, hes not sure he would make it. Hes severely injured, hasnt eaten since the broth hed shared with Pennie and the broth is simultaneously the last fluid he got into his system.

It might be a bit warmer around him, but not warm enough by far to get out of risk of hypothermia either and so he knows, this tree will be where he spends his last moments. Hiding from mutations of the Capitol, murderous beasts programmed to kill any tribute they come across. Blaine feels faint, wonders if maybe he should just let himself slip and fall out the tree to be devoured by the wolves. Hopes it will be quick and brute, hopes his cannon will sound within seconds of his fall. Maybe the fall alone will kill him, maybe he wont even feel the mutts tearing him apart.

And then he thinks of the images hes seen before, tributes being torn apart by giant beasts, arms ripped off and heads rolling over the ground. Hes seen it before in games and he knows none of them have done it willingly, none of them did it to get their deaths over with quickly. No matter how injured, how certain of their loss they were, they never gave in to mutts. And when he sees the images, he also immediately knows why they never did. It wasnt because they were still desperately hoping to win, it wasnt because they thought to have a chance once surviving the mutts.

It was because of them, the list of people in his head that made him fight so far. Maybe fighting isnt an option anymore, but he cant show them hes given up. Most of all, he cant let them watch his body being torn apart. He needs to die atop this tree, needs to die here and stay here. The hovercraft collecting his body, it needs to collect his entire body and not several detached parts of him. His mother cant see her son being ripped to pieces like that, his father cant watch that and comfort her, he wont be able to. Cooper and Quinn, they cant watch their Tribute lying on the cold, wet snow and Kurt cant be watching this. His last memory needs to be something graceful, something worthy of Kurts tears and smile. Kurt needs to be proud of him, proud of the way hell die instead of horrified.

“Rope,” he says out loud, “I need rope.”

Its happened before, Tributes with a lot of sponsors, or with one extremely rich sponsor, getting what they need just ten minutes after they need it. He waits, looks around for a parachute to appear but it doesnt. He holds steady on the thick branch hes seated himself on and ignores the pain shooting through his wounded upper arm. At least his palms are healed, at least he can hold on tightly without that pain hindering him. The sleeve of his right arm is soaked in blood, and hes starting to get dizzy.

No parachute arrives.

However, below him the wolves change course when two tributes emerge from the woods not too far away from Blaine. Blaine immediately recognizes Barse and when the girl with him gets her head ripped off by one of the wolves, he can hardly hear the cannon that sounds for her by the ringing witnessing the horror starts in his ear. His mind goes in overdrive, as he sees her being torn apart and eaten, limb by limb the wolves devour her. Her.

Shes fallen, the last female tribute has fallen. Theres something sad about it, something final. This years tribute will most certainly be male. Blaines vision starts spinning and he holds onto the branch tightly as he almost loses his balance. This years tribute will be male and it wont be Blaine Anderson. His sight gets worse, keeps spinning and turns blurry as he tries to see with happens to Barse and the wolves.

Barse runs, runs fast and manages to outrun them when he spurts onto the ice of the lake. The wolves howl from the edge, but dont cross the line onto the frozen water. Barse looks around, decides to keep running until a large crack divides the ice in two separate parts. Where Barse stands, a large gap appears. He holds his legs on either side of the partition as long as he physically can, but eventually he has to let go and he falls straight into the water. As soon as hes under, the cannon startles Blaine and he loses his tight grip on the branch. He falls down, down, down the tree, through the branches. He cuts his cheek on a pine hits his head on a larger branche and everything goes black.

He comes too when the sun is overhead, telling Blaine its midday. The lake ahead is frozen over again, indicating a few days have passed since Blaine fell out the tree. It takes a while before he registers what woke him, a voice announcing through the Arena.

“Dear Tributes, each of you are facing death by hypothermia. If you wish to survive this Arena, your supplies will be waiting at the Cornucopia. Good luck.

Hypothermia, the biggest threat of all. Blaine inspects his boot-less foot, his little toe is a dark purple already and the other four are a bloodless white. The wound on his arm seems to be slightly infected, though it could be worse, but mostly he is dehydrated and cold. His teeth are clattering the way Pennies were at first as well. Snow is falling slowly still, it almost seems like a tribute to president Snow, this typical Arena.

Blaine scrambles up, looks around to see if maybe he can find his boot, but the wolf either threw it away too far or the Gamemakers have made it disappear. What he does notice, however, is a large parachute under the tree he fell out of, and he grabs it quickly.

Told you Id come through for you, get strong for the finale. - C

Inside he finds a large loaf of bread from their own District, the kind he told Kurt was his favorite. He eats up eagerly, while searching the other contents of the sponsors gift. Theres another tin filled with the silver cream, which he puts on his arm and the cut on his cheek. Theres a bottle inside as well, not filled with anything but he scoops up the top layer of snow, which he knows is clean, and bottles it up. He tucks the bottle inside his tracksuit, tight to his chest where the little amount of body heat he still has will melt the snow so he can drink it up soon enough.

He finds his knife not far away from where he fell, and gets up to start his walk towards the Cornucopia. He makes a detour via his hiding place from the before he was changed by giant wolves, hopes to find his sleeping bag and other supplies, but theyre all gone. Robbed by another tribute or taken away by the Gamemakers, he doesnt know. He gets to the Cornucopia easily, decides to hide in the woods to see what the others do before he goes in for his supplies.

Theres four bags on the table in front of it, each marked with an obvious number. 1, 4, 6 and 9. Just those four Tributes are left and each of them face death by hypothermia. Death the way Pennie died in Blaines arms. It didnt even seem that bad, much better than being torn apart and beheaded by wolves, or drowning in an ice cold lake.

The first tribute to walk towards the Cornucopia is a large boy. He walks with a limp, though differently than Blaines bootless limp. He walks slowly, obviously thinks hes alone and the rest are dying somewhere. He grabs the bag with the 6 on it confidently and when he turns around, an arrow hits straight through his gut the same way the spear hit Tish. Blaine looks in the direction the arrow came from and sees another boy run towards the Cornucopia.

When the boy grabs all four bags, Blaine sighs in defeat and turns to walk away, as far away from anyone with that kind of aim as quick as he can. Suddenly, hes startled by loud bangs that sound like gunshots and turns around to see that boy, too, lying on the snow lifelessly. The cannon sounds once, and Blaine knows the thief is dead. In the distance, in front of the Cornucopia he sees two bodies. One lifeless, one contracting in pain.

The lifeless body is surrounded by each of their bags and Blaine assumes the Gamemakers hadnt liked him taking all their gifts, needed the Tributes all to get their fire making gear. Or thick blankets, or what it is inside those bags that was intended to warm up. He guess it backfired, both on the tributes and the Gamemakers. Two dead in their attempt to rile the Games up a bit.

Two dead. That means, Blaine remembers with a halt, theres only one left. Its only him and the boy from Four or One now. Only Blaine and a career and one of them will win. Blaine feels the bread in his coat pocket, the snow-filled bottle against his chest. It doesnt feel cold, he suddenly thinks. The bottle feels warm, if anything and when Blaine takes it out his hands warm up immediately.

They sent him a self-boiling water bottle. In his haste to get to the Cornucopia, while watching the fight go down there, he hadnt felt it. He remembers now, as if he registered it to realize later, the soft sound of water boiling, the bottle rattling against his chest. As soon as theres water in this bottle, it boils to a heating point to kill any bacteria and diseases in there. This must be the most expensive gift a non-career has ever gotten.

He opens it quickly, drinks up as much of the warm water as he can. Its hot, it tastes like nothing and its the most welcome warmth hes ever felt. For a second he considers walking away from the Cornucopia, surviving on hot water and bread alone, but he knows he needs to fire supplies. That, and medicine for the infection in his arm. Especially now hes lost his sleeping bag, he needs something to survive the night with. He fills his bottle again quickly, tucks it away to let it be boiled again, before heading towards the battlefield.

The body of the boy from Six is still convulsing, trying very hard to die, when he walks towards both of them. Tishs body had long been picked up now so Blaine assumes the Gamemakers want him to see the dead body up close. Want him to pry his own bag out of the corpss hands. He recognizes the boy from District 1. Its just Blaine and Four now.

He tries to avoid the blood soaked snow, especially with his sock clad foot, ignores when the red becomes more than the white and bends over the body. He closes the eyelids first, refuses to look into the empty death present there. He grabs his own bag and turns around.

He drops his bag immediately again, falls back as Fours boy stands over him. Hes a tall boy, much bigger than Blaine and his eyes scream murder. Blaine knows hes gone for now. Next to him Sixs body is still not giving up, though the body is still now and slowly bleeding out. He knows the next two cannons are ready in the Capitol. Knows they will ring within the hour, understands that its going to be either for Blaine or for this boy from District 4 that the champagne will be popped. And right now, with his sock clad foot and a guy twice as broad as him, the odds arent really in his favor.

The boys fingers slip around his throat and lift him up, cutting off the air in his lungs with an iron grip. The fingers are cold, though, and shivering and Blaine can see in the boys eyes that he is weak. Its strange, how quickly Blaine can think when his vision already starts to blur, and his mind to haze. Even with shortage of oxygen, Blaine knows he only has one chance to get out of this. He grabs the water bottle from his coat and pours the now boiling hot water over the boys hands.

It hits Blaines throat just as hard and he feels the blisters forming, but at least he can breathe now. The boy, Four as Blaine calls him in his head, growls angrily as he inspects his hands, before he lunges towards Blaine again. This time, though, Blaine is prepared and throws the water in his face.

The blisters form immediately, as the boy screams all the air out his lungs into the Arena. The silence around them seems different when he stops, disturbed and ready to be broken again. Thats when the cannon sounds for the boy from Six, whose body finally gives out and slips away. For a short moment both Four and Blaine look at the body and then they know. They understand, they get it.

Theyre here, at the Cornucopia, surrounded by the last two tributes who died before the big finale. This is it, this is the end. The blistered face makes Four only scarier than he was before. Through half closed eye lids, he watches Blaine up and down and then grabs his throat again. He squeezes it closed, it hurts Blaine more than before because of the burned skin he has there now himself. The boy puts his face close to Blaines, hisses in his face and tightens his grip even more.

“Only one of us is getting out of here, brother, and Ill squeeze your delicate little throat until Im sure its me.”

Blaine gasps for air, flails his arms around and in a flash remembers. Four is too busy hissing threats into Blaines face to notice him putting his hand in his pocket and before the boy notices anything is off, he grabs the knife and drives it deep into his gut. Four gasps, his hand slips just a little, allowing Blaine to suck in a deep breath. Soon enough the hand is back tightly around his painful throat. Blaine takes the knife out of his enemys stomach and drives it in again, harsher this time, and a little higher. He repeats the motion several times, stabbing his opponent as many times as he can.

“Just – die,” he croaks out through his throat, to which Four growls “you just die” back to him. They stay like that for a long time, even when Fours knees give way, he keeps his hand locked around Blaines throat. Blaine goes down with him, stabbing him high between his ribs one last time before everything around him starts spinning. He understands from now on its just a matter of who dies first. He sees the blistered face close to his, bared teeth and tired eyes. He falls to the ground, his fingers slipping from Blaines throat. Blaine sucks in a sharp breath before he, too, falls to the ground and loses consciousness.

When he wakes later, everything around him is bright. Theres a light overhead, but it isnt the sun and he isnt lying on the cold snow anymore. Hes wrapped tight in a blanket, unable to move his legs or arms, and even his throat is locked with some sort of collar. He doesnt feel any pain, just a bit hazy and his vision is blurry, still. He looks around the room and locates a silver blob to his right.

“Welcome back,” Kurts warm voice greets him, “and congratulations. You won the 73rd Hunger Games.”