Blaine filtered between consciousness and unconsciousness. Bright lights and colors swirled in his eyes, liquid flares of fire bursting in at random moments, violently bringing him back to the surface before he sunk down again. Somewhere in this haze, a silver flash fluttered before him.

He struggles to open his eyes, licking his dry lips, mouth feeling like sandpaper. A small silver parachute floats to the ground before the cave, catching in the branches that conceal it. With a groan, Blaine forces himself up on his knees and crawls towards it, reaching up weakly with his uninjured arm and pulling it loose.

Attached to it is a small white jar and a small note. Blaine blinks repeatedly, trying to get his eyes to focus and stay open as he reads Crippet's slanted cursive:

"This is for your shoulder. Use it to get well. You have sponsors Blaine, keep them. It's time to start playing."

Unscrewing the lid with trembling fingers, Blaine unwraps his shoulder, wincing at the sight of the ravaged skin, looking horrible in the dimming light. He twists aside and retches, clutching his sides as he heaves, but nothing coming up from his empty stomach. Swallowing back the bile that rises in his throat, Blaine dips his fingers into the cool ointment, and gently massages it over the wound. He is met with instant relief, the white cream soothing the wound, dulling the pain, and hiding it from sight. He reaches over his shoulder, rubbing it over the unstitched portion of the cut near his back, wincing at the blood that wets his hands. Wiping them against his pants, Blaine takes a large gulp of water from one of the canteens and rewraps his wound tightly before getting dressed.

The next few hours Blaine washes up and eats some food, slowly regaining his strength. He dries out the meat and packages it away. He sharpens his knives. He cleans the cave and the backpack. He thinks of Kurt.

Suddenly night has fallen and there are canons outside and Blaine hurries out, holding the slip of paper with the tributes' names on them that he prepared earlier. Using some berries, he watches the screens that are projected over the arena, and checks off the names of the dead.

The brutal opening and vicious career pack had decimated the tribute pool. It may be an exciting games, but it isn't going to last very long. Fourteen tributes are dead. Only ten remain.

Blaine rereads the note Crippet sent to him, eyes catching on one line over and over.

"It's time to start playing."

Blaine nods slowly to himself. With his wound, he physically couldn't afford to wait until the other tributes killed each other off. He would have to hunt. And he would start tonight.

Blaine buttons up his jacket, sliding his knives into it and strapping the spear to the pack after packing some food and water into it. Rising and taking a deep breath, he slips out into the night.

******

Blaine climbs up some rocks until he climbs high enough to see the arena spread out before him. With careful eyes he scans the quiet trees, looking for some sign of motion.

There it is.

A small spark, a small fire being lit not far below him.

And another not far away.

And another.

As the other tribute were settling down to sleep, tired after a long day have hunting, slaughtering, or hiding, Blaine memorizes their locations, and descends, his silhouette against the moon unnoticed by everyone except the cameras that watch his every step.

He quietly slips through the forest, light feet barely making a sound. An owl hoots in the distance as the wind whispers through the leaves. Almost telling him to turn around. Trying to pull him back. To stop him from doing what he will never forget and becoming just another piece in the games.

Too late though.

Blaine made a promise. And one he intends to keep. He WILL get home to Kurt. To his family and friends. No matter the cost.

A few slow minutes pass and suddenly firelight flickers in-between the dark trunks. Blaine holds his breath, and slides out his long blade, silently approaching his first victim.

A girl lies facing the fire, her back to Blaine, long brown hair dirty and tangled but reflecting the licking tongues of flame. Blaine's heart pangs painfully as he is reminded of Rachel but he only grips the knife tighter. He kneels behind the sleeping girl, scared that she might hear the wild beating of his heart and wake up. Blaine bites his lip and looks at the stars, closing his eyes for a second before reaching down and pulling the girl's head up and swiftly sliding his blade across her throat.

Blaine keeps his head up, staring at the inky sky above and blinking away the tears that treacherously prick at his eyes as he hears the gargled cry and liquid exhale. And then silence. Just silence and that owl hooting in the distance. He moves away but makes the mistake of glancing down and is frozen. The girl is limp on the floor, the breath stolen from her body, a scarlet ribbon spilling down her neck. But what holds him in place is her eyes. They are open and stare up at him sightlessly, a warm brown frozen in a moment of shock and fear. They stare at Blaine. They stare at her killer.

Blaine chokes and turns to run, blindly flying through the trees as the canon sounds behind him, signaling a death. Once the scene has disappeared Blaine leans heavily against a tree, sliding down against the trunk and collapsing. He looks at his hands, still stained with blood. A lonely tear slides down his cheek. He exhales, forcing himself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

He slowly rises and wipes his hands, clenching them into fists. Blaine knows he has to keep going. He cannot stop.

Blaine wipes the blade against the forest floor and looks around to get his surroundings. He isn't far off, and he moves to his next target.

*****

The night passes and dawn leaks across the sky, staining the sky red. Blaine looks down at his shaky hands as he stumbles back to his cave. He had killed four. The girl, a boy he had snuck upon as he ate, and two others that were camped together. He killed one with his knife, and thrown the spear at the other, his aim impeccable.

Only six tributes left.

Blaine dives back into his cave, feeling numb, cold, detached and emotionless. The morning sunlight is seeping through the cracks above but exhaustion allows him to sink into a dreamless sleep.

*****

He sleeps the day away, his body taking in its required rest and by the time he wakes, eats, cleans, and redresses his wounds, twilight has fallen over the arena. He steps outside, stretching and breathing in the crisp mountain air, loving the silence.

Canons sound in the distance and the names of the dead are projected once more across the arena. Another deadly day and night. Only four tributes left including himself. The games were almost over.

Blaine barely has time to let this realization sink in until suddenly, a flash of silver across the moon, and a parachute is sinking down towards him, carrying a large white package. Blaine looks curiously as it nears him, and plucks it out of the air as soon as it is in reach. A note is taped to the top, reading only two words in his mentor's slanted handwriting:

"Well done."

Blaine pulls away the white cloth and stares stunned at the contents: a guitar. A simple wooden guitar. Confused he pulls it out of the package, until a look of understanding spills across his face.

Of course.

This is entertainment, and he is still winning over the audience. He almost laughs at the stupidity of the entire thing. He had just killed four people and yet the Capitol wants him to sing for them. Instead of laughing at the irony, he opts instead for his famous small smile and famous wink, knowing that the cameras were bound to be watching.

The stars twinkle overhead as he climbs the rocks above his cave, unarmed except for the long blade that is always hidden within his jacket and the guitar. He climbs high enough until he can see the entire arena, the air thinning ever so slightly. He sits down at the edge, dangling his feet off the rock, shivering slightly as a chilled breeze whips through his dark curls.

Wincing slightly as he adjusts the guitar on his lap, but ignoring the pain in his shoulder Blaine just sits plucking the strings, thinking of what to sing. Suddenly the chords form into something tangible, and softly music swirls through the breeze over the rocks and the trees and through the clearing behind him.

The wind whispers in his ear and Blaine takes in a deep breath and starts to sing softly:

1,2,3,4

He's thinking of a porcelain boy with blue eyes back at home, watching the screen intently, his heart beating quickly as he watches his boyfriend miles away strumming a guitar and launching into a quiet song:

So far away from where you are

These miles have torn us worlds apart

And I miss you, yeah I miss you

So far away from where you are

I'm standing underneath the stars

And I wish I was with you

He's thinking of a sunny meadow, an infectious laugh, a smiling song as he forgets the world and death and suffering and arena around him, singing to this one person miles away, hoping he remembers the same things:

I miss the years that were erased

I miss the way the sunshine would light up your face

I miss all the little things

I never thought that they'd mean everything to me

Yeah I miss you

And I wish I was with you

I feel the beating of your heart

I see the shadows of your face

Just know that wherever you are

Yeah I miss you

And I wish I was with you

He's thinking of a chocolate cookie, a smooth guitar, a rusted bike, a small stone cottage as his voice cracks softly. He clears it and continues to sing, liquid voice laden with sadness, loss, and memory:

I miss the years that were erased

I miss the way the sunshine would light up your face

I miss all the little things

I never thought that they'd mean everything to me

Yeah I miss you

And I wish I was with you

So far away from where you are

These miles have torn us worlds apart

And I miss you, yeah I miss you

And I wish I was with you

He's thinking of the life he left behind as he finishes the song.

But Blaine is unaware that miles away from where he was, Kurt who was standing in applause, clapping as tears streak down his cheeks, is suddenly screaming for his attention, his face a mask of shock and horror as Kurt watches a large dark figure creep behind his boyfriend, a long bade reflecting the moonlight.

Blaine takes a deep breath, looking across the dark arena until a low voice whispered into his ear shatters the silence.

"Hello there princess. Now wasn't that beautiful?" The voice smiles as Blaine feels a cool blade press against his throat.