Hope surges through him, giving him new energy and suddenly he's at the foot of the mountain and it looms over him. Squinting his eyes against the rain, he sees the peak above, the tiniest shaft of sunlight peeking over it. It was so close, but yet so far.

Time to climb.

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

A violent wind rips across the arena, dead leaves and dust swirling across the sky. Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and presses his body closer to the rocks fearing the gust of wind would tear him off the mountain.

Once it passes, the freezing droplets slicing across his face, Blaine reopens his hazel eyes. 

Another breath. Another step. 

He had found a path up the mountain that skirted the steepest of cliffs so he was able to semi-walk semi-stumble his way up. This way he didn't have to make the treacherous climb. Climbing was probably the fastest way up but he knew he had no strength to carry his body up the mountain and knew that his shoulder certainly couldn't take the strain. 

The pain was always there. Constantly shaking his body into violent tremors and making him feel like he was being ripped into pieces, limb by limb. 

A large ledge blocked his path and Blaine groans. Taking a deep breath he pulls on the gloves tighter. With a cry of pain he drags himself up, using his feet to help support him. It feels like his shoulder is being sliced off his body. Maybe that would be better. 

Another shout and he manages to haul himself up. At the top, he rolls slowly onto his back, feet still dangling off the edge. His arms shake and pain shoots like lightning down his nerves, and he tenses as the current runs through his veins.

He realizes that he is crying softly, the tears mingling with the cold rain that is still pelting down on the arena.  His body was finally betraying him as he begins to lose control. The black spots return and creep around the edges of his vision. 

It was almost over. 

In some way or the other. 

Keep breathing keep fighting.

He knew the world was watching and he tries to stop the tears. But he couldn't.

I can't keep thinking about the audience, he thinks to himself, his words even slurring in his thoughts as his mind fights to focus. The crowd couldn't save him now. This wasn't just about entertainment anymore. It was too late for that. All he has to think about now is staying alive. 

With a deep breath, he rolls over and uses the rocks beside him to haul himself onto his feet. Pain shakes at his very core as his muscles and wounds cry out in protest, and he is vaguely aware of his warm blood spilling down his body, a sharp contrast to the rain overhead. 

Clothes clinging to his body and tears streaming down his face, made invisible by the rain, he exhales. He shakes the curls from his eyes, not finding the strength to reach up and brush them away. 

The world slows once again as he tries to find his breath and draw the strength to carry on. The scorching pain is a constant reminder that he's alive, and he lets it settle and ebb. He looks down to his feet and shifts them slowly, listening as the gravel crunches, the small rocks rolling and pattering against each other.

He sways on his feet, spreading his good arm out to steady himself. Every droplet of rain feels like it is trying to push him to his feet. It's as if the Gamemakers are trying to hammer him down, drop by drop, until he is part of the arena itself. But he stays on his feet, and breathes.

Once he regains a trace of composure, he moves away from the rocks that support him, hope once again surging through his ravaged body as he realizes that his feet can hold him up.

Moving towards the edge carefully, he peers down, trying to catch a glimpse of the other tributes.

His sight is blurred and he squints, trying to make sense of the shapes behind the rain.

Nothing.

With a sigh of relief he moves to turn and continue on his path. Maybe the flood managed to drown them and they are just clinging to life and that's why the canons haven't sounded and any second now they are going to announce his victory and  he'll hold Kurt in his arms again-

Wait.

Shit.

Two shapes, one far below and the other dangerously close behind materialize, climbing to the same target. The peak at the top of all things.

His heart catches in his throat and fear fills him. They are climbing and fighting and they look so strong and he doesn't stand a chance against them.

No.

Just breathe.

In

Out

In

Out

Turning away he continues up the rocky path, faster, and ever faster, ignoring his body who screams for him to stop and give up.

Kurt.

Must get home.

Kurt.

The air thins as he climbs higher, nearing the peak, and the path steepens until he is half climbing. It hurts but he doesn't dare stop.

Just a little while longer, a little longer, almost there, he encourages himself, emitting a pain laced wail as he drags his body up another ledge.

And another.

And then another.

Suddenly a scream tears him out of his diligent climb and he instantly moves to the edge to see the source.

Not far below, two tributes struggle. A boy and a girl. The girl is below the boy, who looks exhausted and is probably badly injured. She's grabbing his ankle, trying to pull him off the mountain and down into the roiling water below, but he clings tightly to the rocks. She pulls herself up a few feet, and suddenly metal flashes through the air as she draws out a sword from the sheath strapped to her back, and without a moment's hesitation, she strikes his head from his shoulders. Blaine watches in horror as she smirks as the boy's corpse tumbles off the rocks and falls into the water below with a splash.

A canon sounds.

Two tributes left.

One is armed and strong. The other is unarmed and mortally wounded.

Capitol audience, place your bets.

Blaine feels his heart flutter in his chest, and he tears his eyes off the steadily climbing killer who draws ever closer and scrambles up the mountain.

The peak appears and with a shout of pain and victory, he pulls himself up to the top. He rises to his feet, and turns.  The entire arena is splayed out before him, and it's covered in water. The tips of the tallest trees are barely visible and the other mountains rise out of the water, as if reaching for the sky.

The rain still falls mercilessly and although the air is so thin, so thin that Blaine can barely find a breath, the wind is stronger up here. It runs through his wet curls, picking them up and whipping them about.

He is silent, absorbing the scene. He is so high, but it is such a far way to fall.

It's almost over.

A hand appears and grasps at the rocks for purchase. Blaine numbly makes his way towards it as its companion joins it. He looks down cautiously, and sees the girl trying to haul herself up.

It's so easy. Too easy.  So easy to simply kick her off the mountain. He draws his foot back, numbly preparing to do just that and end this once and for all, when she looks up, brown hair whipping around her sharply chiseled face.

She has blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

Blaine freezes and she looks up at him, blue eyes wide and glittering. "Please." She whispers. "Don't."

Blaine shuts his eyes for a second. God he can't do this. He can't. He just can't. Not another, please not another.

 His throat thickens and tears creep out of his lashes and spill hotly down his cold face. Squeezing his eyes tighter to trap the rest within, he pictures home and Kurt. For a second he imagines the faces of those he loves, tries to recreate them in his blurred memory. But they were surrounded by the images of the tributes he had killed and the sounds of the dying.

He feels something bubble up in his chest. Not horror at what had contaminated his thoughts but anger. Anger at what the Games had made-no forced him to become.

He realizes it is too late.

Too late to find that empathy for the tribute below him.

Too late to rediscover the pity he once used to possess.

Too late to care.

With his heart empty, mind numb, and body wrought with pain Blaine opens his eyes, and looks down at the girl. Her blue eyes search his face with innocence and fear, but he sees the sword being unsheathed.

He blinks and with a soft exhale he hears the crunch of his boot against her face and watches as she loses her grip with a scream and begins to fall, grabbing wildly at the air.

Face unchanged, he stands at the edge, looking on numbly as she hits the water below with a violent crack and sinks below the dark waves.

A minute passes, and Blaine stares. Unable to comprehend.

A canon sounds.

Trumpets begin to blare, ringing through the stormy air.

The announcer's voice is projected around the arena, along with the sound of applause, live from the Capitol.

"Ladies and gentleman, I am pleased to present the victor of the Twenty-Third Hunger Games, Blaine Anderson! I give you - the tribute of District One!"