DTT: Round One, Gavin vs Mal

I'm falling again.

Through ink and ichor, back into this wretched body and the weight of its broken heart. I should probably be horrified. Perhaps angry. Perhaps scared.

Something more than... exasperated. But I suppose it's a miracle that I feel anything at all.

Monsters surround us on all sides but if the Hunger Games had taught me anything it's that your friends are just as likely to be your ending. They want us to fight and I suppose it'll be nice to go out swinging this time. Not burned, not bloody, not begging for a bullet.

But Chad is here and that makes my feelings a lot more complicated than I'd like. He has no right to hold my heart even so many years after its stopped beating.

I grip the spectral blade as I turn to face my opponent and - "What the fuck is this? Battle of the scrawny white boys?" It's strange to hear my own deadpan tone. I rest my hand against my throat, taken aback by the sound for a moment.

"Didn't go out by a blade last time. Sorry if this brings up any unpleasant memories for you."

Here's the thing, I'm not a fighter.


Apparent in the way my blade barely makes purchase, opening up my body to my opponent's strike and - "Fuck!" He hits hard. It's all instinct, the crude approximation of living as I bring my other hand to the wound in an attempt to dull the pain. They promise death is the end of all things, but apparently they have no idea what they're talking about. This still fucking hurts.

Love exists here too. There's something soft and anxious in me, hoping that Chapman's voice can carry across the screaming crowds, through the rush of blood in my ears. If only to have him a few moments longer. He doesn't know what happened to me, and I think the kindest I am capable of being is making sure he never finds out.

"Yes mister shit-ass sir!" I salute Mal with a bloody hand, bearing half a smile that shows teeth. Not quite the same as his, I don't wear anger half as well. There's something curious about the clothes falling off his frame, a relic of another time. Styles I'd never seen with my own two eyes.

"You've been here a long time, haven't you?"

If I'm gonna get killed by someone's grandpa, might as well know who to haunt.

I've got this reflex to swallow my smiles. The ones I really mean, that aren't emphasis to some sardonic comment or cruel observation.

You're Gav?

"Yeah, that one's mine. Don't get any ideas, by the way, I don't share." I motion toward Chad but I don't have the heart to look at him. Let him watch me get torn to shreds this time around, given he was busy being dead the last. My memory is hazy at best. Death seems to have eaten away at all the warmest ones but his death is crystal clear. Sitting, alone, in our apartment wrapped up in a blanket that still smelled like him. Aspen Peake shoved her spear through his eye and I told myself it was better that he went quick and painless but

I suffered.

I'm so tired of suffering.

"It's a whole tragic tale I'm sure we've all got one." Was I a killer? I can't remember. Am I facing off against one? It's stupid to fear pain after all I've been through but... I can't help it.

I don't think I wanna die again. "What about you? Your name, your story. I wanna know."

Curiosity, maybe a little bit of pity. Maybe I hope if he thinks I care his killing blow will be gentle.

Love hurts, but not like hatred does.