Cry No More [JB]

Oh fortune, bring fortune,
To spare.
Time's passing, and we're worsing,
For wear. Aching for breathable air,
And, oh my god it's killing me.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

Jude had spent the night before the reaping in shadow and darkness, the single light of one candle being attacked by the wind for light sitting beside him in front of a joint grave. It was a warm night, an ocean breeze coming off the water tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, making a soft sigh emerge. "What are you doing here, Jude?" he'd asked himself before sighing and leaning against the grave stones in front of him. "Being an idiot, obviously." He doesn't quite know why he still does this exactly, only that he's done it every year that he can remember since he became reapable. Only then I actually talked to my parents instead of two rocks. This however has sufficed for the past few years, because now he can talk at them and they can't talk at him.

So the night before he had taken his solitary walk out to the grave yard, and leaned against their already faded stones, and asked for forgiveness, hoping that this night might be the one where he actually felt like he was getting it, even if you don't deserve it. then he'd move on to ask about the reaping, and ask his parents to watch over him and his brothers, you know keep them safe from the Capitolite's long white fingers. There was a slight hopeful feeling last night because it was going to be Jude's last year, mixed with a sense of dread because the year after, his brothers would be on their own, he wouldn't be able to volunteer for them.

Then there was the usually overwhelming sense of despair regret, and guilt that came as common as the tide and held him down in it's shallows until it would abide back down, away into the ocean. Don't believe them when they say it wasn't your fault Jude. Please just go away It's a silent vigil, sitting in the night with the one candle, waiting for it to go out so the sun could rise, and they have luck. Pouring all his good thoughts into keeping his brothers safe, and the Libertines untouched as well. This was the only way that Jude knew how to protect them other than volunteering for them when they were reaped. Call it what you will, it had worked every year so far for him. So he'd stayed until the candle, stars and moon had gone out, and then he made his way back home, carefully getting dressed, making sure he had everything he needed for the day.

His suit, so that he'd look handsome. So that's he'd look cool. He never put much effort in, but the minimum amount he did seemed to lend a great deal. Pens, stuffed into his pocket, ink colouring his arms and hands shades of greys. Paper bags, so that when the world exploded, at least he'd be able to breathe. The bracelet, a cord made out of rope that Fitz had wove for him years ago. He didn't know why he had already decided that it would be his token, but to him it signified everything that the four brothers were with four different pieces of rope.

Oh chances,
oh forces, of luck.
Feels arid, windows boarded, enough.
Lord, let those skies open up.
Powers that be, forsaken me.

This isn't actually happening.

Jude stood stock still as Pen's voice was called over the loud speakers, and instantly bodies moved away or surged towards her. He wasn't surprised, in a sudden state of calmness, to find that he didn't actually believe the state of events. Sister. She was a sister to him, and also something somewhat more, more tangible. She was something delicious and lovely on a hot summer afternoon she cooled it off, just as easily as she could cool Jude's emotions. She could smooth it all down, and then pat it until Jude seemed as calm as a rock garden. His fingers clenched as he watched her get led up and away out of the crowd. As he watched the Capitolite on the stage offer congratulations. But still so relieved. Ignoring her screaming and begging and clawing doesn't make it go away, Jude Ripley.

Jude had a deep certainty that no matter what, the games wouldn't take two important people from him, they'd be safe, his brothers. He let himself relax a bit, Penelope's white face filling him with guilt just because he was glad that she was the lamb going to slaughter and not one of his brothers. Oh Jude, you're really such a terrible brother, if you were any good, you'd volunteer just to keep her alive or die trying. I gotta take care of my brothers. Although the excuse is strong and certain in his head, Jude knows it's weak, the way of a coward. So uncertain, in the silence, he wets his lips, opens his mouth and-

"I volunteer! Penelope, wait! I volunteer!"

Wha-

No.

NO.

Jude dashes forward, screaming as Fitz runs forward too, hoping to cut him off, knowing that his efforts are futile. The words definitely came from his lips. Not from his own, where they should have come. They should have calmly came from Jude, the big brother, the protector, came with some meaning, allowed a blanket of safety to cover his brothers. Allowed him to keep them safe again. This isn't right. He had done everything, talked to them all night, asked them to watch over his brothers. You did everything but one thing right. You weren't the one to volunteer. Jude scrambled past the people, to where Fitz is already being led up to the stage, and bodies hold him back, even as he pushes to get through, voice ragged from screaming out his name.

"FITZ, FITZ! NO."

They hold him back, he can hear voices in my ear, can't tell if they are Libertines or Ripley's, Jude's so fucking scared. He's going to die. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT JUDE, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THEM." A loud moan tears through Jude, tearing him apart as he stares up at the stage, eyes bewildered like he's been betrayed. This wasn't supposed to happen. To volunteer was death, they all knew that, "I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY FITZ," he yells, voice tearing over the roar of the crowd as the agent from the Capitol lifts their hands and they're led off the stage. Jude slips onto the ground, slumping to his knees, suit growing dusty in the moving people around him as he lifts a hand to his eyes and pulls his lids down like he's already dead and he's just made his own casket.

Oh choices, bring voices, resound.
Please be merry, when I am buried,
In the ground.
Nice to have the kids around.
Oh my god, it’s killing me.

I don't know what to do.

Jude crosses the small room in almost two strides and folds his brave little brother up into his arms. Out of the two of them, Fitz is the one who deserves an ivory tower and Jude is the one who deserves to toil in the dirt. He's shown it time and time and time again. Jude pulls him in tight, feeling so small holding onto his little brother's five feet and eight inches frame, when he's two whole inches taller. More filled out though, more healthy. And he smells of grave dirt and the ocean, with a ix of smoke and boy sweat. He's Jude's little brother going off to war before Jude does himself. This should be you, coward. Coward. /COWARD./ Hastily, he pulls away, holding Fitz at arm's length studying him like it's the last time he'll ever see on him. Funny that's not true He'll see him again on the television, it's Fitz that will never see his older brother again.

"We don't have much time, you idiot, but I want you to take this." As he speaks, Jude slips the bracelet off and puts it on his brother's wrist. He's the only one of the four paranoid enough to wear his token to the reaping, because the rest of them believe they're lucky. He wants to tell him that he's going to win, that he's definitely coming home, but he knows it's not even his brother's plan to do so. His brother, his little brother that he half raised. His brother. Oh god oh god, oh god. Fitz was not going to be another body he was going to add to his guilty list. Not Penelope either. Pipe down Jude, can't a guy dig some nice old graves in quiet?

"Oh god Fitz, why did you do it, why. I can't...I don't. Fitz, I-I can't. I can't see you die. Promise me, promise me you won't die. If you die I don't know what I'll do, it'd be worse than Mom, Dad, or anyone I knew combined. If you die, I die. Metaphorically, okay. I can't lose another piece of me, I need you. Fitz, you can't leave me, okay? Promise. Please, promise me that you won't die." He's rambling like a three year old, breath coming in short gasps, one hand already reaching for a paper bag, trying to remain calm and failing miserably. He's never given so much out, let the others see so much. But oh god, he feels like he's never going to see Fitz again, and that's a death in it's self.

Hastily, he pulls Fitz' arm towards him, and pulls out a pen, scratching on the image of a mockingjay, knowing that he's pressing down too hard and he's going to hurt his brother. "It's for luck Fitz, for luck okay? Don't wipe it off. Please Fitz, please." The Peacekeepers rap on the door, and desperation takes Jude over in full force. Rushing forward again, he wraps Fitz up in his arms remembering once more and maybe for the last time what he smells like, and who he was a s a little boy. "I'm proud of you Fitz, and I love you. You're braver than you think, and you're stronger than you feel. Win. Try to win. Promise."

And then they pull him away, dragging him out of the room. the last thing he sees is his brother's slightly pale face, and a look of soft anguish, yet determination adorning his skin.

I've never wanted to die in substitute so badly before.

Yeah you have Jude Ripley, loads of times.

Coward.

Oh fortune, bring fortune,
To spare.
Time's passing, and we're worsing,
For wear. Aching for breathable air,
And, oh my god it's killing me.