show me what you're made of || laurent vs beck

Laurent had reached the lowest point of pathetic. The moment Georgina collapsed, he dropped everything to plead with a corpse on its final breath. When the canon signaled her demise, he knelt beside her. "Why? Why would you do that?" He didn't understand why she had surrendered so quickly. Succumbing to self-hatred was something he could empathize with; after all, it was his own fault his brother's illness remained at its peak. It was his fault Elijah's body would break down slowly and painfully. It was his fault the boy's only chance was winning this cursed crown.

He despised himself for all of this, yet he chose to fight. Why couldn't Georgina believe there was a reason to go home?

"They've always hated me."

"Nobody needs me."

Her words haunted him.

Shivering in the rain, he stood up and gazed at a grey sky. "You hate her, huh? Well now she's fucking dead! Are you satisfied?" His words were met with eerie silence, but they were meant to pierce the chests of District Three - the ignorant fools who dared hate a girl for being born into a life she hadn't chosen. Now he was forced to eat his own words - "You'll have to explain yourself to my family." The idea of returning home now made him nauseous. What if she had siblings? Had they watched him rip her out of their family portrait? A happy family shattered by a boy from their own district. Betrayed by cowardice. Laurent had been too selfish and scared to run away.

Another bad decision.

He sat next to her body for awhile. His hands were wrapped around his own torso, soaked by rain and covered in goosebumps. He didn't want to leave because he was sorry, and he had nowhere else to go. The downpour eventually forced him to stand up and find shelter in the dense forest, with no signs of letting up anytime soon. An overcast day to mirror a melancholy demeanor. He felt like a walking corpse - exhausted, empty, sluggish. Wandering aimlessly in search of nothing. At least when he had Noel's company, there was a sense of purpose. She always had a goal in mind. Laurent knew the endgame was victory, but now he had no idea how to reach that point.

So, he walked until his legs gave out.

As he slowly patched himself up, he realized he didn't like the white noise of rain in the dark. The noises had never bothered him before, but back then there was the knowledge of someone else's protection. Tonight, he had nobody. Fate held him hostage in the elements, and he had no way of knowing when or if someone else would try to kill him.

Hearing the anthem's ominous tune was almost a relief. He watched the stars intently, focused on the details of Georgina's portrait. He wanted to remember her for who she used to be, not the crying, bleeding girl collapsed by the river. It was safest to assume her family was watching. Perhaps sobbing over their little girl, and cursing Laurent to meet a terrible fate. Really, it's only a matter of time...

He didn't finish the thought. Noel's portrait shocked him out of all imagination, heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. "No!" He stood up and backed himself into a tree, forehead wrinkling in disbelief. "No no no...how?!"

She had just been alive this morning, full of energy and might. She was a career, damn it! Who could've killed her? He could hardly remember who was left. The kid who tagged along with Juliet was still here, as was Noel's brother. Beyond that, he had no idea.

"This is some kind of sick joke," he muttered. The day he leaves her behind, she dies. It was impossible not to blame himself. He could've insisted on staying, on having her back for one more day...

He abruptly sat back down, defeated. There was nothing he could do or say to change this. Nobody to apologize to. Nobody to take revenge on.

He hadn't expected to outlive his entire group, yet here he was.

And despite the weight of past sins and future fates, he slept soundly and heavily.

---

Morning brought misfortune.

Although he felt refreshed, it didn't stop him from stumbling through the arena like a wounded elephant. With no destination in mind, he wandered until he found himself standing on one of the canopy bridges, swaying from side to side as he clumsily tried to cross. The newly-improvised plan was to hide up here until someone or something found him, but fate rejected this cowardly plan. It punished him by depriving him of everything he needed.

"No!"

The bag slipped the moment he stumbled. As he caught himself on the bridge ropes, he watched his supplies plummet and scatter on the bridge beneath him. "Damn it!" It would take him ages to climb down there.

"Did you do it?"

The voice caught him off-guard, drawing a puzzled gaze in its direction. He recognized Beck's face, but failed to show any subtlety as he gaped at the missing leg. Clearly Juliet hadn't been the only one to experience torture in this jungle purgatory.

The drinks shared between them meant nothing today. Beck accused him of killing Noel in her sleep, and split Laurent's skin through the relentless rainstorm that turned his blood ice cold. He hissed and instinctively backed way, clutching his arm to himself. He had nothing else to hold onto. His weapons were gone.

"What? No! We separated yesterday morning so we wouldn't have to fight each other," he said.

And now he regretted it.

"I killed Georgina, my district partner. She was awake too. I wouldn't kill someone in their sleep that's - awful. I have morals, you know."

Did those morals stop him from fighting back?

They couldn't. Not anymore.

It was foolish to underestimate an opponent. Laurent had learned that the hard way, and wore the scars to prove it. Beck was no different; even with a missing leg he managed to evade Laurent's fist, as if he had predicted the movement. Laurent himself had never been much of a fighter - not until the Games forced him to wield a weapon. He had discovered that anyone with a weapon could be deadly, but without one? He was just another street rat. Every small fist fight he had gotten into ended with his ass on concrete.

He tried not to think about his fleeting hope.

It was hard to disagree with Beck. Morals truly didn't matter in he boundaries of this green hellscape, yet there wasn't much else to grasp onto. Laurent still wanted to follow his own morals from time to time. Yes, he would break some, and yes he would regret his impulsive decisions, but at the end of the day there were still those choices he avoided. He had chosen not to torture Juliet. He had chosen not to kill Noel in her sleep. Those were ideas that made him believe he wasn't such a horrible person after all. Without that, he was nothing but a pathetic villain. One of the villain's from Elijah's story - always locked away or killed in the end. Always with one final, awful one-liner to utter.

Laurent didn't want to die with that identity.

He couldn't deny that they were all killers, but his own morals mattered to him. What mattered even more was Beck's reactions - he was disappointed that Laurent hadn't killed Noel. I'm just glad you believe me.

Laurent understood instantly. Any justification made killing an opponent easier. He had learned that during his adventure with Noel - you were just putting Juliet out of her misery.

A misery he helped cause.

"We can always come up with an excuse. I mean, look at me," he said, raising stitched arms into the air. Completely disarmed. His eyes flickered to the weapons dropped below, then back to Beck. Neither had acknowledged how defenseless he was until now. It was shameful that he had been stupid enough to end up in this situation, but there was nothing to be done. It was unreasonable to request mercy.

"I'm easy prey, right? There's your reason."

Beck was a decent guy. He didn't deserve to feel guilt.

"And mine is self-defense."

Another futile swing. His knuckles practically bounced off of Beck's arm, an uncomfortable bone to bone contact that meant a whole lot of nothing. The most pathetic display of self-defense, and there was nobody to blame but himself. As much as he didn't want to kill Beck - just as he had no desire to kill Juliet or Georgina - he wished he had a spear in his hands. At least that feeling, no matter how dreadful, was familiar. Throwing fists around made him feel clumsy, heavier. The bridge swayed with each of his movements.

If he died, he needed to die with bloodied knuckles. He would not be the laughing stock of the Games by falling off of a damn bridge in the middle of combat. They were probably already laughing at his misfortune.

"Makes me seem like kind of a dick. I guess you did also just punch legless guy."

Despite his exhaustion, Laurent chuckled. They were balanced in that sense; Beck could justify stabbing an unarmed tribute, just as Laurent could justify punching a one-legged boy. This Game was hardly designed to be fair, but at least they had their excuses. It didn't erase the guilt Laurent would feel if he did manage to kill Beck in this state, but it helped. It made him realize that Beck wasn't covertly judging him.

This was the part of Beck he remembered from the training center.

In the beginning, everything felt like a bad dream. The bloodbath, the sight of Ikaros dying to a storybook villain - processing all of that had put a strain on his mind. There had almost been a blockade of denial, a temptation to pretend all of it never happened. As the misery continued, he eventually realized it wasn't possible. "The pain reminds me that it's real," he panted, gesturing to every rip and tear in the front of his shirt. Beneath each one was a line of stitches. The old ones itched, the new ones ached. It was a whole new level of 'pinch me I'm dreaming'. Nerves on fire, there wasn't ever a moment to believe any of this was a dream.

"How do you do it?"

He didn't know what the hell he was doing. Coping?

There wasn't much of a choice, but he still had an honest answer.

"I think about my brother. He's probably watching, even though he should be in bed." He turned his head to the canopy in the trees, as if talking to Elijah through the hidden cameras - and he was. He didn't want him watching. He deserved to live his life peacefully - what little of it remained.

Laurent would do everything in his power to survive if it meant seeing him again.

"You must be a good brother."

A bittersweet sense of pride washed over him. He could comfortably brag about his relationship with his brother - how he would read to him, play adventure with him, cook and clean for him when he needed it. Laurent liked to think of himself as the protective big brother because that's what he strived to be.

It didn't quite work out the way he had hoped.

Poor role models set the standards for life. Elijah had never picked up on Laurent's delinquent habits, but the consequences were devastating all the same. Pupils dilated in despair, he shook his head at Beck. "I tried to be, but I'm not."

He's going to die because of you.

He didn't know how Elijah was supposed to enjoy the rest of his life without a brother. Laurent knew he wouldn't want a life without Elijah, so his little brother would feel the same way. Matters would be made worse if Elijah didn't heed Beck's words. You're helpless, little man. Laurent didn't want to be remembered as the bleeding fool from Three who lost his supplies. That was not how Elijah should ever think of him. Turn the tv off while you can.

The pain erupts like a bleeding volcano across his back. Old wounds smiled at the trees, stitches splitting apart. It felt as if there wasn't an inch of untouched flesh on his body. Everything ached, everything had been sliced apart. A rag doll torn over and over again. "He needs...he needs rest.." he breathed, voice cracked from the pain. "He's sick, did I ever tell you that?" He couldn't remember drunken words, but he was pretty sure he had kept it secret. He never wanted to use his brother's ailment to guilt-trip the world - but if he died, there was nobody else to help.

He was getting desperate.

"He's going to die, and I could've done something about it."

You are doing something about it.

Kill him.

Laurent poured his heart, soul, blood, sweat, and might into his swing. He threw all of his weight at Beck as if he were the only obstacle standing between Laurent and his little brother. It was partially true - he did need to kill Beck in order to continue on, but there were still others to be discovered. In the state Laurent was in, bleeding and broken, he wondered if it was possible to survive past today.

He had to try anyway. For Elijah.

Despite splitting his bone, Beck seemed to be carved of steel. He was hardly fazed by this new predicament, and perhaps that was because he had suffered worse. The stump protruding from his hip was an obvious indication of torture. Just like Juliet, someone had taken their frustrations out on him. If he could survive that, then a broken bone was just a flea bite.

If this was the case, how was Laurent supposed to kill this boy? By throwing him off of the bridge? He didn't have the strength nor the energy for that. Beck already had the advantage with a deadly blade in his hand. He also had his own motivations. Laurent didn't know what those were, but they were strong enough to keep his fighting stance unwavering.

"Does he know he's dying?"

Laurent nodded sadly. Everyone in the family knew his diagnosis. It had been the worst day of his life.

"He can be saved," he insisted. "It's all about money, but no matter what we do, it's never enough."

The price of life was high, especially if one was born imperfect. As if were Elijah's own fault that he was cursed. Even the doctors hadn't known what caused it. An unfortunate coincidence? Fate playing the punishment game?

It didn't matter. There shouldn't be a reason. If there had to be a reason why an innocent child was sentenced to death, Laurent didn't want to know about it.

The world was cruel enough already.

"You understand, right? Why I can't give up."

His knuckles throbbed. Punching Beck in the face should've felt like a catharsis, but who was he supposed to be angry at? It wasn't his fault Laurent's family l was a mess. With each bone-to-bone contact it felt like he was hurting a friend, and it certainly didn't feel like he was any closer to seeing Elijah again. Anger was not something that plagued him often, and even now, he couldn't feel it. Was he supposed to be angry at himself for being a fuck up? At the world for sentencing him to death?

At fate?

Is fate even real?

Being angry at an intangible construct felt stupid. The truth was, he couldn't be angry. He felt exhausted, defeated, desperate, guilty, and dejected - with such a chaotic concoction, breeding anger should've been inevitable.

Perhaps that was why he had lost. Love and desperation weren't enough for survival. Even if Laurent beat Beck's skull into the wooden bridge, would it be enough?

"You say that like I'm going to die," he said meekly, cradling his shoulder. A fresh line of blood seeped through his shirt; he was surprised he had any left.

How or why Beck planned to 'make up for this' was a mystery to him. He would rather play the denial card and pretend he was going to survive. He couldn't end up like Georgina, standing sadly and helplessly in the rain. His brother would never forgive him.

"How do people just...accept death? Georgina did it. She let me kill her." He shook his head. It still didn't make sense.

"Why?"

He didn't want to think of humans as weak. Nothing about what Georgina did felt like it was derived from weakness - she had survived six days in a jungle full of creatures trying to kill her. She had admitted to killing tributes herself. Where was the weakness in that? Fighting and winning against an opponent; it was a twisted sort of pride, but it was a victory nonetheless. Laurent didn't think of Juliet's death as an accomplishment, yet he knew it had added a layer of ivory to his armor. He wasn't the same person he used to be, not completely.

Perhaps what Georgina did was clever. Perhaps she had detected something that Laurent hadn't, and knew she would die that day no matter what the circumstances.

Laurent, however, was stubborn. He could see the imbalance between himself and Beck, but that didn't change his determination. Logic warned him: there was only a small chance he could even the odds without a weapon. He could beat Beck until he was a bruised canvas, but as long as Beck wielded an axe he held the advantage. It took a lot of pain resistance and skill to murder someone with their own skeleton. He might be hurting himself more than he was hurting Beck.

Beck was equally determined. "I've never accepted death. I never will. I'll fight to the bitter end."

He sounded like the knight in Elijah's stories. A man whose willpower outlived his own body. A man who would fight until his physical limitations couldn't carry him further. Laurent was feeling that physical burden; every breath was a conscious effort, every movement staggered. The weight of his bones were too heavy. Static danced in his vision as the blood loss made his thoughts lighter.

"I will too," he breathed, "I hope that makes us strong."

The bitter end. How long could he turn a blind eye to it? Was acknowledgement the same as acceptance?

How will Elijah think of him?

"That's how I want to be remembered."

Because sometimes the strong don't survive, and the hero must die.