for what's still at home | GF vs HB | Day 4

Syd doesn’t revel in what he did.

He’s not like Belle, calling for the death of others. He’s not like Benedict or Coach, fighting for his own life. The feeling of his knuckles striking the girl’s face sits with him, and he’s got the singed flesh to mark the memory of it. As he tends to his wounds and wraps his hands in linen, he can’t help but think he’s just trying to hide the evidence of his crime, rather than trying to heal.

At one point in the late afternoon, as the sky darkens to a dusty gray, Syd sees Coach’s phone light up. He looks over automatically -- after all, he’s not even sure what the devices are for -- and he catches a few words of the message. Flynn and friend and dirty coal and burns faster in hell.

He thinks about fiddling with his own phone, but he doesn’t know how it works. He tried messing with it the other night, but he doesn’t think he even has the capability of typing out a message.

Even if he did, would he want to read what anyone else has to say to him?

Glancing at the words on Coach’s phone already feels like an intrusion, even if the words are meant for him.

Maybe Coach can sense that he’s feeling rough about what happened, ‘cause at one point he says, "Thank you all for still being here, and for fighting with me, rather than against me. It means a lot."

And that’s how Syd reminds himself that he’s doing this for a reason. One of them -- Coach, Benedict, Belle -- is going to come out of this thing alive, if he has anything to say about it. They’re strong people, Syd knows it. Benedict is kind, and aching for the love of a girl back home. He put money on his own death, but something tells Syd it will matter a thousand times more if the guy makes it home to her. Coach is a Career, yeah, but he’s got warmth in there. He fights for a reason, even if Syd can’t parse what that reason is. And Belle? Well, Belle’s… terrifying, sort of. Her heart dances like the flames on Syd’s fists, full of anger and fight, and he can’t fault her for that. She sees the injustice of it all and has set her default emotion to rage.

And God, Syd feels everything from his allies. The rage, the love, the warmth, the ache for a life where things can be better than they are.

To get the bad memories to settle, he keeps his hands moving. First, he goes through the items he hastily grabbed from the girl, handling them gingerly, like they’ll disintegrate just because they belonged to someone who’s no longer breathing. He thinks maybe food will help, so he eats everything edible she had with her.

Second, he gives the rest of Langley’s stuff to Belle. A gun, a warhammer, a pair of gloves. He says to Belle, ”You can put these to better use than I can.” And he knows it’s true. Belle’s got so much fight bubbling within her that she could lay ruin to this place. He doesn’t mention that he simply cannot bear to have Langley’s things.

Third, he pens some words in his notebook. For later.

As the night arrives, so do the lights.

At first, he thinks it’s the anthem, glaring without music. Then, he sees the forms -- ethereal, bright things, drifting through the sky like… well, like nothing Syd’s ever seen before.

Naturally, he’s cautious of them. They look almost like fire, but they’re more solid somehow. In truth, they are the only beautiful thing he’s seen since arriving in this hellscape, and they may be the only beautiful thing.

It feels like a gift. He tries and fails to ignore the fact that it’s a gift from the Gamemakers, who want nothing more than for him to die in the most spectacular fashion, just for entertainment value.

What do these glowing, heavenly beings provide for the audience? Sadness? Connection with the tributes, to feel more engaged when they die, all because they have a new adorable friend? Are the Capitolites entertained?

Syd grimaces at the creature who has chosen him for a friend.

”Fuck off with your fake kindness,” he says. He shoves it away before he falls to sleep.

---------

In the morning, they start moving again.

The goal is to find new resources, which Syd welcomes, even though his bag’s full of junk he’s not sure what to do with. He wants his allies to have things to help them stay alive, and he’s also not keen about staying in the same place for too long, lest other tributes descend.

Problem is, they’re absolutely awful at directions.

”We’re walking in circles,” Benedict says. Syd nods.

Coach agrees, and says what he’s thinking, "Yeah, and I don't like it. This place reeks."

They’re wandering into the smoke and heat of the flaming rubber again. It reminds him of District Twelve. Or at least the mines, with their poisonous air and unrelenting warmth. Home and hell have a lot in common.

Syd kicks the dirt idly when he hears Benedict say, ”Someone is here.”

He freezes. His heart skips a beat in his chest. And his one thought isn’t, am I going to die? but instead, am I going to kill again?

In nothing but a moment, the chaos arrives, hell-bent on destroying them. There’s tributes -- one, two, three, no, four -- and Syd’s feet are glued to the dirt. He panics, but at least he doesn’t have to grab a weapon. His own body is a weapon. He just has to… to decide.

I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you, he thinks.

He throws that thought out into the world.

When he lurches toward the nearest person, he does it with an apology on his tongue.

”I’m sorry,” he says. For this. For Langley. For his allies.

And he swings his fist.

”FUCK,” Benedict cries out.

Blood sprouts from a spot on Benedict’s chest, seeping into the front of his clothing. He’s been hit.

And--

FUCK.

A searing pain rips through Syd's damaged leg. It clouds his vision and brings tears to his eyes. He wobbles, trying to stay upright. The air around them feels charged with smoke and fear, and that’s when Syd hears the crunch.

He looks over, and this girl’s head… he sees it. He sees it, but it takes a second before his brain catches up and makes sense of the image. Her head doesn’t look right. It looks broken. Benedict’s standing in front of her, pissed as hell, and she’s in the dirt, and her allies are seeing it too, and the air’s so full of the moment that Syd thinks it’ll crush them all.

Coach reacts first. ”Oh, shit!”

Yeah.

Yeah.

Syd’s heart thump, thump, thumps in his chest, and he knows if he doesn’t move soon -- even with a busted leg -- he’s gonna hit the dirt. There’s only so long the moment will hang in the air before--

”I’m gonna kill you,” a girl says, solemn as a funeral procession. It’s not the girl he hit. No, she’s dead, crumpled, crushed. This is another girl, rampaging through the chaos to lunge at him with her fancy Capitol spear. He doesn’t have time to move entirely before it strikes the back of his head. He stumbles further, backing away, knowing in his heart that if he hadn’t moved in time, that spear would have lodged itself in his skull.

He spits in the dirt, raising his fists wildly, unsteadily.

”Better me than them,” he says, nodding toward his allies. ”Do it.”