ɢᴀʟᴇ (traps) wrote in evaluation, @ 2020-01-29 20:13:00 |
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The entrails in Gretel’s hands gleamed purple and red, slick and still blood-warm. They’d slithered out in a heap, hitting the ground before the body that used to house them did, the sound something that she’d never been able to properly describe. Words were nothing she’d been good at, not before and not now. She hissed a breath through her teeth, tasting copper on the back of her tongue and the odd, thick funk of bowel. Corpses were all the same on the inside… and this one’s insides were all on the outside now. The thought made her cackle softly under her breath as she fished through in search of a liver, and when she found it, she stood to pick her way through bones and rot and scraps of fur- the detritus that littered the cave’s floor, unimportant and beyond her interest to clean. Further back, a cauldron bubbled and spat, the liquid inside thick as tar and just as dark. In went the liver, sinking quickly from sight, and when Gretel leaned closer to watch it, the sludge reflected a fractured image of her face- pale as the moon, with ink-dark veins that climbed and wriggled over her cheeks, bisecting lips that concealed broken, sharp teeth, and her eyes were flat and empty as pits. She lurched awake on a gasp, kicking away sheets that had become tangled through the night. Panic thrummed through her chest, bouncing around and stealing her coordination, and she all but fell out of the bed on legs that were about as steady as a newborn fawn’s. If she was thinking at all, she might’ve run for the nearest mirror to reassure herself. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Gretel stumbled to the next room over and didn’t bother knocking. It was only Gale inside yet, the other beds still empty, and she wasn’t much for manners on a good day, much less early in the morning when the only thing echoing in her brain was a panicky, fluttery fear of becoming the same kind of monster she’d spent her whole life hunting. At his bedside, she hit the floor on her knees, bowed over and breathing too fast. Good morning, it wasn’t. Being that Haymitch and Effie, two pieces from home, happened to have blipped into this social experiment, that meant Gale was remembering home more. Not exactly the best situation, because everything about that world trickled and bled into the same pile in his head until it all expanded into a swell of hot, festering wounds - he hadn’t ‘gotten over’ what his ending was, hadn’t moved past the loneliness and the figurative chasm between he and the person he once claimed to love, whom he called his best friend. The same person who looked at him like he was a monster. A ruined country, stained with the skeletal remains of the travesty known as the Hunger Games - they would pick up again and begin anew, but it was all horrible nightmares he saw. And wretched dreamscapes. No color, life was long, it was lonely and bleak - eventually he’d probably begin to enjoy the misery like an addict. Sadness felt as good as his anger did. That was what he was trying to avoid here, but the things that people had to keep doing, those ‘tasks’ pushed to their phones, just kept mirroring Panem in its darkest days a little too much - in simple, small ways but didn't it always start out small? He wasn’t a heavy sleeper. Which was why he shot awake immediately when his door opened and he heard someone at his bedside - it was Gretel, and he reached for her, gathering her up into his arms. “Hey - Gretel, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, hushed yet trying to be reassuring and bring her back to the present. “Come here. Come here, with me.” Nightmares were nothing new. If Gretel hadn’t spent a lifetime startling awake, looking for things that went bump in the night, that probably would’ve been a worse sign. Seeing death and chaos, sometimes on a daily basis, it left a mark. She’d jerked awake plenty of nights to find Hansel looking back at her, both of them breathing too hard and clammy with sweat. Sometimes he could be persuaded to climb into bed with her. Sometimes she’d crawl down onto the floor with him instead. He always insisted she get the bed. Hansel was predictable that way. She missed him sometimes with a depth that stole her breath, making it feel like her heart might’ve been scooped out after all. Waking in an unfamiliar bed, alone, it was too much, and while Gretel wasn’t exactly the docile, retiring sort, she let Gale coax her up off the floor without protest. Shivering, hair a wild, dark tangle around her face and eyes still foggy with horror, she huddled into him, fingers plucking at the blankets. As soon as he eased Gretel in bed with him, he knew right away that she wouldn’t be going back to her own by herself - not while they were here at the compound; usually they shared a room, in whatever weird place they got pulled into, but always separate beds and when they were both put into the red block, next door to each other, Gale just went with it. Maybe she wanted the space as she figured out how to make things work without Hansel by her side, coming into her own, and he wasn’t about to crowd her. But no. They both sometimes woke up this way - he didn’t want her to be alone anymore, and Gale was realizing that he sure as hell didn’t want to be either. “What happened?” he asked, pushing sweaty strands of hair away from her face, and he kissed her lightly, nuzzling at the curve of her throat. “Bad dream?” It was fine. Space was fine. Oh, this was more space than Gretel had ever thought about calling her own, particularly given that she and Hansel either camped outside or crammed into small, shared rooms at whatever inn they might be able to afford, but it was… nice? Supposedly, anyway. Four walls, intact ceiling, plenty of blankets on the bed and no rats skittering across the floors, so there was nothing to complain about. She honestly had no idea what to do with herself here. Teams and votes and trying to assault one another to claim a useless title, they all seemed like things better avoided, so she did. Better to keep her mouth shut and observe, Gretel thought. People underestimated how much there was to be learned in quietly watching. Blinking back to herself now, Gretel stared glassily at Gale for a moment before asking, voice a raw whisper, “Do I look like me?” She patted at her own cheek, fingers brushing unblemished skin like she could feel the rot spreading there. Gale would tell her. He was nothing if not honest. Gale leaned over, switching on the bedside lamp. It was a dim glow, but regardless, ghostly grey eyes had to adjust to the suddenness of something besides complete darkness. “Yeah, you do - “ He shifted back in close to Gretel, hovering over her - though his hips pressed down, and he balanced his weight on his elbows so he wouldn’t suffocate her with the bulky mass that was him. But he was nose to nose with her this way - and if she hadn’t looked like her, he’d have been concerned. He suspected this was part of the dream though, the horrors dancing in her head. “You look beautiful, like you always will. Why, something made you think otherwise?” The witches of her world were gnarled and twisted, literally. Maybe she thought she was becoming that, now that she was beginning to explore the magic within. Gretel flinched at the light, lashes fluttering, but she refocused quickly. If she looked away, she might miss something- some hint that Gale spotted darkness crawling under her skin, some catch in the way his eyes searched her face or a thinning of his lips that spoke to distress. She waited, heart hammering and lungs frozen, and didn’t completely relax at his reassurance. Maybe a little. But not wholly. “I saw it,” she whispered, “In a dream.” Gretel used to dream of her mother quite a bit, though she never could decide if they were memories or wishful thinking. She’d never once dreamt about becoming something like Muriel, would in fact rather claw off her own skin to avoid it, and the disquiet sat heavy in her stomach. Swallowing, she peered up at Gale, eyes a little too bright and cheeks too pale. “I don’t want to be a monster.” “I know you don’t.” He did, he knew it like he knew his own bones - because while Gale was in no danger of smudging his appearance via dark magic, he had fears of becoming a monster too. In fact, maybe it had been too late for him ever since he and Beetee designed the bomb that ended up being dropped on Capitol children - it hadn’t been his decision to do that, but he was determined to win the war at any cost and so there, in District 13 in the weapons lab with Beetee, he’d put everything he had into designs that would achieve victory for the rebels. He just never anticipated it would turn out the way it did - he chastised himself for not realizing how far Coin would go to put herself in power. It hadn’t lasted long for her - she was Snow, just a flipped version - but the depths she reached were truly horrifying. Guess you truly couldn’t win either way, huh? That was war. But this was different, here and now - Gretel wasn’t going to become a monster. He kissed her cheeks, to try to bring some color back into them. “Your mother was good, though - she loved you,” he said. “She’s still with you. And if she practiced her magic using love and decency as the fuel, you can too.” It was hard to think about her parents in terms of love. She and Hansel had been so convinced that they’d been abandoned and unwanted. It was basically one of the biggest cornerstones of their perspective on the world, and why they leaned so hard into one another. Hansel had been the only person Gretel could depend on, and vice-versa. Without Hansel, and with all of these new things to deal with, one on top of the next, Gretel felt overwhelmed. She’d been pushing through regardless, of course. The only way to go was forward. But sometimes, like now, she couldn’t contain the panic that still threatened to swamp her. “She’s not here,” Gretel murmured, fingers curling along Gale’s hips, sturdy and present and anchoring her in place. “I don’t…” She paused, groping blindly for words. “You’re here. You’re good and I trust you. You wouldn’t… You wouldn’t let me hurt anyone.” So what if Gale wasn’t magic. He made sense to Gretel in ways so many other people didn’t. Gale didn’t know if he was good, necessarily - but he tried to be. Despite feeling helpless and lost sometimes, with so much anger and nowhere for it to go, he still tried. “No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed; turning the lens in on himself, he saw how violent he had become during the war - picturing Gretel in that position, losing everything, potentially turning to dark magic to survive and cope? It was a jagged, fractured image. It stung. So no, he wouldn’t let her take that road, no matter what. Maybe she’d be tempted sometimes, but she’d find her way back. Hips shifted, like he was trying to angle more into her touch, to get closer to her - he buried his face against her neck, lips brushing there. “I trust you too. I love you - if you ever feel yourself slipping, or you’re scared, remember that.” The words just slipped out, but he meant them. Maybe they were magic in a way too - or at least, a place to pull magic from. Startled, Gretel’s fingers stuttered over the nape of Gale’s neck, where she’d reached to hold maybe a hair tighter than was needed. It was a stupid instinct, to grab and hold, and still it persisted. She’d never owned much in the way of security blankets or soft, familiar things that brought comfort, and cuddling up to a crossbow wouldn’t end well. But it was always safe to hold Gale. He was broad and stable and surprisingly accommodating for all that his tension carried tension, and together they were a matched pair of tangled knots too hopeless to unwork and smooth out again. She nudged along his jaw, beneath his chin, trying to get him up again so she could see his eyes. “You love me?” Gretel tested, very soft. Like if she said the words too loudly, someone might hear and he’d snatch them back. Gale met her eyes, the sterling flint in his carrying a bit of vulnerability. The last time he tried this, he ended up the awkward piece of a triangle puzzle he didn’t want or ask for - and then yanked out and tossed aside entirely. But like a lot of things when it came to their situation, it was different. He was sure he loved Gretel. He wouldn’t be like this right now, close to her and considering how much closer he wanted to be - even when he’d claimed to love Katniss, it didn’t include a desire for intimacy. In fact, he was pretty sure his own personal wiring and the fact that he’d grown up in the poorest slice of the poorest District, where having children was a depressing thought because how would we able to afford another mouth to feed, all contributed to ensure that he wouldn’t want that entirely, unless he felt some type of way. Unless the emotion threatened to bubble over, unless the pieces of his black diamond shattered in surrender. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, also soft. “I can’t guarantee I won’t fuck up sometimes...but I do. Love you.” Gretel didn’t know much at all about love; definitely not the romantic sort, anyway. Men wanted wives that would be good housekeepers and mothers, and Gretel was cut out for neither of those things. What Gretel knew how to do was track witches and carve arrows and forge bullets, none of which were acceptable things for any woman to know. But fuck them anyway because that was stupid and narrow-minded. “I think it’s okay,” she offered, fingers resting along Gale’s jaw, thumb right at the curve of his chin, “If we fuck up. Because it’s not meant to be easy.” Loving someone seemed complex and difficult and probably she would do something all wrong sooner rather than later, but that was what forgiveness was for, and love involved a fair bit of that. Probably. They’d figure it out. “I love you, too,” she added, in case that wasn’t obvious. Maybe it wasn’t. Gale looked like a man prepared to hear a death sentence, fear lurking in his eyes. Gretel’s fingers slid up, the better to cradle a cheek. Gale sort of thought that too - they’d both fuck up, but love wasn’t just flowers and two hearts beating as one or whatever. It was understanding and forgiveness as well, and the willingness to put in the work and stay the course even when it got difficult. And it would probably be difficult sometimes - because nothing was perfect, he didn’t expect this to be. Especially when they were here, without knowing why. Yet, they had each other - that was strength too. Hearing that Gretel loved him, it wasn’t what he expected - maybe because he didn’t believe himself worthy of it, since he knew how bad he’d fucked up before in Panem and how alone he was because of it. But she knew who he was and everything he’d done, the sorrow he’d drowned in and how his world was as dreary as the coal-dusted Seam, and she wanted him anyway. It made him want to kiss her. Waves of fire licked through him when he did, a current that lit him up and skyrocketed. He didn’t really want to stop anytime soon either. “You didn’t plan to go back to your room, did you?” he asked, his tone warm and hopeful. Much as Gretel disliked a lot of this- the unknown of how and why it happened, the mystery of who might be responsible, the continued threat that the next surprise thrown their way might be uglier than anything they’d seen yet- she couldn’t really be angry about it. This was a mystery that brought her to places she would never have otherwise seen, to experiences she wouldn’t have been able to dream up even on her wildest nights, and to Gale. That was a double-edged sword, she supposed. The mystery gave, it could take away. At the end of all this, they might have to go to their respective homes and never see one another again. If given a choice, Gretel would drag Gale with her. He’d be fine in the forest, and he could learn to hunt the things Gretel hunted without much of a learning curve. “I don’t want to go back there,” Gretel answered, nails dragging over Gale’s scalp. She wasn’t sure she ever would. They were better together, weren’t they? The feel of nails on his scalp had him melting into a puddle - pretty much like any man (or person - it probably wasn’t restricted to gender), he was putty in someone’s hands if he had his hair messed with. Not that it had happened often. Or ever, really. “Then stay here,” he murmured, dusting kisses anywhere he could get to - on Gretel’s throat, the corner of her mouth, beneath the shell of her ear. “With me. For as long as we’re in this place.” He didn’t know the time limit - it was a week everywhere else, but who could fathom what the rules were now, especially since they hadn’t been given the option of an exit door after the resort. He shifted so he wasn’t exactly on her anymore, but more like halfway there, just so he could touch her, hand catching her waist and following the curve. Already he felt better about being here, if they weren’t going to reside in separate rooms. The cold, heart-seizing panic that drove Gretel out of sleep and into this bedroom was long gone now, though she’d still feel better with a very thorough look at her own face later. Logic and fear didn’t have much to do with one another, so while she could recognize Gale wouldn’t want to cuddle with her if she looked like a walking nightmare… well. Some things were only to be accepted after a hard look with your own two eyes. But, since that would mean leaving the bed, it could wait. Gretel hummed, expression softening, and hooked an ankle around one of his. “I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me,” she agreed, fingers tracing the line of his throat and the hint of a collar bone she could spy at this angle. “As long as we get.” Until something too big for either of them to understand pulled them apart again, and she hoped it wouldn’t be soon. |