The Joy, The Misery || Waking Up
River didn’t know what to think, what to do, how to do it, or even how to function. He was dead. He was. River remembered death and he remembered it well. He remembered the razor-sharp teeth and the tearing claws and the feral snarls and he remembered the pain. He remembered his throat going raw because of his screams. He remembered warmth, then coldness, then nothingness.
And the next thing he remembered was this room— now. Then. When. Help.
‘No, Riv, it— it did happen. But, the thing is, that tracker that they gave you— right before you were sent to the Arena? I built those,’ And how much of this was true? Who was to say that this Gavin was even real? Who was to say that this wasn’t a trick by the Capitol, like the mutts that had gone and attacked him? He knew that the country he lived in was cruel, and he knew that well, but this? An elaborate skit, just for him? Why— why would that happen? Why would they do such a thing and why— River sucked in a breath and he held his legs firmly to his chest and closed his eyes tight enough to see white spots everywhere— his breath becoming ragged and uneven as his mind desperately scrambled for some sort of explanation. ‘I built them and— there was a serum, like the ones they use at the hospitals- that restarted your heart and began healing—’ River shook his head, whimpering nonsense to himself, trying to make everything able to be understood.
None of that was true. How could he trust this, trust this Gavin, trust that he wasn’t some projection of the Capitol, trust that everything was alright and trust that he was alive? River’s eyes swiped back and forth, and he blinked quickly, beginning to count backwards from one thousand, his eyesight blurring from the tears that were forming yet again.
‘I know this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, River but you have to trust me…,’ The Gavin before him reached out and touched his head, River feeling the mattress dip as the man moved towards him, pulling him into his lap. River snivelled slightly, shaking his head once more. Explanations were slowly stringing together, but he refused to believe them, perferring the fact that was his death to the supposed theories that whirled in his head. If this was all true— there was the explanation to Gavin’s (recent?) actions, shutting himself away, being so short with him, being so distant and…
There was a rumble by his ear, it taking River a second to realise that it was Gavin’s laughter, a supple, rich sound that calmed him in a way. Lips pressed to his temple and he let out a shiver, ‘You know this was much easier to do when you were six,’ another kiss and he closed his too-blue eyes once more, letting himself calm down, letting himself breath without trouble and letting himself believe this Gavin, if only just for a moment. ‘There was a Rebellion, Riv. It’s been in the making for four years. We’re at the base- where all this began- in District Thirteen. You’re safe, River— I promise you, you are.’
The soft voice was earnest and gentle, a murmur that brought back memories from a long time before, times when Kane was just possibly a little too mean and Gavin was a little too kind and he found himself in his arms with a book and a doll made by his mother. Memories of after Kane’s passing, of nightmares that haunted the night and pushed him into Gavin’s bed, River’s too-cold toes touching at Gavin’s calves, making him hiss. Memories of a better time, a time when he was more alive—
River looked up and blinked away the tears that clouded everything, sniffling and ingeniously rubbing his nose on a piece of Gavin’s clothing, a wibbling, wobbling smile gracing River’s lips. He moved in Gavin’s arms, sitting up, kneeling, his smaller hands (larger than he remembered them,) on either side of Gavin’s face, he examined him, blue eyes raking over the features of the slightly broken man before him, hand dropping to his neck, eyes trained on the area is fingers touched, reading the pulse before looking back to the green eyes, “Gavin,” he said, his smile a little too wide, it hurting his cheeks— “Gavin,” he repeated, his arms wrapping themselves behind his mentor’s neck, the tears returning as River hid his face in the crook of Gavin’s neck and shoulder, “I was d-dead, I was dead, I died, I felt it, I don’t want- want to remember,” The words were rushed and jumbled and he couldn’t bear it, “M-my arm. My leg…” He couldn’t let go, he didn’t want to let go. His hands clung to Gavin and his legs, once kneeling, had wrapped themselves around his mentor’s middle, and he was reluctant to move at all.
He swore he could have heard his heart thudding- could have counted each beat, each thud that pushed blood quickly through his veins- and he was almost positive that River could feel it from his perch on his lap. This was one of the things he has not anticipated when creating the trackers. From the moment it was suggested as some hair-brained idea by the council in Thirteen, Gavin had been so focused- so hell bent- on creating the technology. It was a chance to not just create something… something amazing, but it was a chance to help people. Save lives. He had already had to bury too many tributes, had to offer too many condolences to families and spend too many hours grieving in the way that he could—losing himself in a bottle of the white liquor or shutting himself away in his room to work on various projects, losing himself for weeks at a time. This was going to help people. This was going to do good. And the moment that River’s name was pulled from the bowl and no one had stepped forward for him- something that still rubbed Gavin the wrong way, making him beyond angry- he had been so wholehearted committed to making sure that everything would go smoothly. That there were no chinks in the armor, no flaw in the plan. He wanted them alive- wanted River alive- because he was selfish.
He hadn’t anticipated just what it would do to the tributes mentally.
It had to be beyond confusing- their entire world having been shattered then pieced back together and thrust back in their hands. Were they equipped to deal with it now? How damaged would they be from their brushes with death? Would River ever really be alright—would he ever really believe that he was there in the land of the living or would he be stuck between the two planes? It was just another way that he had failed him. Gavin hadn’t saved him. Not really. He had pulled him back through a veil that had marked him mentally and it would always be there- that scar of seeing the afterlife, however briefly, with his new limbs as a constant reminder of the trauma his body had gone through. What sort of help could he offer to them now—would the Council even be that concerned with it? They had their Tributes alive, they had their symbols of the Rebellion, would they really be too concerned with much else?
There was a sniffling sound that came from the face buried in his chest followed by River rubbing, almost nuzzling, the small face into his shoulder. It was that simple gesture so familiar and normal that had Gavin relaxing, feeling the boy in his lap adjust until hands clasped either side of his face- one warm palm pressed against his cheek and the other a cool metal that left his skin feeling a little chilled but he didn’t let it show on his expression. Those bright blue and oh-so- very intelligent eyes moved across his face, observing him and taking in every last bit to be catalogued and examined under the microscope that was River’s eye. He wondered how he looked to the boy and if he even still looked like himself. Kieran would mumble that he didn’t recognize him sometimes just to be obnoxious, he was sure, but there was a bit of him that wondered just how much of it was true. He was tired and he knew that it had to show on his face. Lines that had been mere creases in the supple skin had turned to ditches in his face practically, deep and harsh particularly around his mouth and forehead. He had found more than just a touch of gray lacing his curls, particularly around his temples and sure, the others joked that he was too young to be going gray but that didn’t negate the fact that the last year and a half had been stressful enough to have aged him decades.
Fingers, warm and firm, press against the side of his neck where his pulse beat steadily and it seemed that was exactly what River was looking for because an almost relieved expression crosses the young face (steadily growing older, it seemed) followed by a wide grin that caused Gavin’s own mouth to pull up in the first genuine grin since arriving in Thirteen. His name was said, almost like a fervent prayer and arms were around his neck, squeezing him tightly and his heart was really sure to burst with happiness and relief as his own arms wrapped around the thin middle, pulling the younger boy closer. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe with time, River would forgive him and wouldn’t be stuck. The words that came out in a rush against his neck caused cold gooseflesh to run across his arms and the back of his neck. “I know, Riv—I know you don’t. I wish I could take it away. I wish…”
He did wish he could take it away. It wasn’t fair that someone so young had to bear something to incredibly heavy.
