Fanfiction: Let me Occupy Your Mind (As You do Mine) Part Two of Two
Title: Let me occupy your mind (as you do mine) Part Two of Two
Fandom: Big Time Rush x The Hunger Games
Pairing: Kendall/James (Finnick/Annie)
Disclaimer: I own very few things. These works are not amongst them.
Warnings: Uh, it's a fic that takes place in the universe of The Hunger Games. There's violent death, multiple mental bbreakdowns and prostitution. I don't explain any Hunger Gamesy stuff, so things may be confusing if you're unfamiliar. Also SPOILERS (for THG.)
A/N So, this is a thing that happened. garnetice wrote this, a gorgeous drabble featuring Kendall Knight as Finnick Odair and James Diamond as his Annie Cresta. Annnd then I had an unquenchable desire for James to be hideously tortured so I wrote almost 10,000 of Kendall feelings. Sense, I make it. It's unbetaed, too.Title from the wonderful Gotye. Obvious thanks to garnetice for being awesome.
Part One
“Wakey wakey Pretty Boy.”
Kendall doesn’t want to wake up. Ever.
“Kendaaalll”
He definitely does not want to wake up to the face of Lucy Stone.
“I have no idea how you won anything, Stone,” he mumbles, “You are not a nice person.”
He opens his eyes to take her in. She sits in a plastic chair, wrapped in a tight black mini dress, hair pulled back from her face. She grins,
“I won precisely because I’m not a nice person Knight.”
“Of course,” He rolls his eyes.
“You know Kendall, staying in an abusive relationship is unhealthy, as your friend, I need to tell you that you are above this. You are a strong, confident woman and-“
Lucy is unfortunate that there is a vase of flowers within Kendall’s reach.
“Fucker” She says, wiping blood from her lip.
“Your old lady friend sent you those by the way. Whores, weird old ladies and crazy people, they sure do breed ‘em well in District Four, huh?”
“What do you want exactly Lucy?”
“A pony? World peace? Someone to put a bullet through my brain?”
Kendall stares at her for a moment, watches as her smile falters for just a second.
It’s all a joke until it’s not.
“How is he?” Kendall asks, his hand grazing the bandage wrapped tight around his abdomen. Lucy shrugs,
“Ugh. Do you ever stop being so selfless?” He stares at her, she rolls her eyes, “Fruitcake is sedated. They were on to it pretty quick, especially after they realised he’d knocked you out. Scratched up your face pretty bad too Pretty Boy, Griffin won’t be pleased at all.”
“I’m sure.”
She hands him a cup from the food tray nearby, and he eyes it suspiciously.
“Drink something Knight. God knows what they’ll do to me if you die while I’m in here.”
Then she winks at him.
It’s unnerving.
//
He’s not afraid of James. He’s not afraid of James. He’s not afraid of James.
“I don’t want to do this,” James huffs.
Kendall wonders how he could possibly be afraid of someone who pouts.
“Too bad.”
“But Kendall,”
“Don’t whine at me James, it won’t help.”
“If I apologize again will you help me get out of it?”
Kendall sits by James’ feet and shakes his head.
“No, dude, as I said, you don’t have to apologize for anything, and there isn’t any getting out of this. Look, let’s just run through it one more time and then we’ll leave it for the rest of the day, ok?”
“But then I have to do the real thing, right?”
“Yes, then you’ll do the interview. But, look, Miles is mostly harmless,” he ignores James’ squeak of ‘mostly?!’ and barrels on, “So, Mr. Diamond, how does it feel to be a Victor?”
James rolls his eyes, but at Kendall’s stern look he huffs and straightens his back.
“Well, mostly I’m just glad to be out of there. It wasn’t an easy experience at all, and I’m really looking forward to getting back home to my family and the whole of District Four.”
“Does that include Mr. Kendall Knight?”
“Kendall is a close friend of mine; he has been since we were children. I was very lucky to have him as a mentor; I can honestly say I couldn’t have done it without him.”
It’s like magic. There isn’t even a camera, but James is laughing and smiling, brilliant and golden, like always.
“Was that ok?” James asks nervously, hands wringing, and Kendall realizes he’s been staring into middle distance. Locking eyes with James, and brushing James’ cheekbone with his thumb, Kendall smiles.
“That was perfect.”
//
On stage, James shines.
Miles’ questions are gentle, easy. Far less pressing than any victor’s interview before and it’s clear that boundaries have been set by Griffin. Don’t set off the ticking time bomb, or else.
Kendall both likes and dislikes this, mostly because he doesn’t think James should be up there anyway, he’s not anywhere near stable enough, and it’s been shown in the past that anything can happen on that stage.
Griffin’s men are everywhere, not in Peacekeeper suits of course, the Capitol citizens can’t know that anything is out of the ordinary. They’re all on communicator wristbands, whispering to each other at all times, watching for any sign of catastrophe.
But James is perfect; genial and modest, without seeming weak.
Griffin loves it, proof that his Games are just that, a game. Not something that takes beautiful boys and breaks them entirely, beyond repair. He stands side-stage, beside Kendall, and says things like “Good Boy” and “Well done” in this strange fatherly tone. It’s kind of unsettling.
“You wouldn’t even know he was the same boy throwing those fits a few days ago. It’s remarkable.” Griffin says as he turns to Kendall, clapping his hands together, “Obviously you have quite an influence on him.”
As James talks about life in District Four, about the programs at the Training Centre and his friendship with Kendall, Griffin puts his arm around Kendall’s shoulder, and goose bumps begin to rise on Kendall’s skin.
“He’s doing better than I’d thought.” Griffin muses.
“You know Kendall, I’ve had a lot of interest in James. Many sponsors and top-enders within the Capitol have been very interested in his well-being. He’s a very charming boy, quite beautiful. Obviously with his mental state I couldn’t have expected anything, but his performance tonight is really something.”
Kendall can’t breathe.
“I’ve been thinking about your deal,” Griffin continues, impervious to the way Kendall is wobbling beneath him on shaky legs; “I’d like to make you an offer. You and James both give me six months service, and you can both return to District Four, permanently.”
There’s a commercial break then, a slew of Capitol propaganda for everyone to enjoy. Griffin slaps Kendall on the back and wanders away, leaving Kendall to lean back against the wall, fighting every urge in his body. Run, fight, cry, kill, his body is a mess, hunched and shivering he lowers himself to the floor, feeling everything closing in on him, the air slowly escaping the room, the cavernous arena now a hotbed of moving walls and obtuse faces.
He tries to picture a life in District Four. A real life in the district, with James, their families safe from harm. Free from Griffin and the Capitol and perfumed strangers wrapped in satin sheets.
“Hey, am I going ok?”
James’ voice in Kendall’s ear-bud is almost cheerful for James’ standard of late. Old James would be bragging about his scintillating performance by now.
Old James could have probably handled, maybe even reveled in working for Griffin.
But Old James is gone, the James that is here still wakes in fits and sweats, is inconsolable until Kendall begins to sing. He’s fragile beyond belief, and Kendall simply can’t let him be sucked into Griffin’s game.
If Griffin has James, he’ll never let him go.
No matter what, there’s always some other deal, some other way, another hurdle to jump over before he can get what he wants.
This goes farther than want, for Kendall, this is need. James must be safe, there is no question anymore.
Kendall knows the structure of the programmed telecast. He knows that following this break is the vision of each tributes death, leading up to the moment of victory.
He knows that it will be muted in James’ ears, that James’ eye-line will be guided to a different screen, his ear-buds filled with the noise of something else entirely.
That and Kendall’s voice.
He knows he has no choice.
“You have to go back.” He says, softly.
“What?” James asks, as Miles smiles at him, leads him back to the couch, where stagehands have set up a small monitor, just for him.
“Trust me.” Kendall says, “Let yourself go back there, to the arena. The cornucopia, the sounds of that little kid’s broken bones. Just trust me Jamie, it’s for your own good. This will save us.”
“Kendall, what are you doing?” James whispers into the microphone.
Kendall looks around, waits for someone to hear his name, to react to what is happening. No-one does, all focused on the big screen, where the boy from 9 is being crushed beneath the boots of the other tributes.
“Look at the screen James, look and remember.”
James looks up, his jaw drops.
Someone in Miles’ ear alerts him, and he tries to guide James back to his monitor, but it’s no use.
“The girl from 3 was nice at training,” James mutters, the reflection of the screen flashing across his eyes. “She was befriending all the Careers so that she could live. One wasn’t interested, so he killed her first. Both kids from 6 were standoffish, they stuck to themselves and then they died together which was kind of poetic, I never saw 12, she kept to herself. Her partner was aggressive though, thin, like they all are down there, but aggressive. Camille...”
Kendall watches as the axe blade slides through Camille’s neck, her blood a violent spray that coats both James and Hope, the girl from One.
On stage, James starts to shake, his hands move to his ears.
He can hear it now, Kendall knows, the screaming has returned.
As water floods the arena, James turns from the screen and looks to the wings, he screams but it’s not wild and unintelligible.
On the screen children drown. Hope, with long dark hair and bright green eyes, pulls herself from the water, mere feet from James, who lies still on the rocky terrain.
Throughout the studio, loud and clear, ringing out around the stadium is James’ voice and the name that everyone knows.
Kendall.
“I’m sorry.” Kendall whispers into the microphone before the butt of a rifle is brought to his head.
The last thing Kendall sees is James, falling to the floor in agony, surrounded by 100 visions of himself charging at Hope, her back breaking as she crashes back into the water.
A cannon fires.
“You do what has to be done.”
//
The cell is cold.
It’s not dirty or dark; it’s not a jail cell from the old movies.
It’s just really cold.
Kendall doesn’t know how long he’s been here, only that there is food, no visitors and every now and then there’s a cloud of gas, and he’s dragged briefly back into the public.
The outings consist of photographs and scripted conversations at well-disguised gunpoint, after which he’s dragged back to the cell for more cold fish and bread.
His only company is the cycle of James’ screams that runs through his head.
//
“Do you wish to know why I haven’t killed you?”
Griffin isn’t smiling, which is rare, but he still reeks, so at least some things never change. Sitting opposite Kendall on a white stool, he seems somewhat less impressive. He’s smaller without all the grandeur of rich mahogany staircases and ridiculous entourages. He’s still fucking creepy though.
“Why?” Kendall asks disinterestedly.
“Oh Kendall, I’m disappointed. Not in the mood for our usual sparring games? The war of words you wage upon everyone you meet?”
Kendall looks him dead in the eye,
“Why don’t you kill me?”
“Because they love you, Kendall,” Griffin says. He’s right, of course. Ever since he stepped onto the podium at his reaping day, Panem has loved him. They’re loyal to him, praise him like a hero.
Some hero, Kendall thinks.
“You made them love me,” Kendall says evenly, “can’t you just make them love someone else?”
Griffin smiles,
“You mean like dear James? Well, I suppose I could.”
“Don’t.” He warns. He holds absolutely no power here, but all he wants to do is beat that name off Griffin’s lips.
“Oh, it’s not really an option anymore anyway,” Griffin says nonchalantly, “Not since you drove him mad in front of the entire nation. It was very clever of you, manipulating him like that, very clever indeed. But the public, well, they can’t really be expected to trust him now, you know? Of course they’re still better off than James. One would assume that given your complete betrayal, the mixed up child can’t trust anyone.”
“Good,” says Kendall. But he doesn’t mean it, because without use, James is disposable, which is almost worse than being a target.
“Are you sure about that?” Griffin smirks.
Kendall’s not entirely sure that Griffin can’t read his thoughts.
“What are you going to do to him?”
“I think we’ve done enough to poor, sweet James, don’t you Kendall?”
Kendall doesn’t respond, but bites his tongue until he tastes blood.
“No, I think it’s time to let James disappear off the radar, far better for his health to let him be for a while.”
“You’ll leave him alone? That’s it?” Kendall asks, knowing full well it can’t be right.
“Oh yes, that’s it for James. He can go back to District Four, back to his family and friends, as he so charmingly put it.” Griffin pauses, licking his lips, “As for you, dear boy, you have two options. You can report to the Capitol to complete your duties for 8 months of every year.”
“And option two?”
Griffin’s eyes narrow and he leans towards Kendall, who can almost see blood burbling at the corner of Griffin’s lip.
“There isn’t one.” He snarls.
And Kendall’s alone once more.
//
It’s amazing how, with the wrong person by his side, the bed Kendall has slept in for the last fourth months can feel totally foreign.
The red sheets stick to his legs uncomfortably and the bed itself seems to shrink, forcing him closer and closer each night to whatever honored guest happens to be occupying it.
“Well that was a ride.” Jett Stetson’s smile is broad and bright, something so far beyond white Kendall’s pretty sure he may go blind just looking at it.
“Sure was,” smiles Kendall gently in return.
“Though I must say,” Jett continues, “you’re much better looking on television.”
Kendall blanches.
“Well that’s…unkind,” he says levelly.
Jett is not his favorite client.
In fact one could say Kendall’s hatred of Jett’s smarmy face has been a steady burn in Kendall’s chest long before he had to pretend to enjoy the taste of Jett on his tongue.
“Well Ken Doll, I’m not really known for my kindness,” says Jett, flopping down on the bed next to Kendall and actually licking his lips.
“Sounds familiar,” Kendall mutters, brushing his fingertips over Jett’s oiled chest.
Jett laughs, high and haughty,
“You’re so delightfully bitter Victor,” Jett purrs, “One would think you would be thankful for what the capitol has done for you. I mean,” he waves a hand around at the enormous bedroom, “It is the Capitol that keeps you in this lifestyle, isn’t it?”
Kendall rolls over, kissing Jett deeply, hungrily.
Anything to shut him up. Or possibly suffocate him.
The apartment is, naturally, the best the Capitol has to offer; ornate furniture, glorious upholstery, art pieces worth millions.
It’s also everything that Kendall hates, everything in blood red and deepest gold, the only views being of the city buildings and buzzing lights, and flashy citizens everywhere he turns.
It’s a fiery Capitol cage, perfectly designed for the beautiful prisoner-boy from the sea.
As he goes about his business, (sometimes it’s a business transaction, other times a lucid dream) Kendall considers telling Jett exactly what he has to be thankful for. Pain, guilt, the unquenchable desire to ram a fire poker through the chest of every client who comes through his door.
He wonders what would happen if he actually did finally snap and destroy one of the greedy, mindless pigs.
Perhaps then Griffin would actually kill him, instead of just locking him away in a tower of fire and blood, where he is as good as dead.
//
Fletcher Fowlcofts is Kendall’s favorite client, not that there’s much competition.
A small and timid man, the only indication of his status as Capitol, is the flecks of peacock blue that shimmer through his thinning hair.
During his appointments, Fletcher and Kendall do nothing but sit and talk. One glorious hour of the closest thing Kendall’s ever found to home, as he listens to Fletch speak proudly of his grandchildren and sisters. He practically throws himself on Fletcher when he arrives, wrapping himself around the tiny man and breathing in the scent of turkey sandwiches and cigar smoke.
It smells like the Districts, like home.
Today Fletcher brings news of the work he’s been doing with his sister, covertly distributing goods to the poorer districts through contacts in several different levels of ration transport. It makes Kendall feel the most alive he’s felt in months, talk of real, true humanity amongst the plastic and fakery of the Capitol.
There’s nothing sexual, just wine and conversation, and Kendall finds himself not watching the clock, counting the minutes until he can dive into a bottle of white liquor and forget who he is for the rest of the night.
It’s nice.
“You know I can’t take your money Mr. F.” But Fletch shakes his head,
“Kid, I can’t let you give me your time for free, that wouldn’t be right.”
“Trust me, Sir, that was the first real conversation I’ve had in months, I should be paying you.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice, but really you’re doing me a favor. I don’t have many people to talk to anymore. Not real talk at least.”
Fletch gives Kendall a strange look then, somewhere near a wink and a nod. Kendall leans in closer.
“Things are happening Kid, big things. You should be aware, but I can’t say too much.”
Kendall nods.
“You should know though,” says Fletch, eyes darting nervously, “The big flood in the arena was no accident. There were plans in place, to ensure the right person came out victorious. That poor kid was picked from the damned reaping day, earmarked, y’know? Of course they weren’t to know what would happen to him..” He shakes his head sadly, and grabs his umbrella, leaving Kendall to stiffly walk him to the door and shake his hand distantly.
Kendall waves as the guards walk Fletch from the apartment, his smile uneasy.
He walks to the bathroom and draws a bath, plunging his head beneath the surface and screaming until his vision begins to blur.
//
James is singing. They’re on the water, the sun reflecting off the gentle waves around them. The sky is cloudless and there’s no land in sight.
The song is familiar, slow and gentle, a lullaby of sorts.
By the time Kendall recognizes it as his father’s old sea shanty, the clouds have rolled in and the rain has started to pour.
Kendall wakes just as James opens his mouth to scream, his eyes no longer gold, but deepest darkest black.
It’s become the norm, dreams that turn to nightmares, and Kendall shuffles into the kitchen for some liquid breakfast to calm his shaking hands.
He’s not expecting to find Griffin sitting at the marble bench, eating jam on toast.
“Good morning, Kendall!” Griffin beams, crunching his toast loudly.
“Morning,” grunts Kendall.
“I presume that you are aware of the date?”
Kendall nods, not quite sure the date on his phone wasn’t just another dream.
“Well then, congratulations on reaching your last day of commitment for this year!”
Kendall sits opposite Griffin,
“Where is James?”
Griffin chuckles,
“Oh, you boys. He’s safe in the Victor’s village of District Four, where he’s been since the victory tour was unfortunately cancelled. Inclement weather, you know?” He winks. Kendall feels the sudden urge to shower.
“It was most disappointing for the Districts, of course, they do so look forward to meeting their heroes in person.”
“I’m sure,” Kendall says.
“Well,” says Griffin, rising from his stool. “I’d best be off, Reapings don’t organize themselves. And only two months to go! How time does fly, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon Kendall, say hello to James and the family.”
Kendall showers for a whole hour before Gustavo knocks on the door, waiting to accompany him to District Four.
//
They slip into the District through the back streets, but Kendall Knight’s presence is forever noticeable, and it takes forever to get through the crowds of waiting fans and friends, eager to welcome Kendall back home.
Gustavo rolls his eyes at the excited masses roughly every 25 seconds.
//
His Mom offers him bread and soup and blankets and everything else she can possibly think of until he wraps her into a hug and doesn’t let go until her tears stop falling.
Katie, fresh from training, greets him as though he never left, and no greeting has ever felt better.
He pauses at his own window, looking over at the previously empty house next door. Victor’s village hasn’t held any newcomers for a few years now, and Kendall’s house has always been isolated.
The thought of getting James back is almost too much, and it takes a shove from Gustavo for him to finally run around to James’ front door.
He could swear his heartbeat is louder than the iron door-knocker.
The door opens and Lucy Stone manages to punch him then wrap herself around him in seconds.
“Oh God, I can’t believe I missed you, you big idiot, what the fuck were you thinking?”
He looks at her, and gives her a half smile,
“The same stuff I’ve always thought?”
She rolls her eyes and hugs him again,
“Yeah, the same dumb stuff.” She says.
//
“He doesn’t sleep a lot.” Lucy says over her tea, “So when he does I tend not to wake him.”
Kendall nods, he’s been here 20 minutes and he’s still yet to see James, and Lucy, apparently having hit it off really well with Katie, has threatened to show him her new skills with a trident if Kendall even thinks about waking James up.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he says, and Lucy shrugs.
“Well, someone had to be.” Kendall frowns, the familiar guilt washing over him once more, and casts his eyes to the floor.
“Look, I get it, I really do.” Lucy says, reaching her hand across the table and taking Kendall’s. “Griffin threatened what you love the most, that’s what he does.”
He looks at her then, the way hers eyes aren't quite meeting his, and understands much more than he ever has.
//
“What is he doing here?” They’re onto their third pot of tea, and Kendall is antsy, and thoroughly unprepared for the icy chill of James’ voice from the hallway.
Lucy frowns.
“Good morning to you too Sunshine, look who’s back?
But James is already looking, and glaring.
“Get out,” he says.
Kendall does.
//
He puts his energy into his boat. With James adamant that Kendall is some sort of traitorous demon, Kendall spends every waking hour working on what used to be his pride and joy.
“What are you hoping for here?” Lucy had yelled through the horrendous winds one night,
“That fixing some boat will make up for the fact you made him crazy in front of the whole world?”
Kendall hadn’t responded. Mostly because Lucy had seemed unimpressed at what was, essentially, Kendall’s exact plan.
The old boat had belonged to Kendall’s father, but he and James had been working on it since Kendall was 13. Back then, some part of Kendall had hoped that one day his Dad would return and they’d go out to sea together just the two of them. Where his father had gone, Kendall wasn’t exactly sure. As a child he’d told his classmates that he’d been taken by a giant squid, or drowned in an attempt to save an old lady from a wild storm.
If they hadn’t believed him, they were nice enough not to say as much.
After Kendall became a Victor, the boat took on a whole new meaning. It was hard, tough work to do on long sleepless nights, just him and James in a battle to beat the nightmares that plagued Kendall’s sleep.
And now it was a battle to get James back.
//
He hears the screams through his window.
It’s not the screams of a nightmare, it’s the crazed screaming that gave Kendall three cracked ribs and a busted up face.
He’s out the window in seconds, bursting through James’ front door and past poor Lucy, clutching her bleeding nose.
James is thrashing, crying out in mindless agony when Kendall crawls into bed beside him, wraps his arms around James and whispers, practically silent beneath James’ roar.
“It’s ok,” he says, “We’re safe. I’m here, we’re safe.”
It’s a mantra, gentle but firm, but James’ body only slows when Kendall begins to sing.
It’s not a hum this time.
James goes still in his arms, his breathing slows until he sleeps.
Kendall wakes up alone in a sea of James’ sheets.
//
“You’re nothing if not completely predictable,” Kendall says as he approaches James on the beach.
“Says you,” James snaps, resolutely staring into the water.
“I did it for you, you do know that right?”
“Oh I know, brave, selfless Kendall Knight. Just did what you had to do I suppose?”
James body is stiff with bitterness and anger,
“Forget about the fact you promised me you’d be here.”
Kendall grits his teeth,
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Sure you did,” says James, “You just made the wrong one.”
//
It continues like that for weeks, James won’t have a bar of Kendall by day, Kendall crawling into bed and holding James until the terror subsides by night.
Kendall can’t help but be thankful that at least he get s him some of the time.
//
“What are you doing out here?” Lucy yells over the roaring thunder,
“What does it look like?” Kendall yells back from his position by the hull of the boat, nails in hand.
“It looks like you’re a fucking moron.”
When the rain begins to pour, water running and rushing down the drains in an all too familiar gargle, they both run like mad to Victor’s village.
James is curled up in bed, hands over his ears. He glares at Kendall, but Kendall climbs in anyway.
“I’m fine,” James grits, but his hold body is shivering despite the bed covers.
“Yeah. Right.” Says Kendall, and adjusts his body to fit the curve of James’ spine.
As lightning intermittently fills the room with light as bright as day, they lie together, legs intertwined.
Kendall feels like he’s come home at last.
“I love you.” He says, nothing close to a whisper.
James says nothing, but the screaming doesn’t come.
Instead he sleeps, Kendall wide awake by his side.
//
Nothing much seems to change following the storm, James still stares at him heatedly during the day, Lucy starts coming over to Kendall’s for tea, the Capitol starts airing promotion for the upcoming games, sending a chill through every citizen of District Four.
When James walks into the abandoned boatshed where Kendall’s boat lies and silently gets to work, Kendall says nothing, but quietly hides his smile.
It’s not normal, but it might just be ok.
//
Images flood the screen of a mine collapse in District 12. Every monitor in Panem is tuned into the Capitol feed, even the unsold projectors in shop windows show countless images of the exploding mines, the deceased miners, and their grieving families.
People walk the streets of 4, bemoaning the loss of industry. How it will affect them.
Kendall stands on the street, eyes glued to a monitor in a nearby window. He watches a dark-haired boy of about 12 weeping over the empty grave marked with his father’s name. A woman that must be the boy’s mother stands by, staring vacantly into the distance.
Kendall barely makes it to the beach, pushing and shoving his way through the crowds, all moving to the wharf for the annual District Four Festival fireworks.
He finds James by the pier, wrapped in a deep blue blanket, hidden amongst driftwood and the empty husks of ruined fishing boats.
“Did you see it?” He asks, but James just stares into the ocean.
Nights like this get to Kendall. James was once his confidante, the one that settled Kendall’s rebellious mind, comforted him when he lay in bed shivering, haunted by the touch and caress of strange hands upon his back.
Now James stares.
“I guess it’ll be ok.” He says to himself, the words that used to be James’ when there really was nothing that could be said.
“How do you know?” James asks, his voice small, like that of a child.
“Because of that,” says Kendall, pointing to the sky, “And this.” He takes a handful of sand, and places some in James’ palm.
“Sand?” James asks, his expression barely readable in the growing darkness. Kendall watches sadly for a moment as the moonlight catches on the waves, reflects in James’ eyes.
“Stardust.” Says Kendall resolutely.
“People aren’t stardust.” James says, and for a moment, he begins to sway, “They’re blood and darkness and screams. It’s not real.” His body is rigid, and his hands move to his ears, but Kendall takes them, wraps his body around James’ own.
“It’s real James. All of it. The people from the mines, and their families, and us. One day we’ll all be stardust and nothing will ever hurt us again.”
He says it like he believes it, because he has to.
He has to believe that Fletch was right, that somewhere things are beginning to change. That someone will stand up and do what has to be done.
He has to believe that someday they’ll be ok.
Fandom: Big Time Rush x The Hunger Games
Pairing: Kendall/James (Finnick/Annie)
Disclaimer: I own very few things. These works are not amongst them.
Warnings: Uh, it's a fic that takes place in the universe of The Hunger Games. There's violent death, multiple mental bbreakdowns and prostitution. I don't explain any Hunger Gamesy stuff, so things may be confusing if you're unfamiliar. Also SPOILERS (for THG.)
A/N So, this is a thing that happened. garnetice wrote this, a gorgeous drabble featuring Kendall Knight as Finnick Odair and James Diamond as his Annie Cresta. Annnd then I had an unquenchable desire for James to be hideously tortured so I wrote almost 10,000 of Kendall feelings. Sense, I make it. It's unbetaed, too.Title from the wonderful Gotye. Obvious thanks to garnetice for being awesome.
Part One
“Wakey wakey Pretty Boy.”
Kendall doesn’t want to wake up. Ever.
“Kendaaalll”
He definitely does not want to wake up to the face of Lucy Stone.
“I have no idea how you won anything, Stone,” he mumbles, “You are not a nice person.”
He opens his eyes to take her in. She sits in a plastic chair, wrapped in a tight black mini dress, hair pulled back from her face. She grins,
“I won precisely because I’m not a nice person Knight.”
“Of course,” He rolls his eyes.
“You know Kendall, staying in an abusive relationship is unhealthy, as your friend, I need to tell you that you are above this. You are a strong, confident woman and-“
Lucy is unfortunate that there is a vase of flowers within Kendall’s reach.
“Fucker” She says, wiping blood from her lip.
“Your old lady friend sent you those by the way. Whores, weird old ladies and crazy people, they sure do breed ‘em well in District Four, huh?”
“What do you want exactly Lucy?”
“A pony? World peace? Someone to put a bullet through my brain?”
Kendall stares at her for a moment, watches as her smile falters for just a second.
It’s all a joke until it’s not.
“How is he?” Kendall asks, his hand grazing the bandage wrapped tight around his abdomen. Lucy shrugs,
“Ugh. Do you ever stop being so selfless?” He stares at her, she rolls her eyes, “Fruitcake is sedated. They were on to it pretty quick, especially after they realised he’d knocked you out. Scratched up your face pretty bad too Pretty Boy, Griffin won’t be pleased at all.”
“I’m sure.”
She hands him a cup from the food tray nearby, and he eyes it suspiciously.
“Drink something Knight. God knows what they’ll do to me if you die while I’m in here.”
Then she winks at him.
It’s unnerving.
//
He’s not afraid of James. He’s not afraid of James. He’s not afraid of James.
“I don’t want to do this,” James huffs.
Kendall wonders how he could possibly be afraid of someone who pouts.
“Too bad.”
“But Kendall,”
“Don’t whine at me James, it won’t help.”
“If I apologize again will you help me get out of it?”
Kendall sits by James’ feet and shakes his head.
“No, dude, as I said, you don’t have to apologize for anything, and there isn’t any getting out of this. Look, let’s just run through it one more time and then we’ll leave it for the rest of the day, ok?”
“But then I have to do the real thing, right?”
“Yes, then you’ll do the interview. But, look, Miles is mostly harmless,” he ignores James’ squeak of ‘mostly?!’ and barrels on, “So, Mr. Diamond, how does it feel to be a Victor?”
James rolls his eyes, but at Kendall’s stern look he huffs and straightens his back.
“Well, mostly I’m just glad to be out of there. It wasn’t an easy experience at all, and I’m really looking forward to getting back home to my family and the whole of District Four.”
“Does that include Mr. Kendall Knight?”
“Kendall is a close friend of mine; he has been since we were children. I was very lucky to have him as a mentor; I can honestly say I couldn’t have done it without him.”
It’s like magic. There isn’t even a camera, but James is laughing and smiling, brilliant and golden, like always.
“Was that ok?” James asks nervously, hands wringing, and Kendall realizes he’s been staring into middle distance. Locking eyes with James, and brushing James’ cheekbone with his thumb, Kendall smiles.
“That was perfect.”
//
On stage, James shines.
Miles’ questions are gentle, easy. Far less pressing than any victor’s interview before and it’s clear that boundaries have been set by Griffin. Don’t set off the ticking time bomb, or else.
Kendall both likes and dislikes this, mostly because he doesn’t think James should be up there anyway, he’s not anywhere near stable enough, and it’s been shown in the past that anything can happen on that stage.
Griffin’s men are everywhere, not in Peacekeeper suits of course, the Capitol citizens can’t know that anything is out of the ordinary. They’re all on communicator wristbands, whispering to each other at all times, watching for any sign of catastrophe.
But James is perfect; genial and modest, without seeming weak.
Griffin loves it, proof that his Games are just that, a game. Not something that takes beautiful boys and breaks them entirely, beyond repair. He stands side-stage, beside Kendall, and says things like “Good Boy” and “Well done” in this strange fatherly tone. It’s kind of unsettling.
“You wouldn’t even know he was the same boy throwing those fits a few days ago. It’s remarkable.” Griffin says as he turns to Kendall, clapping his hands together, “Obviously you have quite an influence on him.”
As James talks about life in District Four, about the programs at the Training Centre and his friendship with Kendall, Griffin puts his arm around Kendall’s shoulder, and goose bumps begin to rise on Kendall’s skin.
“He’s doing better than I’d thought.” Griffin muses.
“You know Kendall, I’ve had a lot of interest in James. Many sponsors and top-enders within the Capitol have been very interested in his well-being. He’s a very charming boy, quite beautiful. Obviously with his mental state I couldn’t have expected anything, but his performance tonight is really something.”
Kendall can’t breathe.
“I’ve been thinking about your deal,” Griffin continues, impervious to the way Kendall is wobbling beneath him on shaky legs; “I’d like to make you an offer. You and James both give me six months service, and you can both return to District Four, permanently.”
There’s a commercial break then, a slew of Capitol propaganda for everyone to enjoy. Griffin slaps Kendall on the back and wanders away, leaving Kendall to lean back against the wall, fighting every urge in his body. Run, fight, cry, kill, his body is a mess, hunched and shivering he lowers himself to the floor, feeling everything closing in on him, the air slowly escaping the room, the cavernous arena now a hotbed of moving walls and obtuse faces.
He tries to picture a life in District Four. A real life in the district, with James, their families safe from harm. Free from Griffin and the Capitol and perfumed strangers wrapped in satin sheets.
“Hey, am I going ok?”
James’ voice in Kendall’s ear-bud is almost cheerful for James’ standard of late. Old James would be bragging about his scintillating performance by now.
Old James could have probably handled, maybe even reveled in working for Griffin.
But Old James is gone, the James that is here still wakes in fits and sweats, is inconsolable until Kendall begins to sing. He’s fragile beyond belief, and Kendall simply can’t let him be sucked into Griffin’s game.
If Griffin has James, he’ll never let him go.
No matter what, there’s always some other deal, some other way, another hurdle to jump over before he can get what he wants.
This goes farther than want, for Kendall, this is need. James must be safe, there is no question anymore.
Kendall knows the structure of the programmed telecast. He knows that following this break is the vision of each tributes death, leading up to the moment of victory.
He knows that it will be muted in James’ ears, that James’ eye-line will be guided to a different screen, his ear-buds filled with the noise of something else entirely.
That and Kendall’s voice.
He knows he has no choice.
“You have to go back.” He says, softly.
“What?” James asks, as Miles smiles at him, leads him back to the couch, where stagehands have set up a small monitor, just for him.
“Trust me.” Kendall says, “Let yourself go back there, to the arena. The cornucopia, the sounds of that little kid’s broken bones. Just trust me Jamie, it’s for your own good. This will save us.”
“Kendall, what are you doing?” James whispers into the microphone.
Kendall looks around, waits for someone to hear his name, to react to what is happening. No-one does, all focused on the big screen, where the boy from 9 is being crushed beneath the boots of the other tributes.
“Look at the screen James, look and remember.”
James looks up, his jaw drops.
Someone in Miles’ ear alerts him, and he tries to guide James back to his monitor, but it’s no use.
“The girl from 3 was nice at training,” James mutters, the reflection of the screen flashing across his eyes. “She was befriending all the Careers so that she could live. One wasn’t interested, so he killed her first. Both kids from 6 were standoffish, they stuck to themselves and then they died together which was kind of poetic, I never saw 12, she kept to herself. Her partner was aggressive though, thin, like they all are down there, but aggressive. Camille...”
Kendall watches as the axe blade slides through Camille’s neck, her blood a violent spray that coats both James and Hope, the girl from One.
On stage, James starts to shake, his hands move to his ears.
He can hear it now, Kendall knows, the screaming has returned.
As water floods the arena, James turns from the screen and looks to the wings, he screams but it’s not wild and unintelligible.
On the screen children drown. Hope, with long dark hair and bright green eyes, pulls herself from the water, mere feet from James, who lies still on the rocky terrain.
Throughout the studio, loud and clear, ringing out around the stadium is James’ voice and the name that everyone knows.
Kendall.
“I’m sorry.” Kendall whispers into the microphone before the butt of a rifle is brought to his head.
The last thing Kendall sees is James, falling to the floor in agony, surrounded by 100 visions of himself charging at Hope, her back breaking as she crashes back into the water.
A cannon fires.
“You do what has to be done.”
//
The cell is cold.
It’s not dirty or dark; it’s not a jail cell from the old movies.
It’s just really cold.
Kendall doesn’t know how long he’s been here, only that there is food, no visitors and every now and then there’s a cloud of gas, and he’s dragged briefly back into the public.
The outings consist of photographs and scripted conversations at well-disguised gunpoint, after which he’s dragged back to the cell for more cold fish and bread.
His only company is the cycle of James’ screams that runs through his head.
//
“Do you wish to know why I haven’t killed you?”
Griffin isn’t smiling, which is rare, but he still reeks, so at least some things never change. Sitting opposite Kendall on a white stool, he seems somewhat less impressive. He’s smaller without all the grandeur of rich mahogany staircases and ridiculous entourages. He’s still fucking creepy though.
“Why?” Kendall asks disinterestedly.
“Oh Kendall, I’m disappointed. Not in the mood for our usual sparring games? The war of words you wage upon everyone you meet?”
Kendall looks him dead in the eye,
“Why don’t you kill me?”
“Because they love you, Kendall,” Griffin says. He’s right, of course. Ever since he stepped onto the podium at his reaping day, Panem has loved him. They’re loyal to him, praise him like a hero.
Some hero, Kendall thinks.
“You made them love me,” Kendall says evenly, “can’t you just make them love someone else?”
Griffin smiles,
“You mean like dear James? Well, I suppose I could.”
“Don’t.” He warns. He holds absolutely no power here, but all he wants to do is beat that name off Griffin’s lips.
“Oh, it’s not really an option anymore anyway,” Griffin says nonchalantly, “Not since you drove him mad in front of the entire nation. It was very clever of you, manipulating him like that, very clever indeed. But the public, well, they can’t really be expected to trust him now, you know? Of course they’re still better off than James. One would assume that given your complete betrayal, the mixed up child can’t trust anyone.”
“Good,” says Kendall. But he doesn’t mean it, because without use, James is disposable, which is almost worse than being a target.
“Are you sure about that?” Griffin smirks.
Kendall’s not entirely sure that Griffin can’t read his thoughts.
“What are you going to do to him?”
“I think we’ve done enough to poor, sweet James, don’t you Kendall?”
Kendall doesn’t respond, but bites his tongue until he tastes blood.
“No, I think it’s time to let James disappear off the radar, far better for his health to let him be for a while.”
“You’ll leave him alone? That’s it?” Kendall asks, knowing full well it can’t be right.
“Oh yes, that’s it for James. He can go back to District Four, back to his family and friends, as he so charmingly put it.” Griffin pauses, licking his lips, “As for you, dear boy, you have two options. You can report to the Capitol to complete your duties for 8 months of every year.”
“And option two?”
Griffin’s eyes narrow and he leans towards Kendall, who can almost see blood burbling at the corner of Griffin’s lip.
“There isn’t one.” He snarls.
And Kendall’s alone once more.
//
It’s amazing how, with the wrong person by his side, the bed Kendall has slept in for the last fourth months can feel totally foreign.
The red sheets stick to his legs uncomfortably and the bed itself seems to shrink, forcing him closer and closer each night to whatever honored guest happens to be occupying it.
“Well that was a ride.” Jett Stetson’s smile is broad and bright, something so far beyond white Kendall’s pretty sure he may go blind just looking at it.
“Sure was,” smiles Kendall gently in return.
“Though I must say,” Jett continues, “you’re much better looking on television.”
Kendall blanches.
“Well that’s…unkind,” he says levelly.
Jett is not his favorite client.
In fact one could say Kendall’s hatred of Jett’s smarmy face has been a steady burn in Kendall’s chest long before he had to pretend to enjoy the taste of Jett on his tongue.
“Well Ken Doll, I’m not really known for my kindness,” says Jett, flopping down on the bed next to Kendall and actually licking his lips.
“Sounds familiar,” Kendall mutters, brushing his fingertips over Jett’s oiled chest.
Jett laughs, high and haughty,
“You’re so delightfully bitter Victor,” Jett purrs, “One would think you would be thankful for what the capitol has done for you. I mean,” he waves a hand around at the enormous bedroom, “It is the Capitol that keeps you in this lifestyle, isn’t it?”
Kendall rolls over, kissing Jett deeply, hungrily.
Anything to shut him up. Or possibly suffocate him.
The apartment is, naturally, the best the Capitol has to offer; ornate furniture, glorious upholstery, art pieces worth millions.
It’s also everything that Kendall hates, everything in blood red and deepest gold, the only views being of the city buildings and buzzing lights, and flashy citizens everywhere he turns.
It’s a fiery Capitol cage, perfectly designed for the beautiful prisoner-boy from the sea.
As he goes about his business, (sometimes it’s a business transaction, other times a lucid dream) Kendall considers telling Jett exactly what he has to be thankful for. Pain, guilt, the unquenchable desire to ram a fire poker through the chest of every client who comes through his door.
He wonders what would happen if he actually did finally snap and destroy one of the greedy, mindless pigs.
Perhaps then Griffin would actually kill him, instead of just locking him away in a tower of fire and blood, where he is as good as dead.
//
Fletcher Fowlcofts is Kendall’s favorite client, not that there’s much competition.
A small and timid man, the only indication of his status as Capitol, is the flecks of peacock blue that shimmer through his thinning hair.
During his appointments, Fletcher and Kendall do nothing but sit and talk. One glorious hour of the closest thing Kendall’s ever found to home, as he listens to Fletch speak proudly of his grandchildren and sisters. He practically throws himself on Fletcher when he arrives, wrapping himself around the tiny man and breathing in the scent of turkey sandwiches and cigar smoke.
It smells like the Districts, like home.
Today Fletcher brings news of the work he’s been doing with his sister, covertly distributing goods to the poorer districts through contacts in several different levels of ration transport. It makes Kendall feel the most alive he’s felt in months, talk of real, true humanity amongst the plastic and fakery of the Capitol.
There’s nothing sexual, just wine and conversation, and Kendall finds himself not watching the clock, counting the minutes until he can dive into a bottle of white liquor and forget who he is for the rest of the night.
It’s nice.
“You know I can’t take your money Mr. F.” But Fletch shakes his head,
“Kid, I can’t let you give me your time for free, that wouldn’t be right.”
“Trust me, Sir, that was the first real conversation I’ve had in months, I should be paying you.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice, but really you’re doing me a favor. I don’t have many people to talk to anymore. Not real talk at least.”
Fletch gives Kendall a strange look then, somewhere near a wink and a nod. Kendall leans in closer.
“Things are happening Kid, big things. You should be aware, but I can’t say too much.”
Kendall nods.
“You should know though,” says Fletch, eyes darting nervously, “The big flood in the arena was no accident. There were plans in place, to ensure the right person came out victorious. That poor kid was picked from the damned reaping day, earmarked, y’know? Of course they weren’t to know what would happen to him..” He shakes his head sadly, and grabs his umbrella, leaving Kendall to stiffly walk him to the door and shake his hand distantly.
Kendall waves as the guards walk Fletch from the apartment, his smile uneasy.
He walks to the bathroom and draws a bath, plunging his head beneath the surface and screaming until his vision begins to blur.
//
James is singing. They’re on the water, the sun reflecting off the gentle waves around them. The sky is cloudless and there’s no land in sight.
The song is familiar, slow and gentle, a lullaby of sorts.
By the time Kendall recognizes it as his father’s old sea shanty, the clouds have rolled in and the rain has started to pour.
Kendall wakes just as James opens his mouth to scream, his eyes no longer gold, but deepest darkest black.
It’s become the norm, dreams that turn to nightmares, and Kendall shuffles into the kitchen for some liquid breakfast to calm his shaking hands.
He’s not expecting to find Griffin sitting at the marble bench, eating jam on toast.
“Good morning, Kendall!” Griffin beams, crunching his toast loudly.
“Morning,” grunts Kendall.
“I presume that you are aware of the date?”
Kendall nods, not quite sure the date on his phone wasn’t just another dream.
“Well then, congratulations on reaching your last day of commitment for this year!”
Kendall sits opposite Griffin,
“Where is James?”
Griffin chuckles,
“Oh, you boys. He’s safe in the Victor’s village of District Four, where he’s been since the victory tour was unfortunately cancelled. Inclement weather, you know?” He winks. Kendall feels the sudden urge to shower.
“It was most disappointing for the Districts, of course, they do so look forward to meeting their heroes in person.”
“I’m sure,” Kendall says.
“Well,” says Griffin, rising from his stool. “I’d best be off, Reapings don’t organize themselves. And only two months to go! How time does fly, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon Kendall, say hello to James and the family.”
Kendall showers for a whole hour before Gustavo knocks on the door, waiting to accompany him to District Four.
//
They slip into the District through the back streets, but Kendall Knight’s presence is forever noticeable, and it takes forever to get through the crowds of waiting fans and friends, eager to welcome Kendall back home.
Gustavo rolls his eyes at the excited masses roughly every 25 seconds.
//
His Mom offers him bread and soup and blankets and everything else she can possibly think of until he wraps her into a hug and doesn’t let go until her tears stop falling.
Katie, fresh from training, greets him as though he never left, and no greeting has ever felt better.
He pauses at his own window, looking over at the previously empty house next door. Victor’s village hasn’t held any newcomers for a few years now, and Kendall’s house has always been isolated.
The thought of getting James back is almost too much, and it takes a shove from Gustavo for him to finally run around to James’ front door.
He could swear his heartbeat is louder than the iron door-knocker.
The door opens and Lucy Stone manages to punch him then wrap herself around him in seconds.
“Oh God, I can’t believe I missed you, you big idiot, what the fuck were you thinking?”
He looks at her, and gives her a half smile,
“The same stuff I’ve always thought?”
She rolls her eyes and hugs him again,
“Yeah, the same dumb stuff.” She says.
//
“He doesn’t sleep a lot.” Lucy says over her tea, “So when he does I tend not to wake him.”
Kendall nods, he’s been here 20 minutes and he’s still yet to see James, and Lucy, apparently having hit it off really well with Katie, has threatened to show him her new skills with a trident if Kendall even thinks about waking James up.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he says, and Lucy shrugs.
“Well, someone had to be.” Kendall frowns, the familiar guilt washing over him once more, and casts his eyes to the floor.
“Look, I get it, I really do.” Lucy says, reaching her hand across the table and taking Kendall’s. “Griffin threatened what you love the most, that’s what he does.”
He looks at her then, the way hers eyes aren't quite meeting his, and understands much more than he ever has.
//
“What is he doing here?” They’re onto their third pot of tea, and Kendall is antsy, and thoroughly unprepared for the icy chill of James’ voice from the hallway.
Lucy frowns.
“Good morning to you too Sunshine, look who’s back?
But James is already looking, and glaring.
“Get out,” he says.
Kendall does.
//
He puts his energy into his boat. With James adamant that Kendall is some sort of traitorous demon, Kendall spends every waking hour working on what used to be his pride and joy.
“What are you hoping for here?” Lucy had yelled through the horrendous winds one night,
“That fixing some boat will make up for the fact you made him crazy in front of the whole world?”
Kendall hadn’t responded. Mostly because Lucy had seemed unimpressed at what was, essentially, Kendall’s exact plan.
The old boat had belonged to Kendall’s father, but he and James had been working on it since Kendall was 13. Back then, some part of Kendall had hoped that one day his Dad would return and they’d go out to sea together just the two of them. Where his father had gone, Kendall wasn’t exactly sure. As a child he’d told his classmates that he’d been taken by a giant squid, or drowned in an attempt to save an old lady from a wild storm.
If they hadn’t believed him, they were nice enough not to say as much.
After Kendall became a Victor, the boat took on a whole new meaning. It was hard, tough work to do on long sleepless nights, just him and James in a battle to beat the nightmares that plagued Kendall’s sleep.
And now it was a battle to get James back.
//
He hears the screams through his window.
It’s not the screams of a nightmare, it’s the crazed screaming that gave Kendall three cracked ribs and a busted up face.
He’s out the window in seconds, bursting through James’ front door and past poor Lucy, clutching her bleeding nose.
James is thrashing, crying out in mindless agony when Kendall crawls into bed beside him, wraps his arms around James and whispers, practically silent beneath James’ roar.
“It’s ok,” he says, “We’re safe. I’m here, we’re safe.”
It’s a mantra, gentle but firm, but James’ body only slows when Kendall begins to sing.
It’s not a hum this time.
James goes still in his arms, his breathing slows until he sleeps.
Kendall wakes up alone in a sea of James’ sheets.
//
“You’re nothing if not completely predictable,” Kendall says as he approaches James on the beach.
“Says you,” James snaps, resolutely staring into the water.
“I did it for you, you do know that right?”
“Oh I know, brave, selfless Kendall Knight. Just did what you had to do I suppose?”
James body is stiff with bitterness and anger,
“Forget about the fact you promised me you’d be here.”
Kendall grits his teeth,
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Sure you did,” says James, “You just made the wrong one.”
//
It continues like that for weeks, James won’t have a bar of Kendall by day, Kendall crawling into bed and holding James until the terror subsides by night.
Kendall can’t help but be thankful that at least he get s him some of the time.
//
“What are you doing out here?” Lucy yells over the roaring thunder,
“What does it look like?” Kendall yells back from his position by the hull of the boat, nails in hand.
“It looks like you’re a fucking moron.”
When the rain begins to pour, water running and rushing down the drains in an all too familiar gargle, they both run like mad to Victor’s village.
James is curled up in bed, hands over his ears. He glares at Kendall, but Kendall climbs in anyway.
“I’m fine,” James grits, but his hold body is shivering despite the bed covers.
“Yeah. Right.” Says Kendall, and adjusts his body to fit the curve of James’ spine.
As lightning intermittently fills the room with light as bright as day, they lie together, legs intertwined.
Kendall feels like he’s come home at last.
“I love you.” He says, nothing close to a whisper.
James says nothing, but the screaming doesn’t come.
Instead he sleeps, Kendall wide awake by his side.
//
Nothing much seems to change following the storm, James still stares at him heatedly during the day, Lucy starts coming over to Kendall’s for tea, the Capitol starts airing promotion for the upcoming games, sending a chill through every citizen of District Four.
When James walks into the abandoned boatshed where Kendall’s boat lies and silently gets to work, Kendall says nothing, but quietly hides his smile.
It’s not normal, but it might just be ok.
//
Images flood the screen of a mine collapse in District 12. Every monitor in Panem is tuned into the Capitol feed, even the unsold projectors in shop windows show countless images of the exploding mines, the deceased miners, and their grieving families.
People walk the streets of 4, bemoaning the loss of industry. How it will affect them.
Kendall stands on the street, eyes glued to a monitor in a nearby window. He watches a dark-haired boy of about 12 weeping over the empty grave marked with his father’s name. A woman that must be the boy’s mother stands by, staring vacantly into the distance.
Kendall barely makes it to the beach, pushing and shoving his way through the crowds, all moving to the wharf for the annual District Four Festival fireworks.
He finds James by the pier, wrapped in a deep blue blanket, hidden amongst driftwood and the empty husks of ruined fishing boats.
“Did you see it?” He asks, but James just stares into the ocean.
Nights like this get to Kendall. James was once his confidante, the one that settled Kendall’s rebellious mind, comforted him when he lay in bed shivering, haunted by the touch and caress of strange hands upon his back.
Now James stares.
“I guess it’ll be ok.” He says to himself, the words that used to be James’ when there really was nothing that could be said.
“How do you know?” James asks, his voice small, like that of a child.
“Because of that,” says Kendall, pointing to the sky, “And this.” He takes a handful of sand, and places some in James’ palm.
“Sand?” James asks, his expression barely readable in the growing darkness. Kendall watches sadly for a moment as the moonlight catches on the waves, reflects in James’ eyes.
“Stardust.” Says Kendall resolutely.
“People aren’t stardust.” James says, and for a moment, he begins to sway, “They’re blood and darkness and screams. It’s not real.” His body is rigid, and his hands move to his ears, but Kendall takes them, wraps his body around James’ own.
“It’s real James. All of it. The people from the mines, and their families, and us. One day we’ll all be stardust and nothing will ever hurt us again.”
He says it like he believes it, because he has to.
He has to believe that Fletch was right, that somewhere things are beginning to change. That someone will stand up and do what has to be done.
He has to believe that someday they’ll be ok.