Promises of a Sacrificial Lamb |Destiel x The Hunger Games|

-27-

Something pulls me into a state of semi-consciousness.  I can feel the heat, the stifling humidity, clinging to my skin.  I can hear birds chirping outside.  It sounds like it's morning.  Without even thinking, my eyes still glued shut with grogginess, I bring my fingers to my matted hair and sweep it out of my face as I try to wake myself up.

Then I realize I used my left hand, and there isn't any excruciating pain accompanying the movement.

I snap to attention in an instant, my heart beating out of my chest and my eyelids popping open.  I stare down at the gauze wrapped around my hand.  There's only a speck of blood on the fabric, and it looks old, probably from last night.  I'm barely breathing.  I dare to wiggle my fingers, desperately hoping I wasn't still dreaming, and I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a shout of joy.

I can move my fingers again.  And it doesn't hurt in the slightest.

Cas is sleeping against the rocks, his head lolled to the side.  He must've fallen asleep without meaning to.  Practically bursting with excitement and disbelief, I reach out and shake his arm so I can tell him the news.  He jolts awake with a sharp breath, eyes wide in alarm, but when his gaze focuses on me, he relaxes.

Until I tell him I can move my fingers with hardly any pain, anyway.

"What?"  he repeats, shock lacing his tone, but an animated smile slowly begins to twist its way onto his face as he hurries to my side.

I wave my hand, wiggle my fingers again, just to make sure it's still not a hallucination.  Nothing sends a wave of pain shooting up my arm.  Nothing aches and stings like it did before.  There's a little bit of stiffness, but it's nothing I can't handle.  In fact, the stiffness is quite a warm welcome after the agony from yesterday.

My hands trembling with eager anticipation, I start to unwrap the gauze.  It might as well be clean, and there's no way it should be considering the gruesome wound it's covering up.  Something happened to it during the night.  That cream did something far beyond my expectations, and I want to find out what.

When I reach the bare skin of my palm, at first I'm puzzled.  There isn't a bloody mass.  There's barely any blood at all.  Then the pure astonishment smacks me in the face with the force of a punch when I fully take in what's in front of me.

The grisly hole in my left hand is completely gone.  In its place is nothing but a thin red scar that's borderline imperceptible.

I don't believe it.  That wound was massive and inflicted damage that I was sure could never be undone.  The blade had to have broken bones, severed tendons and ligaments, anything that makes a hand functional.  But now I'm staring down at this tiny scar that resides on the skin that was ripped apart and destroyed just yesterday.  I'm convinced that cream was actually magical.  It's like I have an entirely new hand.  This is insane.  Is this even real?

Cas' eyes look like they're going to pop out of his head.  His mouth agape, he glances between my miraculously intact hand and my own dumbstruck face.  Neither of us speaks.  All ability to talk and form words has abandoned me.  I pinch my arm because surely this has to be a dream, an incredibly tantalizing dream where everything is all right in the world, but nothing happens when I do.  This is all real, and it only makes my exhilaration skyrocket.

Without hesitation, I lunge forward and throw my arms around my district partner, who quickly returns the gesture and holds me so tightly that he squeezes all the air out of my lungs.  Both of us struggle to contain a laugh of unbridled happiness and relief.

We celebrate my extraordinary recovery by eating the rest of the bread from our very first sponsor.  Not the most spectacular celebration, sure, but I'm too elated to care.  That stale bread might as well be a tiered cake coated with layers upon layers of sweet frosting and sprinkles.  Of course, now I'm just hungry for cake, but I'll take whatever I can get.