Characters/Pairings: Katniss, Prim
Warnings: Spoilers for all the books, heavy angst
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this.
Summary: Five times Katniss lied to her little sister, and one time her little sister lied to her.
”Dad is going to be okay,” Katniss tells Prim, kissing her forehead and holding her tightly.
She imagines she can feel the explosion shake their house, but of course the mines are too far away to actually do that.
It’s not too far away to shake the foundations of their lives however.
”Everything will be fine,” she says and Prim cries.
”It’s not that bad,” she whispers quietly: she’d been trying to treat it herself, but then Prim had woken and offered to do it for her, hands shaking as she does so. Katniss figures it’s different, treating someone you love dearly, because Prim is always calm and collected when dealing with more severe wounds on other people.
This is just a scratch really, a few bruises as Katniss had slipped hunting that damn squirrel, hand getting caught on a particular sharp branch.
”It doesn’t even hurt,” she lies as Prim pours alcohol over the wound to clean it. ”It’s fine.”
”I’ll win for you. I will.”
She doesn’t actually say that out loud, but her thoughts are practically yelling and she thinks, wills, wishes that Prim hears her.
I’ll come back home.
”The Capitol won’t get to me,” she says in the deep undergrounds of District 13. ”I’ve defeated them how many times now?”
”Katniss…” Prim’s voice is young and tired and old and wise. ”You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
She clenches her jaw. ”I’m not,” she says. ”I’m not lying to you.”
They both know that’s another lie.
”I’ll see you after,” Katniss tells her, bow gripped tightly. ”Just… stay here okay? They won’t call you out, you’re just a medic…”
”I know, Katniss,” Prim says. ”It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me. Just… just please come home safe.”
She swallows the lump in her throat. ”Yes. I will.” She just needs to get to President Snow first. That’s all.
I’ll win for you. I will.
”Does it hurt?” she whispers into the darkness. There is no answer but her imagined one.
Does what hut?
”Dying.” She’s been stabbed and shot and kicked and hit and burnt and thrown. She’s never been dead.
There is silence.
No, the voice comes again, hesitating, unsure. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just like falling asleep.
Prim’s not used to lying and Katniss can tell. Even in the darkness.