Chapter Text
Barty didn't want to get up.
The sun had risen an hour ago, pale and cold through the forest canopy, and the others were already moving—Regulus checking their weapons, Sirius trying to organize what little food they had left, Remus doing something near the fire that Barty couldn't bring themselves to care about.
But Barty just sat there by Evan's grave, staring at the mound of leaves and branches like if they looked long enough, hard enough, Evan might somehow crawl out from underneath. Might brush the dirt off his clothes and smile that crooked smile and say it was all just a terrible joke.
But Evan didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't exist anymore except as a collection of memories and a body cooling beneath the earth.
"Barty," Regulus said softly, approaching with careful steps. "You should eat something. Drink some water at least."
Barty didn't respond. Couldn't find the energy to form words, to make their mouth move, to pretend that anything mattered anymore.
Life without Evan wasn't worth living. That was the simple, terrible truth. Every breath felt like a betrayal—air filling their lungs while Evan's stayed forever still. Every heartbeat was a reminder that theirs kept going while his had stopped.
They'd been engaged for less than an hour before he died. Had planned a whole future in the space of a conversation, had dared to believe in happiness and weddings and growing old together.
And now Evan was dead, and Barty was still here, and the world kept spinning like nothing had changed when everything had changed.
"Barty, please," Regulus tried again. "I know you're hurting, but you have to—"
"Have to what?" Barty's voice came out flat, emotionless. "Have to keep going? Have to survive? For what, Regulus? What's the fucking point?"
"The point is that Evan loved you," Regulus said firmly. "And he'd want you to live."
"Don't." Barty's hands clenched into fists. "Don't tell me what he'd want. He's dead. What he wants doesn't matter anymore."
Regulus was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. "Okay. Then do it because I need you. Because we need you. We're down to four people, and I can't—I can't lose anyone else."
Barty looked at him—really looked at him for the first time since Evan died. Regulus looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his face drawn with grief that mirrored Barty's own. He'd lost James less than two days ago. Was carrying the same impossible weight of loving someone who was gone.
"I don't know how you're doing this," Barty admitted. "How you're still functioning. Still helping everyone. Still trying."
"I'm not doing it well," Regulus said honestly. "Half the time I want to just lie down and stop existing. But then I remember—James believed in me. Believed I could be more than what the Academy made me. And giving up would mean he was wrong."
"Evan believed in me too," Barty whispered. "Believed I could be good. Be kind. Be someone worth loving."
"Then prove him right."
The words hung in the air between them. Barty wanted to argue, wanted to say it was impossible, wanted to scream that nothing mattered anymore. But a small part of them—the part that Evan had loved, had chosen, had wanted to marry—whispered that maybe Regulus had a point.
"I don't want to move," Barty said finally. "Don't want to leave him here alone."
"I know." Regulus looked at the grave with something like understanding. "But we have to keep moving. Have to stay unpredictable. Those two girls are still out there, and if we stay in one place too long—"
"Let them come," Barty said darkly. "Let them try. I'll kill them both and then maybe I can—"
They cut themselves off, but the implication was clear. Kill the girls who'd killed Evan, and then... what? Join him? Follow him into whatever came after death?
"Barty," Regulus said carefully. "You're scaring me."
"Good. I'm scared too."
But they stood up anyway, their legs shaky from sitting in one position for so long. They couldn't bring themselves to look at the grave one more time—couldn't handle another goodbye—so they just turned away and walked toward where the others were working.
Sirius was trying to fix their shelter, which had partially collapsed during the night. They worked with methodical efficiency, retying branches and reinforcing weak points, but their movements were stiff. Guilty. Like they were punishing themselves through physical labor.
Regulus moved to help them, and Barty found themselves drifting toward the edge of their camp. Toward the cliff that overlooked a steep drop into a ravine below.
They sat down at the edge, legs dangling over empty air, and stared at the forest spreading out beneath them. It would be so easy. One movement. One choice. And then the pain would stop.
"Don't even think about it."
Barty turned to find Regulus standing a few feet away, his expression hard.
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were." Regulus sat down beside them, careful to keep a safe distance from the edge. "I know that look. I've had that look. Hell, I'm probably wearing it right now."
"Then you understand."
"I do." Regulus's voice softened. "But I also understand that Evan would be devastated if you—if you made that choice. Would blame himself somehow, even though he's the one who's gone."
"How can he blame himself if he's dead?"
"I don't know. But I know James would have." Regulus stared out at the forest. "When I left in the middle of the night to go hunting—when I was planning to get myself killed taking down as many tributes as I could—I kept seeing him. James. Like he was really there, telling me to stop. And even though I knew it was just my grief playing tricks on me, I couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be disappointed. That he'd think his death was for nothing if I threw my life away."
Barty was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Do you still see him? James?"
"Sometimes. Usually when I'm tired or not paying attention. He'll be standing in the trees, or sitting by the fire, or..." Regulus's voice cracked slightly. "Or looking at me like he used to. Like I was worth something."
"Evan looked at me like that too," Barty whispered. "Like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, even though I'm just—I'm just a killer. Just a weapon the Academy created."
"You're more than that. Evan saw it. I see it. You just have to see it yourself."
Barty didn't respond, just kept staring at the drop below. But they didn't move closer to the edge either.
"Come on," Regulus said eventually, standing and offering Barty a hand. "Help me with the shelter. Keep your hands busy. It helps. Sometimes."
So Barty took his hand and let themselves be pulled to their feet. Let themselves be led back to camp, where Sirius was still working on the shelter with grim determination.
They worked together in silence—Barty and Regulus reinforcing one side while Sirius secured the other. It was mindless, repetitive work, and Regulus was right. It helped. Not much, but enough that Barty could breathe without feeling like they were drowning.
Across the camp, Remus was sitting by the fire, and something about him looked... off. Barty couldn't quite put their finger on it. He was moving slower than usual, and his face was pale beneath the dirt and bruises. When he shifted position, he winced like his injured leg was bothering him more than before.
"Remus," Sirius called over, noticing the same thing. "How's your leg? Should I check the stitches?"
"It's fine," Remus said quickly. Too quickly. "Just sore. Nothing to worry about."
"Let me see—"
"I said it's fine." Remus's tone was sharper than usual, and Sirius pulled back like they'd been slapped. "I can handle my own injuries, Sirius. I'm a healer, remember?"
Sirius opened their mouth to argue, then closed it again. The guilt from Evan's death was still written all over their face, and Barty could see them deciding not to push. Deciding they didn't have the right to insist after what had happened.
But something about Remus's reaction bothered Barty. The defensiveness. The way he was angled to keep his injured leg hidden from view. The slight shake in his hands that he was trying to conceal.
"Just tired from the stress," Remus added, his voice gentler now. "We all are. I'll rest later, okay?"
"Okay," Sirius agreed, though they still looked worried.
They finished the shelter in tense silence, and by the time the sun was high overhead, they were all exhausted. Four people trying to do the work of six, trying to hold themselves together with willpower and stubbornness and nothing else.
"We need food," Sirius said eventually. "Real food, not just the scraps we have left. There should be edible plants near the river, maybe some fish if we're lucky."
"I'll go," Barty heard themselves say. Anything to get away from camp, from Evan's grave, from the suffocating weight of grief.
"I'll come with you," Sirius offered.
Barty wanted to refuse. Wanted to go alone so they wouldn't have to make conversation, wouldn't have to see the guilt in Sirius's eyes, wouldn't have to think about how Evan was dead because Sirius had made the wrong call.
But Regulus was giving them a look that said don't do this alone, don't isolate yourself, don't make choices you can't take back.
"Fine," Barty said shortly. "Let's go."
They walked in silence, Sirius leading the way toward the river with their bow ready and Barty following with their shotgun. The forest was quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence that preceded violence—but Barty found they didn't care. Let the remaining tributes come. Let them try. Barty had nothing left to lose.
"Barty," Sirius said quietly as they walked. "I know you're angry with me. You have every right to be. I made a call that got Evan killed, and I—"
"Stop," Barty interrupted. "Just stop talking."
"I need to say this—"
"I don't want to hear it." Barty's hands tightened on their shotgun. "I don't want your apologies or your explanations or your guilt. I just want—"
They cut themselves off, because what they wanted was impossible. They wanted Evan back. Wanted to rewind time, to make different choices, to be the one who went with Sirius instead so Evan would still be alive.
"I'm sorry anyway," Sirius said quietly. "Even if you don't want to hear it."
They walked on in uncomfortable silence until they reached the river. The water was clear and cold, rushing over rocks with a sound that might have been peaceful in any other context. Sirius started searching the banks for edible plants while Barty stood guard, eyes scanning the forest for threats.
That's when Sirius noticed.
"Barty," they said carefully, their voice taking on a concerned edge. "Your wrists. What—"
Barty looked down and realized their sleeves had ridden up, exposing the scratches along their wrists. Fresh marks, deliberate and angry, made during the long night sitting by Evan's grave when the pain inside had become too much and they'd needed some way to make it external.
"It's nothing," Barty said, yanking their sleeves down.
"That's not nothing." Sirius moved closer, their bow lowering. "Barty, are you—are you hurting yourself?"
"What do you care?" The words came out bitter, cruel. "You didn't care about keeping Evan safe."
Sirius flinched like they'd been physically struck, and Barty felt a sick satisfaction at causing them pain. Wanted them to hurt the way Barty was hurting, wanted them to understand what their choices had cost.
But then they saw the tears welling in Sirius's eyes, saw the way their hands were shaking, and the satisfaction turned to ash in their mouth.
"I'm sorry," Barty said, the words dragging themselves out. "That wasn't—I shouldn't have—"
"No, you're right to be angry," Sirius said, their voice thick with tears. "You're right to hate me. I hate me too."
"I don't hate you." Barty was surprised to find it was true. "I'm angry. I'm furious. But I don't—" They took a shaky breath. "You were trying to save him. You made the wrong call, but you were trying."
"And now he's dead."
"Yeah. And I want to blame you for that. Want to have someone to direct all this rage at. But the truth is—" Barty's voice cracked. "The truth is it's not your fault. It's the Capitol's fault. It's the Purge Games' fault. It's this whole fucked-up system that puts us in situations where there are no good choices."
Sirius wiped at their eyes with the back of their hand. "The scratches on your wrists—"
"Are a way to cope," Barty admitted. "A way to feel something other than the grief that's eating me alive. I know it's not healthy. I know Evan would be upset if he knew. But he's not here, and I don't—I don't know how else to survive this."
"Promise me you won't—" Sirius's voice broke. "Promise me you won't do anything permanent. Please. I can't—we can't lose you too."
Barty wanted to promise. Wanted to give Sirius that reassurance. But they couldn't lie, couldn't make guarantees they weren't sure they could keep.
"I'll try," they said instead. "That's the best I can do. I'll try to keep going. Try not to—" They gestured vaguely at the cliff, the river, all the ways someone could choose to stop existing.
"Okay," Sirius whispered. "Okay. Thank you."
They gathered what food they could find—some edible roots, a handful of berries that Remus had identified as safe, a few plants with leaves that could be boiled into something resembling tea. It wasn't much, but it was something.
The walk back to camp was quieter, but less hostile. Something had shifted between them—not forgiveness exactly, but understanding. Mutual grief and guilt and the desperate need to not be alone in their pain.
When they got back, Regulus was keeping watch from a tree, his eyes scanning the forest with the constant vigilance of someone who'd learned that safety was an illusion. And Remus was asleep by the fire, the wool blanket from the supply drop pulled up to his chin.
"He finally rested," Regulus called down softly. "Been pushing himself too hard. The sleep will do him good."
Barty and Sirius set down their meager haul of food, and Sirius moved to sit beside Remus. They didn't wake him, just settled close enough that their shoulders touched, finding comfort in proximity.
"I should check on him," Sirius murmured. "Make sure his leg isn't worse. He's been so defensive about it."
But they didn't move to lift the blanket or examine the wound. Didn't want to wake Remus when he so clearly needed rest. So they just sat there, keeping watch, one hand resting lightly on Remus's arm.
Barty turned away, unable to watch the tender gesture without feeling like their heart was being ripped out all over again. Evan should be here. Should be sitting beside Barty the same way, should be alive and warm and breathing.
They found themselves walking back to the cliff edge, and this time Regulus didn't follow. Just let them sit there in silence, staring at the drop.
Hours passed. The sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that were too beautiful for a world this ugly. Barty sat and watched and tried to figure out if they had the courage to keep living or the courage to stop.
Eventually, as twilight settled over the forest, Regulus climbed down from his perch and came to sit beside them.
"Sirius fell asleep next to Remus," Regulus said quietly. "They both looked so peaceful. Like they'd forgotten, just for a moment, where we are."
"Must be nice," Barty said bitterly. "To be able to forget."
"I don't think they've forgotten. I think they've just found a way to carry it." Regulus was quiet for a moment. "Barty, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you going to make it through tonight?"
The question was direct, unflinching, and Barty appreciated the honesty.
"I don't know," they admitted. "Part of me wants to. Wants to survive out of spite, out of stubbornness, out of some need to make Evan's death mean something. But part of me—the bigger part—just wants it to stop hurting."
"I understand that," Regulus said. "More than you know."
"How do you keep going?" Barty asked, turning to look at him. "When James died, you went on that killing spree, and then you fell out of a tree, and we had to drag you back to camp. But since then, you've been... I don't know. Functioning. How?"
Regulus was quiet for a long time, staring out at the darkening forest.
"Honestly? I'm not sure," he finally said. "Some of it is survival instinct—the Academy trained that into us so deeply that I keep going even when I don't want to. Some of it is responsibility—I'm Sirius's brother, and they need me, and I can't abandon them."
"And the rest of it?"
"The rest of it is..." Regulus struggled for words. "James believed I could be more than a weapon. Believed I had value beyond my ability to kill. And every time I want to give up, I hear his voice telling me that. Reminding me that caring isn't weakness, that love doesn't make you fragile—it makes you strong."
"Evan said something similar once," Barty murmured. "Said that the Academy tried to convince us that emotions were liabilities, but really they're what make us human. What give us something worth fighting for."
"He was right."
"Yeah." Barty's throat tightened. "He usually was."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the last light fade from the sky. Stars began to appear, scattered across the darkness like holes in a curtain, and Barty tried to remember if Evan had ever told them about stars. About constellations or wishes or any of the romantic nonsense people usually associated with night skies.
"I asked him to marry me," Barty said suddenly, the words spilling out before they could stop them. "Up in that tree, before everything went to hell. I asked him to marry me and he said yes and we were happy for maybe twenty minutes before—"
Their voice broke.
"I know," Regulus said gently. "Evan told us. Before he died. He was so happy, Barty. So excited about the future you were going to have together."
"A future that's never going to happen now."
"No. But the fact that he died believing in it—believing in you—that means something. That's worth holding onto."
Barty wanted to argue, wanted to say it wasn't enough, wanted to scream that hope without fulfillment was just torture. But they were too tired. Too broken. Too empty.
"I keep seeing him," Barty admitted. "Evan. In the trees, or sitting by the fire, or lying in his grave. Sometimes he's alive and smiling, and sometimes he's—he's like he was when he died. Eyes glassy. Blood everywhere. And I don't know which is worse."
"I see James too," Regulus confessed. "All the time. He talks to me, tells me to keep going, tells me I'm worth saving. And I want to believe him, but it's so hard when he's not actually there. When it's just my mind trying to cope with the loss."
"Do you think they're really gone?" Barty asked. "Or do you think—I don't know. Do you think some part of them is still here somehow?"
Regulus considered the question carefully. "I don't know. I want to believe that something survives after death. That James and Evan are somewhere peaceful, somewhere without pain or fear or violence. But I've seen too much death to have any certainty about what comes after."
"I used to think I didn't care," Barty said. "About life after death, about meaning, about any of it. But now—now I desperately want there to be something. Want Evan to be somewhere where he can still climb trees and look up at the sky and be happy."
"Then maybe that's what you fight for," Regulus suggested. "Not just survival, but the hope that there's something more. That love doesn't just end when someone dies."
Barty turned to look at him, really look at him, and saw the same desperate hope reflected in Regulus's eyes. They were both trying so hard to find meaning in senseless deaths, to create purpose out of grief.
"You're a lot smarter than the Academy gave you credit for," Barty said.
"So are you," Regulus replied. "We all are. That's why we've survived this long."
"Four of us left out of six. Four out of twenty-four original tributes."
"And two girls somewhere out there who are probably just as scared and broken as we are."
"Do you think they feel guilty?" Barty asked. "The girl who killed Evan. Do you think she's out there right now wishing she could take it back?"
"Probably," Regulus said. "Sirius said she screamed after she did it. Said she looked horrified. So yeah, I think she's carrying that with her."
"Good," Barty said darkly. "I hope it destroys her."
"Barty—"
"I know. I know revenge won't help. Know it won't bring him back. But I need to hate someone, Regulus. Need to have somewhere to put all this rage and grief and—and everything."
"I understand. But don't let it consume you. Don't become the thing the Capitol wants us to be."
Barty laughed, bitter and broken. "I think we're already there. We've all killed people. We've all done things we can't take back."
"Maybe. But we can still choose what we do next. Can still decide who we want to be in whatever time we have left."
"And who do you want to be?"
Regulus was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Someone James would be proud of. Someone who survives not through cruelty but through compassion. Someone who proves the Academy wrong about what makes a person strong."
"That's a tall order."
"I know. But I have to try. Otherwise his death really was for nothing."
They sat together as night fell completely, two people bound by grief and loss and the impossible task of keeping going when everything felt hopeless. Back at camp, Sirius was curled up next to Remus under the wool blanket, both of them finally getting some much-needed rest. And somewhere in the forest, two girls were hiding, probably terrified, probably grieving their own losses.
Six tributes left. Six people in various states of breaking, all trying to survive a game designed to destroy them.
"Thank you," Barty said eventually.
"For what?"
"For sitting with me. For not letting me—" They gestured at the cliff edge. "For keeping me from making choices I can't unmake."
"That's what friends do," Regulus said simply. "We keep each other alive. We keep each other human."
"Even when it hurts?"
"Especially when it hurts."
Barty nodded, something settling in their chest. Not peace exactly, and definitely not happiness. But maybe a tiny sliver of determination. A fragile will to keep going, if only to honor Evan's memory. To prove that his belief in them hadn't been misplaced.
"Come on," Regulus said, standing and offering Barty his hand. "Let's get some rest. We can take shifts keeping watch—I'm not tired anyway."
Barty took his hand and let themselves be pulled to their feet. They walked back to camp together, where Sirius and Remus were sleeping peacefully under the blanket, their faces relaxed in a way they never were while awake.
Barty settled near the fire, close enough for warmth but not close enough to disturb the sleeping couple. Regulus took up a position where he could see the approaches to camp, his dagger loose in his hand and his eyes scanning the darkness.
And Barty tried to sleep, even though they knew nightmares waited. Even though closing their eyes meant seeing Evan's death over and over. Even though every moment of unconsciousness felt like abandoning him.
But Regulus was right. They had to keep going. Had to survive. Had to prove that love was stronger than the Capitol's cruelty.
Even if it killed them.
Especially if it killed them.
Because that was what it meant to be human in the middle of the Purge Games—to hurt and grieve and rage and keep going anyway. To find meaning in meaningless deaths. To hold onto hope when hope was just another form of torture.
The fire crackled softly, and somewhere in the darkness, Evan's grave stood silent under the stars.
Four tributes left in their alliance.
Two enemies somewhere in the forest.
And a long night stretching ahead, full of ghosts and memories and the terrible, inescapable truth that tomorrow would bring more pain.
But they'd face it together.
Because that was all they had left.
Each other.
And the desperate, defiant choice to keep breathing.