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Nico didn’t remember much of the final fight against Octavian.
There was a lot of growling and slashing and scared threats. Octavian had threatened to take Will down with him if Nico let him fall into the pack of wild mutts trying to gouge their way up the side of the Cornucopia. Will nodded, Nico aimed and threw the knife, Octavian died. He did pull Will down with him, but Nico had managed to grab hold of Will’s wrist, ignoring Will’s sharp cries of pain as he hauled him back up onto the freezing cold and dangerously smooth metal surface. Will all but collapsed into Nico’s arms, his chest a mosaic of bloody slashes and burn marks, his left leg mangled by the mutt’s teeth. But he was alive, and they had won, together.
Most of the Games had been a blur, but Will’s limp weight pressed tight against his chest as Octavian screamed and the mutts howled was perfectly clear in Nico’s mind. He pulled Will into him, closing his eyes and praying that they could just hold out long enough for the hovership to carry them away as the two Star-Crossed Lovers of the Games.
The cannon boomed. Nico opened his eyes, almost feeling guilty for the thrilling relief that flooded his system. But the early morning skies were empty of any hovership that would take them back home, where they could go back to being Nico and Will, living in a fragile sort of peace until the next Games came along. Maybe they could even someday kiss without Nico tasting phantom traces of sweat and iron.
He liked that thought.
He smiled down at Will. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going home.”
Will wasn’t smiling. “Then why haven’t they come to pick us up yet?”
Nico grasped Will’s hand, and searched the skies again. His mouth tasted like ash when he tried to swallow. Will was right, something was wrong.
The silence of the arena was interrupted by a booming voice. Something tight and vicious curled in Nico's chest. No, they couldn’t do this. Nico had just gotten Will back, he couldn’t lose him now. Not now, not ever. They were supposed to grow old together, sitting in rocking chairs on the creaky front porch, watching their adopted kids play in a soft meadow somewhere.
They were supposed to live, both of them. It wasn’t fair otherwise.
“Attention, Tributes. There has been a slight rule change. The previous provision allowing for two victors from the same district has been revoked. Only one victor may be crowned. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”
“Look at that,” Will said. “You won, Nico.”
If the Gamemakers wanted Nico and Will to kill each other, Nico thought bitterly, biting back a delirious laugh, they were a little too late for that.
Nico clutched Will tighter. “No, no, just hold on. They promised, they said–”
Will let out a shaky laugh, barely able to lift his head up from where it was cradled in Nico’s lap. His fingers, warm and calloused and unusually feeble, scrabbled to take hold of Nico’s hand. “They were never going to keep that rule change, Neeks.”
Will’s laugh turned into a cough, sending dark red blood oozing all over his chest, staining his shirt and teeth with that awful shade. Nico never wanted to see that color again.
Tears pricked at Nico’s eyes, mingling with the sweat, as he brushed away a strand of hair from Will’s feverishly warm forehead. He wanted to fix this, he had to, there had to be a way, something he could do–
“Maybe we can make them.” One hand still clutching Will’s as if they would both die if he let go, Nico used his other hand to fumble for the pile of berries in his pocket, still carefully wrapped in that tiny square of plastic. “They still need their winner, don’t they?”
“Nico.”
“No, this will work!”
Hands pale and trembling, Nico sorted out the nightlock into two portions, closing Will’s fingers around his bundle of dark, gleaming berries.
“Nico, please.” His voice was hoarse and quiet, and it hit like an arrow to Nico’s chest. Will wasn’t supposed to be quiet and hoarse and in pain and so dull and pale. He was supposed to be smiling and laughing and beautiful. Nico wanted to burn the whole arena– the whole Capitol – to the ground for ever daring to dim Will’s brightness.
“Count of three, okay? And then we swallow them, together.”
“Nico.”
“No, Will, I’m not living without you!” Nico snapped.
Will didn’t say anything, and Nico stilled, terrified of doing anything that might hurt him even more. Will’s breathing was heavy and ragged, but he was still breathing, still alive. And if he was still alive, then the Capitol could fix him. They had money, and machines, and medicine, and they could keep Will alive and safe, if only Nico made them.
“Please,” Will breathed out.
He looked like he didn’t even have the energy to cough anymore, even as more blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were now glassy, his blonde curls matted to his forehead with sweat. Tears leaked from Will’s eyes, and Nico brushed his own tears away.
“I’m already dying,” Will said, the ghost of one last smile playing on his lips. “Just don’t let me die alone, okay? Just...say something. Anything." Almost shyly, he added, "I like listening to your voice."
“No, of course I won’t, I’m right here, Will.” Nico grasped Will’s hand even tighter with his own. "Anything you want, Will, please."
Will mumbled something under his breath, and then his eyes fluttered shut. It sprang Nico into action, fumbling to find Will’s pulse, analyzing every shallow rise and fall of Will’s chest. Will’s eyes hadn’t opened again, and Will didn’t have a pulse, and Will wasn’t breathing anymore and suddenly every sound drained away until Nico couldn’t even hear his own voice, cursing and begging and pleading.
Will’s hand went limp in Nico’s grasp. His head lolled to the side.
Nico tried to shake him awake, to do anything to just get Will to wake up. “No, Will, no, please, you can’t leave me, Will!”
Nico screamed until his voice went hoarse, and when that was gone, the only thing left to break the silence was the far away boom of the final cannon.