a matter of life and death {barnabas jb one!shot}

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

B A R N A B A S   S T R O U D

He stepped off the stage and into the arms of death. It held him together, the icy breath down his spine numbing him to all emotion. Barnabas didn't dare look at the crowd, to face the district he'd be representing. He knew they pitied him, but none enough to speak. Who would dare step onto the chopping block for a disheveled boy they knew nothing of?

"The tributes know they're going to be picked, Barn. It's all a game." 

His mother had lied. The promise in her eyes had been all for naught, her attempts to save him from what this world was nothing but a sick joke now. She was dead, and in essence, so was he. While his lips quivered violently, not a single tear was to be found upon pale cheeks. Barnabas Stroud held his head high as the peacekeepers led him away. Out of public eye and further into Death's Embrace. It smothered him, a hopelessness that threatened to consume the small boy. As he was now well aware of just how tiny he was. Every heartbeat seemed to ache, sending throbbing pains of life throughout his arteries. They were to kiss every inch of his body before returning to torture him again. For someone who spent their days bringing life into the world, it seemed to be his greatest nemesis now. 

"Get moving kid." The peacekeeper's voice was gruff, but decidedly female. She lay a gentle hand on his lower back, ushering him toward the palace that was to be his final haven before entering the Capitol. For years he'd seen terrified youths shipped off to the Justice Building. He'd even commended them for their acting, how well they'd portrayed a scared child when there was no real danger. The very thought sickened him now. 

Were the cameras already trained on him? Was the Capitol eagerly awaiting wait this year's tribute would bring? Deciding whether he was worth spending money on or not. He wasn't. Barnabas was nothing more than an object now, a pawn in the games that were anything but. It was as though Hell's hands were entwined with his, dragging him slowly, painfully, into the pits where he would undoubtedly spend the rest of eternity. The boy didn't intend to go down without a fight, refused to lay down and allow himself to be trampled by the lies his parents told. And so the boy might have to take as many lives as he gave. He hated himself for it. 

The peacekeeper left him when he was seated upon the chairs provided. "I'll be right outside this door, don't try anything." He couldn't make out her face through the thick white helmet, but there was the familiar pang of pity within her tone. 

"Yes Ma'am."  He replied, like the good-mannered boy he was.

Grandpa Stroud was the first to visit him. The old man tried so hard to keep his voice from cracking, wrapping Barnabas into a rare embrace and rubbing his back. "You're just like your parents, Barney. Kind and sweet, just like they wanted you to be."  Sobs began to well in the boy's throat, choking whatever words he wished to say. He could only return the man's embrace. Knowing his grandfather wouldn't beg for him to return, and Barnabas would make no promises to do so. District Seven had never even had a victor before, leaving him with little guidance and nothing else to do but hope. They stood there for a long while, wrapped in a fatherly embrae. Not a word was exchanged between the two, yet Barnabas felt closure. "Grandma isn't going to do as well." he whispered, "But she needs to say goodbye." 

"I love you Grandad." Was all he could manage before the old man hobbled out of sight. 

Grandma Stroud was less calm and collected, her sobs making even being the same room excruciatingly painful. "Barney baby I can't lose you!" she threw her arms around him, burying her head into my shirt. "First your father... and now this! What will I do. I can't-" He pulled away from her, for the first time having a purpose. No longer floundering in his own self-loathing, or the fear that gripped him as tightly as ever, he could focus on her. Making her feel better. 

"You've gotta keep going Ma." His voice was strong, stronger than he felt. "That's what I'll want... when I see you again." He knew lying to the woman was cruel, but it was all he could think of. "And I will. Ok?" She nodded, silent tears continuing to roll down her weathered face.

"Mr. Stroud?" The peacekeeper's voice interrupted them. "There's not much time left, sir, and there's one more visitor/" Confusion, hot as embers, rushed through the boy, causing his hands to fall off of his grandmother's shoulders as though suddenly made of jelly. 

"I've got to go, anyway." His grandmother sniffed heartily, "Someone has to make sure my husband hasn't eaten all of my chestnut batter!" The last he would likely ever hear of his grandmother was a whole-hearted chuckle. And for the first time all day, Barnabas smiled. 

His last visitor was more technically two. Ms. Carmichael, holding her newborn son to her chest, was the last to see him off. "We haven't much time Barney." Her words were rushed, allowing him little time to react to her presence. "You're strong. You're the reason my son is alive. You can't let your grandmother lose one." The words struck pain into his very being. Tears, like diamonds, spilling out of the corners of his eyes. He'd never imagined his grandmother thought of him as a son, but after losing her own, it made perfect sense. "Come back, Barnabas. I don't care if you think you can or not. You have to come back." her voice did not waver, only bringing forth a heavier flow of tears from Barnabas. "Alexander Barnabas Carmichael will want to meet his Godfather."  Without so much as a moments hesitation, she pressed two baby blue socks into his empty palms. 

"Ms Car-" 

"Mr. Stroud, the train is here." 

His last words to the woman were never finished.

Ms. Carmichael, thank you.

{i'm tryna make you proud
do everything you did
hope you're up there with God
sayin' that's my kid;