Remade (After Mockingjay Story)

Chapter 1 - Home

(Hello readers, if you have read my other two Peeta fanfiction stories, thank you, I'm glad you've stuck around. There's a slight difference with this one, it's a dual perspective, some from Peeta and some from Katniss. As you all know I don't own these characters, Suzanne Collins does, and thank you for reading.)

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Peeta

The bathroom cabinet creaks loudly as I close it shut. When it's closed, it's mirror side is revealed. My reflection blinks at me. I notice that the burnt skin on my face is almost completely healed. The parts of my eyebrows that were singed off have grown back. If they will leave scars, I don't know. The Capitol medications have worked wonders on my wounds, but some scars can never be fully healed.

The door to my room is locked. There's a button I'm supposed to press if I need anything. I've told them a thousand times that if they left it unlocked, I would not escape, but they don't believe me. They label me as Mentally Unstable. That's the words that are printed on the plastic bracelet I have to wear. Along with the words Hijacking Disorder below it as one of the things that is wrong with me. They probably didn't know what else to diagnose me with, since my "condition" is so complicated.

The doctors have explained to me that the Capitol had brutally forced the tracker jacker venom into me in a very ruthless manner. The effects of the venom naturally act fast, and with a large amount of it injected into my system they were hoping it would last much longer. All of the venom they pumped into me constantly tampered with the sensory parts of my brain, making me so confused at the reality of everything, and making me so terrified at it that I would turn into this angry, defensive monster with no sense of restraint. They told me that it took a while for them to permanently leave its mark on my mind, that's why I was there for so long, and those long hours of me flinching on the cold concrete floor of the prison cell was when my strong emotions were fighting back at the lies, but in the end it was too strong. It may have acted fast, but it's so powerful that it'll take a while to go away. They even told me that it might never truly go away, because the terror the Capitol shoved into my head will always be linked to the hijacking effects, and all of the horrors I've witnessed could always go back to that. Fear takes a long time to overcome.

Is been weeks. Actually, I think it's been months. I've gone to three types of Phychotherapy sessions, each one an hour long for six days a week. They tell me the exact times and dates, like I would keep track, but I don't need to because they always remind me as if I wouldn't show up if they didn't.

One of the sessions is about my Hijacking Disorder, the second one is about my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and the third focuses completely on my sleeping problems, mainly my nightmares, I don't remember what they called it.

Even when I thought I should stay longer, I still wanted to return home. Staying never seemed like a bad idea, mainly because I don't exactly have a home or a family to return to, but I don't want to be here forever. I never mention it to my doctors, but another reason I want to go back home is to see Katniss again. Every day I wonder more and more how well she is doing, how she is coping with the death of her sister, and how badly I want to comfort her because I know how much Prim meant to her.

Then I told myself that she probably doesn't need me. She might not even want some maniac, who has tried to kill her multiple times, around her now that he doesn't have to be.

She's fine, I tell myself. She has her mother, Haymitch, and Gale.

I try not to think too much about how Gale could be comforting her, my mind starts racing on about useless things. The bottom line is, surely Katniss is fine, surely she doesn't need me, but I still want to see her.

They've told me that I have vastly improved. My memory has been mostly restored, I act somewhat normal now. I don't unknowingly whisper my thoughts under my breath anymore. I haven't gone out of control since Snow's execution that eventually turned out to be Coin's execution. I can sort out most of the fake memories that are mixed in with the real ones, so now I'm getting less of them now, and they don't effect me nearly as much. The only times I'm usually not okay is when I'm alone or asleep with nightmares.

My dreams have never gotten less haunting, but I felt as if their state is something that could tell them if I'm well enough to go home. They're never improved greatly, but I don't know if that will ever change. I started to lie about them in my therapy sessions when they ask about it because of how badly I wanted to leave.

I had asked my head doctor, Dr. Aurelius, about returning home, and he'd told me that he'd discuss it with his team before getting back to me with an answer. Earlier today, he got back to me and said that I'd need to take certain medications at certain times, they'd need at least weekly updates from me over the phone, and I might have to come back sometimes but yes, I can finally go home.

So now I'm sitting in my room, waiting for them to come get me so I can ride the hovercraft back to District 12. They told me that I could get prepared first and pack up my things, but I've been prepared for a long time, and there's nothing for me to pack.

I sit on my cushiony bed, staring down at my hands. One hand has a very faint burn mark, while both wrists have dents around them from when I used to dig my handcuffs into them to gain control. It always ended up helping, but I was left with a bloody mess and shredded skin.

Now I'm thinking of Katniss's hands, when they cleansed my wrists and bandaged them up. Her worried eyes when she told me that they could get infected if I didn't keep them clean. My memory shifts to the cold boney hand of a Capitol woman who looked at me with such intensity as she hissed promises into my ear before I went on to do another broadcast, telling me I have no choice on what she'd do.

I shudder as the door opens and Dr. Aurelius walks in. When I meet him at the door, he hands me a small bag.

"Here are your medications. Make sure you take them. And remember to answer your phone when I call, because Katniss keeps ignoring me. After she executed President Coin people keep asking me about her, they all still think she's a crazy lunatic. I can't keep pretending that I'm treating her forever. Tell her to pick up the phone."

I grab the bag as my stomach drops. Ignoring people is Katniss' standard behavior when she's really upset. How will I face her again? Will she be happy to see me, or mad because I took away her nightlock pill when she was about to swallow it last time we saw each other.
There's also another strange and uneasy feeling that occurs to me. The last time I was in District 12 was when they carted me off to the Capitol for the Quarter Quell. I've seen what's left of it through TV screens, but that's not nearly the same. I will have no home, no bakery, and no family to return to.

This is what will break that lingering disbelief that my entire family is dead. They were there when I came back from The Hunger Games, they were there when I came back from the Victory Tour, they were there when I was pulled away into the train without a final goodbye.

I guess we did have a final goodbye, before the Reaping, but it was more like a good luck. I hadn't told them that I was going to volunteer for Haymitch if his name was picked, but they knew there was a high possibility that I could be called. My brothers only gave me a quick hug with a slight pat on the back, my mother just nodded at me with the same grimace she always had, except that time with a tad bit of pity, and my father also gave me hug and told me that no matter what happened, he was proud of me. That was the last time I ever saw my father. I don't think I said anything to them. I can't really remember, but I don't think I did.

I think about this on the train ride back home, alone.