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00. Lance volunteers.
Lance volunteers in his brother’s place, when his older brother - just two years older and in his last year of eligibility for the Reaping - gets picked instead. Lance takes one look at the heartbreak on his mother’s face, the bitter desperation on his father’s and his aunts’ and uncles’ and grandmother, and makes his decision. He’s up to the front too fast for anyone to stop him, and it doesn’t occur to him until later that maybe he hasn’t spared his family from heartbreak after all.
The other Tribute from District Twelve is a young girl, just turned twelve. No one volunteers for her.
01. Everything happens so fast.
Lance gets a few brief minutes to say goodbye to his family - and to Hunk, who yells and shakes him and clings to Lance in a hug that only rivals the one Lance’s mom gives him.
“Stay alive,” Hunk begs him, yells, “You’d better stay alive, and you have to come back and tell me everything.”
“You’re gonna see it,” Lance points out, and winces after the words slip from his mouth.
“Don’t remind me,” Hunk groans, “But all the rest, Lance - what the countryside’s like? What the Capitol’s like? What the food is like? You have to come back and tell me. Promise? You have to.”
“I promise,” Lance says, “Assuming Keith doesn’t kill me.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Hunk says, as sharp as Lance has ever heard him. “He would never. He’s not going to be your mentor, anyway.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lance says.
02. Hunk is right.
“I’m Shiro,” Shiro says, once Lance and the other Tribute have stepped off the train. As if Lance even needs the introduction, with his jaw agape and his heart pounding in shocked recognition. Shiro, who was Reaped five years ago, Shiro who was the first Tribute from District Twelve to win the games in thirty-six years. Shiro, who’s holding out his hand so they can shake - the prosthetic hand, the one the Capitol gave him after Shiro won the Second Quarter Quell five years ago. The scar on his face is stark and alarming and Lance vividly remembers the exact moment Shiro got it. “It’s my job to get you through this. You two ready?”
03. Everything happens so fast, and Lance is not ready.
Lance and the other Tribute - Marcia? Maria? - are pushed through a whirlwind of events, meetings and evaluations and interviews and parties and a stupid parade where someone nearly dresses them up as cows (Shiro intervenes at the last minute, much to Lance’s relief). Shiro sees them through all of it, a steady presence by their elbows and steering them through the quickening flood.
At the party after the Parade of Tributes, Shiro introduces them to so many people that Lance’s head spins. Maybe that’s the alcohol.
“Lance, this is Commander Holt,” Shiro says, gesturing towards a man in uniform.
“District Three,” Sam says, shaking Lance’s hand. He has a firm grip and a kind smile, if a bit strained at the eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re in great hands with Shiro, here.”
“Sam helped me my first year,” Shiro explains. The smile Sam turns on him is pleased; Lance wants that. “This is his son, Matt.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Lance says politely, offering his hand.
“Sure,” Matt says, tightly. He glares up at Shiro instead of shaking Lance’s hand. “I told you I didn’t want to meet any of them.”
“Matt,” Sam starts, warningly.
“Why are you here, then?” Lance blurts.
In response Matt shoves his drink at an Avox and departs, the dark green of his formal jacket blending into the party-goers until he’s gone.
“I hope you forgive him,” Sam says apologetically. There’s a tension to his eyes, a tightness to his smile now, too. “Everyone’s always a bit nervous leading up to the Games. I trust Shiro’s taking good care of you?”
04. Of everything that’s happened - of all the people Lance has met - he can’t shake this one at all.
“What did Matt mean?” Lance asks, later that night. Marcia’s gone to bed; it’s just Shiro and Lance in the sitting room of the most lavish apartment Lance has ever set foot in.
“He’s just nervous,” Shiro says. There’s a drink in his hand, but he’s mostly swirling the rosy liquid around in the perfect glass cup instead of drinking it. “There’s a lot of pressure on his District this year.”
“Ours too,” Lance says, quietly. He’s seen Keith a handful of times since arriving at the Capitol, but only ever briefly. Keith was across the room at the Tributes’ party, listening to a tall woman with white hair. He was finishing an interview with Coran on-camera while Lance and the other Tributes waited backstage, Keith’s half-smile fleeting and rare. He was at the opposite end of the hall earlier today, wrapping up a brief conversation with Shiro and gone well before Lance and Marcia drew near. Keith is always gone before Lance can talk to him. Fine. Lance doesn’t want his help, anyway. Keith would probably get him killed.
Still, the reality is grim. It’s not common for a District to win the Games two years in a row, unless you’re from a Career District.
Lance is not.
“Yes,” Shiro admits, and the simple admission is a chill running down into Lance’s gut. It burns there, mingling with the low-rising panic he can’t entirely quench. “None of which you need to worry about. You only have to focus on staying alive.”
05. Everything happens so fast, and the burning panic in Lance’s chest does not get any better as the time finally nears.
“Stay calm,” Shiro says, in those last few moments. The helicopters that will take Lance and the others to the Arena wait just beyond the hangar door, the air already loud and oppressive. “No matter what happens, try to stay calm. Never forget you’re being watched at every minute, but that’s a good thing, okay? I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m right here, and I’ll see you when you get out.”
Marcia’s crying, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. Shiro pulls her into a hug, whispers something in her ear. Lance looks away, across the hangar where other Tributes and their Mentors are clustered, too. They are alone in a sea of others going through the same thing.
“You have people waiting for you at home,” Shiro says, when he pulls away. “Both of you do. Never forget that, either. Lance - ”
Lance goes into the hug easily, gripping the back of Shiro’s vest like it’s a lifeline. He’s not going to cry. People are watching already. He can’t cry.
Shiro cups a hand around the back of Lance’s neck, soothing and grounding. Their foreheads knock together, steady. His prosthetic hand is cool on Lance’s skin.
“Look out for others,” Shiro urges him, a quiet whisper. Next to them Marcia is wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Steeling herself, as Lance is, for what is to come.
“I will,” Lance promises.
+1. Everything happens too fast.
Marcia dies within the first minute of the Hunger Games, a victim of the Cornucopia Bloodbath. Lance tries but can’t save her. It’s worse than he imagined, worse than anything else. He barely makes it away from the Cornucopia himself.
The problem with being from the District that won last year is that there’s a target on Lance’s back from the get-go. He’s chased by Careers from the second they find him, a gang of Tributes from Districts One and Two and Four that stalk him like he’s an animal. Mid-desperate run for his life, Lance finds the perfect hiding place set up in a cliff -
- but the hiding place is not empty.
“Who are you?” Lance yelps, flat on the floor of the cave and sure this is the end. The girl who’d knocked him down stands over him, sharpened edge of her makeshift spear flush at his throat.
“My name’s Pidge,” Pidge snaps. The setting sun gleams in her glasses, her brown eyes vicious and hard. “District Three. Who are you?”