Chapter Text
When Tommy is in the woods he feels free. Alive. Awoken. There he doesn’t have to listen to his parent’s constant bickering or the capital telling him what to do. He can be himself here. He can be Tommy. A sixteen year old boy and his bow.
The bow. A rarity, crafted by his older brother, Wilbur. The wooden edges were smooth and cleanly cut. The string was slightly worn but it would sustain for the time being. It was his prized possession. It was how his family survived. How he was optimistic in the tryingest situations. Sure, it was illegal but that’s what made it all the more fun. Rule breaking was Tommy’s specialty, although it could get him killed. Having a weapon without being a licenced Peacekeeper or having a permit was worthy of execution, no matter your age.
He remembered one time back a few years ago, the Smiths had a ten year old son who made a slingshot without the parents knowing. He loaded it with a pebble and fired it at one of the Peacekeepers when they were yelling at a shop keeper. Let’s just say for the next week, Tommy was wearing black and giving his condolences to the family.
You may be thinking, “They shouldn’t be allowed to do that.” And you’re right, but there’s nothing the citizens could do about it. Especially citizens of District 12.
District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is the poorest and least respected district out of all of them. It’s the coal district. All the buildings are shitty and so is the smell. Hardly anyone can keep themselves afloat. Most haveing to partake in illegal actions, like Tommy, to keep their family fed and warm. There's a high chain-link fence topped with barbed-wire loops that surround the district. It’s there to keep people in more than to keep things out. In theory, it’s supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day but since Tommy was lucky, there was a small patch by his house that was not electrified.
Even though it’s never been electrified, Tommy always takes a moment to listen carefully for the hum that means the fence is live.
Earlier that morning the blonde left his house, passing by a series of coal miners heading out to their morning shift. Men and women with hunched shoulders and swollen knuckles. A stab of sympathy hit Tommy. He felt bad for them but knew that soon would be him too.
The teen continued walking. He knew the pathway like the back of his hand. He didn’t have to walk far for him to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow. There separating the Meadow from the woods was the chain-link fence.
He paused, listening for the hum that was never there. When his ears were only met with silence he flattened out on his stomach and slid under a two-foot stretch that had been loose for years. (Thanks to his doing.)
As soon as he crosses the fence, he’s on his feet sprinting into the forest, towards his hideout. There in the forest, far enough away for the guards not to see and close enough that it doesn’t take forever to get there.
When the blonde is securely in the tree, he reaches into a hollow log and takes out his recurve bow. It’s well hidden, wrapped in waterproof covers, away from anyone who might steal it. Also from the log he grabs the quiver filled with arrows. He then heads towards the ground and to the only somewhat tolerable person in his life. Wilbur. Tommy climbs the hill to their place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. He smiles at the sight of his older brother, brown curls falling upon his face. Soft eyes shine bright when the older notices the younger.
“Hey Toms,” says Wilbur. “Look what I’ve got!” He holds up a loaf of bread with a proud look on his face. It’s real bread which is extremely expensive. He’s only had it once when he was younger. A bright smile reaches his face as he extends his hands for Wilbur to place the bread in his open palm. When he does so, Tommy takes it and just about sticks his nose in it. The smell is so nice. The fragrance makes his mouth water.
“How did you get his?” Wilbur just shrugged but the mischievous look on his face constricted his casual movements. “I’m serious, Wil.”
The brunette's shoulders slouched. “You don’t think you got your thievery skills from dad, did you?”
The blonde’s mouth fell open. He could have been caught! The penalty for stealing is a public beating or execution. He opened his mouth to yell at him, but instead burst into a fit of laughter. He really couldn’t say much himself with all the stealing he’s done before. It would be hypocritical.
“Well thank you sir Wil for your noble act of bravery.” He over exaggerates a bow and tears a piece of bread, throwing it into his mouth. “Oh I almost forgot,” he says with a mouthful. “Happy Hunger Games.”
He savours the taste of the bread in his mouth before he continues, “And may the odds be ever in your favour.” He lets a laugh bubble from his lips, spewing a few crumbs out of mouth.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, gremlin.” Wilbur said as he rubbed the crumbs off his shirt. A laugh escaped his lips too. The brunette took the other half of the loaf from his brother’s hands and took a bite. He was at least mannered enough to not shove the whole thing in his mouth like a certain someone.
The two of them didn’t really look like brothers. Wilbur was tall, nearing 6’5. He had curly brown hair and soft brown eyes. Whereas Tommy had blonde curls and bright blue eyes. He was also 6’1, (He would say 6’3 if anyone asked.) The oldest seemed to get his looks from their father and Tommy their mother.
“Hey Wil?” Tommy asks quietly after a moment of silence between the two.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever think about running away?” The thought came constantly to the teens mind especially during the times of the Hunger Games.
“Sometimes, but then I think about who will take care of mum and dad and Mr. Jacobs across the street.”
Tommy nods, understanding. They had a duty to stay here and take care of the ones they loved. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how kind Wilbur was though. Staying to take care of mum and dad after they neglected their children for years. Wilbur basically raised Tommy. Mr. Jacobs was kind though so he understood staying for him. Sometimes on very special occasions, he would give Tommy a freshly baked cookie.
“Okay what do you want to do, Toms?”
“We should fish,” Tommy enjoyed fishing although he wasn’t as good at it as he was with a bow. “We can catch something good for tonight.” Tonight. After the reaping, everyone is supposed to celebrate. And a lot of people do, out of relief that their children have been spared for another year. But at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come.
Tommy was proud to say he caught two fish. That’s two more than last time. Wilbur caught four. All together that came to six which was pretty good. By late morning they have a bag with about a dozen fish.
The two gather their supplies and head home. They pass through the forest, into the Meadow and back to their humble abode. They both enter the home to find their parents getting ready. Their mother wearing her nicest dress.
Tommy walks into the bathroom as Wilbur heads to his room. A tub of warm water waits for the teen and he scrubs off the dirt on himself. A nice suit sits on his bed as he walks into his room. He puts it on and walks out. Wilbur is outside his door, also wearing a suit, waiting on him.
“Well don’t you look decent for once.” Tommy sticks his tongue out at him and walks into the living area to join his parents.
The blonde tries his hardest to push down his nerves. The reaping was the scariest day of the year. There was a small chance that either him or Wilbur would get drawn. Luckily this was Wil’s final year.
The family cook the dinner and eat in silence, too nervous to speak.
At one o’clock, they head to the square. Attendance is necessary. If one does not attend they’ll be imprisoned.
People file in silently and sign in. A grim look on each of their faces. Twelve to eighteen-year-olds are moved into a roped off area below the stage. Family members line up around the perimeter.
Tommy watches as Wilbur is moved towards the front, away from him. He himself is shoved between a bunch of sixteen-year-olds. He’s always been claustrophobic so this wasn’t a great scenero for him. As he’s squished between two people, his breathing hitches up.
He goes to find something to distract him from the tight space he’s in and looks upon the stage. There's one glass bowl with cards containing the names of every twelve to eighteen-year-olds in District 12. In the bowl sits Tommy’s name among many other guys. Including Wilbur.
Also on the stage is the mayor and Technoblade Watson, District 12’s escort. He has long pink hair braided nicely down his back. He also wears a crimson red cloak. The two murmur to each other. The mayor gives a small laugh but Technoblade’s face stays neutral.
Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It’s the same story every year. He tells of the history of Manburg, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called L’manburg. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Manburg, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games. The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide two people, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.
It was horrible. It was sick and twisted. And yet no one could say or do anything about it.
He then reads the victors of the past 27 Hunger Games. There's only been one. Philza Watson, a blonde, brave, middle-aged man. He walks on stage, smiling and waving at everyone. He takes his stand beside Technoblade, his son.
“Happy Hunger Games everyone! And may the odds be ever in your favour.” The mayor finishes up his speech and takes a seat on one of the seats on the stage.
Technoblade walks over towards the glass bowl. He reaches his hand into the bowl and digs around for a second before pulling out a slip of paper.
Tommy holds his breath praying it wasn’t him…
Technoblade clears his throat and brings the paper to eye level. In his gravely, monotone voice he speaks out the name on the paper.
“Wilbur Soot.”