Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dream remembered finding the shack with Techno and Wilbur when they were kids; outside Victor’s Village and long before any of them fully understood the Games or their role in them. It was before Techno had won a proper house there, back when the three of them lived in the poorest outskirts of District 12. Before they found Tommy, and before Phil had come and taken the three of them under his wing. 

It became a hideout for them; a place to be alone together. 

He remembered spending a summer alongside the twins, attempting to patch the worn roof and hole-filled walls of the shack. It was sweaty, backbreaking work, but he was happy with them, the idea of any of them getting reaped still far, far away. He remembered bringing his sister to the shack when she was old enough, then Tommy. He remembered the way they would bicker, calling themselves knights as they chased after each other with sticks.

He remembered when Tommy and Drista had begged him to keep a cat, a half-drowned calico kitten they had found in a back-alley crawling with fleas. And because Wilbur and Techno had long since gone off to do ‘twin stuff,” Dream was left to make the call. The blond was reluctant to keep the kitten; after all, she was just another mouth to feed, another small soul to worry about. But as it was, all it took to change that reluctance was Drista placing the dripping kitten in his arms. The patchy-colored thing had nuzzled into him immediately and began to purr. 

Dream fell in love instantly.

Drista insisted that he should name the kitten, since she took to him the most. Because of the white and brown splotches of fur covering her tiny body, Dream decided to call her “Patches.”

(Tommy protested very loudly against this decision as he wanted to name the cat “Henry.” Drista had smacked him on the head at this and very loudly reminded him that the kitten was, in fact, a girl. Tommy said it didn’t matter, and lovingly called Patches “Henry” for a whole year before giving up begrudgingly.) 

Just a year before all of this childish nonsense, Dream had turned 12 and started applying for the Tesserae. By his 17th birthday he was so worried about his chances of getting reaped that he never thought about the odds of Drista’s two tiny slips getting pulled. It never even crossed his mind before it was too late.

He remembered when he had turned 13 and Techno was reaped. A full year of his own name going into that stupid glass bowl, and he hadn’t ever thought the name of anyone he knew would be pulled. The odds were so slim, but not slim enough. He remembered Techno’s return to the district and the feeble hope that the games would spare the rest of his scattered family. 

He remembered the sinking feeling in his gut when Tommy was reaped, and the sheer terror he felt as  his sister’s name was pulled right after. Dream had begged the Peacekeepers to let him volunteer for Tommy as soon as Drista’s name had been read into the open air. The escort had just given him a sad smile and a shake of the head. He told Dream that it was too late, that Tommy was drawn first, that his request for volunteers had gone unanswered, and that was that. He remembered how he had screamed, and the Peacekeepers that had threatened to sedate him. If Dream had been in any condition to think, he would’ve guessed that the Capitol got a kick out of his desperation–recorded and saved for the Capitol’s nighttime viewing. If force was required to hold Dream back, the viewers would get more of a show after all. The Peacekeepers in the square clearly thought this was a matter of pride, a show for attention, a tribute valiantly volunteering only to be unfortunately too late–not Dream desperately trying to protect his sister in any way he could. They wrestled him back into where his age group was roped off, and he was forced to stand there as his eyes helplessly watched the stage.

He remembered the distinct feeling of both Techno and Wilbur’s eyes on him—judging him for not volunteering for Tommy the moment his name was drawn. Dream knew that aging out of the Games chafed at the twins–they had talked extensively about what they would do if Tommy was reaped. Neither one had ever directly asked him if he would ever volunteer for Tommy. Clearly, it would have been a waste of time. If Dream had been in a better state of mind, the thick, scorching shame would have burned him.

It did-after the fact.

Tommy returned from the 73rd Games on the exact same train that he and Drista had departed on, and the emptiness when the boy stepped off the platform alone was absolutely deafening. Tommy had looked about a decade older– sharper, victorious, but somber. Guilt and anger butted their ugly heads within him at Tommy’s return, and Dream spent more time in the shack after that. Alone. He couldn’t stand the apologetic looks Wilbur and Techno would send him, or the better-than-tesserae-grain bread they would try to feed him when they found out he wasn’t eating properly. All he could see were their accusatory looks after he had volunteered for Tommy. Only he had been too little, too late.

He remembered finally going home to face his mother, the only other person in the godforsaken 12th district that he felt he could talk to in a way that didn’t make his insides twist with guilt. Guilt for wishing Drista had come home instead of Tommy. The only other person who had reacted no better than he did. Yet when he did return to that empty house, somehow the guilt he had hoped to avoid was still there–his mother’s eyes screamed that it was his fault, that he should have somehow known and stopped it. He should have protected his little sister. He couldn’t stand to look at her back then. Still couldn’t. It had been a full year since Tommy had returned, and he and his mother still hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t spoken much to anyone, in fact.

Now, by his 18th birthday Dream’s name had been entered 27 times. One entry for every birthday past twelve, plus three for every tesserae he’d needed to feed his family, and minus one for the last year without Drista. If she had been picked after only two entries, what hope did he have? 

A knock on the door of the shack. “Dream.”

“Techno,” Dream replied. He looked over his shoulder at his friend. Friend. He wasn’t sure he could still call him that with the distance Dream had forced between them. He had missed him. Missed them: Techno and Wilbur and Tommy. 

“The Reaping’s in about an hour,” Techno said. He wasn’t meeting Dream’s eyes. “If you wanted to walk with me and Wilbur…”

“That’s alright,” Dream said and looked back at the wall he had been staring at for the last two hours. Peeling plaster, holes. He wanted to go. He wanted to get up and go and walk with Tommy and the twins just like old times. Water damage, cracks. The same want clawed at the insides of his stomach, urged him to just get up and fucking go . Instead, he thought for a second. “Thank you, though.”

Techno hesitated. “See you there” he said, and Dream heard his footsteps recede back toward the village. No doubt, he was going to go get Wilbur and Tommy and tell them Dream didn’t want to walk with them, that he’d come along later. And then they’d all stand and watch as two kids were sent off to be slaughtered. Techno had been one of those kids and Tommy and Drista. 

He really missed her.

For one last time Dream studied one of many knots in the wall where the wood had warped. It wasn’t something that mattered, but it was something to think about, and it beat thinking about the Reaping. Rot was beginning to creep in from the bottom, the dampness from the grass slowly eating away the wooden base. Not for the first time, he wondered who lived here. He wondered if they had been happy. He wondered if they had children. He wondered if those children had been reaped or if they had been among the lucky ones. He wondered if they had died after living long and happy lives, or at the hands of another child in an unforgiving arena to the sound of the Capitol’s cheering.

Dream uncrossed his legs and stood up, bracing himself on the wall. The rough plaster scraped at his hand, but it was somehow still sturdy enough to support him even after all these years. He saw Wilbur’s guitar, still stashed there even though he doubted Wilbur had been to the shack anytime recently. He had it carelessly propped up against the wall in a dim corner, and Dream guessed he had a newer, nicer one at home. The old guitar was somehow untouched by the damp that seemed to creep in through the walls, and it’s pristine shape reminded him of Wilbur–the only one who had remained untouched by the horrors of the games. Techno had left a massive knife in the wall. Contraband. It got stuck after Tommy attempted to throw it at a bullseye scrawled on the other side of the room. Dream wondered what the Peacekeepers would think of that . Tommy’s apple red bandana hung from a nail next to the propped open door. Drista’s old carvings littered the walls, but Dream couldn’t really look at them anymore. They used to make him laugh, especially the ones that were digs at Tommy. Tommy had his own funny etchings peppered in too, but Dream would never tell him.

Dream kept his axe in the shack–one, because it was technically contraband (like Techno’s knife) and two, the woods outside the shack were the best place to chop wood. Dream would exchange the wood at the Community House for extra tesserae and some meat scraps for Patches. The small dilapidated building held a piece of each of them here, if not the wholes the pieces belonged to.

Dream grabbed Tommy’s forgotten bandana and headed out the door, carefully placing it back in front of the door frame before leaving. The hinges were long gone, probably bartered, and so they had to pick the whole door up and move it when they wanted to come and go. He remembered having to help Tommy and Drista get in and out of the shack when they were small, when the door was too heavy for them to move with their skinny starved limbs. He missed those days.

The walk to the Justice Building was a short one. Unlike the other kids waiting to get their fingers pricked, Dream hadn’t bothered to dress up for the occasion. He had spent the morning holed up in the shack, and didn’t think to put on anything other than his usual clothes. Dressing up in District 12 was nothing to write home about, but he did stick out amongst a crowd of skirts and braids and starched slacks He felt out of place in his grass stained overalls and gray henley. His hair a windwhirl to top it all off. 

Too soon he approached the peacekeepers that were responsible for the check in procedures. One, a woman, pricked his finger, and Dream watched with dead eyes as a drop of blood pooled out of the small wound. The woman smeared the few drops of blood into the book that confirmed his identity as Dream Run. The pitying glance the Peacekeeper gave him as she read his name felt like a consolation prize for a contest he didn’t remember entering.

Too soon he was herded into the roped off area reserved for the older kids. A few faces stuck out to him in the crowd, but Tommy and the Soot twins were his only friends His latest actions had  managed to fuck that up completely though. He was to spend this Reaping alone. He deserved it.

Too soon he spotted Tommy and Techno take their positions as former Victors on the edge of the stage. Last year it was only Techno. How he managed to win with an advisor from a different district–who didn’t care if he lived or died as long as he got a check–Dream didn’t know. Now, Techno was known for getting tributes from their district into the Top 10. Something that hadn’t happened often before Techno won–if at all. If Dream hadn’t known Techno since they were kids, he’d probably fear him like the other boys around him did, their eyes glinting with fear as they eyed him up on the stage. He was an icon of death and salvation in tandem

Too soon the video praising Esempii and Schlatt and the games as a whole ended, and the escort for District 12, Sneeg Snag, took the stage. He was smiling widely despite the fact he would leave the stage in less than an hour escorting two kids straight into hell His broad grin irked Dream, but it was well warranted as he had the prestige of escorting the winning Tributes of the 69th and the 73rd Hunger Games, and plenty of the Top 10 scattered between. It made sense that capital scum would be smug. Sneeg had escorted Techno to the Games. He’d escorted Tommy. Drista.

There was no telling who he’d wrap his claws around this year.

Dream looked to Sneeg, who was watching the video and repeating the words of President Schlatt like he had them committed to memory. He probably did, seeing as Sneeg had been escorting tributes since the 62nd Hunger Games. Dream doubted the man would ever get promoted to a better district, but Sneeg himself didn’t seem to mind 12. Even Techno, as the mentor for their district, didn’t seem to mind Sneeg too much. Dream couldn’t say the same.

“Thank you, President Schlatt,” Sneeg says, almost reverently. Dream rolls his eyes. Schlatt wouldn’t even hear that until later that night when the Reaping aired on Capitol television. “Ladies and Gentlemen… Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The odds were never in anyone but the Capitol’s favor. Sneeg’s grin made Dream’s skin itch. The rest of the audience seemed to share the same low energy. He wondered if in a week’s time the capitol-adjacent districts would be screaming and shouting and chomping at the bit to volunteer. He wondered which the Capitol preferred watching. He wondered if his district’s low energy would confuse them as they sat and stared and watched kids sent off to slaughter. After all, District 12 was so lucky to have won the 73rd; their winning tribute from the previous year standing quietly next to his older brother onstage as proof. Why wouldn’t District 12 be excited for the 74th?

It made Dream want to cry. It made him want to scream.

“It is really an honor to be here again this year.” Sneeg rubbed his hands together, and the mic picked up the awful sound. Dream cringed. “Last year the gentlemen went first, so I figured this year we’d mix it up a little.” The escort practically skipped over to the glass ball filled with the girls’ names. This time last year, Dream was wringing his hands as Sneeg’s own fished around in the glass bowl. Now, all he feels is numb. There was no one left for him to feel anxious for but himself, and that would come after some poor, unlucky girl was called up onto the stage and paraded around like the prized cattle from District 10. Sneeg finally pulls a name out and walks gleefully back over to the microphone, holding the folded piece of paper up like a prize. The crowd, clearly not reacting the way Sneeg had hoped, stands stoic. The escort lets out a barely audible sigh and unfolds the paper, reading the unlucky girl’s name aloud: “Hannah Rose!”

Dream didn’t really know her very well. He watched as she shuffled up to the stage from the second to last section of girls. She must be a year younger than him then. As he recalled, her family was decently well off, or at least she lived in a better area of the district than Dream. Not that any of District 12 was good. He would’ve felt bad for her, if not for the numbness chipping away at his stomach, his throat, hands white knuckled by his sides

No one volunteers for Hannah. She’s an only child, and if she has friends, they aren’t brave enough to take her place. A quick glance at Techno would show the older man eyeing her, how she swam through a sea of grays and blues in a pale pink dress before climbing the stairs up to the stage. No doubt the mentor side of his brain was already churning out ideas of how to present her to the Capitol. Dream wondered how Techno would spin him if his name was drawn.

Dream thinks of Tommy and Drista–how they were dressed up like matching yellow canaries for the parade and grinning brilliantly at their audience. Techno sold them as a pair of charming troublemakers, and the Capitol ate it up. Would he have been a canary with Drista? Or would they have dressed them both differently? Not a day goes by where he doesn’t kick himself for letting the opportunity to volunteer for Tommy go. And not entirely for unselfish reasons. 

Sneeg claps his hands together in front of him. “And now for our gentlemen…” He giddily walks over to the other bowl, the one where Dream’s name is present exactly twenty-seven times. It could be worse, but then again it could be better. Sneeg once again reaches in and fishes his hand around in the bowl. Dream wished he would hurry up and grab a name and condemn whoever is written on the card to the Games. He wanted to go home and lay down and never think about this again, something he could do after this reaping. Sneeg pinched a folded sheet and brought it out of the bowl between his middle and forefinger, and danced back to the microphone. He unfolded the piece of paper and grimaced.

Blood began to rush in Dream’s ears.

Sneeg cleared his throat, clearly sobered, and read: “Dream Run.”

Dream distantly felt hands pushing him out of the roped off area and toward the stage. Distantly, he heard Sneeg ask if anyone would volunteer. Distantly, he heard Sneeg reannounce him and Hannah as District 12’s tributes in the 74th Hunger Games. He felt hands once again escort him away from the stage and into the Justice Building as the mayor read off the Treaty to finish up the ceremony. They led him to a room not unlike the one he had visited his sister in a year prior as she was shipped off. He wasn’t sure if it was the same one exactly; the memory had become so blurry with time, and the only thing he remembered with any clarity was the reassuring smile his sister had given him and their mother before they were escorted out of the room. She and Tommy had looked so small walking onto that train.

It was when his mother entered the small room that he realized he hadn’t spoken to anyone at all since Techno had found him in the shack. His throat felt like it was glued shut, and he began to understand why she hadn’t said anything since Drista had died. Just like last year, she was crying. Just like last year, so was Dream. And just like last year, it was his fault.

She sat down next to him on the small, plush velvet couch and wrapped her thin arms around his neck. It was a weak hug, but it was the only one he’d had in months. “I love you,” she said softly into his hair. He gently squeezed her back, but didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

She left shortly thereafter, not saying anything else. Tommy came next, followed by Wilbur. “Hey big man,” Tommy whispered. Dream smiled weakly at him. If Tommy, at thirteen, could make it through the Games, surely Dream wouldn’t have too rough of a time. The thought made Dream want to laugh. For some, surviving the Games was worse than death.

“Dream,” Wilbur nodded at him but stayed standing inside of the doorframe. There was that distance he’d enforced so foolishly. Once upon a time, Wilbur would’ve sat on the couch too, and right now Dream would have yearned for the closeness of their youth. At least Tommy wasn’t good at listening to anyone–the kid sat right next to him on the couch. He had a growth spurt recently, judging from the awkward way he sat down.  

“You’ll be fine. Techno’s the best fuckin’ mentor there is,” Tommy said. “Got me through it, anyhow.” Dream couldn’t believe he was being consoled by a fourteen-year-old, but Tommy had lived through the Games and made it out in relatively one piece. Hell, Drista had made it into the top five before the male tribute from District 1–

“I’m not sure I want to get through it,” Dream said. He noticed Wilbur flinch, but the man stayed a silent sentinel in the doorway. He remembered how he and Techno used to beg Wilbur to shut up as kids, but now he missed Wilbur’s endless stream of useless facts and commentary now that it was gone.

Tommy frowned at him. “It’s not so bad. Other than the fuckin’ parades and Capitol parties–those are awful–but the house is nice. Patches will miss you.” A pause, and then quietly, “And your mum.”

“Will you make sure Patches is fed?" Dream asked. "Until I get back, anyway?” Maybe Tommy would bond with Patches, so that when Dream didn’t come back she’ll have someone to take care of her. He didn’t trust his mother to remember to feed her, and she probably couldn’t spare the rations. Dream still wasn’t sure that Patches knew Drista wasn’t coming back. The cat slept on her pillow every night, as though she were keeping it warm. It was bittersweet when he woke up to a face full of fur and soft snores.

“I hate cats, but for you…” Tommy said, and gave him a sad smile. Clearly, they both knew the odds of him coming home were small. Dream rolled his eyes at Tommy, anyway; they both knew he loved Patches dearly, even if her name wasn’t Henry.

“And I’ll make sure Tommy remembers to feed her,” Wilbur said teasingly, from the door. Some tension eked out of his chest at Wilbur’s voice. Neither of the twins hated him so much as to never speak to him again. It made him feel a little bit better about being sent off to die. Not much, though.

“Thank you,” Dream said, sparing the silver-tongued twin an appreciative glance. Wilbur merely inclined his head.

“Hey! I am a responsible adult! Surely, I can handle feeding a fucking cat until Dream gets back!” Tommy was shouting, and Dream had never been so glad to hear it. Quiet Tommy meant bad things were happening. Loud Tommy was a shred of normalcy. A sign of ease (if not peace), at least for the moment.

“You're a child,” Wilbur replied, very pointedly. The irony was not lost to Dream; they both knew that Tommy had seen things worse than either of them. But in reference to Tommy, the statement sounded off, even considering his age. Aside from his participation in the games, Tommy was determined to be a normal kid. Albeit a kid with horrible nightmares and a handful of nasty scars littered over his skin.

“Dream–” 

A knock on the door cut Tommy off. “Two minutes,” the Peacekeeper stationed at the other side said through the wooden barrier.

“We’d better go. Be safe out there, Dream.” Wilbur nodded at him. Tommy sprung up from the couch and stuck out his hand like one of the merchants in the Community House. Wilbur didn’t seem phased by this, but Dream raised his eyebrows at the kid.

“My band- ana ,” Tommy said, imperiously. 

“You know, I brought this with me to bring it back to you after the Reaping, but I think I’m actually going to keep it now,” Dream said, squinting at the younger boy. “Just because you asked for it.”

Tommy sighed like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone, and Dream supposed that at one time, it had. Teenagers. (Nevermind the fact that Dream was one, himself.) 

“Fine. Give it to me when you get back,” he said. “See ya, bitch.”

“Bye, Tommy.” Dream said. “Wilbur.” 

The two brothers left him alone in the room. He probably had about one minute until they escorted him bodily onto the train, where he would spend the week before his arrival in the Capitol, where he would then spend another week training before he was sent to the Arena, where he was expected to kill his fellow tributes. Kids just like him, though he was on the older end of the tribute spectrum. Kids Drista’s age. It made his stomach roil, and he ached for the numbness that had overtook him on the way into the building. 

He couldn’t cry or scream or panic in front of the cameras. Sponsors never chose the emotional tributes–they were usually the first to go. The tears from interacting with his mother for the first time in months had long since dried, but he wiped his cheeks viciously with his hands anyway. He folded up his horror at being picked for the Games and his grief for his sister’s loss and nestled them deep in the recesses of his brain. For her, he would do his best to win. Damn all the odds.

Chapter Text

Dream had been asleep for the first two days of the train ride. He’d been lulled to sleep by the hum of the smooth engine and the rhythm of the wheels over the irregular tracks. Normally he would’ve fought to stay awake, but he couldn’t find any fight left in him. And even though it was a small bed in a small room on a train, it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever slept on.

He had fallen asleep still surrounded by the lush mountains of his home district and had woken up to a completely flat horizon. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shuffled over to the window. The occasional powerline or tree whizzed past, but the majority of what Dream saw were bushes and grass. Like home, he was surrounded by so much green, but he missed the security of being surrounded by mountains. Here, he felt exposed in a way he’d never experienced.

Two days of dreamless sleep had been good for him, Dream thought. His reflection in the window looked well-rested for once, and his head was far clearer than it had been on the days leading up to the reaping. If he was going to win, he would have to hang onto that clarity like a lifeline. For the first time in a long time, he saw resolve in his reflection.

Dream found a small bathroom attached to his cabin, and puzzled over the controls to the shower. He had used the one in Techno’s house a handful of times, but it had been simpler than the one before him. Hesitantly, he poked and prodded at the controls until finally the water was a temperature he could withstand (it was still a touch too hot, but he was hungry ). The water pressure was better than any he’d ever experienced, and the shower head was massive.

Eagerly, he stripped out of his reaping clothes and left them in a pile on the bathroom floor. Stepping into the hot water felt like rebirth. All traces of District 12 washed away in a murky current.

On the wall, there were five different liquids that he guessed were soaps, and at random he picked the first in the row of dispensers. It was purple, and it smelled roughly like the small bottle of perfume his mother reserved for special occasions. Lavender, he vaguely recalled–his mother’s favorite flower. It was the perfume she wore when his father died and it was the perfume she wore when…

He viciously scrubbed at his body and hair with the soap. Clarity, he reminded himself. Resolve.

When he was finished, he found that someone had laid out towels for him. The softness of them felt foreign on his flushed skin. He was used to threadbare towels full of small holes, or stains that would never wash out. The towel he tied around his waist was white, and Dream got the distinct impression that they would be thrown out and replaced after he left.

There was a brush and toothpaste laid on the sink for him, and small tubes of products he could only guess at how to use. He quickly brushed the taste of sleep out of his mouth, and he debated shaving the stubble that had grown in the days he had spent asleep. He decided against it; a train ride was hardly cause for shaving.

He dried off quickly, and after a brief search found clothing in the small armoire tucked away in the corner of the small room. He found slacks and button-ups in an array of colors, and a few casual long sleeve shirts. All of them would have been too expensive for him to even consider back home–the evenly dyed fabric a luxury on its own.

Dream tugged on a pair of charcoal gray pants and a dark green shirt with soft fabric and long sleeves. The shoes left by the door were comfortable, and they weren’t too tight like his old boots. His clothing felt familiar enough to be comforting, but off enough that he felt uncomfortably like a new person. Or at least, as if he was on his way to become a new person. 

He brushed his damp hair out of his eyes and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Despite all the fancy soap and tidy clothes, it was still him in the reflection. A little older, dressed better, but still Dream. A Dream with squared shoulders and determination glinting in his eyes. Resolve.

When Dream finally exited his room, the door slid open. He would be lying if he said it didn’t give him a bit of a heart attack. Techno had taped a note to the wall across from the doorway,  with ‘DREAM’ written in capital letters. He opened it, and struggled through Techno’s infuriatingly opulent script:

Welcome back to the land of the living.. Head to the rear of the car when you’re ready to eat something. We’re waiting.

-T

Dream folded the note back up and stuffed it in his pants pocket. He didn’t want to know what Techno was going to say about Dream sleeping through the first two days of the trip, but he had a feeling his friend-turned-mentor was going to tell him anyway.

After turning to go right down the hall, a screen on the wall informed Dream that he was going in the wrong direction. According to the map, there was a small seating area towards the rear of the train, which must have been where Techno wanted him to go. He turned around, and headed in the correct direction.

The train was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the tracks and the engine. He was surprised at how smooth a train to the boonies ran, but he supposed it was only the finest for the Capitol. The door at the end of the car slid open, and Dream didn’t jump this time. He didn’t.

It had to be the most spacious room on the train. Small dining tables and comfortable looking chairs littered the room, and padded benches lined the back wall. To Dream’s surprise there was a small bar over to one wall. A place setting was laid out on one of the tables. Dream guessed he had missed breakfast and the rest of the group. What had him most captivated though, was that, above the benches, the back wall was practically made of windows. Dream could see the track they were riding on and the completely flat terrain that surrounded them. It was beautiful and terrifying how far he was from home.

A door opening and closing behind him signaled Technoblade’s entrance to the car, and Dream turned to face him. Techno’s face was closed off, as it usually was, and Dream raised an unimpressed brow.

“Good morning,” Dream said, as cheerily as the circumstances allowed. He pointed at the spread on the table and asked, “Is that for me?”

Techno’s eyes slid to the food and back to Dream. The mentor studied his student, and Dream fought the urge to squirm under the other’s scrutiny. “That’s one hell of a coping mechanism,” Techno said, and nodded toward the food. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dream replied, and sat at the place setting laid out. After some consideration, he asked, “Do you think it’ll help me win?”

Techno sat down across from him and helped himself to a few grapes. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“And you got how many people into the top five with that advice?” Dream asked. He picked up one of the many forks and shoved some eggs into his mouth. Even though they were kind of cold, they still tasted better than anything he’d ever had. Even at Techno’s. “I must be missing something.”

Techno spared him a small, rare smile and popped a grape in his mouth. “Tributes who sleep for two days don’t get good advice until they prove themselves.”

“Oh come on.” Dream rolled his eyes and took a bite of bacon. He almost cried; it was so good. “You’ve probably already given so much good advice to–what was her name, again?”

“Hannah,” Techno supplied. “She’s been working hard, asking a lot of questions.”

“Leave it to you to pick favorites.” Dream scoffed and took a sip of the strange orange liquid on the table. It tasted tangy, and some of the pulp got stuck in his teeth. It was delicious. He couldn’t help but ask, “What is this?”

“Orange juice.” Techno looked amused. “Could’ve had it if you’d come to eat at our house more often.”

“Tommy would’ve had a stroke,” Dream said. It was a dismissal, and they both knew it. Techno knew why Dream stopped coming over, and he knew Dream didn’t want to talk about it. 

There was a moment of silence between them before Dream picked up his glass again. “So what are tributes supposed to do on a week-long train ride,” he sipped the juice, “oh wise mentor?”

“Tapes,” Techno said.

“Tapes?”

-

As it turned out, Techno meant for him and Hannah to watch old footage of the Games together with his commentary. Some of the games Dream remembered, and some he hadn’t been old enough to watch. They started with the 50th annual Games and progressed from there, skipping the years that Techno deemed unworthy of watching. 

Since Techno’s mentor was only assigned after his arrival in the Capitol, Dream wondered if this was how Techno had prepared himself. He imagined a younger version of his friend, alone but for a screen full of kids mercilessly killing each other. Had it been the same train, the same room, the same padded furniture?

Dream shook his head. Clarity.

The woman who won the fiftieth games came from District 4. 

It was the Quarter Quell immediately after the Capitol Uprising, and the former president decided that the best way to punish the districts was to double the amount of children they stole that year.

It was a bloodbath. 

Dream could barely watch as the little District 4 girl sunk a trident into the last tribute’s neck. Rain washed the blood away even as it pooled. The girl took deep, shaking breaths as her final victim was hauled away by helicopter. She did not look proud as the announcer proclaimed her the winner. She looked like she was on the verge of collapse. 

She looked like Tommy.

The next tape Techno felt useful was the 56th Game. The winner, a seventeen-year-old boy from District 3, once again didn’t look victorious. The arena had been a regular forest, but the gamemakers had designed grotesque creatures to corner the tributes. The victor—Sam, Techno supplied–figured out how to harvest gunpowder from the corpses of the so-called “creepers” and used it to fashion makeshift explosives that he could launch at other tributes. It won him the Games, but cost him most function in his lungs.

Dream had seen videos and photos of Sam before. He always wore some kind of filtration mask over the lower half of his face. Dream had always thought it was some weird Capitol fashion choice–Sam’s signature. He didn’t realize the victor now needed it to survive.

Techno skipped to the 60th games. Dream would’ve been four years old. The victor was fifteen and from District 1. Early on, they had scavenged a netherite sword from a fellow tribute’s corpse, not knowing it would win them the games. This arena was a looming forest bathed in thick fog that burned the tributes at different times. That year’s winning tribute lost the sight in both his eyes. 

Eret killed the final tribute with a clean slice to the neck, the thick fog burning both of them in the final fight. Now when Eret appeared as District 1’s mentor, she wore dark glasses. 

It was another case that Dream had just brushed off as Capitol weirdness. He’d never realized the victors lost far more than just their innocence to the Games. 

Techno, of course, knew all of these victors somewhat personally and had something to say about each of them. He was vague about the Quarter Quell winner. Saying only that he had seen her and Phil speak on occasion, and that she usually tried to stay away from events surrounding the Games. He said that Sam was very protective of the District 3 tributes, though Techno mentioned that he did not know him very well. Apparently, Sam took his mentees’ deaths harder each year, and it made Dream wonder just how they affected Techno. Techno didn’t say much about Eret, although he did say that their eyes had become a milky white under the glasses, as their iris and pupil had been obscured by a scarred lens burned by the fog.

Dream glanced at Hannah to see her face mirroring his in abject horror as she watched the  burning fog melt tributes’ fingers and ears and noses. He knew they were both hoping that the fog wouldn’t be in their game. It was the first time he really acknowledged Hannah, and Dream found that he wanted to be friends with her. He thought that maybe they could have been back home, if they had ever met.

“What have you learned from these three victors?” Techno asked them abruptly.

“I didn’t realize we were being tested,” Dream said. Hannah snorted. Yeah, definitely friends.

“I didn’t realize this was a movie theater,” Techno said. He maintained an even tone like always, but Dream saw his jaw tick in annoyance. “You’re supposed to be learning.”

Hannah spoke up: “Eret ran away from Spawn, instead of going for the chests. She got her sword from another tribute later on.”

“Good, and?”

Dream wracked his brain. All he got from the videos was the fact that he might come out with major, unfixable bodily harm, really. “Stay away from the fog? And explosions?”

“I’ll take it.” 

After a brief silence Hannah added thoughtfully, “Go for the throat?” 

“If you can. It’s almost a guaranteed kill,” Techno supplied. That was the first bit of useful advice he’s given Dream.

“Use the environment to your advantage,” Dream said. He thought of how Sam used the gunpowder from the creepers to make a weapon, and how the tribute from the 50th games stuck to the water to take her enemies by surprise. 

“Exactly. If you don’t know how to swim, stay away from deep water. If you can repurpose anything, make tools, make weapons.”

“I can identify plants,” Hannah said. Her family ran the only apothecary in 12. When the people of their district couldn’t afford Capitol medicine, they went to the Rose family. “Which ones heal and which ones kill.”

“That’s useful.” Techno looked at Dream. “Don’t piss her off.”

“Are we going to team? Or should we split up?” Dream asked. Tommy and Drista loomed in the back of his brain. He pushed the thought away and swallowed. “What happens if we’re the final two?”

“That’s up to you two. I can’t tell you how to make that choice,” Techno said. “But I will say that our time before the Games is easier for all of us if you two remain amicable toward each other.”

Dream and Hannah made eye contact. He shrugged, and she looked away. A conversation for later then.

“I have more tapes for tomorrow,” Techno said, gathering a stack. “They’re from more recent years, and there will be more things that it will benefit you both to learn.”

“Is your year there?” Dream asked idly as he picked at his nails. He hoped he appeared nonchalant as he added, “Tommy’s?”

Techno’s gaze cut right through him, though Hannah seemed none the wiser. “Tommy didn’t do anything revolutionary last year, so his tape isn’t in the stack. Whether or not I show you mine is up to you.”

Dream could tell Techno didn’t want them to watch the tape–could tell Techno didn’t want to watch it again himself. Techno feigned the same nonchalance that Dream had attempted. It worked about as well as it did on Techno. They still knew each other too well.

Dream spoke up before Hannah could, “I think I remember it pretty well. If it’s okay with Hannah we could skip it.”

“It’s okay with me,” she said, glancing over at Dream. 

“Technoblade!” It was Sneeg. They hadn’t even heard him come in. Hannah and Dream swiveled their heads around to look at their escort. Dream hadn’t seen him since the Reaping, and he didn’t think Hannah had either. Up close Sneeg’s outfit looked even more ridiculous–he had a black tattoo resembling a mask over his eyes, and two feathery antennae poked out from his forehead. A long dark blue cloak completely hid everything below the high neckline and he wore the hood pulled up over his ears. It wasn’t particularly hot in the train, but Dream guessed he was probably burning up. Even from across the room his eyes burned like blue fire.

The capitol could make body modifications like this, but they couldn’t help victors regain functions lost in the arena. Typical.

“Sneeg.” Technoblade responded, deadpan.

“You’ve finally gotten around to educating our tributes,” the escort said.

“And you’ve finally left your cabin,” Techno replied. 

“We need to discuss branding. Do you have a minute?” Sneeg said.

“Don’t kill each other,” Techno said, fixing Dream and Hannah with a look. “Yet.” He added as an afterthought  He left the room with Sneeg.

Dream spent the next moments of silence looking out onto the broad expanse of green that slowly gave way to yellower plains. Hannah seemed to do the same. Finally, he decided to break the silence. “You know I thought Techno and Sneeg were friends.”

“You and Techno know each other?” Hannah asked, although Dream guessed she was only asking to confirm. 

“Yeah,” Dream replied. “We used to be close friends.”

“It seems like you still are,” she said, giving him a sad smile.

“Maybe.” Dream rubbed at the back of his neck. “I hope so.”

Hannah cleared her throat, and her eyes nervously found his own. “When you asked about teaming earlier… did you already make a decision, or?”

“I wanted to know what Techno thought. Obviously last year’s tributes teamed, but I don’t think it’s common,” he said. He thought of the kids from Districts 1, 2, and 4, and how they often tripped over themselves to volunteer if the tributes reaped were under 18. Often, they were lethal after training their whole lives for a chance at the arena.  “It’s probably our best bet against the Careers.”

“And what if it comes down to me or you?” Hannah asked. Her fingers fiddled with the skirt of her pink dress.

Dream shrugged. “Every tribute for themselves.”

She sighed heavily and looked at him sadly. “Why’d you have to be nice?”

“What do you mean?” Dream laughed, taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to be as open with him as she was. It was both a relief and a problem.

“If you were a major asshole I wouldn’t think twice about what happens in the Games,” she said. “But you’re nice and we’re teaming up and it’s surreal to think about what’s going to happen a week and a half from now.”

“Yeah,” Dream said. “But at least we get good food.”

“You’re right! And the showers? Amazing.”

“I couldn’t get mine to any temperature other than scalding,” Dream said.

“That’s the best way to shower,” she said. Dream looked at her in horror. “You feel so clean afterward!”

“You’re insane,” he said. “Seriously.”

Hannah punched him in the shoulder, and suddenly she reminded him so much of Drista that his stomach twisted. Startled, she quickly pulled her hand away. “Sorry,” she said. “I never had many friends back home.”

Dream’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. “Neither did I.”

Chapter Text

Two rather uneventful days passed. Techno had made good on his word and sat with them through more tapes, giving them the following day off to rest and recuperate mentally. In their spare time, Hannah and Dream would eat and talk about their respective parts of District 12. There wasn’t much else to do on the train. Apparently, the Capitol didn’t value recreation when shipping tributes across the country.

On the sixth day–the day before they were to arrive at the Capitol–Techno pulled out tapes for Games 68, 71, and 72. Dream vaguely recalled the 68th Games. Once he became eligible for the Reaping, his mom had insisted he pay attention. The seriousness of the Games hadn’t hit him until he’d  watched the pink haired girl from 4 systematically drown her enemies.

“Niki’s a pretty good friend of mine, actually. Really sweet, believe it or not,” Techno said, and put the tape in. Dream was suddenly twelve again, afraid of the girl with pastel pink hair and a fishing net. “She’s another great example of taking advantage of your environment–they all are, really. It’s how you win.”  

“What do we do if it’s another water map?” Dream asked.

“Learn to swim. Quickly.”

They all watched the countdown on the screen. The spawn was in the middle of the ocean–a rather unfortunate spot for everyone but the tributes from 4. It made sense that the winner would be from there, which was either an oversight or intentional on the gamemakers’ part. A tribute attempted to dive off of the platform before the countdown finished, and they watched as the kid exploded into a shower of blood and body parts.

“Yeah, and don’t do that,” Techno said. “At least, it’s not recommended.”

Dream was almost amazed at how casually Techno could talk about this. But Techno had been in the games–had gotten his own brother through the games as well as countless others. He would be desensitized.

“Wasn’t this the year that the arena was under the chests?” Hannah asked.

Techno nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. “The water temple. A lot of the tributes drowned even without Niki’s help."

“Fingers crossed for no fog and no water. Got it,” Dream said.

Techno fast-forwarded through the earliest parts of the Games, where all of the Tributes were dying because of the arena and not each other. He stopped when that year’s victor, Niki, came upon one of the final five in one of the few air pockets in the water temple. She swam slowly toward the edge of the temple’s floor and waited below the water. Something weird poked up in the water above her, like an antenna.

“What’s that?” Dream asked. Techno paused the video. “The thing sticking out of the water.”

“Oh, that? She cut off the edges of a hollow water reed and used it to breathe. She could stay under longer, and it kept her relatively out of sight,” Techno said, and resumed the recording.

“Holy shit,” Hannah said. “Tributes from 4 are scary.”

“Niki wasn’t on the offensive until someone killed the other tribute from her district,” Techno said. “That really set her off.”

“Like Tommy,” Dream said thoughtfully, without thinking anything of it. He felt a distant sort of guilt when Techno’s shoulders tensed.

His friend and mentor nodded imperceptibly.

“Weren’t they good friends or something?” Sneeg asked from the couch. Dream didn’t realize Sneeg was watching with them. Or that he had even come in. 

“Since childhood,” Techno said. He must have had more than a few passing conversations with these people to know some of the things he did. Who better to understand a Victor than another Victor?

“Yikes,” Sneeg said, and took a loud slurp of the soup he was balancing in his lap.

Dream watched as the girl in the video launched herself out of the water and dragged the unsuspecting tribute down into the water to drown. The water frothed and bubbled until the dead body of the other tribute floated to the surface. Niki emerged from the water victorious, her jaw set and holding a scavenged trident.

Techno skipped forward again to Niki’s final fight. They had been herded to the spawn area–in the center with the chests. Horrible one-eyed creatures circled the perimeter of the temple as Niki and the other tribute circle each other. Dream wondered if they were the tribute that had killed Niki’s friend with the shaved head.

Dream didn’t recognize the other tribute, but the 10 on their uniform told him they were from the livestock district. Since the tribute had made it so far, they must teach their kids how to swim there. In the end though, they were no match for Niki.

Trident against sword, she backed them toward the edge of spawn into the waiting jaws of one of the bulbous guardians the Capitol had engineered. Dream wondered what was left of him to send home to the family? After a few moments Niki, breathing heavily and bleeding from a few cuts, was pronounced the winner. 

Techno took out Niki’s tape and put in the next.

The 71st Hunger Games was the shortest one in history—clocking in at less than 32 hours. Two years after Techno’s win, he was forced to become the designated District 12 mentor. Because Phil had to go with him, he requested that Dream’s mom come over to watch Tommy and Wilbur. She brought Dream and Drista to stay at their house in Victor’s Village. Dream had pretended during those two weeks that his family had always lived there alongside his friends. They had done the same thing every year since–at least until Tommy and Drista were chosen. 

Dream’s mother didn’t like the idea of them watching the Games, but Wilbur and Dream had already watched the parade and the interview. She couldn’t get them off the couch when the countdown ended and the rush to Spawn began. As Dream had watched every minute of Techno’s Games, his mother eventually stopped trying to keep him from watching—and Wilbur? No one could tell Wilbur Soot what to do. With their older siblings glued to the screen, Drista and Tommy naturally became curious, and they eventually wore Dream’s mom down with their begging. Exasperated, she made Dream and Wilbur promise that they would cover the younger kids’ eyes if anything got too gruesome and then went to bed. She had never liked watching the Games.

Ecstatic, Tommy sandwiched himself between Wilbur and Dream and with some argument settled there.  Drista ignored the chair to the right of the couch and draped herself bodily over the three of them with Patches curled up on her stomach. After seeing their excitement, Dream realized that the kids didn’t understand the games like he and Wilbur did. They treated the Games as no more than a fun sporting event that happened once a year.

Dream remembered the 71st better than most of the others he watched.

The arena that year was an old mineshaft; spawn was just outside of it. Like usual, some tributes ran for cover–this year being the mines–and some fought for the precious contents of the chests. Naturally, there were major losses over them, more than was typical. Thirteen cannons in the first five minutes. The tributes from the career districts cleared out the chests after they were done killing, and then departed as a group into the mineshafts. 

A dark brown head of hair poked up out of the rubble, and a young boy approached the abandoned spawn. Dream knew that this was Tommy’s friend-he talked about him all the time back home. His name was Tubbo. To see such a young kid in the midst of such bloodshed was jarring after watching so many videos of older tributes. He was short and cherubic, frequently reaching up to push his shaggy bangs out of his eyes as he started to disassemble the spawn platforms.

“He’s stripping them for explosives, right?” Dream asked, vaguely remembering how the boy had won so fast.

“Yeah,” Techno said. “Scary kid, but he’s smart as hell. One of Sam’s.”

Dream watched Tubbo delicately remove a tangle of wires from a spawn point and replace the top like a lid. He must have seen the kid that jumped early in Niki's year and gotten inspired. The blast from that year had been insane.

As he watched Tubbo fiddle with more wires, he realized that he never wanted to experience the chaos of Tubbo and Tommy in the same room. 

Techno skipped ahead to Tubbo wiring the explosives to handmade timers, tucking the bombs into the abandoned minecarts that were littered outside of the tunnels. The Careers had left some gunpowder in one of the chests that Tubbo snagged, and he sprinkled some into the minecarts as well. When all of the explosives were secure, Tubbo rolled them down into the mineshaft on scavenged rails. Watching now as an adult, Dream thought that the kid must have been incredibly strong, to have pushed the minecarts as easily as he did.

“The kid didn’t sleep the entire 32 hours,” Techno said. “Which I don’t recommend, but it worked for him, so…”

Hannah and Dream watched in silence as the little kid pushed the last minecart. Dream knew what was about to happen, but he felt his stomach sink all over again. After loading up all the carts, preparing the tracks, and pushing all the carts, his strength was exhausted by the time he pushed the last one. The slight incline of the track meant that if he didn’t push it hard enough the minecart would roll back toward Tubbo. Before he could push it away, the timers on the explosives went off.

The blast knocked Tubbo backwards toward the spawn, leaving him sprawled on the ground with severe burns on half of his face and body. Tommy had mentioned Tubbo having problems hearing out of his burnt ear, and Dream guessed that might also be from the volume of the blasts.

After the explosions, the mineshaft collapsed. All remaining tributes were presumed dead and Tubbo was announced the victor as he lay burnt and unconscious at spawn. One of the youngest to win the Games and the fastest to date.

President Schlatt found this hysterical, but still made the gamemakers change the construction of the platforms at spawn so that no one could ever replicate Tubbo’s method. The kid quickly became the president’s second favorite Victor, the Victor from the previous year, Quackity still held the number one spot. (Techno always chalked the 70th victor’s win up to nepotism and wouldn’t say anything else about it.) Schlatt kept the both of them close at parties, and delegated them as spokespeople for the other victors. Dream knew this decision was grating for Techno–although he was happy not to be the representative of all the victors.

Techno removed the tape and put the one labeled “72.” Dream didn’t remember much from this year, other than it ended similarly to Tubbo’s.

“Sapnap, District 5.” Techno skipped through the early parts of the game. Apparently nothing of note had happened

And then the dark forest caught fire.

Sapnap, who had been getting by with an ax and a bow, made the most of the burning forest. He pulled rolls of bandages from his bags, having gotten them earlier from the scraps left in the spawn chests. He had also found a bottle of lighter fluid, which he doused the scraps of fabric with. Methodically, he prepared his remaining arrows, tying soaked rags around them. He pocketed the remaining fabric and the lighter fluid.

The fire was slow at first, but spread quickly, unimpeded by the gamemakers eager to end the Games. The 72nd games had lasted for about a week and a half, give or take a day. They usually got antsy after five days, and everyone was surprised that they let it go on for as long as they did. If the shortest Games ever hadn’t happened the year before, the gamemakers probably would’ve started burning the forest long before.

“He slept during the day up in trees a lot. And he would cover ground at night to take out other tributes when they were asleep,” Techno said.

“Holy shit,” Dream said. This guy sounded fucking crazy; and based on everything Techno had mentioned about him, he was.

Dream fixed his eyes on the tribute’s white headband–his token, if Dream remembered correctly–as he made his way through the burning forest. The other tributes hadn’t yet realized the forest was aflame, and Sapnap happened upon two tributes in the trees sleeping. Using a burning branch to light an arrow, he shot up into the canopy. The tree caught like tinder, raining sparks and burning twigs down on the sleeping pair. The two tributes screamed as they struggled to untie themselves, eyes and lungs full of smoke. The ties to their sleeping bags melting in their frantic fingers. The sound of them burning alive haunted Dream. It took a long time for the two cannons to sound, and by then Sapnap was on his way.

Techno skipped ahead again, the remaining tributes were only the Careers camping at spawn, the rest had either been killed or died of smoke inhalation. At spawn, the Careers’ lookout had fallen asleep, much to Sapnap’s pleasure, and the tribute quietly snuck through their camp, pouring lighter fluid everywhere he went. Dream was terrified, but a part of him shivered in awe.

Sapnap tossed the empty bottle of lighter fluid into the grass and stepped a few feet away to light an arrow. Techno paused the video.

“What was his mistake?”

Hannah and Dream looked blankly at their mentor. Techno gestured at the paused video. He sighed, and resumed it.

As Sapnap fired the arrow at the Careers, the sleeves of his shirt lit up with flames. Dream realized that Techno was hoping one of them would catch the fact that Sapnap had accidentally gotten lighter fluid on the edge of his sleeves in the process of pouring it over the Careers. As the tributes burned to death, surrounded by their wealth of supplies, Sapnap watched his burning arms and laughed.

Sapnap burned while he was announced the Victor.

“Third degree burns. Stop, drop and roll,” Techno said. He tapped his head lightly. “The smoke inhalation got to him.”

Dream cleared his throat. “If I make it back, can you introduce us?” 

Techno raised his eyebrows. “Sure?”

“If I make it back I want to meet Niki. And Sam,” Hannah said.

“That’s more sensible,” Techno said. Dream rolled his eyes. Theoretically whoever won this Games would get to meet all of the victors, but Dream just wanted Techno to know his priorities, and it didn’t hurt to ask early. “What did you learn from those Victors?”

“Stick with what you know,” Hannah said. “Use your resources and be creative.”

“Get them while they’re sleeping,” Dream added.

“And most of all, have fun!” Sneeg says, from the couch. Dream had forgotten he was there.

“Thank you, Sneeg,” Techno said. “So glad you’re here.”

Sneeg saluted with his soup spoon and graced them with another loud slurp.

“We’ll be at the Capitol by tomorrow morning, and with disembarking comes publicity. Namely, sponsors. So, at dinner we’ll be discussing how you all will market yourselves. Your conduct, clothes, everything.” Techno said. He removed the final tape and turned off the screen. Dream eyed the tape on the shelf for the 73rd Games as Techno returned the 72nd to its spot, “Ultimately, your stylists will decide how to dress you for the big events, but how you present yourselves up until then has some bearing on the sponsors’ decisions.”

“Way to ease them into it, Techno,” Sneeg said, and peeled himself up from the couch. “We’ll discuss it over dinner. You all go get washed up.”

On his way back to his room, Dream thought once again about how they would market Hannah and him. According to Techno, she had already earned a modest reputation from the pink dress she had worn to the Reaping. The Capitol was referring to her as “The Rose of District 12.” If she was the rose, then he, with his disheveled appearance, must be the thorns of the district. Not to mention his dazed reaction to being drawn.

In his room, he took a small washcloth and scrubbed at his face. Or maybe they’d try to sell them separately: her as a rose and him as a grieving brother. The Capitol would probably romanticize it, he wouldn’t put it past them. 

If that became the case, he’d find a way to break out of that mold. Something to distance himself from it–from her. If he was to retain any clarity, any resolve, he couldn’t sink into that role. God knows he’d only lived it for the past year.

Dinner was a somber affair. It was far from their last meal together, but the mood was darkened by their imminent arrival to the capitol. One step closer to the arena. One step close to one or both of them getting killed.

Sneeg served himself more soup, and the only thing lightening the mood was his obnoxious slurping. Dream started to wonder if he did it on purpose. When they finished up and the plates were cleared, Techno began the conversation.

“Hannah, I’m sure you know what they’ve been calling you,” Techno said.

“‘The Rose of District 12,’” she said, with no small amount of sarcasm and dramatic air quotes. It made Dream smile into his drink. “It’s stupid. That’s literally just my last name.”

“But it could be very advantageous to you. If you ran with it,” Techno said. “You seem to like pink–we could lean into that.”

Sneeg nodded aggressively. “The Capitol loves a pretty girl! I’ve seen the other tributes, and I think you’re the winner there,” Sneeg said. “Although there’s this one very pretty boy from 1… Sorry, Dream, but I think you’d lose that one.”

Techno gave Sneeg the ‘cease and desist’ look over his drink. “For you, Dream, there’s the obvious–”

“No,” Dream said.

“–that would be very good to garner sympathy sponsors–”

“I said no.”

“–if you would just consider it.” Techno finally finished. Dream leveled his eyebrows at Techno in a way that would normally signal the end of the discussion. “Think about it, at least?”

Dream stood up from his seat. “Find something else.”

“You might not have a choice, Dream. People already know you as the boy that volunteered too late for his sister.” Dream’s nostrils flared, and yet Techno persisted. “If you choose to market yourself that way rather than having it forced upon you by the Capitol, I think you’ll do better overall.”

“Arsonist. Syren. The Warden” Dream pointed at Hannah. “Rose.” He pointed at Techno, whose fingers were curling in the way that signaled he was controlling his anger, but just barely. “Blood God.” He made a mockery of the nickname. “You rebranded. They only saw you as someone who volunteered for Wilbur and you worked and worked to change that. Don’t do that to me.”

Silence. Sneeg looked between the two of them like their argument was the best thing he’d seen in weeks. Hannah looked guilty. Dream couldn’t even conceive of why. This was on Techno and the Capitol. 

“Dream. I think you underestimate how beloved Drista was to the Capitol. If you framed your–”

Dream slid his chair in so hard the table rattled. “Find. Something. Else.”

He left, almost colliding with the door when it didn’t slide open fast enough. 

Techno knew that Drista’s death had consumed him for a whole year, but he still suggested sinking back into that torturous headspace, and for what? The chance that some rich Capitol citizen would send him bandages in the games? In spite of everything, during the past few days Dream had felt better than he had in a long time. But Techno was willing to gouge open all of his barely healed wounds over sponsors? 

Clarity, he told himself. Resolve. 

He would make himself a brand, find some other way to stand out. Techno might be irritated with him over it, but what would it matter if he died in the games anyway? So what if it pissed him off,  if he lived, then would he have any right to still be irritated with Dream? 

He would charm the Capitol, play the boy next door. Make them forget about his dead sister and his failed attempt at volunteering. 

He would win.

***

The next day, Dream and Hannah ate breakfast alone. They talked about what they thought the Capitol would be like and what they expected from the next few days of events. They silently agreed to not discuss last night’s argument, and neither Techno or Sneeg came to check in on them.

As they finished breakfast, the train breached the walls of the Capitol. Dream and Hannah both looked out of the back windows in wonder as the train passed the  massive buildings surrounding them. It was nothing like the comforting closeness of the mountains. The steel was overwhelming with it’s might and it made Dream feel claustrophobic. But still, as expected of the Capitol, they were an impressive sight.

Hannah poked Dream and pointed down, to where they saw people lining the streets craning for a look at the tributes. He automatically began to smile and wave, and Hannah followed his lead after a second. The citizens pointed and smiled and waved back at them, and Dream considered it a job well done.

Their first week as tributes was over, and they were halfway to the Games.

Chapter Text

The transition from the train to the training center was a blur. The Capitol didn’t want her citizens to see the tributes in person until they were suitable for viewing. Despite preparing them for everything else, Techno hadn’t prepared Dream for the brutality of the masked people that picked and poked at his body until his skin was raw and pink.

He’d let a scrappy beard grow on the train, having not shaved the entire trip, but it wasn’t like there was any solution to facial hair other than a straight razor–which the tributes weren’t allowed to use for obvious reasons. The Capitol, however, had other ideas regarding the removal of unwanted hair. When the gooey warmth first poured onto his face it felt pleasant, and he wasn’t alarmed when the esthetician began to smooth out strips of cotton over his jaw. So when they brutally ripped the strip off his face, Dream yelped and slapped away the hands that went to firmly press against his cheek.

“What was that?” He may or may not have yelled it. The esthetician only sighed and guided Dream’s hand back to his side. Before he could think, restraints clamped down on his wrists and they resumed pouring the deceitfully warm goop over the remaining stubble on his jaw. He tensed as the esthetician smoothed out another swath of cotton, and grunted again when they ripped it off. After all his facial hair artfully decorated the discarded swaths of fabric, they began to rub a salve over the inflamed skin. Followed by another salve, and then another one. And another one. 

What were they doing to him?

When the esthetician adjusted the rolling tray with the pot of goop and various other tools set on top he began to panic. What other hair was there to  take from him? Surely they wouldn’t wax him all over.

***

They waxed him all over.

Waking up naked on a table after the medical exam had been a shock in itself, but it was completely different to wake up completely hairless with nothing but a tiny blanket between him and the cold open air. The pain of the hair removal had long since subsided thanks to all the creams that he’d been slathered in, but Dream’s pride still stung fiercely. The only hair that remained on his body was that on his head–and even then they had chopped into his curls. Frankly, he dreaded the idea of looking at what they had done to him.

The esthetician had left him there to wallow in his mortification alone, and he was very quickly realizing how cold he was. Was he going to miss lunch because someone forgot about him? His arms were beginning to ache in the restraints.

He heard a door open and click shut, and he prayed to whichever god that would listen that it wasn’t Technoblade. He saw two figures in his peripheries, and his heart sank as he thought maybe Techno had brought Sneeg to point and laugh. Then, they stood directly in his line of sight, and he realized that two strangers seeing him in this condition might be worse than it being Techno and Sneeg.

One was freakishly tall, even though they slouched constantly as if they worried that the ceiling was closing in on them at all times. Their skin was split down the middle–snow white on the right side and pitch black on the left. The split extended into their hairline and through the ends of their hair that was neatly pulled back into a ponytail. They stood with a clipboard in one hand, and anxiously clicked a pen with the other. 

The other was very, very short. They wore a red beanie over their medium length brown hair, and they wore black and white just like their counterpart. Clearly, they had some kind of color scheme going on, as the tall one also wore red. The short one stared confidently at him, leveling him with an almost-trustworthy smile. Either he was in shock, or the pain from having all of his hair pulled out piece by piece killed him. The two visitors must have been the gatekeepers to the afterlife.

“Hello!” The short one chirped. “We’re your stylists.”

“Hi,” Dream responded. “I’m in pain.”

“I thought his name was Dream?” The taller one mumbled to the shorter one. Dream couldn’t tell if he was trying to whisper or not.

The shorter one gave him A Look.

“Oh, he means from the waxing.”

“And the restraints,” the short one added. “Let me get those.” This was directed at Dream.

They pressed some buttons on the bed Dream lay on, and he immediately rubbed at his freed wrists. His ankles were very clearly asleep. As he sat up, his modesty blanket started to slip, and he scrambled to make sure he was still covered. He didn’t know who these people were, and the short one could have still been a kid for all he knew. The Capitol liked having young stylists–the little one must be the apprentice.

The taller one offered him a bundle of clothes, and he let go of his blanket with one hand to take them. He looked at them expectantly, and he hoped they knew that he wasn’t going to change until he was alone.

“I’m Aimsey, your lead stylist. They/them pronouns, if you please,” the shorter one said, and gestured to themself. Dream’s brow furrowed. He’d never heard anyone in his District introduce themselves with pronouns, though he knew some tributes and Capitol spokespeople used them. They gestured to their taller counterpart, “And this is Ranboo. He uses he/him pronouns. What are yours?”

Dream blinked. No one had ever asked him that. “He/him, I think?”

“Great!” They clapped their hands. “I don’t know how much Techno's told you about today, but I will let you get dressed so we can head to lunch. We can discuss it there!”

“Thank you?” Dream said.

“It’s no problem! We’ll be right outside when you’re ready.” With one last smile, they grabbed the Ranboo guy’s wrist and disappeared the way they came. Weird.

The pins and needles in his ankles had subsided, so he swung his legs over the side of the table. As he suspected, they were bare, but even so the lack of hair shocked him. He was so used to the short, light strands that his legs no longer felt like his legs. It was like losing a tooth as a child and running his tongue over and over where it used to be. He hoped they didn’t “wax” him everyday–or worse, expect him to shave his legs like he would his face.

He pulled the plain short sleeved shirt over his head, once again marveling at the softness of the material. The fitted garment was a dark gray and clearly wasn’t meant to go anywhere beyond the training center. The pants were the same color, and he pulled the drawstring of the waistband taught. The pants cuffed at the ankles like a long sleeved shirt, and he wasn’t sure he liked the way they rubbed at his ankles. Despite that, he felt as though he could very easily sleep in them.

He met his stylists at the door. “There weren’t any socks or shoes…?”

“Don’t worry about those! We’re just going upstairs to your floor,” Aimsey said.

“My floor?”

“District 12 tributes get the penthouse,” they said. At Dream’s look of confusion, they clarified: “The top floor.”

“Oh,” Dream replied. He looked sideways at Ranboo, and when he met his gaze, Dream abruptly looked away. Did he ever talk? Or was he like the esthetician?

Aimsey and Ranboo led him down a hallway and toward two elevators. The building seemed to be deserted, and Dream wondered if the other Tributes had already finished their own cosmetic torture. Ranboo pressed the button on the doors with an incredibly long arm while Dream and Aimsey entered. He ducked his head and followed them inside. Aimsey pressed the top button–the thirtieth floor.

“Holy shit,” Dream said. “This place is huge.”

His companions didn’t say anything in response, but Dream thought he might’ve seen Ranboo crack a smile. Dream noted with some surprise that the stylist’s ears were pointed. How much of that was he born with, and how much of it was an aesthetic choice? Dream was afraid to ask.

The elevator moved far faster than any of the rickety mining elevators he’d ridden back home, and they very quickly arrived at the floor for District 12. They led him out into a very spacious living room and kitchen area, with wide floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the Capitol.

Techno, Sneeg, and Hannah were seated at a lavishly spread dining table across from two people he didn’t recognize. He followed Aimsey and Ranboo to the table, and sat next to Techno near the end.

“I see you survived the waxing,” Techno said, taking a moment to assess Dream. “But your eyebrows didn’t.”

Dream’s hand immediately flew to his forehead, and was relieved to find that there was still hair where he touched. He scowled. “You’re so funny, Techno. Did you ever think that maybe you’d make a better comedian than a mentor?”

“I think you’d draw in quite the crowd, personally,” Sneeg said. Dream quickly looked to make sure there was no soup on the table–his nerves were on edge after everything they’d put him through, and the thought of sitting through another meal with Sneeg’s slurping frayed them further. “Did they get you with the creams?”

“The creams?”

“They inhibit hair growth.” Techno laughed as Dream’s face instantly contorted with horror. “I still can’t grow a beard. Ever notice how sometimes Wilbur gets a bit of a beard but I never do?”

“I just figured you were the more put together one. Facial hair doesn’t suit him,” Dream said.

“Now I’m trying to imagine you with a beard,” Ranboo said with a chuckle.

“The next time he doesn’t shave I’ll take a photo,” Techno promised the stylist.

Aimsey waved over Dream’s attention from the other end of the table, and they gestured to the two strangers at the table. “This is Freddie, Hannah’s stylist, and his intern Billzo. He/him pronouns for them both!”

The two waved at him, and Dream was struck with how normal they looked compared to Ranboo, who stuck out at their table like a sore thumb. The eyeliner smudged around Billzo’s eyes was the only indication that he could be from the Capitol. Aimsey and Freddie looked run of the mill, they could have fit in flawlessly in District 12 if it weren’t for their nice clothing and neat hairstyles.

“Nice to meet you all,” Dream said with what he hoped was a charming smile. He was still out of sorts after having his skin almost peeled off, and he quickly ducked his head, turning his attention to piling his plate with small sandwiches and fruit. 

“As I’m sure you both know, the parade is tonight,” Aimsey said. They seemed to be practically vibrating with energy. Clearly, they were passionate about their craft. “We've designed costumes for you based on what Technoblade told us about your themes. It was a collaborative effort, and I speak for all of us when I say that we hope the two of you will love what we have designed!”

“The parade is only a little ways off but we wanted you to eat before you get into costume. You’ll get dressed, and then hair and makeup, and then there'll be a bit of time where you’ll wait by your chariots,” Freddie said.

“Makeup?” Dream asked–he’d only ever see his mother put a little red on her lips for special occasions, and she hadn’t since…

“Makeup,” Techno repeated matter-of-factly to Dream.

Hannah seemed delighted. “I can’t wait to see our costumes! The parade is always my favorite part of the Games,” she said. Dream was glad she could still view their situation with some levity–he was terrified. 

Dream had watched the parades so many times before. He knew what to expect and how many people would be there watching. Imagining it made it worse. The fact that he was going to be dressed up like a life-size doll made it worse. And the fact that he was going to have to look happy to be there and wave at the people who had it so much better off than him, made it worse. He doubted that his newly crafted persona could withstand all that scrutiny.

Aimsey seemed to notice his suddenly dour mood. “We leaned into the ‘Rose of District 12’ thing for you Hannah, and since there’s a lot of wildlife in your district we wanted to incorporate that as well. Dream’s costume is going to feature a mask, but you’ll get all the details for your concept while we’re dressing you.”

“A mask?” Dream’s head tilted. “Like the gas masks miners wear?”

“You’ll see.” Techno replied instead of Aimsey. Dream glowered.

“Are you saying that you’ve seen my costume, when I haven’t even heard anything about it?” Dream’s eyes narrowed with displeasure.

“I had to approve them.” Techno said. “Did you forget I’m technically your manager?”

“Technically, I’m their manager,” Sneeg interjected, “You’re just the guy that shows them training videos after they’re hired.”

Dream neither understood nor cared what they were talking about.

“That’s implying that you do more than eat and exist in our vicinity,” Techno said.

“That’s about what a manager does, yeah,” Sneeg replied. “And I excel at it.”

Ranboo laughed again. “Does that mean Billzo and I are unpaid interns?”

“No, you two are our child slaves,” Techno said dryly. “Aimsey and Freddie are the interns.”

“Fair,” Ranboo nodded and resumed eating his food.

“You say that like we didn’t choose to be here,” Billzo said.

Dream sent Hannah a confused look. She looked about as clueless as he felt. Glad to know they were both left out of this bizarre, unlikely friend group. He wondered if this was how he and Techno, Wilbur, Drista, and Tommy had sounded to strangers. If they were just as lost.

Lunch passed, and they were escorted back to the torture chambers. Dream was not strapped to the table this time, and he eyed the thing with great hatred. Aimsey told him that Hannah and her team were next door, and that they would reconvene before they went to the chariots. Techno and Sneeg had disappeared–they said something about catching up with the other mentors and escorts.

Aimsey once again approached him with a bundle of folded clothing. “If Hannah is the rose, then you are the hunter,” they said. 

“How does that make sense?” Dream asked. “Hunters don’t pick flowers.”

“Hannah represents more nature as a whole. We’re giving her antlers,” Aimsey said. Dream was confused. Wouldn’t dressing Hannah up like prey make her seem like an easy target? If the people loved Hannah, wouldn’t they hate him if he was dressed like a killer? “You’ll represent humanity. And when you think about it, coal mining does serious damage to the environment. We’re making a statement.”

“You’re condemning my District’s livelihood and making me look bad all in one go?” Dream asked, bitter. Aimsey was sweet, but this didn’t feel right. 

“The people of the Capitol aren’t smart enough to put all that together, though. It’s more for us,” Aimsey said. “They’ll just see how cool you guys look, and you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Assuming one of the other district designers didn’t come up with something cooler.” A voice muttered.

“Ranboo!” Aimsey snapped at their assistant. “Just because it's your first year doesn’t mean that you can be anything other than confident.”

“That’s me. Mr. Confident,” he replied. “Never mind the fact that I’m sixteen and completely new to this.”

The tall man was actually a tall kid. Dream blinked slowly. What were they putting in the Capitol’s water?

“Anyway, we’ll leave and let you get dressed,” they said. Dream nodded distractedly, still thinking about Ranboo’s age. Aimsey had to be older, then, even if they were five-foot-nothing. “We’ll be right outside if you need any help.”

When the door slid shut, Dream began dissecting the pile of cloth. A weird shirt-underwear-combo-thing, pants with several pockets, a thick, cropped jacket with a hood? What kind of hunter dressed like this? The material of the pants was stiff, and their only tactical advantage was the amount of pockets for storage. The shirt-thing looked too tight to move in, although the material had a decent amount of give. If the jacket wasn’t cropped, he supposed that it would’ve made decent outerwear.

What exactly did the Capitol think hunter’s looked like?

Dream started with the bizarre shirt. It had a high neck and long sleeves, so he couldn’t step into it. He thought that he could maybe stick a leg through the oddly large leg holes, but he worried he would rip the material. He decided instead to suck it up and poke his head out of the door to ask.

“Let me guess, it’s the bodysuit?” Aimsey asked. 

“Sorry,” Dream said and held the fabric out apologetically. Aimsey took the underwear part and undid two buttons. She handed it back, and Dream wrinkled his nose at the thing. There were buttons? “What am I meant to wear under this?”

Aimsey looked at him blankly. “The pants go over it?”

Oh no. “But in terms of underwear? There’s something underneath, right?”

Ranboo was shaking, and Dream knew he was trying to keep a laugh in. This was almost worse than the waxing. Almost.

“The pants sit low? You can’t have anything underneath the bodysuit or it ruins the look of the high cut,” Aimsey said. 

Dream looked at the scrap of fabric and back at Aimsey. “You’re putting a great amount of faith into two little buttons,” Dream said. The chance for disaster was enormous–no wonder they waxed everything .

“I don’t recommend bending over,” Ranboo said cheerfully.

Aimsey just stared at the both of them blankly, not seeming to get Dream’s discomfort. 

“Or moving in general, really.” The strange looking kid giggled.

Dream huffed and returned inside. He stared once again at the bodysuit, and he wondered what his life had come to. In a week he’d be killing people, but for now he had to shove himself into a glorified bathing suit. Dream stripped off the comfortable gray shirt he’d been wearing and tossed it away. With a begrudging sigh, he pulled the horrible thing over his head. The high neck tickled his hairless jaw, and he struggled to slip his arms through the stretchy narrow sleeves. 

When he’d finally adjusted everything comfortably, he gazed helplessly at the dangling straps with their two buttons, the only thing holding things in and keeping him decent. If he could even call this outfit decent. 

He quickly pulled off the sweatpants he was wearing and tossed them on top of the shirt he’d discarded–grimacing, he quickly buttoned those damn buttons and situated himself. Wearing the thing properly now, the first thing he noticed was that the sides were cut well above his hips, and secondly,was two short steps away from being sawed in half via his ass cheeks.

Uncomfortably exposed, he pulled on the pants, which thankfully provided somewhat of a security net. Though they were cut about as low as the bodysuit was high cut. Did they not wear properly fitting clothes in the Capitol? Fashion trends were one hell of a drug.

He looked balefully at the jacket that didn’t have any kind of clasps or buttons in the front. It must go over his head, then. He wondered why they even gave the bodysuit long sleeves when he was already sweating without the jacket. It had to be cold in the parade. Or at least, he hoped it was.

 He decided to wait on the jacket and approached a mirror across from the esthetician table to finally see what these people had done to him.

He didn’t recognize himself at all, he realized, touching the mirror. His hair was shiny, the shortest it had been in awhile. It was about the same length as Wilbur’s, probably. They had used something to magically keep it from falling in his face, and the gentle waves he was used to seemed more pronounced. His eyebrows were shaped, and a bit darker than he remembered. They must have done something to make them show up more, he thought. By comparison, his freckles looked faded, as if the sun had bleached them away rather than made them appear in the first place.

As he examined himself he had to admit, the black bodysuit was as flattering as it was uncomfortable.The matching pants seemed like a weird choice by comparison–they were baggy, and could almost be described as casual, which was unusual to see in parades past.

Dream wondered if they would’ve dressed a tribute younger than him like this, and then firmly decided that he didn’t want to think about that.

He went back to the door and let Aimsey and Ranboo back in. Ranboo had a pair of boots and some weird looking belts, while Aimsey was holding a plate with some gloves on top.

“I have another question,” Dream said. “Why do I need double sleeves if I’m already burning up?”

Aimsey and Ranboo looked at each other. When they came to some kind of silent agreement, Aimsey set down the plate and gloves on the torture table. They reached in their tool belt and pulled out a pair of scissors. “Hold still,” they said.

Dream backed up into the wall. “Shouldn’t I take it off first?”

“No, I’ll be quick,” Aimsey said. It was more of the scissors that Dream was worried about, but he wasn’t about to strip again. Once he took this thing off, he was never ever putting it back on. Aimsey pulled him to an empty chair and climbed on top of it to be able to reach him with ease. Dream stood so, so still as Aimsey cut the fabric around his shoulders, and he fought the urge to jump every time the cool metal glided against his skin.When Aimsey was done, they slid the detached sleeves off his arms. He no longer felt as constricted, and far cooler, which added somewhat to his general comfort level. “Okay, you should be good to put the top on now.”

“Okay.” Dream wanted to cry. He pulled the forest green fabric over his head and put his bare arms through the new sleeves. The material was lighter than it looked, and somehow it wasn’t nearly as sweltering as the bodysuit sleeves had been. The hem of the thing barely covered his collarbones. The sleeves and the hood were the only functional part of it, and even then he was dubious about their usefulness. 

“You look great!” Aimsey gave him two thumbs up. 

“I’m failing to see how I look like a hunter?” 

“Oh! We’ll give you a prop bow and arrow. It’ll all come together.” Aimsey grabbed the gloves off of the plate. “Here are your gloves.”

Dream took them. “They don’t have any fingers…?”

“It’s fashionable,” Ranboo supplied. Dream tugged them on and somehow agreed that they were definitely not gloves you could hunt in. Techno would call them useless. He would call a lot of Dream’s outfit useless, actually–except maybe for the cargo pants.

Aimsey grabbed a belt from Ranboo and handed it to him. He wordlessly ran it through the belt loops. Fortunately, belts were universally mundane–or at least he thought so, until Aimsey grabbed another strip of black leather from their assistant. “Arms up please,” they said. Dream finished buckling the belt at his hips and obeyed. They slipped his arm through a gap and his other arm through another gap, and began to buckle the straps together around his chest. Dream supposed it was like the harnesses they’d send the miners down in sometimes attached to rope, but decorative rather than functional. If he were suspended by these thin straps, he’d surely have all the air crushed out of him before they snapped and dropped him into oblivion. Aimsey woke him from his thought when they tapped his chest lightly with a, “There!” of satisfaction.

Ranboo sat the boots down in front of him, and Dream was pleased to see that they had given him socks, his bare toes curling on the tile. Ranboo added, “Be sure you tuck the pants into them. It’ll look really dumb otherwise.”

“Thanks,” Dream said drily, and sat in the chair that Aimsey had previously stood on. He tugged on the socks, and methodically unlaced the boots enough so that he could get his feet and the pants legs in. Aimsey and Ranboo watched the whole process in silence and it made his spine prickle, as if he could possibly fuck up putting on a pair of shoes.

Aimsey reached over him and began to tug at the pant leg so that it puffed out of the top of the boot. Dream fought the urge to yank his foot away. They were just being nice. They were helping him. He shouldn’t be an asshole. He should let them touch him all they wanted.

Somehow, though, he doubted the sponsors would notice or care how his pants were tucked into his boots. 

Aimsey tightened the laces, tied them off, and when they were done with both they tucked the knots neatly behind the lip of the boot. Dream never had seen such pretentious carelessness. It had to be an art to survive in the Capitol–no wonder they were exempted from the Games. Heaven forbid your shoelaces show!

“And the final touch–”

“Wait,” Dream crossed to the pants he had discarded and rooted down into a pocket. He pulled out Tommy’s bandanna. “Can we implement this somehow? It’s important.”

Aimsey looked at the old thing with a spark of recognition. “Is that Tommy’s?”

“He sent it off with me,” Dream said. “I know it’ll mean a lot to him if I wore it.”

Aimsey carefully took the cloth from him and began to fold it into something resembling a headband and tied it to the belt just below his left hip bone. He didn’t know how well it matched the green, but it made him feel just a bit more secure in himself.

“Now, the final-final touch,” they said, and picked up the plate from the table. As they flipped it over, Dream realized that it was a circular  mask and not a plate. It had a smile painted on it, with two eyes that were oddly far apart. It kind of creeped him out, but he was interested. “It’ll be hard for you to see with it on, so don’t put it over your face until you’re on the chariot.”

“Is this how Techno’s decided to promote me?”

Ranboo answers instead. “In dreams, your brain can’t create faces you’ve never seen before. The faces are always someone you know or someone you’ve at least seen in passing. You’re a new person, so they don’t get to see your face until you set foot in the arena.”

Aimsey pushed the mask toward him. It was cold to the touch. “You’re Dream.”

“So I’ll even wear this for the interview?”

“That’s the idea. If you want, you can push it above your mouth so you can speak clearly, but we think that the viewers will be so intrigued to see your face that you’ll have more backers,” Aimsey said. “The longer you keep the mask thing up, the longer you keep up the intrigue.”

“And you don’t have to look at the thousands of people and cameras watching your every move!” Ranboo supplied.

“That too,” Aimsey said. “Although that wasn’t the point.”

“It was totally the original point,” Technoblade, who he hadn’t heard enter, said. He was dressed in full “Blood God” getup. Even though he wasn’t being paraded around, he would still be in the public eye. It made sense that they’d shove him in the crown and the cape, body draped in gold.

“Okay it was the original idea, but it works! Ranboo came up with the ‘no new faces in dreams’ thing and we ran with it!” Aimsey said. So his name and Hannah’s were being taken literally this year and used as their personas. Got it.

“Is he ready to go? Everyone is already heading toward the coliseum,” Techno asked.

“Yeah.” Aimsey secured the mask on the side of his head, so that he would only have to flip it around when the time was right. “We’ll be in the crowd if you need us.”

“Thank you,” Dream said. And he meant it. Horrible bodysuit or not, they had let him keep the bandana and came up with the mask idea for his comfort. It could have been much worse.

(He thought of District 10 and how their stylist always dressed one tribute in a cowboy outfit and the other in a onesie of a differing farm animal every year. Just because their district was known for livestock. The stylist himself even wore one–though his wasn’t any farm animal Dream had ever seen. It was blue with spikes down the back and a small tail. Big white eyes adorned the hood and a black nose poked from a tan mouth that seemed to swallow the stylists’ head. Triangle ears poked from the top. It was all very strange.)

Techno herded Dream to the basement of the training building, where they met with Hannah and Sneeg. The escort was dressed like he usually was, and his weird feathery antennae brushed the ceiling of the long vehicle as he got inside. Hannah looked beautiful, and Dream once again doubted his own outfit.

True to their word, Hannah had deer antlers protruding from her hair. They had entwined roses up and around them, and Dream distantly wondered how they were going to fit in the car. She was wearing a dress made of airy fabric, the material the same pink as the dress she was reaped in. More roses were entwined in the skirt, and Dream worried that they would be crushed in the journey. If he wasn’t dressed to hunt, she wasn’t dressed to travel.

Sneeg impatiently gestured them in, while Techno shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat. The driver didn’t seem to be affected by their lateness–they sat stock still and faced forward in the front. Both hands gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline.

“You look very pretty,” Dream said. “Can I help in?”

“Uh, hold this, I guess.” She pulled the antlers from her hair. It was some sort of headdress, the antlers attached by a clear band that went behind her ears and over the top of her head. Their removal shocked him–they looked as though they were a part of her just as much as her hair was. Dream took them carefully, and watched as she gingerly climbed in the back seat next to Sneeg.

Dream leaned in and passed Hannah the antlers before climbing in himself. The vehicle was very short, and he was almost bent over double to stand up. He was still very careful to avoid Hannah’s dress as he sat on the long seat. His foot accidentally nudged the edge of Sneeg’s cloak. “Hey, hey, hey!” Sneeg swatted at his foot. “Watch the cloak, kid.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dream said, but rolled his eyes at Hannah.

“I saw that!” Sneeg said. “I’m serious. This cloak is worth more than you ever will be.” He scooped the extra fabric up and placed it gingerly in his lap. Dream caught a glimpse of fuzzy legs and looked away abruptly. Seeing what was under Sneeg’s cloak felt illegal. 

From the shake of Hannah’s shoulders, he could tell she was laughing even if she had her hand over her mouth. 

His legs were tucked into his chest in the small seat, and the “bodysuit” was cutting him in half, but at least misery loved company.

Chapter Text

Dream eyed the large screen that displayed the anchors from his spot next to the chariot. Ted Nivision, who had been the host for as long as Dream could remember, wore a white suit, while his new co-host, Charlie Slimecicle, wore a similar suit in a vivid lime green. Though Slimecicle was relatively new, their chemistry together made it clear that they were friends even off screen. 

He looked back over to where Billzo had been adjusting the same part of Hannah’s dress for the last twenty minutes. The pink gossamer wings that he still had to attach to her lay forgotten on the edge of the chariot. They reminded him of the dragonflies that would sometimes fly around the old hideout in the summer. 

He picked at his nails—a nervous habit he’d adopted when Techno had been sent into the arena that stuck around. Aimsey still hadn’t met with him to address the finishing touches to his costume, and he was bored. 

His eyes followed the circle of chariots. After looking at the way some of the other tributes were dressed, he was glad they had Aimsey and Freddie. District 11’s tributes were covered in vines and dirt that looked a little too real to be makeup. District 10’s stylist switched it up and had the blue-haired male tribute in a rooster onesie while the female tribute wore a farmer costume instead of the usual cowgirl costume. The stylist had given her a straw hat and a piece of straw to stick between her teeth. District 9 hadn’t even shown up yet, which was odd, when he considered how he and Hannah were almost late. He wondered about how many grain-related outfits there could be.

District 8’s stylists were still hanging around the chariot, but the two men weren’t fussing over their tributes like some of the others. One wore a purple tracksuit, while he leisurely sipped a can of something Techno had called “soda” before. The other wore a matching neon green tracksuit and was angrily typing something onto a handheld screen. Their unfortunate tributes wore patchwork patterns in various shades of green and purple that frankly hurt Dream’s eyes.

District 7’s tributes had on frog hats, which didn’t make sense to Dream. If they were supposed to be forestry, then why were they frogs? The only frogs he’d ever seen were on the ground. The white-haired tribute seemed very excited about his hat, while his companion seemed less enthusiastic. The rest of their outfits seemed like a watered-down version of District 10’s onesies, however, Dream preferred this iteration.

Districts 6, 5, and 4 didn’t have anything for him. The stylists just did repeats of last year’s costumes with only a few adjustments. Boring.

District 3 caught his eye. Their tributes were painted to look like the inside of a screen—like a circuit board? Each component was carefully painted on, and from a distance Dream could tell they were intricately detailed. The stylist was painting over the female tribute’s bald head, and he began to wonder if they shaved her head or waxed it. The male tribute was similarly bald. The base coat the stylist brushed on had a metallic sheen in the light, and Dream was impressed.

The tributes from District 2 spoke lowly to each other on one side of their chariot. Their stylist fiddled with the drape and flow of the black garments they wore. When the light caught the fabric, it had a slight purple sheen. There were stories from District 12 about the deepest part of mines where miners rarely ventured into and returned. The ones that came back told stories of dried-up lava pools that turned into impossibly hard obsidian. A mysterious material that was black as night that shone purple under torchlight. He wondered if they knew how to mine it in District 2.

The tribute with split dyed hair caught Dream staring from his chariot, and they nudged their companion. The male tribute eyed him with a cold stare. Dream looked away, toward the District 1 chariot, but he felt the weight of their stares long after he looked away.

To Dream’s left, he noticed that the District 1 tributes had finally shown up. Another district that cut it close. District 9 had shuffled in at some point too, although he filed their costumes into the “boring” category. However, he couldn’t even begin to describe the designs for District 1. Luxurious, to start. Uncomfortable, he thought, as he watched the female tribute scratch at the suit. Opulent.

The tributes were covered in gems. Dream didn’t know if each gemstone was glued to them, or if they were all woven into something like his bodysuit. The female tribute’s hair went long and straight down her back, the front pieces were held back by a pair of sunglasses like the District 1 mentor’s. Similarly, the male tribute had a thick white pair nested in his curly brown hair.

Sneeg wasn’t lying about the pretty boy from District 1.

“Stop scratching, Alyssa.” Their designer, a teal haired man with antlers, was fussing with the placement of the male tribute’s glasses.

She continued to scratch. “That’s impossible, Scott.”

“Did you forget to bathe this morning, Alyssa?” While the tribute’s words were cruel, his voice was contrastingly the most beautiful thing Dream had heard in a long time. Second only to the sound of his family’s laughter, but he was slowly forgetting that.

Dream tore his gaze away from the adjacent chariot and the pretty male tribute and focused on the refreshment table in the center of the corral where a few other tributes were milling around. Aimsey still hadn’t shown up yet. Dream was going to go get a drink.

He very carefully shuffled over to the refreshment table after signaling to Billzo that he’d be right back. The spread consisted of several disposable cups of water, crackers, thin cuts of meat, and various cheeses. Dream shrugged and grabbed a small plate and loaded one up with the finger foods for both himself and Hannah, as well as two cups of water.

“Is all of that for you?”

Dream turned from the table to find the male tribute from District 1 stood a foot away from him. “Why? Do you want to share?” Dream fought the urge to hide as the other tribute cocked an eyebrow at him.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed past Dream toward the refreshments table, and Dream took it as a dismissal. He walked back to his chariot, and carefully balanced the plate of food where Hannah’s wings once were. Billzo had finally attached them to the back of her dress. In combination with the rest of her outfit, she looked like a radiant forest goddess. No wonder this was her favorite portion of the Games.

“I got this for both of us,” Dream said, and gestured to the plate, “and this is for you.”

She accepted the water from him and said conspiratorially, “I think Aimsey’s going to put makeup on you now.”

“What are they going to do? Put blue paint on my mask?” Dream reached to touch the cold porcelain mask strapped to the side of his head. 

“I think it’d look quite handsome with some eyeshadow.” Hannah took a sip of her water.

“I’m going to pretend like I know what that is,” Dream replied.

Aimsey approached from where they had been talking to Billzo off to the side. “Are you ready, Dream?”

“Hang on,” he said, and stuffed a slice of ham into his mouth. “Okay,”

“Charming,” the same smooth voice from earlier commented. Dream hadn’t noticed him approach. Inhibited from speaking, he could only manage a wink back.

“Hi!” Hannah said from her spot on the chariot.

“Hello.” He remained cool and disinterested in the face of Hannah’s warmth.

“I’m Hannah,” she said, and made a move to step down off of the chariot.

“Hannah, I think Billzo might cry if you get off the chariot.” Aimsey stopped her. Hannah gave the stylist an apologetic look and returned to her spot. Dream wondered when the last time she was allowed to sit down was.

“Sorry!” She gestured toward Dream. “And this is Dream. And you are?”

“Does it really matter? Twenty-three of us will be dead in a few days,” the male tribute responded.

Dream gave him a harsh look. “You could still be polite. Or do they not teach manners in 1?”

The other tribute rolled his eyes. “George.”

Hannah seemed unaffected. “Nice to meet you!”

“If it’s the same to you, George, I would ask that you return to your chariot. I have to finish up with my tribute,” Aimsey, of all people, interrupted. In the day since he’d met them, he had never heard them speak so coldly.

The tribute inclined his head and walked back to his chariot. Dream wondered if he was always so cynical, or if getting reaped made him that way.

“Sit,” Aimsey said, and steered Dream toward the edge of the chariot.

“Are you alright?” Hannah asked.

“I just don’t like to think about why you all are here.” Aimsey smiled sadly, and pulled a few tubes out of a bag at their waist.

“Neither do we,” Dream said lightly. “Trust me.”

“I’m actually participating in a fashion show right now. What about you Dream?” Hannah nudged his back with her foot.

“I’m going hunting in a ridiculous outfit because I lost a dare.” Aimsey began to swipe at his lips with a greasy substance. Some got into his mouth and he made a face at the bizarre texture. “What is this?”

Aimsey continued the application. “It’s chapstick. Don’t talk and it won’t get in your mouth.”

“Just wait until the gloss,” Hannah said. “You are putting gloss on him, right?”

Aimsey nodded carefully. They capped the chapstick and pulled out another tube of what was most likely the gloss they talked about. It had a pinkish tint to it, and when Aimsey uncapped it Dream could only think to call the substance that stuck to the applicator a glob.

It was sticky when applied, and it made Dream want to smack his lips together. He would love to know what Tommy or Techno or even Wilbur would say about it.

“Will they even be able to see my face under the mask?” Dream asked, and frowned at the way his lips stuck together.

“They’ll be able to see your mouth and that’s about it,” Aimsey said.

“You’re lucky. They put that awful stuff all over my face.” Hannah grimaced.

“You look beautiful,” Aimsey said. “You’re fine.”

“Agreed,” Dream said. “I look like I found my mom’s makeup drawer.”

Aimsey punched his shoulder. “You look great too.” 

“You look hot,” Hannah said. “Platonically.”

“Thanks,” Dream said. “Platonically, so do you.”

Aimsey held out a bow and quiver to Dream. “I’m going to go sit with everyone else. Can you manage this by yourself?”

“Got it.” Dream said. “Thanks.”

Aimsey tilted their head goodbye and headed toward a side door to the arena the tributes were about to be paraded through with Billzo following behind. 

“Do you have it?” Hannah asked.

“Nope.” Dream jumped up onto the chariot. “I also don’t know how to wear this mask correctly.”

Hannah took the quiver from him and held the strap open so he could get his head and arm through. Then he slung the bow over his shoulder, and she adjusted it so that it rested naturally against his clothing.

“You realize that the minute I pull this mask over your face you won’t be able to see anything, right?”

“Go for it,” Dream said. “Besides, I’m afraid if I see District 8’s outfits again I might go blind.”

Hannah fiddled with the mask. “They're awful aren’t they?”

“Worse than the onesies,” Dream said.

Hannah’s eyebrows scrunched as she tried to adjust the mask. “Ah!” His vision went black though his eyes were still open.  “Thanks, I think.”

“No problem. The gloss really brings out your eyes,” she said.

“Wonderful." He smacked his lips together again, still unused to the stickiness.

“George is looking at you.”

“I’m sure a lot of people are looking at me," he responded. "I have a plate on my face,” 

Hannah laughed. “Are you ready for this thing?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Dream felt the chariot jerk as the horses began to move forward. He could hear the crowd cheering for District 1. He imagined that George was eating up the applause from the Capitol citizens in the stands, stupid glasses over his eyes. Or maybe they hadn’t lowered them and left his two-toned eyes on display.

***

Ladies, gentlemen, and those who have yet to make up their minds, it's me, your host, Ted Nivison! I'm here with my co-host, Charlie Slimesicle, and w're here to watch the Tribute Parade for the 74th Annual Hunger Games–with you! What do you look forward to the most in this year’s Parade?

I’m going to have to say that I'm so excited to see what the District 10 designer has in store for us this year!

Mr. EatPant? Can we expect another animal onesie and cowboy duo?

The camera panned over to a man sitting in the section designated for designers. He wore the patented blue onesie with the weird spikes on the back, and he shrugged and smiled at the camera in response. The camera whirred back to the announcers.

It seems we have a mystery this year, Ted!

I’m looking forward to it! But first! District 1!

The tributes look absolutely stunning this year.

Stylist Scott Smajor has outdone himself once again. 

And the tribute to their mentor, Eret, is heartwarming, don’t you think?

Absolutely, Slime! 

A split screen featured District 1’s chariot and a shot of Eret sitting in the section reserved for mentors. The mentor that sat next to them, Sam, elbowed them in the ribs and muttered something under his breath. Eret smiled and waved.

The camera switched from Eret and the parade, back to Ted and Slime with a minimized view of the parade in the corner.

Oh, and there’s District 2. Tributes Emma and Corpse are dressed like… What are they dressed like Charlie?

Obsidian!

Oh, that’s genius work. Don’t you agree?

One hundred percent, Ted!

District after District went and Charlie and Ted found some mundane commentary about their outfits, the tributes, or the stylists. Shots of the parade itself, the mentors or the stylists were interspersed with comments from the hosts. Capitol citizens not in attendance and people from the districts alike sat in front of screens to watch the children be paraded before they were sent to slaughter. The crowd roared with anticipation and adoration alike.

Is District 7 wearing frog hats?

They are, Ted!

I wish we had their stylists in front of us to explain that one, Slime, because I am coming up empty-handed.

Later, Ted. And remember to tune in later for our stylist interviews!

We have a few new stylists, as well as favorites like Skeppy and Mr. EatPant!

And there’s District 8 now!

Those patterns!

Truly a daring move from the stylists this year.

They are on a completely different board from everyone else, Slime.

Speaking of a completely different board–there’s District 9!

I see that there are a limited number of ways to incorporate grain into fashion.

I’d say there’s at least a handful.

The two anchors shared a laugh as the tributes’ chariot made  its way to the podium where the rest lay in wait. Only three chariots were left.

The crowd went wild at the appearance of District 10’s tributes.

That’s not a cowgirl, Connor!

Is she… I believe she’s a farmer, Slime!

Connor has done it again! I am loving the blue hair on the rooster!

He is truly a visionary.

District 11 went without much fanfare by comparison.

Slime, do you think that’s real dirt?

I don’t know Ted. We’ll have to find out later!

Once again, tomorrow night at 8, we will be interviewing the stylists. Don’t miss it!

And finally, the one highly anticipated District entered, and the crowd lost it.

This is my second most anticipated District, Ted.

Of course! The Rose of District 12 and the grieving brother of last year’s tribute from the same District, Drista Run.

I’m told that the Capitol citizens that saw him ride in on the train have said he’s quite handsome.

They’ve started calling him their Dream Boy. Not that we’d be able to tell!

So true, Ted.

The final chariot found the last remaining spot in the center of the gathering to the right of District 11 and to the left of 10.

And now a message from our President.

“It's absolutely wonderful to see all of you out here tonight! Great job, by the way, Connor–loving the cock. I can't wait to see how you all do in the Arena. We all know the tragic past and why we have the games and the pomp and the circumstance. But look at it this way, if the Districts hadn’t rebelled, we wouldn’t have such good TV!” The president laughed at his own joke, and the crowd took his laughter as a cue to laugh as well. “May the odds be ever in your favor or whatever. That’s all folks!”

President Schlatt always knows exactly what to say, Slime.

He’s joined tonight by former tributes and Capitol darlings Tubbo Underscore and Quackity from District 11.

It’s always good to see them backing our great President!

Well, I do believe that’s all for tonight.

Be sure to tune in tomorrow at 8 for our interviews with the stylists.

Goodnight!

And see you tomorrow!

***

Dream removed the mask the second the chariot exited the coliseum of people. He was tired of the sensory deprivation, though he was sure that he would’ve panicked had he been forced to make eye contact with the audience. He didn’t know how Hannah managed it.

“Welcome back,” she said, as soon as he returned the mask to the side of his face.

“That was awful,” Dream replied.

“They loved us, don’t worry,” she said.

“Still awful.”

Dream hopped off the side of the chariot and held out a hand to help Hannah down. She took it gracefully and thanked him. As soon as she was safely on the ground, Dream zeroed in on George, whose glasses were still perched in his hair.

They made eye contact, and Dream instantly looked away. George however, began to walk in their direction with his fellow tribute in tow.

“Alyssa and I were talking and we wanted to ask: how do you move in that thing?”

“The bodysuit?” Dream asked, dumbfounded.

“Yeah. Can you even, like, bend over in it?” The other tribute, Alyssa, asked.

“Yeah?”

“Catch,” George said. And before Dream realized what he was doing, he plucked the glasses out of his hair and dropped them on the ground.

Dream squatted and caught them, but the bodysuit had its own opinions about the sudden movement. He made a face, and both Alyssa and George (and Hannah, the traitor) laughed at him as he stood back up.

“Not the slut drop,” Hannah said in between laughs.

The what drop?

“I didn’t expect you’d try and catch them,” George said after he caught his breath.

Dream rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning. He held the glasses out, but George wouldn’t take them. He gathered the last bit of his dignity and pride, and placed the glasses back on George’s head before flicking them down so they fell low on his perfectly shaped nose.

George’s laughter subsided completely, but Hannah and Alyssa only laughed louder before they took off toward the exit arm in arm. Dream was glad to see she had a new friend, but was not thrilled that it was at his expense. They followed shortly after.

“You know, I thought the pretty boy from District 1 would be nicer,” Dream said.

“I thought that the average looking boy from District 12 would be smarter,” George retorted.

“I’m eighteen!”

“So am I.” George shrugged. “It’s sad.”

“I don’t think about it.”

“And how’s that going for you?” 

Dream smiled, but there wasn’t any happiness in it. He’d do better if he had the stupid smile mask on. “Decently, actually.”

“Well let me know when that catches up to you,” George replied. “If it catches up to you before–”

“We all die and the world explodes. I know.” Dream parted from George to return to the weird stretched vehicle they rode in. “Goodnight, George.”

“Goodnight, Dream.”

Chapter Text

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW AIRED FOLLOWING THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES TRIBUTE PARADE.]

NIVISON: Hello, citizens of the Capitol! I am absolutely thrilled to be here today with my co host, Charlie Slimesicle, and our wise and wonderful President Jay Schlatt.

[CANNED APPLAUSE]

SCHLATT: Thank you! I appreciate you having me on. It’s always a pleasure.

SLIME: So Mr. President–

SCHLATT: Please, just call me Schlatt. Mr. President was my father.

SLIME: You’re so right. Anyway, Mr. President Schlatt from the Capitol–

NIVISON: We wanted to ask what you thought about this year’s tributes, or if there were any in particular that caught your attention.

SCHLATT: You wanted to, or you are?

[AWKWARD SILENCE]

SCHLATT: I’m just kidding. Yeah, uh, I’m a big fan of the onesie kid.

SLIME: You mean the tribute from District 10 wearing a Connor EatPant exclusive onesie purchased only from his pop up shop in the Capitol?

SCHLATT: I do, Charlie. And if you tell them I sent you, you’ll get 2% off!

[TEXT FLASHES ON-SCREEN AND QUICKLY SCROLLS BY THAT SAYS: Each claimant is entitled to one Connor EatPant onesie priced at 2% less than the current market value. This offer is not redeemable for any monetary value, and it cannot be combined with any other promotions made by the establishment. This offer is valid for a limited time only. Claimant is not privy to when the offer ends. Coupon is no longer valid by default if President Jay Schlatt passes away. President Jay Schlatt and Mr. Connor EatPant are not liable for any loss, damage, or injury suffered or sustained while as a result of using and/or accepting this offer. These terms and conditions are subject to Capitol law and to the jurisdiction of the courts of the Capitol. Mr. Connor EatPant and his employees reserve the right to refuse this offer at any time for any reason. Please do not contact Mr. EatPant or his associates with any questions at any time. ]

SCHLATT: But on a more serious note… I don’t have any favorites. Publicly.

NIVISON: Of course, Mr. President. On a similar note, what was your favorite parade costume?

SCHLATT: Do you even have to ask? 

SLIME: Legally, yes.

SCHLATT: District 10. Obviously. Connor even mixed it up with the farmer costume this year. I think that Connor always portrays what’s at the heart of the district better than any other designer. And the people love the onesies. 

NIVISON: That is so true, President Schlatt! The onesies are hits year after year. Mr. EatPant has created an iconic look that everyone looks forward to every year. Slime?

[CHARLIE SLIMESICLE MAKES DIRECT EYE CONTACT WITH THE CAMERA]

SLIME: Mr. EatPant, obviously. But I did really like designer Smajor’s take on District 1 this year. The incorporation of the glasses for the district’s mentor was a very nice touch.

[AWKWARD SILENCE. THE ANCHORS SHUFFLE THEIR NOTES]

NIVISION: So, Mr. President. We’ve waited an entire year to know–what was your favorite moment from last year’s Games?

SCHLATT: Oh man, definitely when that McYum kid–what district was he? Eight?–came flying in with just his freaking fists. Absolute psychopath. Loved it.

NIVISON: He was one of the Final Five, correct? Alongside the two District 12 kids, the 11 boy, and the poor guy from 1?

SLIME: That’s right! He made it all the way to the last few days with nothing but his fists. Truly impressive.

SCHLATT: Kid had guts. I like that. It’s a shame he didn’t make it out.

[PAPERS SHUFFLING]

NIVISON: Mr. President, we only have one last question for you before you have to go back to running our country…

SLIME: A lot of the country is begging to know…

SCHLATT: If I’m still living the bachelor life or not. A hot button question, I know. 

SLIME: Photos were taken of you proposing to former tribute and Victor Quackity shortly after his massive eighteenth birthday party at the President’s Mansion. 

SCHLATT: That may or may not be true. I don’t want to take any attention away from the Games, of course, so I will neither confirm nor deny. 

NIVISON: When you decide to confirm or deny, Mr. President, can we be the first to know?

SCHLATT: Of course, Ted!

SLIME: Mr. President, if I may… It was so kind of you to take in Quackity after his narrow win in the 70th Games when he was only 14 years old. Similarly, you took Tubbo Underscore in the year after. We’ve never really seen this kind of behavior from previous presidents. What made you want to take these strays in?

SCHLATT: Well, Tubbo suffered some intense hearing loss and major injuries after his win, and I figured the people back in his district couldn’t handle it as well as they could here in the Capitol. I funded his entire recovery, and while he’s still not as good as new, he’s doing a whole lot better. At this point, he’s like a son to me, and I think he feels the same way.

SLIME: And would you say the same of Quackity?

NIVISON: And that’s all the time we have with our gracious President today! Thank you so much for coming in, we both really appreciate it. 

SCHLATT: It’s always great to be here, Ted. And I’ll see you at dinner, Charlie. As usual.

[CUT TO COMMERCIAL: TRIBUTE TRADING CARDS]

VOICE: Legendary tributes have arrived to make it a legendary year with Tribute Trading Cards! Classic Victors like Bad Boy Halo and Captain Sparklez have been added to the Victor decks, alongside all of the tributes from the 73rd Games. Be sure to collect the Final Five from last year: Tommy Innit, Drista Run, McYum, Fundy, and Eryn! And don’t forget the shiny Tommy Innit victor card! Relive your favorite moments, play with your friends, or trade to complete your Tribute Trading Card collection! Gotta get ‘em all!

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW AIRED FOLLOWING THE PRESIDENT’S INTERVIEW AFTER THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES TRIBUTE PARADE]

NIVISON: I just love it when the new tribute cards release.

SLIME: Best sellers, every year! Be sure to grab your cards today!

NIVISON: Now, for the other interview you’ve all been waiting for–

[CANNED DRUMROLL]

NIVISON: Our nation’s Head Gamemaker, Mr. Beast!

[CANNED APPLAUSE]

BEAST: Thank you! I’m so glad to be here! Designing arenas is tough work and this is a nice break.

SLIME: Of course! What would the Games be without their Gamemaker?

NIVISON: Nothing! That’s for sure. So, you accurately predicted last year’s winner. Anyone caught your eye this year?

BEAST: Well, I can’t say too much because of sponsors, but I do like the look of the District 2 tributes. Very scary looking, and Careers are usually a good bet. Though, after Tommy’s surprising win last year, I’m almost tempted to say we might see another District 12 win this year. 

SLIME: That would make for the third District 12 win in five years and the fourth in the entire history of the Games. Not to mention all of the District 12 Final Five placements since Technoblade took over mentorship.

BEAST: I think Technoblade was one of the best things to happen to District 12, which is why I’m not planning on underestimating his tributes any time soon.

NIVISON: Speaking of a District 12 win, what was your favorite moment from last year’s Games?

BEAST: That’s a very tough question. There were a lot of very memorable moments last year. But I’d have to say that the moment that most sticks out to me was the Final Five. When the District 1 boy killed Drista Run and set then-tribute Tommy Innit off–well, let’s just say I had goosebumps. I have goosebumps just thinking about it! But I definitely think that was the push Tommy needed to win the Games. I would’ve liked to have seen how it had gone if things were the other way around.

SLIME: Well, I’m sure Technoblade was glad to have his brother back home and safe.

BEAST: Of course, but from an objective, game making standpoint it’s an interesting hypothetical. And besides, the District 12 girl’s brother is in this year. I wonder if he holds any grudges against the district that took his sister from him.

NIVISON: Interesting, indeed. Much to think about for our viewers at home. So, what would you say your mindset was when you designed the Arena for this year’s Games?

BEAST: I take a lot of inspiration from my predecessor. In the weeks before we start the design process, I watch old Games and look for anything that might spark an idea. I find that it’s very important to look to the past to create a better future.

SLIME: That’s so wise. 

BEAST: Thank you, Charlie. We’ve actually had an idea that didn’t get used last year and recycled it in hopes it’ll come in handy this year. No spoilers though!

NIVISON: Of course no spoilers! But can you say any other hints.

[The Gamemaker shakes his head]

NIVISON: Ah! Well, that brings me to my next question: Are you and the president already working on next year’s Quarter Quell?

BEAST: Of course! We plan to blow both the Capitol and the Districts away with our ideas! It’s going to be the biggest Games yet!

SLIME: I absolutely can’t wait to see what you and the president come up with! But until then, we have this year’s Games to get through.

BEAST: Of course! And these Games will be very exciting too! We have a few tricks up our sleeves, and these tributes may as well.

NIVISON: It’s been great having you on, as usual, Mr. Beast! I can’t wait to see you in action this year!

SLIME: Don’t make their lives too hard!

BEAST: Of course I will, it’s my job!

NIVISON: Right! And now for a message from our sponsors:

[CUT TO COMMERCIAL: CAPITOL PRIME.TV]

[ Footage of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games plays on screen. One tribute is chasing after another, and the pursuer finally throws a spear. Before the spear can pierce the fleeing tribute, it cuts to a commercial for TRIBUTE TRADING CARDS.]

VOICE: Hate it when this happens? 

[ Footage resumes and the now deceased tribute is being raised into the air by a claw while the other Tribute stalks away, victorious. ]

VOICE: Never miss a moment with Capitol Prime! Why watch the Games on Public Television with ads when you can follow your favorite tribute through the Games and see all the highs and the lows and the deaths. 

[ Footage of a happy family sitting together on a couch while the dying tribute clutches a stab wound and chokes up blood on the television in front of them.]

VOICE: Keep up to date with your favorite tribute and watch them ad-free with Capitol Prime. Subscribe to your favorite tributes at capitolprime.tv today!

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW AIRED FOLLOWING THE 70TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES WITH FORMER HEAD GAMEMAKER, PHILZA MINECRAFT.]

NIVISON: What a Games! Did you have any of that on your Bingo card?

PHILZA: I can’t say that I did, Ted. Quackity certainly came out of nowhere and made a lasting impression.

NIVISON: It has certainly been a pleasure to have you here for the 20th anniversary of the 50th annual Hunger Games! The Quarter Quell where you doubled the number of tributes. Do you have any comment about how your successor did this year?

PHILZA: As usual, I think Mr. Beast handled the Games wonderfully. He was my apprentice, after all. 

NIVISON: Of course! Although, I will ask, what made you want to retire?

PHILZA: I wanted to start a family, and believe it or not, game making is very time consuming.

NIVISON: Oh, I believe it! Mr. Beast can hardly ever meet me for lunch. 

[CANNED LAUGHTER]

NIVISON: But you found that family in an unexpected place…

PHILZA: I would say they found me. My son, last year’s victor, and his twin lost their mother to childbirth and their father to a mining incident when they were young, and then they brought around Tommy and we all just kind of fit together as a family.

NIVISON: That’s beautiful, Mr. Minecraft. Did you know what you would find when you decided to live in District 12 after your retirement?

PHILZA: No idea, Ted. I was planning to live a quiet life in a Peacekeeper’s house. I had no idea one of my sons would go on to win a Games. I just thought District 12 would be a nice change of pace from the Capitol, and I ended up with my family.

NIVISON: Well, I’m glad it worked out for you! You worked so hard for us Capitol citizens, so I speak for all of us when I say that we are happy to see you happy. 

PHILZA: That means a lot to me, Ted. Thank you.

NIVISON: We missed you last year! You were in the Capitol but we were unable to get you in for an interview. Will we see you again at the next Quarter Quell, Mr. Minecraft?

PHILZA: I was a little busy last year, unfortunately. And as for the next Quarter Quell, we’ll just have to see what the president and my successor have planned, Ted!

NIVISON: Hopefully I’ll have a co host by the next time I see you!

PHILZA: Best of luck to you, Ted!

NIVISON: And to you as well!

[THE FOLLOWING AUDIO AND VIDEO IS FROM A CAMERA IN THE PRESIDENT’S MANSION PLACED BY Q.11 UNDER ORDERS BY ERROR. RECORDING TAKES PLACE AFTER THE POST-TRIBUTE PARADE INTERVIEWS FOR THE 74th ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES. FORMER VICTOR QUACKITY AND ANCHOR CHARLIE SLIMESICLE ARE ALONE IN A ROOM TOGETHER]

“That was too risky, Charlie.” Quackity’s fists rested on the edge of an ornate desk in an equally ornate study. His head was bent, the top of a beanie visible from the angle of the camera. The side of anchor Charlie Slimesicle’s face was fully visible, and he stood opposite of Quackity on the other side of the desk. 

“He has to know that what he’s doing is wrong. You’re barely eighteen, and he’s god knows how old!” Charlie put a hand to his forehead. “I know you said it’s political–”

Quackity fixed him with a cold stare. “Because it is.”

“–for now! Who’s to say he won’t decide he wants more than that later?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Tubbo remains ‘like a son’ to him. You know that.”

Charlie crossed around the desk and put his hands on Quackity’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t have to.”

Quackity smiled sadly and shrugged. “But it’s the hand I’ve been dealt, Slime. I’ve gotta protect the kid.”

“That kid’s only two years younger than we are. We’re all kids.”

“If you were still home, you could’ve gotten reaped this year.”

“And I am so thankful for you bringing me here, but this is almost worse. It’s agonizing watching you and Tubbo squirm under his thumb. And to hear the way people like Schlatt talk about those poor kids… You were one of those kids, Quackity.”

“And I don’t want you to be. So please, don’t force Schlatt to make you disappear just because you pushed him too far,” Quackity pleaded. “You may be loved by the Capitol and they may question your disappearance, but that’s never stopped him before.”

[SLIGHTLY OFFSCREEN, A DOOR OPENS. THE EDGE CAN BE SEEN IN FRAME. FORMER VICTOR TUBBO UNDERSCORE COMES INTO FRAME]

“Quackity,” Tubbo approached the desk, “Schlatt’s looking for you.”

Charlie dropped his hands and took a step back from Quackity. 

“Tubbo. Volume.” Quackity said, not unkindly. The former tribute had a tendency to speak a little louder than necessary after he lost a good amount of his hearing in the Games. Something that their President didn’t like about the Victor–a very short list, really.

“Sorry, bossman,” Tubbo leaned a hip on the desk. Quieter than before, he continued, “Party’s still in full swing.”

Quackity cringed. Charlie rolled his eyes. The Parade wasn’t that much of a hit. Schlatt had a habit of taking any opportunity to drink. Recreationally, of course. And privately. And publicly. 

“I’ll head back out. See what he wants,” Charlie said, and exited the room after sharing a meaningful look with Quackity. Tubbo seemed oblivious and gave Charlie a salute on his way out.

“Regroup before bed?” Quackity asked the younger boy.

“Of course, Big Q.” Tubbo nodded.

“Glad to see Schlatt’s been letting you see Tommy,” Quackity laughed.

“I wouldn’t be able to if it weren’t for you,” Tubbo said. “I wouldn’t want Tommy here. Like Slime.”

“Schlatt wouldn’t fuck with Phil. Not yet anyway.”

“True.” Tubbo said. “Sometimes I wish I lived with them. Instead of here.”

“Me too. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you. Or Charlie.”

[QUACKITY CROSSES AROUND THE DESK AND PUTS AN ARM AROUND TUBBO. TOGETHER, THEY EXIT THE ROOM.]

Chapter Text

Dream woke up the day after the parade still thinking of curly brunet locks and white sunglasses. Of gem-draped limbs and pessimism.

He promptly groaned and covered his head with a pillow. If Techno hadn’t knocked on the door ten minutes ago he would’ve tried to go back to sleep, but he unfortunately had other things to do. Begrudgingly, he rolled out of bed and was thankful when his toes met for the heated floors. Over the past few days, he had become used to the soft beds and fluffy pillows, and he struggled with the idea that he would have to sleep on the ground or in trees in just a few days.

It was befitting for the gamemakers to lavish them with these small luxuries only to throw them out into the wilderness as soon as they grew comfortable. To send a bunch of kids from grandeur to survival in the blink of an eye, cruelty befitting of gamemakers.

He quickly showered and struggled into the training clothes laid out for him. They looked like the outfits he’d seen past tributes wear into arenas–stretchy black shirt and pants, with thick-soled boots. They were likely the boots he would wear into the arena; the thought made him a little ill.

He probably just needed to eat some breakfast.

After he was laced up, he ran a hand through his drying hair, walking to find Techno, Hannah, and Sneeg finishing up breakfast. The sight of them eating together in a group reminded him too much of the train ride, and the same passing ill feeling he had just brushed away took hold of him again.

“Glad to see nothing’s changed now that we’re in the Capitol,” Techno said, taking a sip of tea.

“He needs his beauty sleep,” Sneeg said. “And then some.”

“Morning, Dream,” Hannah said.

At least someone was on his side. He took the seat next to his only friend in the world–Patches notwithstanding–and began to pile food onto his plate. “Good morning, Hannah. I hope you have a wonderful day,” he said, and dryly looked to his other breakfast companions, “Techno. Sneeg.”

Techno snorted and set his tea down. “Shortly after breakfast you’ll go to the training center. I suggest learning how not to drown.”

“It’s always straight to business with you,” Dream grumbled. “Can’t I eat my breakfast first?”

“If you had arrived twenty minutes ago like the rest of us, maybe.”

“Sick burn,” Sneeg said.

“Don’t you need to slurp cereal or something?” Dream asked.

Sneeg lifted his bowl to his mouth and slurped the milk out of his cereal bowl without breaking eye contact. It almost made Dream want to die sooner.

“Regardless,” Techno said, and Dream was thankful for the interruption. “There’s a pool in the training center.”

“Is there anyone there to teach us how to swim?” Hannah asked.

“No,” Techno said.

“Is there anyone there to make sure we don’t actually drown?” Dream asked.

“There’s a lifeguard,” Sneeg says between a mouthful of waffle. “Schlatt doesn’t want you to try and drown yourselves before you can kill each other in the arena.”

Dream doesn’t think he’s ever heard Sneeg say a completely honest or serious sentence in the entire time he’s known him. What the fuck? He also doesn’t miss the warning glance that Techno gives Sneeg, and the subtle glance toward the small cameras dotted around the room. Hannah didn’t seem to notice.

“President Schlatt doesn’t want any unfortunate accidents before the Games, is what Sneeg means to say,” Techno said.

“Of course,” Sneeg says, syrup dripping out from the corner of his mouth.

Dream looked between them with narrowed eyes.

“Eat, Dream. It’ll be a bit before lunch,” Techno said, and pushed his chair away from the table. He quickly disappeared into what must have been his quarters. Sneeg wiped his face, and then went to take a nap on the couch in front of the TV. He was snoring in seconds, and Dream wondered how he fell asleep so fast–they had all just woken up, after all.

“What the hell was that?” Hannah asked.

“What?”

“Sneeg has never been that serious about anything–”

Dream shook his head to cut her off, sparing a warning glance to the cameras placed all around the room. “I think Sneeg just needs his morning nap. He’ll be back to normal once he’s gotten his beauty rest.”

Hannah looked unconvinced, but glanced at the camera behind him on the ceiling. “Later,” she said.

“Later,” he agreed.

***

Training, as it turned out, was just another excuse to show the tributes off to an audience. Overlooking the hall, there was an observation deck where sponsors in gaudy apparel could sit and watch them throw knives and spar and identify flora. Dream even thought he might’ve seen a few victors in the mix, but the angle wasn’t good and he had other things to do. Things that definitely involved training and not ogling George.

He spent the whole morning before lunch learning knife combat. Techno had told him to conceal his real skills, so he found a weapon that could be effectively wielded without showing his true strength. Plus, he thought that a knife would be easier to get ahold of in the arena, far more likely than say a sword or an ax. Did it have anything to do with the close combat dummies being directly across from where George was identifying plants on a large screen? No, not at all.

Hannah caught him just before lunch was called. “We should go to the pool when we get back.”

“Yeah, I figured we wouldn’t want to go to lunch dripping water everywhere,” Dream said, slashing the knife up and out toward the dummy and back down in an unfinished triangle.

Hannah looked mildly impressed. “You got the hang of that.”

Dream sighed and dropped the knife to his side. “This is the only thing I can do and it took me all morning. Might’ve been a waste of time.”

“It’s not a waste of time if it can save your life,” Hannah said. “I spent some time identifying plants with George.”

“He any good?”

Hannah smiled mischievously. “Ask him yourself.”

“District traitor,”

“Lovesick puppy,”

Dream scoffed and put the knife back on the table. “I take it back. I have no friends in this world.”

“I’m sure George would be your friend,” Hannah teased.

“George would probably be the first in line to stick a knife in my back, you mean.”

“Nah, that’s Sneeg.”

A voice over the intercom interrupted Hannah: “Attention, Tributes. It is now time for lunch. If you would please make your way to the cafeteria, we will have food for you shortly.”

“Sneeg’s antenna’s up,” Hannah added.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Dream replied.

They followed behind the other tributes to the cafeteria, which was just a big room with a few circular tables and a buffet in the corner. Small, uncomfortable-looking stools were attached to the table, and the difference compared to the comfortable dining in their suite, was stark. As they were the last to leave the training room, they were the last in line for food, and the seats had rapidly filled up. The capitol had only provided the minimum number of seats to fit 24 tributes, and the last two seats were separated.

Hannah and Dream shared a look. She shrugged at him and went to go sit in between the male tribute that had kept the frog hat and the male tribute from 8. Which left him to sit between George and the male tribute from 2, Corpse.

Conversation stopped when he set his plate of food down, and the whole table watched as he sat down on the little stool. Dream gave them a nervous smile and began to pull apart his cooked chicken.

George looked at his now greasy fingers with disgust. “They gave us utensils for a reason.”

“And I already have utensils,” Dream said, and wiggled his fingers at George.

“No utensils in the arena, George,” Alyssa said.

“I’m sure George could bat his eyelashes at the sponsors for a fork,” the other District 2 tribute, Emma, snickered, her voice lilting with an unfamiliar accent. Dream wondered if everyone from District 2 sounded like that, and then Corpse spoke:

“George could bat his eyelashes at anybody, and they’d give him everything but their underwear.”

The deep, rough timbre shocked him, and he eyed the two career tributes. Which one of them had the District 2 accent? And what the hell was the other accent? Tommy and Wilbur had both picked up one of the Capitol accents from Phil, while Techno sounded like most everyone else from District 12. When Phil adopted them, Techno was already speaking but for whatever reason Wilbur was mute. Eventually, when he started talking, he spoke like Phil. And then he never shut up. Did Emma or Corpse have a similar situation?

“You’re thinking too hard,” George said lowly.

“I’m thinking about accents,” Dream murmured back.

George laughed and popped a grape in his mouth. Alyssa gave the two of them an odd look.

“So, Dream, did you want to get in with the Careers? Is that why you sat here?” Emma asked.

Dream looked around at the other full tables, and then back at the other tribute. “I sat here because there wasn’t anywhere else to sit.”

“Damn.” Corpse laughed.

The rest of the table engaged in conversation, which left Dream to pick at the remaining chicken on his plate. He ate about half of the corn on the cob, and then stared at the small cup of green fruit he had picked up without thinking. It was sliced into triangles and had a bunch of tiny black seeds.

“It’s kiwi,” George said, nose wrinkled. Apparently, he had noticed his apprehension. “It’s tart and not to my taste, but you might like it.”

Dream bit into one of the small green triangles and found that George was right–it was tart, but also sweet, and the little seeds added a nice texture. It was very similar to a strawberry, which was something he’d also had for the first time recently.

“How do you not like these?” Dream asked, and ate a few more pieces.

George shrugged. “Too tart.”

“You’re too tart,” Dream said, and rolled his eyes.

The same voice came over the intercom: “Attention, Tributes. Lunch is now over. Please return to the training area. You may leave your plates and utensils on the tables”

Dream stacked his fruit cup on his plate with his utensils and the crumpled paper napkin he’d barely used. In contrast, the careers left a mess–though George had eyed Dream’s attempts to be considerate of the staff and imitated him. After Emma, Alyssa, and Corpse had long gone.

Hannah met up with them in the hallway. “The District 7 boy, Boomer, is cool. We should team with him.”

“What about the guy from 8?” Dream asked.

Hannah’s nose wrinkled. “No.”

“Fair enough.” Dream looked at George. “I’m still not sure about the District 1 guy.”

“Oh ha ha,” George said.

“Can you swim?” Hannah asked. “Our mentor said we need to learn how to swim.”

“Yeah,” George said.

“Can you teach us?”

“Yeah.”

Hannah looked at Dream and said, “That District 1 guy, George, is cool. We should team with him.”

They returned to the training area and went straight to the empty pool area. Bathing suits were left out in a locker room, and Dream and George changed and then hurriedly left to give Hannah some privacy. (Though, how private could it be when the whole place was wired up with cameras livestreaming their every breath?)

George stuck a toe in the water before jumping in fully. He submerged completely before coming back up for air, casually slicking his wet hair back. Dream could only stare dumbly from the side of the pool.

Dream felt pressure between his shoulder blades and then suddenly he was falling into the water. His body cut through the surface with a sharp slap and he thrashed with panic. When his head broke the surface, he gasped for breath, struggling to stay up.

“Put your feet on the ground, idiot,” George mocked, floating a few feet away from him.

To Dream’s credit, he did manage to orient himself quickly once he heard George’s voice. One foot met the cement, then the next, and he quickly realized that he couldn’t stand flat-footed while keeping his head above water, but if he stood on his toes it lapped at his chin.

“That was painful to watch,” Hannah said.

“You pushed me!”

“You should thank me, any longer and you would have started drooling over him.”

Dream reached out to her. “At least help me out,” Dream said.

Hannah grabbed his hand with a firm grip, and he yanked her headfirst into the pool. Just like Dream, she thrashed and panicked underwater. But he knew she couldn’t touch the bottom like he could, so he grabbed her arm and tugged her up. Her head broke the surface and she gasped for air, before reaching out toward the edge of the pool to hold herself up.

“Do you all seriously not swim in 12?”

“We’re too busy dying in the mines,” Dream replied. Hannah grimaced at him and then coughed.

“Okay,” George said and laughed. “Anyway, lift your feet up and try to float.”

“How do you even try to float?”

“You just do,” George said.

Dream huffed and lifted his legs up from the ground and immediately started tipping forward. He immediately put his feet back down.

“Put your hands on the edge of the pool and let your legs float up,” George said. Dream resented him for the way he easily floated on the surface. Dream used his toes to push off the ground toward the edge, where Hannah still gripped the concrete for dear life. She wasn’t letting her feet float up behind her like George said, though.

The concrete was rough beneath his fingers, but he held on and allowed his feet and then his torso to float up behind him. The less he thought about it, the easier it was. “Look!”

“Great,” George said drily, “now let go.”

And Dream did. And magically, he stayed afloat.

***

By the end of their swimming lessons with George, Dream had a pretty decent forward stroke and Hannah no longer sank like a rock. It was a cold walk back to the suite, and Hannah’s ponytail dripped the whole way back. George had taken the elevator only up to his floor, so the two of them stood in cold silence as they waited for the door to open up on their floor. Dream wondered if Sneeg and Techno would be waiting for them, and he hoped that dinner was still an option. Swimming had left him ravenous.

Hannah yawned when the elevator opened up to their floor. “I don’t know if I want to eat and then sleep, or to just go straight to bed.”

“I want food,” Dream said. “Desperately.” His stomach growled on cue, as if to emphasize his point.

The suite was dark and empty when they walked through the door, but some neatly packed plastic containers full of food had been left out for them. Dream immediately went to the table and popped open the lids, but Hannah looked conflicted.

“You should eat,” Dream said, shoveling noodles into his mouth.

Hannah shrugged and picked up her own container.

Chapter Text

On the second day of training, Dream noticed a climbing course that lined the walls of the Training Center. The course almost reached the metal support beams that crisscrossed the high ceiling. It consisted of various platforms and ledges and ropes, and about halfway up there was a safety net that hung over the edges of the room.

And since Dream was alone for the day–Hannah was off sparring with Boomer and George was learning to wield a bow with a speed that frankly frightened Dream–he decided to try his hand at it to fill his time. After all, he had climbed trees back home for fun and the climbing course seemed like child’s play by comparison. And as he climbed, he could scope out what the other tributes were up to.

Hannah and Boomer were still at the hand-to-hand combat station, and George was rapidly firing at moving targets in the archery range. Corpse and Emma were learning knot-tying and snares, and Alyssa had sat down to join them at the station. A few tributes had taken a page out of Dream and Hannah's book and were learning to swim in the walled-off swimming pool. The District 11 duo were learning about shelter making, and the two from District 3 were trying their hand at slingshots. The rest of the tributes were taking turns in the melee combat training areas just as they had the day prior. They were quick to dismiss survival skills, even though any worthy mentor would have told them not to.

As he climbed further up the course he noticed that he got a pretty good view of the luxurious observation deck where the sponsors were meant to be watching the tributes. And as Dream looked them over, he realized that these were the people who really decided who won the Games. They would throw money at a few tributes in the arena, those tributes would usually then make it to the final five, and the sponsors would do it all over again the next year. They paid a lot of money to be the ones sitting on the plush couches drinking bubbly, watching a bunch of kids learn strategies to kill each other not-so-far below them.

With sick fascination, Dream noted a couple on a couch who sat almost on top of each other—a muscular, tall blonde woman and a slight man with a goatee and a beanie. They both sipped from tall glasses, so wrapped up in each other that Dream wondered why they even bothered to come and watch the tributes at all.

Next to them, a woman with purple hair sat sipping on a glass of champagne. She had heavy make-up and two pointed cat ears poking out from her styled hair. Accessory or cosmetic surgery, Dream couldn’t tell. A waiter with a tray came and placed a tin and a spoon on the coffee table in front of her before disappearing into an unmarked door. She greedily picked up the tin and spooned out something that resembled the food they gave Patches back home. It looked like wet scraps of meat in some kind of thick liquid, and it made Dream’s stomach turn every time she took a bite.

Another couple stood at the railing, appearing to pay attention to the training going on below them, but they were actually deep in conversation. The man wore a turtleneck and had his hair elegantly coiffed back from his face. His partner, another blonde woman, said something that made him and the purple-haired sponsor laugh. Clearly, this was nothing more than a social event for the sponsors—they had probably already picked who they would be backing the minute the parade concluded–the rest was just a formality. Or perhaps they sadistically enjoyed the tribute's futile efforts to be prepared for the upcoming slaughter.

A few victors Dream recognized also mingled with the sponsors–the mentors took great interest in what their tributes were up to below, in contrast to the disinterested sponsors. George’s mentor sat with Bad Boy Halo, victor of the 49thGames, across from the seated couple on the couches. The District 3 mentor, Sam, stood at the opposite side of the railing and was closely watching the tributes down below. He saw Techno animatedly speaking to someone Dream didn’t recognize from behind.

Techno pointed to where Dream perched, smirking, and the person he was speaking to turned around to look dead on at Dream. He stared for a few moments, taking in the wrapped wrist and the faded white headband before he realized that he was looking at Sapnap. The victor smiled and waved at him, and Dream almost fell off the beam he balanced on. Sapnap waved at him! Sapnap recognized him! Techno said something else, and the other victor turned back around to resume the conversation.

“Hey, idiot!”

Moment lost, Dream looked down from his perch to see who had ruined it. George squinted back up at him from the floor. “What?” Dream asked.

“Get down here and race me back up,” the District 1 tribute demanded.

“And why would I do that?” Dream shifted to drape himself on a thicker beam that protruded from the wall, similarly to how he’d seen Patches lounge on a tree branch. “I’m comfortable.”

“We’re supposed to be training,” George said, “and you’re just… laying.”

“What?” Dream rolled his eyes. “Are you going to tell on me?”

George gave him a look that reminded him of Tommy just before he would run off and tattle on him and Wilbur for not playing nice. “Just come down and race me.” He was borderline petulant, it made Dream want to laugh.

“Fine.” The District 12 tribute hoisted himself down carefully and as slowly as possible to grate at the District 1 tribute. Even so, George watched him all the way down, and every time Dream caught the other tribute looking he’d raise an eyebrow at him before focusing back on his descent. Dream dropped down to the floor from the last platform right in front of George. “I’m here.”

George abruptly grinned at him and took off up the climbing course. “Go!”

“That’s not fair!” Dream yelled after him, hot on his heels.

They were neck in neck all the way up, but ultimately George’s head start ensured his win–and also the fact that he almost kicked Dream in the face twice on the way up by accident. Even still, George was a sore winner.

“I didn’t!”

“You did!” Dream insisted. “I would’ve had a massive black eye.”

“But you don’t! An almost black eye isn’t an excuse for losing, Dream.”

“It is when your entire life flashes before your eyes because some idiot from District 1 almost kicks you in the face with boots on!”

George laughed from his perch on the last climbing platform, and Dream jumped over to join him. He looked up toward the support beams that supported the ceiling appraisingly. “Have you ever tried to get up there?” he asked.

“Nope. But I bet I could climb the safety net that runs that wall and then jump up into the rafters.”

“You could jump that?” George asked, disbelieving. He eyed the gap from the safety net to the support beams that ran across the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Dream said, more confident than he felt. “Watch.”

He took the best running jump he could off the platform he shared with George. It was decently wide, but he would have benefitted from the extra foot or two. For a second, he thought he might miss the safety net on the wall and end up on the floor, but his hands made contact with the strong netting and he grabbed on for dear life. He hoped that to George he looked less like a clingy squirrel scrambling up a tree and more like a strong bobcat or something. He climbed the remaining net and used it to swing up onto one of the metal ceiling support beams. From there, he turned around to look at George, who was gaping at him.

“See?” he asked.

He watched the other tribute swallow. “I think I’ll stay down here, actually.”

“Oh come on, you’re the one that suggested it!” Dream rolled his eyes. “I’ll catch you?”

George looked from the platform he stood on, to the net, to where Dream sat casually in the ceiling.

“Sure,” George scoffed and took a running leap at the net. Shoulders hunched, he clung for dear life before he finally felt secure enough to climb up toward Dream. When George reached the top, Dream anchored himself by his ankle and laid across the support beam to hold out a hand to George. The other tribute looked at his proffered hand doubtfully before launching his body off the net and up toward Dream.

With one hand gripping the beam and the other hand gripping Dream’s own, George hauled himself up onto the beam laughing hysterically. “You know, I think if we wanted to kill ourselves by jumping from up here, we could,” George said and scooted away from the edge of the large beam to collapse onto his back. “From up here, we could get to the gap in the net.”

“Knowing the Capitol, they’d patch up our corpses and throw them out into the arena anyway,” Dream said. There was a reason their windows didn’t open and the glass was military-grade.

“Good luck with that one, Mr. President. Jay. Schlatt.” George saluted the ceiling.

Something about George’s casual tone bugged Dream. “Weren’t you just worried about falling and busting your head open?”

“Wouldn’t that be better than dying in the arena?”

Dream squinted at the other tribute. “If you’re trying to commit suicide before we can go into the arena then I’m not going to help you.”

“And why not?” George sat up fully with his shoulders squared.

“If there’s even a chance I can go home I’m going to take it,” Dream bit out, careful of his volume.

“Go home to what?” George demanded. “ Parents? Siblings?”

“I’m all my mom has left,” Dream said. “And I have a cat.”

“A cat,” George repeated, incredulous.

“And Techno, and his family.”

“You have something to live for.” George said it like he hadn’t realized this information about Dream. Maybe George had thought that Dream was like him and that’s why he’d attached himself somewhat to him. The thought sobered him.

“Surely you have something,” Dream tried.

George ticked off his fingers. “I’m a friendless orphan with no siblings or pets or benevolent adults to speak of. So no, I have nothing.”

“I’m sure Eret wants you to win,” Dream tried.

“Eret barely knows who I am. They’ve had countless tributes die under their guidance,” George huffed, “I’m just another number to her and to everyone else in the Capitol.”

Dream didn’t know what to say, and George was apparently tired of waiting for him to figure it out. He jumped off the beam they sat on to climb down the net and disappeared down below. Dream stared after him, stunned into silence.

The idea of someone from a district that was far better off than Dream’s, having a harder go at life than him was foreign. And yet, here George was. Dream supposed he was lucky to have had his mom and Drista–and Phil and Techno and Wilbur and Tommy, too. He couldn’t imagine growing up without them.

He had people to win for, but George could only win for himself. And clearly, that wasn’t enough for George.

It made Dream sad even though he knew George’s hopelessness would increase his own chance of winning.

“Attention Tributes, training is over for the day. You have fifteen minutes to return your equipment and exit the training room. Please return to your floors as quickly as possible and get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s scoring event. Thank you.” Dream had quickly become used to the cheery voice over the intercom–he’d wondered if it would be the same voice they’d hear in the arena.

Resigned, Dream hopped down onto the net and returned to the final climbing platform he had sat with George on earlier. Had they fought? Did that even qualify as a fight? Were they even close enough to fight? He hoped so. He liked George as much as he could like any of the other tributes that weren’t Hannah.

An irregularity in the wall caught his eye before he could climb down. Someone had carved initials into the wall below Dream’s eye level. He ducked to look at the rough carving, which read, Drista 12. The little face Drista had carved all over the shack was next to her name. Dream’s stomach jumped into his throat, and he fought the urge to scratch it out with his bare hands until his fingernails bled.

Dream’s survival hinged on the need to be fine. And he could do that.

Be fine.

He just needed off of the climbing equipment as soon as possible.

He made it down in what was probably record time even though his hands were shaking and his knees felt weak. The two District 2 tributes might’ve asked him if he was okay, but he couldn’t really hear them through the blood rushing in his ears. Distantly he supposed that they might dislike him now for snubbing them like that, but he was hardly in a position to care.

The elevators were full of tributes, so Dream waited with clenched fists for a free one to take him up to his room. Where he could properly refocus on what was important so that he could continue to be fine.

The elevator doors blurred, and he could see Drista’s scrawl even when he closed his eyes. She probably never thought he would see it. His throat was in knots and his fingernails were painfully digging into his palms, reopening old scars where he had done the same thing time and time again over the last year.

“You’re practically foaming at the mouth, Dream. What’s wrong?” Someone–Hannah–asked. She sounded like she was right in his ear and a million miles away at the same time.

“He’s shaking,” someone else said.

Dream vaguely registered someone prying open one of his fists and shoving their own soft hand in to keep him from clenching it again. Another hand–a different hand, he wasn’t sure–did the same to his other fist. He was guided to the empty elevator, and its beep bounced around in his skull long after the doors closed. The only thing he was really aware of was the feeling of two different hands in his own as they were all transported up to his District’s floor.

On his floor, he was led off the elevator and to a couch–the strangers’ hands still death gripped in his own. He collapsed more than sat down, taking whoever it was with him. Distantly, he registered speaking around him, but he only recognized Hannah’s voice.

Hannah, his friend, would probably be dead soon. His friend would die so that he or someone else could live. Just like his sister, who died so Tommy could live.

Bile rose in his throat but went no further. He couldn’t be sick on Capitol property. He couldn’t show more weakness. He couldn’t–

“Dream.” A voice–Techno’s voice–cut through the sickness. “Take a breath.”

A breath? Had he been breathing? He fought for a breath of air.

And then another.

And then another.

“Now I’m going to need you to let go of George and Hannah. I think they’re losing circulation,” Techno said.

Dream released the tension in his hands, and the fingers that were gripping his own vanished from his grasp. His friend’s fingers, he realized.

“Okay, Dream. I’m going to need a sign of life,” his mentor–his friend–requested.

Dream’s eyelids fluttered in response. He knew Techno wanted him to say something but he couldn’t really talk yet. Not with the vise grip around his throat and her handwriting burned into his brain. The same handwriting all over the walls back home that he’d tried and failed to not look at for a whole year because every time it would send him spiraling.

“We’ll put some dinner in the fridge for you, and you can sleep out here on the couch okay? I’ll be here,” Techno said.

Dream blinked twice in response. Someone–probably Hannah–put a throw blanket around him without him noticing. He clutched the furred fabric around his shoulders and lay down on the couch wordlessly. The voices continued talking around him, but he covered his ears with the blanket.

He was weak and they knew and they were talking about him. Everyone else would find out soon enough at the evaluations tomorrow, and he’d be killed before he could even set foot in the arena. His body would be sent home to his mother, just like Drista’s, and he’d be buried with his sister and their father and that would be the end of him.

***

They all watched as Dream lay down on the couch and clenched his eyes shut. His jaw was tense, and his hands pressed the soft blanket into his ears. Hannah and George both were taken aback by the state of their friend, who always seemed so easy-going in their presence. What had happened in between George leaving him on the course and Dream’s arrival at the elevators.

“What happened?” Techno demanded. He was pacing in front of the couch where Dream lay, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Hannah and George both knew that the mentor was a close friend of Dream’s, but the man seemed more like his older brother in this state.

“I was with Boomer,” Hannah said from behind the couch and gave Dream yet another concerned look. She hadn’t seen anything from the sparring ring and had stumbled upon Dream at the elevators after she and Boomer had gotten cups of water at the refreshments table.

Techno raised an eyebrow at George, who was guiltily avoiding eye contact from one of the armchairs. He had moved away from Dream the minute he released his hand. Techno suspected Dream’s upset might have something to do with him.

“George?”

“We fought,” George said, “but he was fine when I left him.”

“You fought?” Techno pressed. Disappointed, but not surprised.

“He was all optimistic and it was pissing me off,” George said, quickly. He rubbed at his face, clearly frustrated with himself.

“George,” Hannah said, disappointed.

“Just go back to your level.” Techno fixed his gaze on Dream. “He’ll be fine tomorrow.”

George sat forward in his chair. “I can stay up with him–”

“I think you’ve done enough,” Hannah said.

Techno cast her a surprised glance, and George looked as though he’d been struck. He hadn’t thought anything he said would’ve upset Dream. The other tribute knew that George had no interest in making it past the first arena when they’d met, and George knew that Dream wanted to win. As far as the other tribute was concerned, George was an obstacle in his path to becoming a Victor.

George looked between them before making his exit–he wasn’t supposed to be on their floor anyway, and undoubtedly Eret was already worried about where he was. Eret also knew about George’s nonexistent desire to live through the Games, and with little to no explanation from Alyssa about his whereabouts (he honestly wasn’t even sure if she knew where he went), George knew his mentor would worry.

When George was gone, and the beep of the elevator a distant memory, Techno turned to Hannah. “Go to bed,” he said.

“What?”

“Go to bed,” Techno repeated. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“What about Dream?”

“I’ll watch him,” Techno said and sat in the armchair across from where Dream was laid out, cocooned in the throw blanket. “Get some sleep.”

Hannah could really do nothing but comply, although she did retrieve another blanket for her mentor. He accepted it with a weary smile but sat it on the coffee table instead of using it. It didn't matter–she’d just wait a few hours until he was asleep and come back to cover him, even though she was tired after a long day of training. Seeing Dream in such a state freaked her out, but above all, she was concerned for her friend. But if Techno told her to go to bed, she guessed she had no other choice.

“Goodnight,” she said, defeated. With a squeeze of Dream’s shoulder, and then Techno’s, she retired to her room for the evening.

“Goodnight,” Techno responded after he heard the click of her door.

Chapter Text

Dream woke up on the couch. He didn’t really remember how he had gotten there, or why he hadn’t just gone the remaining few feet to his room. He was also particularly troubled to see Techno passed out in one of the chairs across from him.

The mentor’s neck was at an odd angle, and Dream knew he’d be in a foul mood all day because of the neck cramp he most likely would wake up to.

Dream got up and padded to the kitchen as quietly as he could so as to not wake the other man. He had no idea what time it was, but he didn’t want to wake up his mentor before Techno was well and ready to wake up himself. Dream had long since learned that Phil and Tommy were the only people he wouldn’t murder for that transgression.

Dream opened the massive refrigerator to look for something to eat–he guessed that in addition to falling asleep on the couch that he’d also missed dinner. His stomach felt like it was eating itself. There was a bowl of sliced fruit in the fridge and he grabbed it in favor of trying to prepare something for himself. He sat on a stool at the kitchen island and placed the bowl down on the counter in front of him and began to eat.

He was in the middle of devouring a sliced kiwi when Techno woke up.

“Dream?”

“Morning, princess,” Dream swiveled on the stool to look at Techno.

He was surprised by what he saw.

Techno looked… haggard. In a way that he hadn’t when he was asleep. His eyes looked bloodshot and rimmed in shadow, and the set of his jaw was strained. His eyebrows were pinched in an expression Dream couldn’t pinpoint.

“Techno?”

His friend stood. “I need you to be alright, today. I know you’re not if last night is any indication, but today you need–” A deep breath. “–you have to be okay. Okay?”

Dream recognized the expression then. It was the same expression he wore when Drista and Tommy and even Techno went into the arena: Fear.

“What happened last night?” Dream asked. It was true that he couldn’t remember much after he and George climbed the–

Oh.

“I know you love your sister. I know you miss your sister. But that was a year ago.” Techno gave Dream a hard look. “If you want to live? If you want to survive? Forget about it long enough to get through it all, and then remember again when you’re safe at home and free to mourn if that is what you choose.”

“I’ve been trying to forget, Techno,” Dream said. “But when I see proof in front of me that she was here it just…”

“Brings it all back,” Techno finished. The mentor rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t tell you this, but there are etchings on the wall in my room. From Drista, but also from Tommy. I know he lived, but my brother was here too. Put through the same stuff as Drista, and it hurts me to know the survivor’s guilt he lives through–and I know because it’s the same guilt we all have, as victors. It’s the same guilt you’ll have, too.”

Dream huffed. “The chances of me winning are–”

“Higher than you think,” Techno said simply. “If you can just get your shit together long enough to get into the arena.”

“I’m glad that Tommy won.” Dream said. Techno looked at him in shock. “I know you probably feel guilty that he came home and my sister didn’t–and I have to admit, it crossed my mind–but Tommy’s like a little brother to me too. I would have been just as devastated if he hadn’t come back.”

Techno looked away and swallowed. Dream never really felt the urge to hug Techno, but he found that in this moment he wanted to. And his friend looked like he might’ve needed it, too. But Dream stayed on his stool, and Techno stayed in front of the chair he had slept in.

The chair he had slept in to make sure Dream didn’t wake up alone after his meltdown.

“Can you be okay today? For the rankings and the interviews?”

“I can be okay today. And tomorrow. And however long I’ll be in the arena,” Dream promised.

Techno exhaled.

“But I can’t promise that I’ll win.”

***

TRIBUTE RANKING FOR THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES

District 1

George: 9

Alyssa: 7

District 2

Corpse: 9

Emma: 11

District 3

Vikkstar: 8

Pokimane: 6

District 4

William: 8

Evelyn: 8

District 5

Oden: 3

Molly: 6

District 6

Lake: 2

Scar: 4

District 7

Boomer: 8

Lily: 6

District 8

Cole: 3

Sam: 7

District 9

Lucky: 7

Kass: 5

District 10

Tyler: 2

Jennifer: 5

District 11

Sykkuno: 4

Rae: 5

District 12

Dream: 10

Hannah: 8

***

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEWS AIRED THE NIGHT PRECEDING THE NIGHT BEFORE THE START OF THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES]

NIVISON: Good evening citizens of Esempii! It’s me, your host, Ted Nivison, woefully alone this evening!

[CROWD WHINES]

NIVISON: I know, I know. But soon I’ll have some tributes to interview and you’ll hardly notice Charlie’s gone.

[CROWD CHEERS]

NIVISON: And here she comes, our first tribute this evening, Alyssa from District 1!

[APPLAUSE AS ALYSSA CROSSES FROM STAGE LEFT TO SHAKE HANDS WITH TED CENTER STAGE. ALYSSA IS WEARING A DRESS MADE OF JEWELS MUCH LIKE HER OUTFIT FROM THE PARADE. THEY SIT AS THE APPLAUSE DIES.]

NIVISON: Alyssa, you’re the first interview of the night–how are you feeling?

ALYSSA, DISTRICT 1: I’m feeling great, Ted. Glad to finally meet you after years of just watching you on TV.

NIVISON: So, Alyssa–

ALYSSA: Oh, straight to business, okay.

[NIVISON LAUGHS]

NIVISON: On Reaping Day, several of your sisters visited you–as well as your parents. Do you miss them?

ALYSSA: Oh, definitely. I mean, I really think there’s this idea that since a lot of us tributes are on the older end of the spectrum this year that you know, we’re more grown or independent or whatever than the usual bunch. But really, we’re kids too, you know?

TED: Hmmm, well, you scored a seven today, does that seem fair to you?

ALYSSA: Well, yeah. Do I look qualified to judge the survival and combat abilities of a bunch of kids? I’m sure it’s fair.

[ALYSSA SHRUGS]

TED: That makes two of us.

***

[THE MALE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 1 IS SEATED WITH THE INTERVIEWER NOW. HE IS WEARING A WHITE SUIT WITH A IRIDESCENT SHEEN. THE GOGGLES FROM THE PARADE ARE BACK AND PERCHED ON HIS HEAD.]

NIVISON: George, you made a 9 today. If you don’t mind me asking–how?

GEORGE, DISTRICT 1: By not wasting my time, Ted.

[TED LAUGHS, BUT STOPS WHEN HE REALIZES THAT GEORGE ISN’T LAUGHING AS WELL. THE INTERVIEWER CLEARS HIS THROAT.]

NIVISON: You’ve garnered a reputation as the “pretty boy.” What do you think of that?

GEORGE: It’s great for branding.

[TED CLEARS HIS THROAT AGAIN.]

NIVISON: Is there anyone back home that you want to win the Games for?

GEORGE: Nope.

[AWKWARD SILENCE]

GEORGE: I don’t really want to win the Games at all.

***

[THE OTHER TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 2 IS SEATED ACROSS FROM TED NOW. THEY ARE WEARING A JUMPSUIT MADE FROM THE SAME PURPLE-BLACK MATERIAL AS THE PARADE WITH HEAVY EYELINER. THE TRIBUTE AND TED ARE DEEP IN CONVERSATION.]

NIVISON: Emma, you made number one on the scoreboard tonight at a whopping 11. Congratulations! How do you feel about that?

EMMA, DISTRICT 2: Honestly, Ted, I feel like it puts a massive target on my back–and Corpse’s too.

NIVISON: So you two are planning to team?

EMMA: Yeah we think so, we were friends before all this and we will be until the end.

NIVISON: Oh that’s so sad. Isn’t that sad?

[ GENERAL SOUNDS OF SAD AGREEMENT FROM THE AUDIENCE]

NIVISON: And if it came down to you or Corpse…what would you do?

EMMA: I don’t know. We’d just have to see.

***

[CUT TO COMMERCIAL: JAMBO JAM]

[ President Jay Schlatt’s cat, Jambo, hops up onto a marble counter at a bar and begins to eat paté out of a diamond-encrusted cat dish. Games sponsor and commercial actress, Minx, sits at a stool next to the cat.]

MINX: Bad day too, huh?

JAMBO: Meow.

MINX: I’ll have what he’s having.

[ Another diamond encrusted bowl of the same cat food slides down the bar and Minx begins to shovel handfuls into her mouth with her hands. The shot fades and “ JAMBO JAM: FOOD FOR CATS AND PEOPLE” appears in big text. Immediately following, small scrolling text reads: Ingredients include: Corn gluten meal, brewer’s rice, wheat flour, egg product, beef tallow, phosphoric acid, natural flavors, mixed-tocopherols, sodium caseinate, potassium chloride, vitamins and minerals, <1% arsenic for flavor, and >1% tribute meat. The text scrolls off-screen and a disclaimer is displayed: NO CATS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS COMMERCIAL.]

***

[THE MALE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 2 NOW SITS ACROSS FROM TED. HE IS WEARING A SUIT THAT MATCHES THE MATERIAL OF EMMA’S JUMPSUIT.]

NIVISON: Corpse, you and Emma both have… unusual voices.

[CORPSE LAUGHS]

CORPSE, DISTRICT 2: Is that a question, Ted?

NIVISON: Well, no. But somebody had to say something.

CORPSE: That’s fair, that’s fair.

***

[THE MALE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 7 SITS ACROSS FROM TED IN HIS GREEN FROG HAT AND A WHITE SUIT.]

NIVISON: Why’d you try to keep the frog hat?

BOOMER, DISTRICT 7: Oh, I love frogs.

NIVISON: But you’re forestry –

BOOMER: There are so many different types of frogs in District 7–it’s a shame more people don’t know that about my district.

NIVISON: Is there a frog that’s your favorite?

BOOMER: My favorite is definitely the Northern Pacific Tree Frog–it’s the one that looks like my hat–but they can be any combination of green, gray, and brown, but they also have this cool black stripe that runs from their snout to their shoulder and white bellies! But I also love the Spring Peeper because at the start of spring they let out what’s called a “peep” call and the forests are filled with the sound. They’re kind of an orange color but they’re very difficult to find.

NIVISON: I’m sorry I asked.

***

[THE FEMALE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 12 IS SEATED ACROSS FROM TED. SHE IS WEARING A ROSE PINK DRESS WITH A SKIRT MADE OF LAYERED CHIFFON AND A BODICE MADE TO LOOK LIKE FLOWERS. ATOP HER HEAD SITS A CROWN OF ROSES.]

NIVISON: Hannah, you scored an 8–that’s nothing to scoff at. I’m told your family runs an apothecary back home. So did you do something with plants to earn that score?

HANNAH, DISTRICT 12: Among other things.

NIVISON: That’s kind of scary how you do that?

HANNAH: How I do what?

NIVISON: The pretty smile with the threatening words. You kind of are like a rose, huh?

HANNAH: Techno taught me well.

NIVISON: That’s right! Your mentor is Technoblade, winner of the 69th Games. What would you say was the most valuable piece of advice he’s given you?

[HANNAH LAUGHS]

NIVISON: What?

HANNAH: Don’t drown.

[NIVISON DOES A BIT OF A DOUBLE-TAKE AND HANNAH LAUGHS MORE]

NIVISON: Well, that’s excellent advice in my opinion. Do you have any advice for me?

HANNAH: The white suit works for you, even if it’s some kind of weird uniform. But the hat? You look like the guys that drive us tributes around. Ditch it.

[NIVISON SHRUGS AND THROWS THE WHITE HAT INTO THE AUDIENCE, WHERE SEVERAL CAPITOL CITIZENS ATTEMPT TO KILL EACH OTHER FOR IT.]

***

[FINALLY, THE LAST TRIBUTE, DREAM FROM DISTRICT 12, IS SEATED ACROSS FROM TED. HE IS WEARING A COAL-BLACK SUIT WITH A WHITE SHIRT. A ROSETTE IS PINNED TO HIS LAPEL. HIS MASK SITS TO THE SIDE OF HIS HEAD, PREVENTING THE AUDIENCE FROM A FULL VIEW OF HIS FACE WHILE PROVIDING THE INTERVIEWER WITH A CLEAR VIEW.]

NIVISON: Dream, you scored the second-highest in the Evaluations–second only to Emma at a solid 10! That’s three points higher than your sister scored just last year.

[DREAM STARES AT TED BLANKLY.]

NIVISON: Do you think she’d be proud?

[DREAM CONTINUES TO STARE BLANKLY AT TED.]

NIVISON: Dream?

DREAM, DISTRICT 12: Did you see that the pretty District 1 boy made a 9? That was impressive.

[TED BLINKS AT DREAM.]

DREAM: Ted?

NIVISON: You think he’s pretty?

DREAM: Doesn’t everyone?

NIVISON: This is the first time another tribute has mentioned it.

DREAM: We’ve hung out, you know?

NIVISON: Really?

DREAM: Yeah, we like talking to each other.

[SUSPENSEFUL PAUSE]

NIVISON: Would you say that you have a crush on him, Dream?

[DREAM THINKS FOR A SECOND.]

[CUT TO COMMERCIAL: LAS NEVADAS CASINO]

[ Footage of the inside of the LAS NEVADAS CASINO. People are hitting the jackpot right and left. People sit around craps and blackjack tables and play poker. The camera focuses on a poker player who has their head down, but his signature beanie rests atop his head. The player lifts their head, revealing the Victor of the 70th Annual Hunger Games, Quackity. He pushes all of his chips toward the pot and smiles confidently at the camera.]

QUACKITY: I’m all in.

[The players, done with their bets, begin to reveal their hands. Finally, Quackity lays his hand down on the table, revealing a full house. The shot blurs, and LAS NEVADAS CASINO followed by their tagline: RAISE THE STAKES, BUILD YOUR LEGACY.]

[CUT BACK TO A CLOSE-UP SHOT OF THE DISTRICT 12 TRIBUTE.]

DREAM: Yes.

[THE CROWD GOES WILD. TED ATTEMPTS TO REEL THEM BACK IN, BUT IT TAKES A FEW MINUTES.]

NIVISON: I guess the follow-up question we’re all thinking is–does he have a crush on you?

DREAM: Well, I don’t know.

NIVISON: Has he given any indication…?

DREAM: You know how he is. I really have no idea.

NIVISON: Well, the best of luck to you… with all that.

DREAM: Thank you, Ted. Maybe I’ll figure it out before we both die horribly. Which is a shame, because I catch myself thinking about the future we could have together… if things were different.

NIVISON: How’s that?

DREAM: Well, I have a cat back home–

[AWWS AND COOING FROM THE AUDIENCE]

DREAM: –her name is Patches, by the way, my sister found her–and I wonder what she’d think of him and what he would think of her, and what my mom would think of him. And Tommy and Wilbur–I already know what Techno thinks. We could all hang out again like old times, like before…

[DREAM BLINKS AND TED IS HANGING ONTO HIS EVERY WORD.]

DREAM: There’s this place I’d like to take him to that’s where we all used to hang out, it’s a dump but it’s ours, you know? I think he’d like the mountains. I’d like to see the mountains again. And my cat. And my mom.

NIVISON: I’m sure you would. May the odds be ever in your favor, Dream.

DREAM: Thank you, Ted. Same to you.

[NIVISON THINKS FOR A SECOND.]

NIVISON: You know, the boy that killed your sister was from District 1 as well.

DREAM: I don’t think we should hold grudges against our fellow tributes or districts. It’s not our fault we’re in the arena.

NIVISON: Oh, um, thank you for speaking with me so honestly tonight, Dream. A lot of your fellow tributes have provided additional insight into what it’s like being a tribute, and I speak for all of us here and at home when I say that your perspective really brings it all together.

[THEY SHAKE HANDS. DREAM LEAVES.]

NIVISON: Well, folks. There you have it. Twenty-four tributes going into the arena tomorrow with only one coming out sometime soon. I feel like I know each of them, but we’re about to see a side to them never seen before. Tune in tomorrow at 8 AM Capitol time for the beginning of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!

***

[THE FOLLOWING AUDIO AND VIDEO ARE FROM A CAMERA IN THE PRESIDENT’S MANSION PLACED BY Q.11 UNDER ORDERS BY ERROR. RECORDING TAKES PLACE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE TRIBUTE INTERVIEWS FOR THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES. FORMER VICTOR QUACKITY AND COMMENTATOR CHARLIE SLIMESICLE ARE ALONE IN A ROOM TOGETHER WATCHING RERUNS OF THE BROADCAST.]

Slimesicle sits cross-legged in a plush armchair in front of the TV while Quackity paces behind the couch. They are quietly discussing which way the sponsors might lean when it comes time to start sending money into the arena, while Tubbo rests sprawled across the couch cushions, presumably asleep. Every time their voices increase even slightly, Quackity looks to make sure they haven’t disturbed Tubbo–even though his hearing loss seems to be getting worse these days.

“Either way the District 1 boy is fucked,” Quackity says.

“Dream might’ve saved him with that ‘love confession,’ though,” Slime says.

“That’s true. But that can only do so much when he basically said he wouldn’t even try to win.”

“The Capitol loves a love story,”

“Do you think they might actually…?”

“Be in love? Maybe,” Slime says. “12’s mentor is smart though, he might’ve concocted that plan himself and had Eret go along with it since their tribute has no sense of self-preservation.”

“It would make sense to have all of them make nice so that they can spend the first couple of days in the arena as a team.” Quackity pauses a moment to think. “The two from 12, the guy from 1–and maybe the girl? She seems to lean toward the duo from two, though.”

“I know that the sponsors will definitely like the ‘Two duo.’ They both have strong scores, and their personalities are good. And they’ve expressed that they stand together until the last. Definitely a good play.”

Quackity sighs. “I hate that we’re even having this conversation. Makes me feel like I’m actually from the Capitol.”

“At least you don’t have to go out there and talk about these kids like they’re cattle in front of people who only see them as vessels of entertainment. And I have to pretend to be one of them!”

“I was one of them, Charlie. I know.”

“A couple of years of doing this and that Dream kid managed to express his feelings subtly in a way I’ve never been able to!”

“I know.” Quackity glances at Tubbo to make sure that his eyes are still closed and his chest is still falling evenly. He’s still deep asleep. “I think Cita and MD are going to sponsor him. He’s got some kind of revolutionary streak and he’s from an outer district. They’ll like that.”

“And Minx always throws money at girls from 4 ever since the 68th.”

“Exactly. Lud and QT like Careers, so they’ll probably back the tributes from 2 since they’re the strongest pair.”

“Is Jerma still on his underdog kick?”

“I think so?”

“So he’ll back 6.”

“He’ll back 6.”

“Is my favorite Victor committing Sponsor Fraud?”

[PRESIDENT JAY SCHLATT COMES INTO VIEW AND THROWS AN ARM AROUND QUACKITY.]

“Of course!” Quackity says, a pained smile across his face. “Want to join?”

“You know Victors can’t bet in the pool, but if you want I could pull some strings and get someone to bet for you,” the President says.

“Is that how you bet every year?” Charlie says in the ditzy tone he reserves for TV and Capitol conversations.

“I run my bets through Ludwig. He’s not officially a sponsor since he does all of his business through QT. He bets for her too.” Schlatt pokes at Quackity’s cheek. “And he could bet for you too if you wanted. I might have to up his cut though.”

“Sounds complicated,” Slime says. “What happens if you all get caught?”

“Nothing! I’m the goddamned President!” Schlatt exclaims.

Tubbo stirs and Quackity glances at the boy nervously.

“Oh, is T-Dubbs still awake? Why haven’t you put him to bed yet?”

Quackity side-eyes Slime. “We were watching the reruns and he wanted to join us. But he fell asleep and I figured I could just take him to bed when Charlie left.”

“You know he needs to be in bed by 9:30, and you know how he gets when you wake him up.”

“It’s the same way you get when someone wakes you up,” Quackity replies under his breath.

President Schlatt’s nostrils flare, but he looks over to Charlie in the armchair. His grip around Quackity’s shoulder tightens almost painfully. “Why don’t you tuck Tubbo in and I’ll show Charlie out? And then we can rendezvous in the upstairs hallway next to that painting you hate.”

Slime eyes Schlatt’s grip on Quackity and looks to his friend for guidance. Quackity nods imperceptibly for him to go. Slime hopes he won’t be too banged up tomorrow and feels guilty for even coming over in the first place.

“Goodnight, Quackity. I’ll see you later.”

[PRESIDENT JAY SCHLATT LEADS COMMENTATOR SLIMESICLE OFF-CAMERA, AND A DOOR SLAMS TO INDICATE THEIR EXIT FROM THE ROOM. QUACKITY QUIETLY ROUSES TUBBO FROM THE COUCH.]

“Is everything okay?”

It isn’t. Not for Quackity.

“Yeah, Tubbo,” Quackity says. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah?”

“Okay.”

[QUACKITY AND A SLEEPY TUBBO EXIT THE ROOM.]

Chapter Text

The minute Dream entered the Tribute Center lobby, George ran at him in a flurry of iridescent white with Techno hot on his heels. Luckily, Dream got him by the wrists before the fuming tribute could get any punches in. He looked to be a few seconds from foaming at the mouth.

“Why did you do that?” George was yelling, and other tributes and mentors were starting to stare.

“I was saving your ass!” Dream had prepared what he would say to George after the interview, but nothing could have prepared him for the other tribute’s actual reaction.

“I didn’t ask you to,” George replied. He was struggling against Dream’s hold, and once Dream ensured that George wouldn’t try to attack him again, he let him go. George yanked his arms back, and then smoothed out his jacket with trembling hands, as if the motion was actually some kind of ritual to calm himself rather than to fix his appearance.

Dream pulled at the knot in his tie. “I did it because I wanted to,” he said. Anything to keep from having to think about–

“I don’t think you know what you did,” Techno interrupted his thoughts. Dream had also anticipated his mentor’s reaction, although he expected more rancor than resignation from the other man.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to keep the act up now,” Techno said. “You’ll lose the sponsors’ favor the minute you drop him in the arena.”

“Who said it was an act?” Dream said. And, as if he had a death wish, he winked at George.

“I’m not helping,” George said and crossed his arms. “Dream said he had a stupid little crush on me, but I didn’t say anything about him. I don’t have to do anything.”

Someone Dream hadn’t met before but he recognized as George’s mentor approached. “Oh yes you do!” Eret practically sang. “By the way, thank you, Dream.”

 “I’m not playing along with this!” George said, harshly. 

Eret’s face soured,“George, if you bite the helping hand Dream has so kindly offered you, then I guarantee you won’t make it out of the arena alive.” The tone of their voice sent shivers up Dream’s spine. 

“That’s the whole point, Eret!” George spit. “I don’t want to make it out of the arena alive. I’m sick of living in a world that constantly cuts me down by my knees!” He was shaking, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate gesture that could have been anger or despair–Dream couldn’t tell. “If I somehow make it out alive, , it’ll be a little bit better when I get back home. But I’d still be alone! And that wouldn’t even be the end of it either!” He covered his face with his hands. “I’d have to come back after it all. All the victor’s events, even becoming a mentor– The very thought makes me ill,” George whispered. As the other tribute spoke, every word hit Dream like a train, and he found himself struck speechless by the sheer display of George’s hopelessness.

“Would you agree to it,” Techno spoke up, “if it meant helping Dream get back home to his family?”

George looked up, locking eyes with Dream. “No,” he said, and took off toward the elevators.

“I’ll talk to him,” Eret said and then shrugged. “If all else fails you can pull the unrequited love card and get even more sympathy.”

“Thanks,” Techno said, because that’s all he could say.

Eret quickly headed after George, who had vanished into the elevators, while Hannah and Sneeg peeled away from the wall they had flattened themselves against during George’s tirade. 

“I know so much about romance,” Sneeg said quite rigidly. “So much that I can say, Dream, you just fumbled the bag.”

“What does that even mean?” Dream asked with a frown.

“Love confessions shouldn’t be aired on live television,” Sneeg replied.

“It wasn’t a–” Dream glared at the doubtful faces of all three members of his group“–it wasn’t a love confession!” 

“We all need to sleep,” Techno said, ignoring him. “That includes you, Sneeg.” Techno didn’t give Dream any room to protest as he rounded them up and shoved them towards the elevators. Hannah slung an arm around Dream’s shoulders.

“Not all of us can be gods of romance like Sneeg,” Hannah said. “I think you did as well as you could considering everything”

“If you weren’t here I would’ve strangled someone by now,” Dream said as they entered the elevator. “You’re literally a life saver.”

“Save the strangling for the arena,” Techno said, and hit the button for their floor.

The elevator dinged, and when the doors closed Dream realized that this was the last time he’d be taking them up.

***

The night before the Games started, Dream and Hannah both discovered that their suite had a balcony. Techno had told them to sleep, and, in their defense, they both tried. Dream spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, and instead decided to get a glass of water to then stare out a window into the lights of the Capitol.

When he stepped into the lounge, he noticed Hannah on the other side of the windows. One of the glass panes was propped open, or, he supposed, the door was. She sat in a chair with a glass of water, just as he planned to do.

So he grabbed a glass of water and went out there to join her.

“I didn’t know we had a balcony,” Dream said.

“Me either,” Hannah replied. “Watch this, though.” She took some kind of stretchy band from around her wrist and slingshotted it with her fingers over the balcony rail. When it looked as though it would sail over the rail and down into the city below, it bounced back toward them. A grid made of light pulsed into existence, before vanishing again before their very eyes. “There’s some kind of barrier.”

“To keep us from jumping,” Dream said, thinking of George.

Hannah tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The hems of her sleep pants rode up well above her ankles. As if Hannah could read his mind she said, “Do you really like him?”

“I want him to find a reason to live,” Dream said. “And I don’t want him to die before he can.”

“I’m sure you don’t want me to die either.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, there must be more to it than that. Unless you have a crush on me too?”

“Fuck no,” Dream said and laughed. He was relieved when Hannah laughed with him. “George is… he’s pretty. And he gets on my nerves–but in a fun way. And he’s smart. Smart enough to know the fastest way to end up with no sponsors.”

“Leave it to you to have a crush on the one tribute who doesn’t intend to make it out of the arena alive,” Hannah said. “Wait, scratch that, leave it to you to have a crush on another tribute in the middle of the Hunger Games, period.”

“Cheers,” Dream said, and held out his drink for a toast. Hannah clinked her glass to his, and they both took a deep drink of their waters.

“I wish this was whiskey or something,” Hannah said, swirling what was left of her water around the glass.

“Techno’s brother used to make hooch and store it in the floorboards of this shed we used to hang out in,” Dream said. “Techno would never drink it, but Wilbur gave me some once. Tastes awful.”

“The younger one?” Hannah asked, aghast.

“No, that’s Tommy. Wilbur’s Techno’s twin.”

“I can’t imagine Techno having a twin.”

“To be fair, Techno’s adjusted his appearance to fit the whole ‘Blood God’ thing. Wilbur looks more like a human being than Techno. Brown hair, brown eyes. Looks just like everybody else in 12. Techno sticks out like a sore thumb now”

“Oh, see I was imagining a twin with pink hair.” Hannah thought for a minute. “Are you talking about that really tall guy that hangs out with you sometimes?”

“Yeah. Sometimes he’s got a guitar,” Dream said.

“Oh, he’s cute. He’s kind of got that tortured artist look going on,” she said. “I can’t believe that Techno used to look like that.”

Dream looked at her incredulously. “Never speak to me again. Seriously.”

“Oh come on. The thought never crossed your mind?”

“No! They’re like my brothers! That’s disgusting,” Dream said. “I can’t wait to tell Techno you think Wilbur’s cute. He’s going to have a stroke.”

Hannah went quiet and shrunk in her seat. “Do we get to talk to him tomorrow? Before…”

Oh. The thought that they might not get to talk to Techno–or even Sneeg–before entering the arena hadn’t crossed his mind. His whole body suddenly felt heavy.

“I don’t know,” Dream admits. “I hope so.”

Hannah broke eye contact to look back out at the lights of the city. She looked much older than she had a week ago. “I’m scared.”

Dream was too, but he doubted it would be comforting for her to hear that. 

He reached for her free hand to catch her attention. When she looked him in the eye again, he spoke.  “We stick together for as long as we can. What comes after is a later problem.”

She swallowed and then nodded at him. “We stick together.”

***

As it turned out, Dream didn’t get to speak to Techno the next morning. He wasn’t sure if Hannah did. Both District 12 tributes were ushered in their pajamas out of their suites, down into the lobby, and then into cars by armed guards. The vehicles took them to the edge of the Capitol, where they were strapped into a cargo bay on an aircraft. In all of the confusion, Dream still somehow spotted George in the crowd, but the other tribute refused to look at him.

And so, Dream and Hannah sat strapped into seats across from each other on an aircraft carrier before the sun fully breached the horizon. They watched as an attendant went from tribute to tribute, shooting something through a massive needle into each tribute’s arm.

Dream’s situation almost didn’t feel real.

The massive needle in his arm did, though. His jaw clenched at the small invasion, and frowned at the itching feeling under his skin that the tracker left. The insertion point didn’t bleed, but the skin was slightly raised over the device. He could see a green light blink twice through the more delicate skin of his forearm before it went dark–undetected under the smooth, sunkissed skin. He assumed that meant it was working.

“That sucked ,” Hannah yelled over the loud whirring of the engine.

“I’m not sure I want to know how they’re removed,” Dream yelled back.

“Only one of us’ll find out!” Boomer shouted over to them.

Dream didn’t like the possibility that, even if he did win the Games, the chip might never be removed. He’d never thought to ask Techno or Tommy about their experience with the Gamemakers’ trackers.

The plane landed, and all of the tributes were ushered into another building with a lot of downward staircases, and then into separate rooms. Dream saw clothes on a metal table and was instantly reminded of the room from the night of the parade. He wished he was back there.

The transport tube that would deposit him into the arena stood across from the room’s door. Looking at it made him want to throw up.

He quickly shed his sleepwear, and then changed into the clothes provided. They were shockingly similar to his parade outfit–black cargo pants, dark gray t-shirt, forest-green hooded jacket. He noticed that someone had grabbed his training boots from his room and delivered them here. How thoughtful. 

With one last glance at his appearance in the mirror, he realized that he was missing Tommy’s bandana. He had forgotten to grab it when he was herded out of his room that morning, as well as his boots–but someone grabbed those and brought them to him. He doubted anyone would grab his ratty red bandana.

“Dream? Are you dressed?” Someone called through the door.

“Yes.”

Aimsey entered the room, followed by Ranboo. Dream did not fail to notice the armed guard stationed outside of his door as the two stylists entered.

“This is eerily similar to my parade outfit,” Dream said, gesturing to his clothes.

“I think the Gamemakers’ designers ripped off our design,” Aimsey said. 

“Ours was better,” Ranboo interjected.

“I don’t know,” Dream replied, “these pants cover an awful lot more than y’all’s.”

Aimsey laughed. “You do seem more comfortable.”

“I even have my boots.” Dream did a little two-step, as if to show them off.

“I grabbed them for you,” Ranboo said. “I can’t believe you walked all the way here barefoot.”

“The guards wouldn’t give me a second to get my shoes on!” 

“He also got your bandana,” Aimsey said.

“Oh.” Dream blinked. “Thank you.”

“How do you want to wear it?”

Dream thought for a second. “Around my neck,” he said, finally.

Aimsey retrieved a stool to stand on so they could tie the bandana around his neck. They tied it so that it was loose enough for Dream to pull it up to cover his nose and mouth if he wanted to. “I double-knotted it,” Aimsey said. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” Dream said as they climbed down from the stool. “For everything.”

Aimsey’s eyes went glassy, but they quickly blinked and looked past him at the tube. “I think it’s almost time,” they said.

“Is Techno coming?” Dream asked.

“He was going to, but he had an urgent call after he spoke with Hannah.” Aimsey looked at him sympathetically. “I don’t think it’ll be over in time for him to come see you.”

“I bet Sneeg would come if you asked,” Ranboo chimed in.

“God, he’s the last person I’d want to see right now,” Dream said.

They all shared a grim smile. A device in Aimsey’s pocket went off. “It’s time.”

Ranboo opened the door to the transport tube for Dream, and Aimsey held out a hand to steady him as he stepped up onto the platform. When he was safely in, Aimsey let go of his hand, and Ranboo shut the door. 

“See you soon!” Aimsey said through the tempered glass.

“I hope so,” he replied.

***

Techno was angry. Angry that the Games were starting. Angry that he got to see Hannah off but not Dream. Angry that someone decided to call him twenty minutes before the Games started. 

He yanked the phone off the wall receiver. “What?”

“Techno?” It was Phil. Why would Phil…?

“Are Tommy and Wilbur okay?”

“Yeah, mate. They’re fine” Though his father still sounded grave. “That’s not why I’m calling.” 

“Then why are you calling? I have to talk to Dream before he goes into the arena–”

“His mom died,” Phil said.

That wasn’t anywhere close to what he was expecting Phil to say, nor was it how he had planned on this Games going. Dream was going to train. Dream was going to win. Dream was going to go home to his mother, who would be happy and grateful to have her son home despite losing her daughter a year ago. Dream wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

Techno wasn’t going to lose Dream.

“How?”

“What?”

“How did she die?” Techno asked.

“Techno…”

“Did she kill herself?”

Silence.

“You know I can’t tell him now .”

“He would want to know,” Phil said.

“I know, but he’s probably already in the lift. I couldn’t tell him now even if i wanted to,” Techno said. “Not to mention that, if I did tell him now, I’d be murdering him myself.”

“Techno–”

“Goodbye, Phil,” he said, and hung up the phone. He had five minutes until Dream was lifted up into the arena, and about ten until he needed to sit down and start getting Dream sponsors. 

Which left him just under ten minutes to mourn the closest thing he ever had to a mother and to figure out how he was going to tell Dream when he got back.

***

Dream felt the platform lurch upward, and he stumbled as he was lifted up, up, up. He brought the bandana up to cover mouth and nose, as he wanted to maintain the faceless identity he’d had since he entered the Capitol. The tunnel cover opened, and the sunlight hurt his eyes. As his head breached the opening, he saw grass for the first time in days and fought the urge to reach out and touch it. He wasn’t sure if that would trigger the explosives under him or not.

The next thing he saw was the collection of chests that made up Spawn–the area where most of the dumb tributes would probably flock to immediately and die in the fray. The tributes were arranged on the pressure plates in a circle around it, and he saw Hannah to his left. He then looked beyond her for George, who was to her left. Boomer was across the way.

The final thing he noticed was the fact that the trees that surrounded Spawn had thin white trunks, and a lot of them weren’t very tall. In other words, bad for climbing and bad for cover.

Dream fought the urge to panic.

Numbers appeared in the sky overhead, and a cheerful voice began counting down from sixty.

Dream took the time to form a plan. He had to meet up with Hannah and Boomer, but he wasn’t sure if they would run for the sparse cover of the trees or the chests in the middle. He could always meet up with them later, assuming the two of them found each other. He wasn’t sure what George was going to do, but they could always play that by ear. If George was going to team with them, then Dream would do his best to get the other tribute a bow.

“45… 44… 43… 42… 41…”

Dream took notice of the two tributes from District 2 sizing up the chests. He wondered if they would be distracted enough by gathering supplies that he could slip by undetected and get some supplies for himself. Doubtful.

One of them would probably be on guard while the other one gathered supplies. And that was most likely what the rest of the teams would do.

But maybe gathering supplies alone would give him an advantage.

“25… 24… 23… 22… 21…”

He shouldn’t. He should just run for the cover of the woods and try to find Hannah and Boomer and maybe George. If George was even willing to speak to him after the stunt he pulled at the interviews. 

If George even made it past the first five minutes.

If any of them made it that long.

He saw the curve of a bow peeking out at him from the other side of a chest. He knew it would be useless to him. An axe lay on a chest further in. That would have made more sense for him to grab. That should have been his priority.

But he kept glancing at that bow.

“15…14…13…12…11…”

He could practically hear Techno telling him not to go to Spawn.

“10… 9… 8… 7… 6…”

Every year that he had watched the Games with Techno and Wilbur before Techno had been reaped, they had made fun of the tributes that stayed at Spawn. Except for Tubbo–it had worked for him.

“5…

4… 

3…

2… 

1…”

All of the tributes moved in a blur. Some toward Spawn and some away and into the trees. Hands found weapons and blood spilled into the grass. Dream didn’t see any of it, really.

Spawn was for the dumb tributes, and he’d stay away if he knew what was best for him.

But Dream never had been very smart.

Chapter Text

Dream ran for the bow. He’d get the weapon for George, the ax for himself, and then follow after Hannah and Boomer. A glance behind told him that Hannah was going southwest into the trees, and he assumed that Boomer was running across the Spawn to rendezvous with her. Dream would try to grab enough stuff for all of them, then.

He reached the chest that the bow was resting beside, and threw it open to grab the contents. It was the quiver of arrows that went with the bow, which he threw over his shoulder followed by the bow. He didn’t bother to close the chest, just ran for the ax he had seen further in in hopes that no one else was thinking the same thing.

Booming sounds that Dream recognized as the death cannons were going off too quickly to count. It had only been a few seconds, and tributes were already dropping like flies. He could only hope to run fast enough to make it in and out of Spawn alive.

Boomer ran by him–he could only tell it was Boomer because of the hat–with a female tribute in pursuit. She had stopped in her tracks and aimed a spear at Boomer’s back. Dream ran at her and tackled her on instinct, wrestling the spear out of her hands as she kicked and clawed at him. Her fingernails pierced the skin under his left eye, and he struggled to turn the spear around so that he could use the sharp end against its owner. They were screaming at each other as they struggled. Finally, he grabbed the pole with both hands and held it to her throat, crushing her windpipe. Her eyes bulged, and even as she gasped for air, she clawed with both hands at his face, his hair, his arms. He pressed down harder, and finally her limbs stilled.

Cannon.

He scrambled to his feet, dropped the spear, and resumed his bid for the ax. When he finally reached it, he slid the handle through one of his belt loops on his pants, and raided the chest it was in. He grabbed a large backpack out of it and slung it over the bow and quiver on his back. He turned to run back toward the direction of his teammates, and was shocked to see George in a fight with another male tribute. George made quick work of the other, sinking his already bloody knife deep into the tribute’s neck.

Cannon.

George noticed Dream’s stillness and began to yell at him. Everyone else seemed too busy to notice them, and Dream took a few seconds in the eye of the hurricane to figure out whether or not George was going to come with them. 

“Are you coming?” Dream yelled back, disregarding entirely whatever it was George was trying to tell him.

George didn’t move, and people were starting to notice them standing there. And so Dream ran away from George, because George was no longer on his team–the District 1 tribute had probably taken up with the Careers. He ran until his lungs were burning and his legs ached. Hopefully his teammates would wait for him. Hopefully he still had a few people on his side.

He weaved through the trees as best he could. They were skinny little things, but they were planted in a way that provided some kind of dense cover but they were also very annoying to navigate through. Eventually the treeline broke, and Dream found his path south cut off by a skinny river. It didn’t look too deep, so Dream shrugged off his backpack and the quiver of arrows and held them over his head as he forded the water. The water came up to his waist and, in contrast to the pleasantly warm weather, it was cold. Dream fought the urge to yelp as the liquid seeped into his boots and soaked his socks. He probably should have taken those off to cross, but they could probably dry overnight.

He made it across, and then readjusted the quiver on his shoulder. The handle of the ax had gotten wet in the crossing, but the water probably wouldn’t hurt it. He was dripping wet from the waist down, however, and the water couldn’t be good for the leather boots. 

Cannon .

Dream looked up toward the sound, but they wouldn’t display the dead tributes until that night. He hoped George was okay. He assumed Hannah and Boomer were.

He opened the big backpack he’d grabbed to see if maybe there was a flask inside. There was a bundle that resembled a blanket or a towel or maybe some kind of jacket made of metal, what looked to be some food rations that would last him a few days if he didn’t share, a flip-top lighter, and a large plastic flask. The flask was, in his opinion, the most useful item other than the ax. He removed the flask and set the backpack back on the ground.

Dream squatted by the riverbank to fill his flask with water before he moved on to find his teammates. The tribute twisted the lid off, filled the container about halfway with water, and then gulped all of it down under the bandana. The cool water soothed his burning lungs somewhat, and he took the moment to sit down and rest before he refilled the flask and tucked it back into his bag. 

The trees were beginning to get taller and thicker the further away from Spawn he got, but still not thick enough to climb. The white trees were useless, and he longed for the thicker oaks that were back home. He didn’t know what they were going to do about shelter.

A rustling from the treeline behind Dream startled him, and he stood from where he was resting on the riverbank and slowly drew the ax from his belt loop. He still wasn’t exactly sure what defensive stance he should take with an ax, so he held it up like he was going to chop down a tree. That would definitely kill somebody, even if it wasn’t technically correct for combat. He took a deep breath, and watched the foliage sharply for any stray tributes.

Instead, he saw a black cloven hoof step out into the clearing, followed by the fluffiest body of an animal he’d ever seen. It bleated at him, and Dream wanted so badly to pet it. He’d read about these animals before, he thought, but he’d never seen one. He believed it was a sheep. District 10 raised them for their wool, and the wool was sent off to District 8 to make into clothing. Their meat was considered a delicacy, but it was called something else—lamb? He wondered what the difference was.

A few more sheep came out of the trees, and Dream realized that tributes were meant to kill the grazing animals if they wanted to eat. The Gamemakers had given the select few that raided Spawn and survived rations, but after the tributes ran out, they had to kill to survive. And not just other tributes. Dream approached the original sheep, and it didn’t run from him. He placed his hand on its fuzzy head, and it nuzzled him. The easily-won trust in its eyes disconcerted him, and he took his hand away. He needed to go back to the riverbank and gather his things, anyway. 

Dream’s boots squelched the whole way back, and the flock of sheep followed along curiously. When he reached the riverbank, he shouldered his backpack and headed south, further into the trees. All of the sheep stayed behind at the river, aside from that one that initially approached him. He wondered if it smelled the rations in his backpack, as it would occasionally nose at the outside pockets. It would have been amusing, in any other circumstance.

Finally, he came to a rocky incline that seemed to lead up to a cliff face. The rocky precipice loomed over a lake that the river Dream crossed over earlier probably deposited into. He walked north along the cliff face and found a decently well-camouflaged rock cave behind some trees and foliage. 

The sunlight caught on something metallic just beyond the entrance of the cave, and Dream dug the lighter out of his backpack to get a better look. While he was distracted, someone approached him from behind and settled an ax head at the side of his throat. Dream stopped looking for his lighter.

The sheep that had been following him bleated anxiously and ran away. Great. His whole body tensed and he twisted to look at his attacker.

“Oh, it’s you,” Boomer said, and dropped the ax. Dream took a deep breath and let all of the tension out of his shoulders. “We were wondering when you’d show up.”

Boomer looked just as he had when they entered the arena, except, like Dream, he was wet from the waist down. He also had an ax made of stone, while Dream’s was made out of dark metal. The other tribute wore a backpack as well, and Dream was glad they had two now instead of just one.

“Where’s Hannah?” he asked, looking around. She had to be around somewhere, assuming they found each other. The tribute in question came out of the cave holding a silver knife–that was probably what had caught the light. She looked unharmed, and Dream was relieved.

“You look like shit,” she said. “Where’s George?”

 “He’s a Career now.” Dream shrugged. “I must’ve pissed him off.”

“Who did that?” Boomer pointed at the scratches under his eye.

“Girl from 8, I think,” Dream said. He lifted a hand up to touch the dried blood. “She was coming after you, so I…” Dream’s brow furrowed. “She’s dead.”

“That’s at least one out, then,” Hannah said, and he was relieved by her complete lack of judgment.  “Anyone else?”

“I watched George kill somebody. Not sure who though.” 

“We lost track of the cannons,” Boomer replied. “It was kind of hard to count while we were running.”

Hannah came up to Dream and punched his arm. “That’s for going to Spawn, dumbass. Techno’s rolling over in his cushy mentor bed as we speak.” Then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. And damn if it didn’t feel nice to be hugged for the first time in a while.

They were alive. For now.

“Hey I got some good stuff from the middle,” Dream said. “A bow and arrows, rations, a lighter. Some kind of… blanket?”

Hannah pulled back. “Rations?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know about you but I’m starving,” Dream said.

“I can’t believe they didn’t feed us,” Boomer said. “You’d think they’d give us a last meal or whatever.”

“They’ve been giving us last meals all week,” Hannah said.

Dream dug the rations out of his backpack, which were in 8 individual packets. He handed one each to Hannah and Boomer and kept one for himself. He left the rest in the backpack, and made a mental note to save two for George if he ever changed his mind and decided to join them. 

“And what a last meal it’ll be,” Boomer said, staring at the contents of the ration–several little plastic pouches that hopefully contained something edible. There was one big one, which was most likely the “entrée”, and two smaller, similar ones, a plastic spoon, and a few little packets of seasoning. Boomer opened the big packet and looked inside. “This is literally just chunks of white meat.”

“Beats tesserae.” Dream shrugged, and dumped out his own ration. He ripped open the packet of chicken and grabbed the spoon. Evidently, there were utensils in the arena. “Eat up.”

One of the medium-sized packs was filled with the hardest, stalest crackers Dream had ever consumed, and the other was filled with some kind of spread Boomer referred to as “peanut butter.” He saved a few of his crackers for later. Boomer also had a flask, but he hadn’t thought to fill it when he was at the river, so Dream passed around his own larger flask so they could wash down the taste of the old crackers. 

After they were done eating, they risked a trip to the water’s edge so that Dream could wash his face and so they could refill the flasks. He made sure to keep his head down when his bandanna wasn’t covering his nose and mouth, but he was pretty certain that the Capitol enjoyed his facelessness and would ensure he remained that way. As Dream washed up, Boomer went a little further downriver to fill his flask, after Dream told him it probably wasn’t safe to drink the lake water. 

They returned back to the cave by sunset, and sweeped the inside for other tributes or creatures that might have found the cave in their absence. There were no intruders inside of the cave when they returned, but Dream’s sheep waited for him at the cave’s mouth. He guessed it hadn’t actually run too far when Boomer snuck up on him. He sat down in the grass just outside of the cave, and pulled the crackers out of his pocket. When he offered one to the sheep, it immediately approached and started munching on it–just barely avoiding his fingers with its blunt teeth. Eventually, it settled in behind him, and he rested into its soft body. 

“I vote we call it ‘Breakfast’,” Hannah said. As she came to sit beside him, she took care to not disturb the sheep, who was very quickly dozing off. “Because we’re going to run out of rations very quickly, and who knows how long we’ll be in here.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Dream said and patted the sheep on the head. “We’ll do what we have to when we need to.”

“Right.” 

Boomer exited the cave and sat down beside Hannah. “Do you think they’ll make the announcements soon?”

“The Fallen?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah, that.”

“Probably around midnight,” Dream said. “I’ll take the first watch and wake you guys up when it starts.”

“The loud ass music will probably wake us up before you do.” Boomer yawned. “I wish they didn’t kidnap us at the crack of dawn. I’m so tired and the sun is just now setting.”

“I’ll take the second watch,” Hannah said and stood up. “Where’s that blanket?”

“In my bag.” Dream was still on edge from Spawn. He wasn’t sure if he could sleep, despite also not having slept much the night before.

Hannah dug the bizarre metallic blanket out of Dream’s bag and disappeared into the cave. Boomer stayed back with Dream. 

“Thanks for saving me earlier,” Boomer said after a little while. “I knew she was chasing me, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and try to kill her.”

“You should probably get some sleep.”

“Goodnight for now.”

Boomer got up and went into the cave after Hannah. Dream sat, leaned up against the sheep, and clutched his ax. He had a few hours before midnight rolled around. A few hours to think.

The Careers probably stayed at Spawn, if they got control of it. That included Corpse and Emma and Alyssa–and most likely George. The two District 4 tributes might be with them, but he didn’t think that the District 3’s were part of the Careers. The surviving middle District kids were probably in the wind, either allianced or out trying to make it on their own. And that left him and Boomer and Hannah. Hopefully they wouldn’t see anyone else for a while.

Dream briefly thought about the girl with the spear and his mind recoiled. That was something else for him to avoid dealing with until after the Games. Great.

He had a hard time imagining Techno–or even Tommy–in this situation. Kill or be killed. Fight or flight. The concept of killing had seemed foreign until he was forced to do it, and he wondered if Techno and Tommy felt the same way. They were technically murderers; and now, he was one too.

Well, he supposed the President was the murderer–they were just his killing tools.

Dream slowly blinked at the setting sun and realized he was more tired than he initially thought. He and Hannah had been up pretty late, and they were taken from their rooms pretty soon after he’d fallen asleep. His eyes felt heavy, and he fought to keep them open. The soft breathing of the sheep behind him didn’t help. 

His head turned to nuzzle into the soft wool of the sheep. He’d sleep for five minutes. That couldn’t hurt.

***

Boomer was right. The loud ass music would wake them up before Dream could. The first few notes of the Esempii National Anthem blared into Dream’s ears and scared the sleeping sheep under his head awake. The sheep hastily scrambled up and ran off into the woods, and left Dream’s head to bang roughly on the ground. He sat up, rubbing the back of his scalp, as Hannah–who was still wrapped in the emergency blanket–and Boomer blearily exited the cave to come sit with him to watch the Fallen. 

“Why does it have to be so loud?” Hannah grumbled. 

The Capitol wanted them to see what they’d done. It made for good television.

“It scared off Breakfast,” Dream said. 

“Who?” Boomer asked.

“The sheep.” Dream felt cold now, without the warm press of the sheep’s body against his back.

“Shhh,” Hannah said, and held up her hands like she was going to tally the dead.

They all looked up at where projected images of the dead tributes and their Districts began to appear in the cloudless sky. The first dead was the boy from 4. Not George. Dream breathed a sigh of relief. The boy and girl from 5 were both dead. The boy from 6. The girl from 7–Boomer’s partner.

“I didn’t really know her that well,” Boomer said. Hannah put a comforting hand on his back but didn’t say a word. Dream didn’t know what to say.

The girl that Dream had killed at Spawn appeared in the sky, and Dream looked away. She was from District 8. He didn’t expect to see the boy from 8 right after, which was who George had killed. He wondered if maybe George had inadvertently saved him when he killed the boy from 8, who had probably watched Dream kill his partner. George might have stopped him from killing Dream for killing his partner. Or maybe he was just looking into it too much. George wasn’t teamed with them anymore.

The girl from 9. Both tributes from 10. The boy from 11. 

The broadcast ended. Hannah was holding up 10 fingers, and she had gotten Boomer to hold up one more. Eleven dead. 

May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor appeared, and then the broadcast ended.

“There’s only thirteen of us left,” Dream said in disbelief. 

“And it’s only day one,” Hannah breathed.

Chapter Text

George was mad at Dream, and so he told Alyssa the night before the Games started–after Dream was an idiot on national television–that he would team with her and the Careers.

In the Map, he came to regret it.

The tribute watched as Dream took down the girl from District 8 after some struggle, and didn’t think twice about stepping in when he’d seen the boy from the same District start toward Dream. George lunged at the other tribute from behind, reached around, and blindly stabbed into his chest. He shook George off, but turned away from Dream to face George head-on as he bled profusely from his chest wound. The District 8 boy fumbled with a trident he clearly didn’t know how to use, and so George was easily able to dodge his clumsy attacks. 

George sunk his knife into the boy's neck with a simplicity that unsettled him.

He turned to look for Dream–to look and make sure he made it out of the center of Spawn safe–and found the other tribute staring at him. George could only hope it was without judgment, but he couldn’t tell because the other tribute had tied that red bandana from the parade to cover the lower half of his face. He wished he could know what the other tribute thought of George’s display, but how could Dream judge when he had just killed too?

When Dream waited around, George yelled at him.

“Run!” Even with George’s shouting, Dream continued to look at him expectantly. “What are you doing, Dream? Go!”

The tribute from 12 yelled something to George, but George was more focused on the people starting to notice them as they stupidly hung around the center of Spawn. Dream’s focus pulled to the bystanders as well, and with one last look at George, he vanished into the trees.

That last glance made George’s throat tight even though he couldn’t see anything more than the other tribute’s eyes.

Soon after, Spawn was controlled by the Careers as expected. Everyone else was either long gone or long dead. They watched as the cranes came to collect the bodies, and they began to round up scattered supplies and take inventory. George plopped the trident from the Eight boy in the middle of Spawn where Corpse, Emma, Alyssa, and two other tributes whose names he didn’t know were taking inventory and reallocating goods. George was handed a rucksack that he didn’t bother checking out, and he held onto his knife. He sat up against a chest and waited on them to finish.

Corpse and Emma held court in the center of Spawn. Both stood, leaned up against their large weapons–Corpse found a large sword, while Emma had a large hammer. Neither had bothered to clean the gore off their weapons from the first hour in the Map, and George wrinkled his nose in distaste. The two were clearly responsible for at least a couple of the deaths at Spawn. 

Not that he could judge anymore, either.

“So what’s the plan?” Alyssa asked. She was given another rucksack like George’s and a big machete that had yet to see any action. Alyssa must’ve hung back like George should have. Like they’d planned originally. He couldn’t tell if she was pissed at him for saving Dream–very much not part of the plan.

Corpse and Emma shared a look, and then the pair looked at George skeptically.

“Oh come on, he’s fine.” Alyssa rolled her eyes. “He would’ve run off with loverboy otherwise.”

They shared another look, but Emma relented, “We kill Dream.” The District 2 tribute side-eyed George for a reaction. “He’s the second highest-rated tribute. Once he’s dead, this whole thing should be child’s play.”

“Until we all have to fight each other,” George pointed out, ever-willing to bring the mood down. Alyssa gave him a hard look, and he shrugged at her. It was true.

“That should be easy for them,” the remaining tribute from District 4 (Evelyn, George thought her name was) said. He agreed, it’d be easy for the duo from District 2 to take them all out after they took Dream out as a group. It was too bad he didn’t care much about what happened to everyone else as long as the whole killing Dream thing didn’t happen.

The girl from 11 looked between the sole District 4 tribute and the duo from 2. George could tell that she was the type to be diplomatic, especially since she didn’t really belong in the pack of Careers as a tribute from an outside district. “How do we kill Dream?” she asked.

“We hunt him down,” Corpse responded and shrugged. “He went southwest.”

“But not today. Today we establish ourselves here at Spawn.” Emma looked around their claimed territory. “Tomorrow we split and go after him.”

“We split?” Alyssa protested.

“Corpse and I will go,” Emma said as if it was the noblest thing in the world. 

Corpse immediately disagreed. “We can’t leave them alone with all of our shit.” Clearly, Emma and Corpse hadn’t discussed the matter. “One of us goes and one of us stays.” Corpse pointed to Alyssa and George. “Same for them.” 

“I go then,” Emma said, “and Rae and George come with.”

“Why do I have to go?” George asked.

“Because you’re going to prove your allegiance to us.”

“Alyssa’s here! What more could you want?” George asked. 

“We want you to help us find and kill Dream,” Corpse answered. “And if you don’t then… well, we’re not responsible for what happens.”

George looked at the tribute from 2 blankly. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

Corpse chuckled, but made no further comments.

“Anyway–Corpse, Alyssa, Evelyn–you all will stay here and guard Spawn. I don’t think anyone will try anything tomorrow, so you’ll be fine.”

“We’re trying something tomorrow, so who’s to say someone else won’t?” Alyssa asked. George could tell she wasn’t happy with the idea of being left behind–and was probably even less so at the idea of separating. She wasn’t happy when George initially said he wanted to team with Dream–she thought that was a death sentence.

She probably wasn’t wrong, but they were all dead when their names were pulled anyway. One way or another.

“My team will go Southwest and see if there’s a trail. When we find Dream, we kill him and anyone with him, and then we head back to Spawn. From there, we’ll see who’s left and make the decisions from there.” Emma had clearly already decided.

“Enough of all that,” Evelyn said. “I’m hungry.”

Now on that they could all agree. They passed around some of the rations they’d found in chests, and then the rest of the Careers teased him about the lack of utensils. George could almost pretend that they weren’t in the Map for how similar it was to the cafeteria in the Capitol.

It was the little things–like the fact that the boy tribute from 8’s blood was still sprayed on his face, the gore that covered Emma and Corpse’s weapons, the shifty looks Evelyn and Rae shared when they thought the pairs weren’t looking, the fact that George had killed someone and remained unbothered–that reminded him of where he really was.

That first night, they sat around a fire that Rae started for them and watched the Fallen. George thought that Dream was probably somewhere south of them–like Corpse said–with Hannah and maybe Boomer doing the same. It brought him a little comfort, but not much. They knew what direction he went in, after all, and Dream had a one track mind. George would know.

In the sky, he saw the girl Dream killed, and then the boy he had killed to save Dream projected back at him. He was relieved that he didn’t see Boomer, Hannah, or Dream. He didn’t really care to recognize anyone else. He went to sleep wrapped in a thermal blanket under the stars, surrounded by not-quite-enemies but definitely-not-friends and dreamed of killing.

And George awoke the next morning with the sun. Alyssa roused him from his sleep and handed him more bland rations for breakfast, and Emma tossed him his bag as they were about to leave camp. Armed with only his knife, he disappeared into the forest with two people he considered little more than strangers in order to kill one of the few people he could call a friend.

Were they friends? Dream would probably say so.

George, Emma, and Rae trudged through the trees in a line–Emma took up the front, George the middle, and Rae behind. George didn’t like the idea of the District 11 tribute behind him, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He was confident that this was Emma’s way of ensuring that he didn’t run off. The District 2 tribute watched him like a hawk anytime he was in view, and he could only assume they’d enlisted Rae to do the same when their back was turned.

He watched the sway of Emma’s large hammer where it was strapped to their back as they walked and felt the itch of Rae’s watchful gaze on his backpack. It was clear none of them trusted each other, and it was exhausting.

He wished that he had gone with Dream.

***

Dream and Hannah sat around the fire they’d argued about and then started the night before. Every once and awhile one of them poked at it with a stick, but for the most part they let it die. It wasn’t cold enough at night to warrant it, though Boomer and Hannah both insisted that it could have been. Dream hated the idea, but he relented and let them light it because everyone saw what direction he’d run in anyway, and the tall trees would probably cover most of the smoke.

Half of the tributes had probably lit fires that first night anyway, and they were probably all too shaken up from all of the conflict at Spawn to start hunting each other yet.

“They’re here!” Boomer ran into their camp, pants unzipped and hands clutching his hat on his head. “They’re coming!”

Dream and Hannah both looked up. “Who?”

“Careers,” he said, out of breath. “The split-dyed one from 2, the girl from 11, and get this–George.”

Dream wasn’t as surprised by that as Boomer may have guessed. He expected that if George wasn’t on his team, then he’d stay with the pack of Careers. It only made sense. The District 1 tribute had a death wish, and the duo from District 2 would certainly grant his wish as soon as they killed Dream.. 

“We should get everything into the cave,” Hannah said. “They’ll run right past.”

“Or we could ambush them!” Boomer pointed out.

“I think we move,” Dream said. “We shouldn’t sit still and wait for them to find us.”

“They won’t find us.”

“I did!” Dream replied, a bit too sharply. They needed to operate as though everyone had the same capabilities as them. They couldn’t underestimate the other tributes by making baseless assumptions on whether or not they’d notice a snuffed out campfire or a shoe scuff in the dirt or a glimmer in a dark cave.“We leave the fire burning to lead them here and then we disappear up the cliff.”

“I’ve climbed trees ,” Boomer exclaimed. He wrung his hat and stared at the looming rock face. “Have you ever climbed rocks before?”

“Nope. But there’s always time to learn,” Dream said determinedly, grabbing up his stuff; Boomer and Hannah followed his lead, gathering their own things. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to grab. Hannah picked up the bow and arrows Dream retrieved from the middle–it was better than the one knife, even if she didn’t really know how to use it. That left Dream and Boomer with their respective axes–and, if they were really desperate, the spoons from their rations.

“Don’t forget the rest of the ration packs,” Dream said over his shoulder.

“Fuck, I left the spoons at the river,” Boomer said. 

Okay, maybe they didn’t have the spoons if it came down to it in a fight.

“I thought you were peeing?” Hannah asked.

“ And washing the spoons,” Boomer finished.

“We’ll live.” Dream rolled his eyes and threw his backpack over his shoulder. He waited on his companions to do the same. “Come on.”

The trio swiftly walked along the edge of the cliff until they could find good handholds to climb up. Dream doubted that there was some convenient incline they could just hike up, and to take the time to look for one would increase their chances of a run-in the Careers. Dream really didn’t want to find out whose favor the odds fell on that particular day, so they would have to climb. And when they got to an area where they would only have to climb about sixty to seventy feet to get up to the edge of the cliff, Boomer looked at him like he had gone insane.

“There’s no way,” he said.

Dream scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve climbed bigger trees.”

“Maybe so, but they’re a little bit different from rocks.”

“Same basic idea.” Dream rubbed his hands on his pants and spared a glance to Hannah, who looked nervously between him and the cliff. He clasped her shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging manner before he looked between the two of them. “Let’s go.”

Dream made it up relatively quickly due to his practice on the climbing course in the Training Center and from his experience climbing the trees at home. As he climbed, he guided Hannah and Boomer from his position high above as though they were all just training in the Capitol together and he was their instructor. Boomer had followed up after Dream, once he made it far enough up, and Hannah followed up after him. She was slower but climbing pretty well for someone who didn’t have as much experience. He told them to put their hands where he put his, and it worked out for his two companions. Anytime it looked like one of them might slip, he just calmly talked–well, calmly shouted– them through it and they kept going. 

Dream made it to the top first and scrambled up the edge to lay down for a second. The grass was soft and cool against his sweaty face and he took a second to breathe before he looked toward the treeline for their pursuers. He started to second guess that his companion had even seen the Careers when he had yet to see them on their tail, but he didn’t think Boomer was the type to lie.

A stinging in his hands when he tried to get up caught his attention, and he looked to assess the damage he didn’t consider. His hands were ruined–the top layer of skin in some areas was gone and there were all kinds of cuts and scrapes on his palms and fingers. That was just wonderful, but there wasn’t anything he could do at the moment about the state of his hands.

However, he could make sure his friends made it up the side of the cliff, so he poked his head back over the edge to help guide the few reaches Boomer would have to make and the rest of Hannah’s slow but deliberate climb. 

The injuries stung absently, but they all could figure something out for their hands later–maybe Hannah would know something. In the meantime, he could tune the pain out.

The district 12 tribute helped Boomer up over the edge a few minutes later, both of them hissed at the persistent stinging in their hands. Boomer then collapsed into the grass just as he had. Hannah was still only about halfway up–some of the reaches Dream and Boomer made were too far for her, and so there were a few times that she had to improvise. Dream still guided her the best he could from his vantage point, but it was getting hard for him to distinguish handholds.

He could tell that Hannah was getting frustrated with her own speed when he finally spotted Emma, George, and the tribute from 11 approaching them through the trees.

“Shit.” Dream lightly punched Boomer’s side to get his attention, and then he yelled down to his friend: “Hannah, I know you’re having trouble, but I need you to hurry!”

“What are you–?” Boomer saw half of the Career pack headed their way, and he watched as they began to run at the echo of Dream’s voice. “Oh shit, Hannah! Climb!”

He saw her neck turn to look–

“No, no–don’t look back!” Dream shouted.

But it was too late. The District 12 girl looked down at the three approaching tributes and panicked, and her already slow ascent slowed even further. Dream silently willed her forward.

“Oh, Dream!” Emma called from the base of the cliff. “You should jump down!”

He ignored them and focused on his lagging teammate. If it was possible, she had slowed down even more, and Dream worried that she might not make it. “Come on, Hannah! Just a few more feet!”

“You know if someone hadn’t taken the bow, George here would’ve shot you by now!” Emma yelled up at him again. Dream watched George’s mouth move, but he couldn’t hear him from where he was crouched all the way up on the ledge. From the way he crossed his arms, Dream guessed that George was about to argue up a storm. It was a wonder Emma brought him along in the first place. He was… difficult.

Dream was caught off guard when the third Career–who wasn’t a Career at all–took a running jump and began to scale the wall faster than even Dream had managed. She rapidly gained on Hannah, but the sudden pursuit at least quickened Hannah’s pace. 

But she still wouldn’t make it in time.

“I’m going back down,” Boomer said, and started to try and shuffle down.

Dream put a hand to his chest to stop him from climbing over the ledge. “Not with your hands messed up like that. We wait, and we trust Hannah.”

“I’m not going to stand here–”

“We. Wait.”

Boomer sat back on his heels and grumbled. “If we had the bow we could shoot the other tribute.” Hannah still had the bow slung over her shoulder, and the quiver still strapped to her back, but it was useless without her hands. Dream had the backpack with her knife. She was basically unarmed.

“Well, we don’t,” Dream said. Even if they did have the bow they’d be more likely to injure Hannah or themselves than do her any good. They had no choice but to wait. “So cut it out.”

He chewed on his lip and watched Hannah’s slow progress, while Boomer rocked back and forth on his feet next to him. He couldn’t tell Emma or George’s expression from his position on the ledge, but Dream recognized the tense set of George’s shoulders and the way his feet shuffled. He looked like he’d rather be back at Spawn than out there with Emma, but he couldn’t be sure.

The District 11 girl made a grab for one of Hannah’s feet and missed. Dream inhaled sharply. Hannah found purchase and pulled herself up to the next foot hold, but the other tribute followed just as quickly.

“Boomer throw the knife,” Dream said. “Wait until Hannah moves out of the way, though.”

The District 7 tribute rustled through the backpack where it hung on Dream’s back. The other tribute found the knife and looked back over the edge. Hannah yelped, and Dream watched as the girl from 11 grabbed onto her calf. Hannah struggled to free herself from the other tribute’s seemingly iron grip, but there didn’t seem to be much use.

“Hannah–move!” Boomer yelled down. Hannah looked up from the other tribute to see Boomer holding the knife. She looked exhausted, but she let go of the cliff with one hand to fall to the side. She’d given Boomer a clear shot at the other girl.  He threw the blade, and it buried itself into the girl from 11’s shoulder. She let go of Hannah’s leg and slipped from the rock she had previously clung onto with her other hand. And she landed on the ground. Hard.

Hannah didn’t look to see where her body landed, but she also wasn’t moving.

“Come on!” Dream gestured for her to keep climbing.

“I can’t,” she said. He was pretty sure she was crying–from fear or exhaustion or frustration, he didn’t know. 

“Yes you can! Just grab the rock you were holding and pull yourself up,” Dream said. He looked to where Emma and George were crouched over their dying teammate. “No one else is going to come after you right now.”

Hannah reached for the hand hold she’d let go of earlier, and grunted as she gripped onto it once more with her doubtlessly torn up hands. Her foot found purchase again. And she slowly started to pull herself back up. Dream sighed in relief. It wasn’t much longer before he and Boomer were pulling her up the edge of the cliff–all three complaining about the pain in their hands. 

Hannah wiped at the tears in her eyes with the backs of her hands and laughed semi-hysterically. “I really thought…”

“Not today,” Dream assured.

He retrieved the large flask from his backpack and they passed it around and took small sips of the water they had left. There was no water that they knew of at the top of the cliff, so they’d have to drink it sparingly in their time at the top of the cliff. 

No water and tattered hands.

He wondered what Techno would think.

***

The noise that Rae made when she hit the ground in front of George made him sick. There was a crunch and she wasn’t moving. Completely unresponsive, but there was no cannon to signify her death. She was still alive, and George had no idea what to do.

“Is there any other way up that cliff?” Emma was tapping their foot and looking at George sharply, as if they didn’t even notice their fallen teammate. 

“Uh.” George didn’t think so. Or if there was, it was so far out of their way that it was practically useless anyway. “I don’t think so?”

“What do you mean you don’t think so?” Emma approached him rapidly and shook him by the shoulders. “You either know or you don’t.”

“I don’t know!” George said. He didn’t know any more information than Emma. “Sorry!”

A groan from the ground separated them.

“Rae?” Emma asked. 

 “My arm hurts,” Rae said. Her voice sounded faint, but she was so out of breath that she also sounded like she had just run a marathon. The heaving breaths served a stark contrast to her weak voice. “And my chest.”

“Can you get up?” 

Rae lifted her torso about halfway, before roughly falling back down into the grass. “Give me a minute.”

George watched on silently. He didn’t know Rae very well, but she didn’t look good. And he didn’t like the way that Emma was looking at her. How long before Emma became fed up with the dead weight and just offed her themself? 

“Emma.” Rae suddenly sounded very alarmed, and her harried breathing picked up. “Look at my ankle.”

George and Emma both looked down to where Rae’s ankle bone was twisted at an unnatural angle. George’s stomach flipped, and he turned around and threw up. 

“I can’t feel it,” the remaining District 11 tribute said. Her voice rose in pitch as she realized her fate. “I can’t feel my legs. Oh my god, I can’t feel my legs.” She was crying. “Emma!”

“Okay,” Emma said, more to themself than to the other tribute. “Okay.”

George wiped the vomit from his mouth and sat back in the grass. He kept his back to the scene behind him. He heard Emma shuffling around, and more distressed cries from the other tribute.

He didn’t want to see.

“No, please! What are you doing?” 

George pulled at the hem of his shirt. He twisted it and balled it in his fists. He picked at a loose thread. Hearing it was bad enough.

“I’m going to make the pain go away,” Emma said.

“You’re going to kill me!” The girl was sobbing, and every breath still sounded strained. She might’ve punctured a lung in the fall, too. “I’ll get up, I promise! Just give me time! Maybe the sponsors will send me something! I’ll be fine!”

He heard Emma sigh. “I don’t think you’re going to be fine, Rae.”

“Please, don’t kill me,” she cried. “I’m not–I'm not ready.”

George’s chest was so tight, and he had a hard time swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat. Would Emma kill her now anyway? Would he blame her?

“Okay,” Emma said. “Tell me when you are.”

That night, they camped out next to Rae to keep watch, though they were very exposed at the base of the cliff. Dream and his group probably weren’t going anywhere, Emma reasoned. Couldn’t go anywhere without jumping straight off of the cliff. So they would wait them out–and wait Rae out.

Emma had asked George to feed the injured tribute a ration before they disappeared into the treeline. They’d covered her with a shock blanket so that they didn’t have to see the severely twisted ankle, or the knife that still protruded from her arm. George grabbed a ration from their supplies, and he began to unpack the meal. Her eyes cracked open at the sounds of the crinkled plastic, and George felt guilty waking her up.

“I have some peanut butter crackers for you,” George said softly. “Do you think you can eat?”

“I’ll try,” Rae replied. Her breathing became almost frantic over the last few hours–like she couldn’t get enough oxygen no matter how many breaths she took. It beat the deep, labored breathing from when she first fell, but it still unnerved George. “Can you feed them to me?”

“Sure,” George said, and began to spread the peanut butter on one of the circular wafers.

Rae watched him out of the corner of her eye. “You know, I think my partner got the better end of the deal, here”

“I think mine did, too.” George held the completed cracker up to her mouth and she bit half off and began to chew. He didn’t bother to dust off the crumbs from around her mouth. “I’m sorry you fell.”

“But you’re not sorry your friend got away,” Rae said.

George was very glad Hannah got away, actually, but he wouldn’t tell Rae that. It didn’t feel right to celebrate his small victory in the face of someone else’s suffering. So he sat silently and held out the half-eaten cracker.

When George didn’t reply, the District 11 tribute continued on, “It’s okay–nothing’s easy here.” She took another bite. He was grateful she understood.

George spread more peanut butter onto another cracker. 

He wanted to change the subject. 

“What’s home like for you?”

“Farms,” Rae said. “So many farms.”

“I can’t imagine,” George responded. The struggle to figure out how to explain his home was as prevalent as ever. For a District that produced luxury items, it was actually rather plain. “1 is very…there’s a lot of–it’s kind of barren.”

“Because of all the strip-mining?” Rae asked.

George nodded, grateful that he wouldn’t have to explain. “One time, though, I went out past the boundaries with some other kids and we saw so much grass. And there were blue mountains off in the distance. And there was this thing–I think it was a moose?–it was massive! Like a big horse with giant antlers just standing in the middle of a lake.” George took a breath. It was all too easy for him to talk about what it was like outside of his District. Maybe he would’ve been different, if his home hadn’t been so bleak. “It was all out there, where we weren’t allowed to go.”

“I’ve never seen a moose,” Rae said. She blinked thoughtfully, and George could almost pretend that she was just taking a rest under that blanket. “We have these rat looking things that curl up into a ball when they feel threatened. The skin on their backs is rock hard armor, so it’s like a weird defense mechanism. They’re called armadillos.”

George’s nose curled as he repeated the word. “Weird.”

“I think I’ve had enough,” she said, when George tried to feed her another cracker.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Rae said. “But could you keep sitting with me?”

“Of course,” George replied. “Do you mind if I eat the rest of these crackers?”

“Go ahead,” Rae replied. “We don’t want to waste more of them.”

About an hour later, Emma returned with a few dead rabbits. George knew they’d set up traps on their way, but he was still surprised at their success. Emma baited them with leftovers from the ration packs–George was a picky eater, despite the circumstances, and the rations didn’t have a great shelf life once removed from their packaging. However, the rabbits didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t want to risk a fire so far from Spawn, so Emma saved the small animals for when they were safe with the rest of the Career pack. George was just happy he wouldn’t have to watch the District 2 tribute try to skin them.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Emma said privately to George. Rae had passed out again after they talked some more about their home Districts, and he found himself wishing that the two of them had spoken more back in the Capitol.

“I’m not going to let you kill her while I’m asleep,” George said quietly so Rae wouldn’t hear.

Emma laughed harshly, but their voice was deadpan. “I’m so glad to know that your opinion of me is so high, George.”

“I’m serious. She’s not ready.”

“I’m not going to kill her until she tells me to,” Emma said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

George was about to walk away to lie down in the grass, when Emma grabbed him by the wrist.

“Glad to see you’ve made friends with the dead girl while I was away.”

George ripped his wrist out of their grip and went to lie down. What was that supposed to mean? Between Rae’s labored breathing and his distrust of Emma, he wouldn’t sleep. 

That night, the Capitol only displayed their insignia in the sky, as there were no dead tributes to display. Rae hadn’t woken up to watch the night’s Fallen despite the loudness of the Esempii National Anthem, and she continued to breath heavily in her sleep. Emma watched the tribute’s labored breathing intently, and George noticed that they seemed very eager to be rid of the problem.

Nothing came from the sponsors that day, despite Rae’s vain hope in them. 

The injured tribute’s eyes fluttered open at the blaring end note of the anthem. “They really make it so no one can sleep through that, huh?”

“It’s the loudest thing in here except for the cannons,” Emma agreed.

The group was silent, and George’s apprehension grew with every minute.

“I think–” Rae tried and failed to voice her thoughts. George wasn’t sure if it was because of her lung injury or because of what she would say. She took a deep breath that still didn’t seem to do much. “I think I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” George asked immediately.

With some difficulty, Rae nodded. Emma and George looked at each other, before Emma went to retrieve a weapon. The girl from District 11 looked at him through bleary eyes, and he already knew what she was asking before she could even open her mouth.

“I’ll stay,” George said. “We’ll both be here.”

He got up and sat by her side, and he took one of her hands carefully in both of his. And together, they waited for the end. Whatever comfort that was.

***

The cannon that went off after the Fallen broadcast took the entirety of Dream’s group off guard. When they just blasted the national anthem and displayed the Capitol’s symbol in the sky, as there were no Fallen that day, they all laid back down to sleep in irritation. And then a few minutes later, a cannon boom shook them all back awake.

They watched a carrier plane fly in and hover about where they had scaled the mountain, and a massive claw ejected from the bottom.

“The District 11 girl.” Hannah’s voice broke. Dream knew that she would believe that the girl’s death was her fault, but he wasn’t sure how to convince her otherwise. At the end of the day there were a few people to blame, and none of them were Hannah. 

“It had to happen,” Boomer said.

“Don’t say that,” Dream reprimanded lightly. “That’s what they want us to think.”

The claw lifted back up and they saw a shock of long dark brown hair that slipped through the fingers.

They all looked away.

Chapter Text

Dream awoke to the aching in his hands and the oppressive heat of the blazing sun–it was hotter on top of the cliff than it was at its base. Muscle soreness from yesterday’s climb was a very unwelcome afterthought. They hadn’t moved from the cliff’s edge even after the Fallen broadcast since the odds that anyone else had already dared to scale the cliff before them were slim and–surprisingly–in their favor.

His hands stung more the second day, and some of the dead, damaged skin that still clung was hardening around the newly exposed, puckered pink skin. Hannah said she would start looking in the foliage for a temporary solution today, and he hoped for her success. They couldn’t climb back down until their hands were protected, and the Capitol wouldn’t let them remain so removed from the other tributes for very long.

Dream cracked an eye open to see where his companions were. Boomer was huddled over some rations, but Hannah nowhere to be found around their very makeshift camp. Dream yawned and slowly sat up.

“Are the Careers still at the base of the cliff?” Dream asked.

“Didn’t check.”

Of course not. Dream would have to go see if George and the District 2 tribute were still there himself.

“Where’s Hannah?”

“Looking for something for our hands,” Boomer replied. “I hope she’s quick.”

Dream didn’t disagree. 

He stood up and stretched out his arms toward the sky. Sleeping on the ground didn’t do much for his aching body even with his backpack as a makeshift pillow. He wished that he had slept on the floor rather than let himself get so used to the cushy Capitol beds. Dream didn’t bother with breakfast; they were down to half of their remaining rations, and he decided to wait to eat until he was really hungry in order to make the most of their dwindling food supply. 

He left Boomer at camp with all of their supplies while he checked on their pursuers. He found George and Emma still waiting for them at the base of the cliff. Clearly, they still refused to try their hand at scaling the cliff face themselves. He supposed that if he had seen someone fall and injure themselves that badly that he would also refuse to make the climb. Emma flipped him off when the two tributes noticed him looking, but George didn’t pay him any mind even when Emma pointed Dream out. It made him want to throw rocks or yell or do a stupid dance–anything to make George look at him.

Instead, he trudged back to camp, only to find Hannah chewing some kind of weed and spitting it onto one of Boomer’s outstretched hands.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Dream said to the pair, “but it didn’t involve spitting.”

“It’s the best solution I’ve got,” Hannah said. “Or at least the best solution that doesn’t involve sponsor gifts.” She looked up at the sky like the sponsors might start dropping gifts at any moment–like she was somehow praying to them and paranoid that they might be listening. 

Dream kind of hoped they were. Or at least that Techno might be listening.

“For the record, this is disgusting,” Boomer said as he considered his one wrapped hand. “But it got rid of the stinging,”

“It’ll only numb the burn. It won’t help with healing.”

“If that’s the best we’ve got right now…” Dream shrugged. “I don’t think that anyone is going to come up here with us anytime soon, so we won’t be in a rush to get down from here.”

“Unless the Capitol gets bored and starts releasing shit,” Boomer supplied helpfully. Dream and Hannah both stared him down. “What? It’s what they do! There’s no drama and all of a sudden they’re pulling out the radioactive butterflies and exploding cows.”

“And what year was that?” Hannah asked. She smiled as she wrapped Boomer’s other hand in fabric that Dream recognized as the lining of their jackets. At the end of the day, they always had the weird heat-retaining blanket, and the arena didn’t seem too cold anyway. They’d be fine. Probably.

“You know what I mean,” Boomer grumbled.

“I’ll be on the lookout for them, Boomer.” Dream laughed. “Don't you worry your pretty little frog hat.”

Dream  held out his frayed palms toward Hannah. “My turn next?” he asked, sweetly.

“Yeah, let me secure this.” She tied the scrap of fabric around Boomer’s hand. “You’re all good.”

“Thanks,” Boomer flexed his numbed hands and scooted away from Hannah so that Dream could sit. “Is half of the Career pack still waiting for us to come down the cliff?”

“Emma and George are still down there, yes,” Dream said carefully. He watched Hannah chew the weed, and watched in disgust as she spit it directly into his mangled palm. But the immediate relief that came with the glob of spit and flora made up for all of it. Hannah was a godsend. “Holy shit.”

“Right?” Boomer asked. “It’s like immediate.”

“Don’t have this shit in the Capitol,” Hannah said quietly. “Just everything else.”

She operated as though this was second nature to her as she bandaged his spit-in palm. He supposed it was since she had grown up running the apothecary in 12 with her parents. They’d suffer quite the loss when…

“You’re good at this,” he said.

Hannah laughed at him. “What? Did you think I was bluffing or something? Some kind of tough-guy, ‘I-know-plants’ act or something?”

“It’s one thing to know you grew up in an apothecary and another to see you find the exact plant we need and then figure out how to make it work and stuff,” Dream replied. “It’s kind of impressive.”

“Not the exact plant we need.” She frowned. “There’s nothing up here that can help with healing. I don’t remember seeing any plants down there that could help either. We might just have to keep–”

Cannon.

They immediately looked toward Spawn like they could somehow see beyond the tops of the skinny white trees and the winding river. There was no guarantee that Spawn was the location of the death; it was just the most likely place for conflict at this point in the Games.

They waited with bated breath. And just as Boomer had settled back into the grass, Hannah had begun to work again, and the tension in Dream’s shoulders ebbed–they heard it again.

Cannon.

Two dead tributes. Dream thought of the two alive tributes he’d checked in on that morning at the bottom of the cliff, and didn’t even apologize to Hannah for interrupting before he jumped to his feet and ran to the edge of the cliff to see if one of those two tributes was George.

***

Alyssa hadn’t been expecting anyone to attack Spawn. Walking around with Corpse and Emma was like walking around with two very big, very scary dogs, and so she thought that she was relatively safe and untouchable with them. But Emma left with George and Rae, and one scary dog apparently wasn’t as good as two.

The two tributes from 3 attacked them in broad daylight from the outskirts of Spawn. There was no telling how long they’d been circling like vultures, and Alyssa guessed that they’d probably watched Emma, George, and Rae leave before they’d decided to make their move.

Cannon.

Corpse made easy work of the male tribute, but not before the District 3 tribute could take out the girl that was with them from 4. Both teams down by one, the girl from three cut her losses and disappeared back the way she came. Alyssa approached their felled teammate, and was startled to see that though she was bleeding heavily from a stab wound in her stomach, she was still alive. That explained the single cannon. Corpse most definitely took care of the District 3 guy.

Alyssa went to put pressure on the wound, but the girl’s shaky hands stopped her. The girl spoke quietly between labored breaths. “Just…finish me…off.”

“Are you sure?” Alyssa asked.

She nodded weakly back.

When Alyssa regrouped with Corpse to watch the bodies get carried away, he didn’t ask any questions. And Alyssa was grateful.

***

Their first sponsor gift came shortly after the cannons–after Dream made sure that one of them wasn’t George and returned. Dream had to wrestle the small parachute attached to the package out of a bush, but he was grateful regardless. The trio sat cross-legged in a circle, and Dream’s friends took bets on what the gift was as he struggled to open the beeping container with his wrapped hands. 

“More food?” Boomer propositioned. “Crackers that aren’t stale?”

“Could be another blanket.” Hannah shrugged.

“In that tiny thing? No way.”

Dream just grunted in his attempts to pry open the box. Hannah and Boomer stopped their back and forth to laugh at him as he fumbled the box out of his hands. “You know I don’t have to share, right? It has my name on it.”

“Be a good sport, Dream,” Hannah teased.

“We’re laughing with you, not at you,” Boomer supplied.

“You two suck.” He grunted again and managed to pull the lid off. Inside was a small jar of…something and a typed note.

Dream,

Don’t fuck up your hands again. You need those.

Apply liberally.

-T

“It’s hand salve,” he said. “It’ll heal them, I think.”

Boomer and Hannah both eagerly crowded closer around the jar of salve. They helped each other remove the bindings Hannah had so carefully tied around their hands, and applied the salve generously–saving just enough for a second dose if needed. It burned slightly where the weed Hannah found had dried, but he believed that Techno wouldn’t lead him astray. Dream hoped it was some kind of miracle ointment that would have their hands back to normal by tomorrow. Techno was right–he did need those.

“We should rewrap our hands to keep the salve on for as long as possible,” Hannah said. 

The boys let her rewrap their hands, and then Boomer wrapped Hannah’s for her. They were slightly better off than they were before–at least now their ruined hands would heal–and their odds of being able to climb down the rocks were higher. Dream’s hands already felt better than they had that morning. It was a good day.

Boomer sighed and laid back on the grass like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders alone. Dream felt about the same.

Hannah nudged Dream with her shoulder and offered him the rest of the healing salve. “For the cuts on your face.”

“We’d do better to save it for something less cosmetic,” Dream said. He’d never really cared about what he looked like, and he would feel bad if he used the rest of it for something as ridiculous as a few scratches if a real emergency happened.

“Okay.” Hannah shoved the medicine into her backpack for safekeeping. “I just thought that it might hurt or something.”

“Nah.” Truthfully the scratches above his bandana stung every once and awhile, but it felt like a disservice to the girl he’d killed to take away her last desperate mark on the world. 

Or maybe George was right, and he was just an idiot.

“The sun is going to set soon. Should we look for shelter?” Boomer asked.

Dream and Hannah looked over to where the sun was hanging low in the sky. They were very out in the open, but did it matter when they were pretty sure that no one else was up on the cliff? Were they willing to take the chance?

“I vote shelter,” Hannah said. “We’re injured, and we can’t be too careful.”

“Agreed.” Dream couldn’t take the risk. 

They all begrudgingly got up off the ground to go look for some kind of covered area or cave. Dream’s entire body was exhausted from the climb, and he would’ve been happy to collapse on the cliff again and sleep for a few days under any other circumstances. Every step became increasingly harder as they looked around for a safe place to sleep. Finally, Boomer found another cave in another cliff face that was even taller than the cliff they were on.

Whoever designed the map took something before they sat down and got to work. 

“Do you think there’s anything at the top of that cliff?” Hannah asked.

“No, that’s probably the edge of the Map,” Boomer replied. 

Dream squinted up at the edge. “That’s so stupid, it’s literally just a wall for the arena.”

“There are a lot of stupid things about all of this,” Hannah said. “Let’s not dwell on them.”

Dream reached into his backpack and pulled out the lighter. The gentle, flickering light was almost laughable in the complete darkness that lay beyond the mouth of the cave. He held the light out in front of him with one hand, and drew his ax from his belt loop with the other just in case. Boomer and Hannah followed close behind with their own weapons drawn.

“It seems clear.” Dream squinted into the darkness. “I can’t tell how deep it goes though.”

Glowing red pinpricks of light blinked into existence in the dark. A dozen more of the glowing things joined in to stare at them. The lights blinked. Dream tilted his head to the side and leaned his arm forward into the dark, and he caught a glimpse of a few fat, hairy bodies and a scary amount of legs. The massive spider in the front bared its fangs and hissed at him.

Dream inhaled and, as calmly as he could, said, “Run.”

Hannah and Boomer turned tail and ran with Dream close behind, while a small army of massive spiders gave chase. The spiders were a sea of hissing and clicking behind them in the dark. He couldn’t be sure, but the creatures looked like they probably reached his knees in height. They must have been Capitol mutts, sent to herd them back into the fray.

Every slap of Dream’s feet on the ground made his still-sore muscles scream, but the sight of the cave mouth ahead reinvigorated him. Stone gave way to grass, and they all tumbled out into the dying light of the sun. Dream shoved the extinguished lighter in his pocket and turned to face the giant cave spiders. They rapidly approached the cave’s exit and didn’t show any signs of stopping. In what remained of the daylight, the spiders were a sickly green tinge, and each one had about eight of those glowing, red eyes. They were big, bigger than any spider should be allowed to be, and the fuzzy looking hair on each one of their eight legs made Dream’s stomach roll. Each one drooled a noxious looking saliva, and Dream knew he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a bite. 

Dream gulped air and started to run again–his companions wisely followed his lead.

“Where can we go?” Hannah yelled to him from behind.

“Over the cliff!” Dream yelled back.

“What?” Boomer sounded like he’d rather die to the cave spiders than jump off a cliff. Dream wasn’t sure that he would agree.

“Into the water!” 

“Fuck!”

Dream’s legs were about two steps from giving out from exhaustion and soreness, but they had to make it to the edge. He willed himself forward by imagining how much it would suck to be eaten by massive poisonous spiders on live television. Techno would figure out some way to kick his ass. He kept running–the clicks and hisses of the spiders and his general fear of his mentor provided two wonderful motivators. 

“Run and jump!” Dream didn’t hesitate. He pushed off with one leg and catapulted himself over the edge with a confidence that was admirable for someone who didn’t know how to swim a week ago. Dream was overcome with regret as he plummeted. He screamed as the wind whipped through his hair and clothes, and his arms flailed uselessly in the open air.

***

George and Emma were sitting around a fire cooking when they heard screaming from the cliff. Both of their heads whipped in the direction of the screams, and George watched in horror as Dream leaped off the edge like the drop was no more than a foot or two. George’s stomach jumped into his throat, and the subsequent realization that there was water below hardly made him feel any better. He would kill Dream if the drop didn’t.

Hannah and Boomer followed Dream over the edge with a bit more hesitation, and George wondered who was chasing them–as far as he knew the Careers were the only group targeting Dream. He was shocked to see a massive spider anchor itself to the edge to peer over at the tributes that dropped like stones into the water. Would it follow them? 

It hissed and then retreated. George exhaled heavily and then looked toward the lake. Dream was already swimming toward shore, Hannah was treading water, and George didn’t see Boomer at all. Hannah would be okay until George swam to her, but he was 99% sure that Boomer was probably drowning. He hadn’t joined them for swim lessons, after all.

George didn’t think.

He got up and ran.

Emma grabbed for George to stop him, but he was already out of their reach. He locked eyes with Dream, whose bandana had fallen down around his neck in the jump, and the District 12 tribute smiled at him like Boomer wasn’t drowning . 

“Boomer can’t swim, dumbass!” George yelled.

Dream froze and started to frantically search for Boomer in the water. Hannah looked distressed, and they were all already exhausted from the chase and probably sore from the climb. George reached the edge of the lake and turned around to see if Emma had followed him–they hadn’t. He threw his backpack down on the shore and dove in the water toward Hannah. Dream still hadn’t found Boomer, but George couldn’t worry about that yet. As long as there weren’t any cannons yet they were fine. 

He reached Hannah, and she looked at him with a glint in her eye that made George feel like he was no longer trustworthy. She threw her arms around his neck anyway, and he swam them back to shore. He had no idea where he stood with her.

“You’ve changed sides again?” She wrung water out of her hair and then her shirt. Her pants were a lost cause. She looked like she was disappointed in him, and his own guilt surprised him. He really should have just gone with them in the first place. 

“I was always on Dream’s side,” George said and looked away. “Just didn’t realize.”

Dream dragged Boomer to shore, but the other tribute was unconscious. Dream knelt next to the other tribute’s prone form and started to give him chest compressions. As he did so, he looked up to the sky as if he dared a cannon to go off. Hannah watched with a hand over her mouth, and George reached to grab her free hand in his own. Surprisingly, she didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to have to give him mouth to mouth,” Hannah said from behind her hand.

“Okay,” Dream said. “How?”

Two rounds of mouth to mouth (as explained by Hannah) and chest compressions later, Boomer was spitting up water into Dream’s lap. George felt bad for Dream, but he still laughed at the disgusted expression on his friend’s face. It was good to be back with him.

Dream leveled George with a look while Boomer coughed up a lung below him on the ground. “I’m so tired,” the District 12 tribute said. And George could tell. There was a slump to his shoulders and tension in the way he held his mouth. Dream must have caught him looking, because he abruptly pulled his bandana back up over his mouth. George felt a pang of disappointment, but he understood. All of them had images to maintain–or, in Dream’s case, a lack of one.

George looked over at the fire where Emma left one of the rabbits roasting in their haste to leave. Someone was looking out for them that day, it seemed. “There’s a fire over there where you all can rest, but you have to eat first.” George reached out a hand to help Dream up.

“It’s probably poison,” Boomer said between coughs. 

George and Dream both scoffed. 

“So glad you two are reunited.” Hannah rolled her eyes and helped Boomer up off the ground. She supported him as they hobbled over to the abandoned campfire.

Dream took George’s proffered hand in his own. “I’m glad you came around,” Dream said.

“Me too.” 

George helped Dream up from where he kneeled on the ground, and he reluctantly let the other tribute’s hand go once he stood in front of him. It was almost like they were back in the training center with the way George was forced to once again look up at Dream. He missed the warmth of his friend’s hand as soon as it was gone, and he wondered if Dream thought the same.

“Are y’all coming?” Hannah called back over her shoulder.

George jumped and hurried after Hannah.

Dream grabbed George’s discarded backpack that the other had forgotten and scurried after him.

Chapter Text

George wasn’t mentally prepared when Dream took his jacket and shirt off when they made it back to his and Emma’s old camp. The other tribute sprawled out on the ground next to the fire immediately after he had a few bites of food, and a few minutes later he was out like a light with George’s dry backpack tucked under his head like a pillow. The damp bandana stayed over Dream’s mouth and nose, even though it must have been difficult for the tribute to breathe in it. Dream’s completely soaked backpack rested on the ground next to him, and he had one toned, lightly freckled arm looped through one of the straps. Like he was worried someone would come and steal it in his sleep.

Hannah removed her own wet jacket and wrung out her ponytail after she ate. She draped her jacket on the ground next to her, and let down her hair so it could dry. Unlike Dream, she left her shirt on. George understood–Capitol people were weird–but he knew from his own experience that the clingy fabric of her shirt was uncomfortable. George also removed his wet jacket, and hoped that the warmth of the fire would dry the rest of his clothing off on his body. In spite of the discomfort, she settled in and fell asleep almost as quickly as Dream.

Boomer took a page out of Dream’s book and took his shirt and jacket off to lay them out to dry, but he sat across from George at the fire and stared the District 1 tribute down instead of going straight to sleep or eating. The ire in the other tribute’s stare chilled George.

Maybe he should’ve spent more time befriending Boomer during training and less time flirting with Dream.

“You can sleep,” George said. He grabbed a stick from next to the fire and used it to poke at the dying embers. He didn’t want the fire to get too big and attract attention, but he also didn’t want it to die out completely. Boomer watched him suspiciously the whole time.

“No, I can’t,” Boomer replied matter-of-factly. George didn’t think a tribute in a frog hat could be so terrifying. He also didn’t know how the frog hat had made it in the arena as long as it did.  “Not until Dream or Hannah are on watch.”

George scoffed and rolled his eyes in spite of his trepidation toward the other tribute. “That could be hours. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I can wait.”

By the sag in Boomer’s shoulders, George could tell that he couldn’t. Maybe the District 1 tribute could wait him out.

“Just go to sleep, Boomer,” Dream practically mumbled. “Or I’ll hit you over the head and make you go to sleep, myself.”

The District 7 tribute mumbled a reply that George couldn’t hear but laid down regardless. George exhaled and stood. He was happy they’d all eaten some of Emma’s cooked rabbit before they’d settled down to rest. Though, he wasn’t sure what else he could do for them beyond keep watch while they slept.

His eyes found Dream’s wet bag.

He could lay their stuff out to dry. Just in case.

Dream had turned to face the fire in his sleep, and sleepily nuzzled his face further into his arm as George approached him. George was hyper aware of the curve of Dream’s tanned, freckled shoulder before he carefully reached over the dozing tribute to unloop the wet backpack from around his arm. Dream grunted in his sleep but allowed it. George removed a lighter, two questionable looking ration packets, and an emergency blanket. He flicked open the lighter and… nothing. Maybe it would work again if he dried it out. He laid out all of the items next to Dream, as well as the backpack itself. There was a weird jar that protruded from the outer pocket George missed, so he pulled it out to see if the water had seeped in. The jar must have been waterproof, because the salve inside didn’t seem to be watered down at all. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Boomer glared at him across the fire. George froze and turned around to look at him guiltily. He knew what this looked like to Boomer, but didn’t know how to convince him otherwise.

“Boomer go the fuck to sleep!” Dream sat up to glare at his teammate, and George guessed that if they had pillows to spare that the District 12 tribute would have lobbed one at Boomer by now. But Dream’s face scrunched up in confusion when he noticed George rifling through his stuff, and George’s stomach sank. The betrayed look he gave George almost broke him. “George?”

“I’m laying your stuff out to dry,” George said, mostly to Dream. He gestured at all of the items spread out on the ground, and was relieved to see that the other tribute believed him. “I think the lighter might work again once it dries out.”

Dream looked at Boomer again and shrugged. “That’s a good enough explanation for me. Goodnight.” The tribute laid back down in the grass with his back to them. It wasn’t long until he was snoring softly with the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

George hated the warm fondness that grew in his chest when Dream stuck up for him (he trusted him!), so he ignored it.

“Don’t touch my shit,” Boomer bit out, and then he laid back down.

Yeah, he definitely should’ve spent more time with Boomer.

Once the District 7 tribute finally fell asleep, the trio slept so soundly that they even missed the night’s broadcast of the Fallen. The national anthem blasted from the hidden speakers all around them, and yet they all still slept on. George saw Rae’s face projected as she had died earlier that morning, the girl from 4 they’d left with Corpse and Alyssa at Spawn, and the boy from 3.

There must have been some kind of scuffle at Spawn after he and Emma left with Rae. He was glad Alyssa was still alive, but he was worried about her left with the District 2’s. How long would they let her live when George had left the Careers? And what about Corpse and Emma–surely the two of them were reunited and planning Dream’s death. How long would they wait until they made their move?

***

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW AIRED LIVE PRECEDING THE DAY 3 MIDNIGHT BROADCAST OF THE FALLEN]

[TED NIVISION ENTERS THROUGH A CURTAIN ON STAGE RIGHT. HE STOPS CENTER STAGE AND WAVES TO AUDIENCE. CHARLIE SLIMESICLE ENTERS FROM STAGE LEFT AND MEETS TED IN THE MIDDLE. THEY SMILE AND WAVE TO RAUCOUS APPLAUSE BEFORE TED SPEAKS.]

NIVISON : Good evening, citizens of our fair Esempii! And what an evening it has been for our tributes in the Map. On a more somber note, let’s take a moment of silence for those whose lives were lost in the time since the Games started. Please–

[TED MOTIONS FOR THE CROWD TO BE SILENT. IT IS DEAD QUIET IN THE AUDIENCE. THE SILENCE IS FELT TO THE OUTER REACHES OF THE ESEMPII AND IS FELT EVEN HEAVIER IN THE DISTRICTS.]

NIVISON : Alright! Tonight we have a very special guest–

[THE AUDIENCE SCREAMS WITH ANTICIPATION.]

NIVISON : –a very good friend of mine–

[THE ANTICIPATION BUILDS]

NIVISON : President… Jay… Schlatt!

[THUNDEROUS SCREAMS AND APPLAUSE. THE AUDIENCE CHANTS HIS NAME.]

[SCHLATT WALKS ONSTAGE FROM CENTER STAGE. HE SHAKES TED AND CHARLIE’S HANDS. THEY GESTURE FOR HIM TO SIT, BUT BEFORE HE DOES A BRA FLIES OUT FROM THE AUDIENCE AND HITS HIM IN THE FACE. THE STRAP IS STUCK AROUND ONE OF THE PRESIDENT’S HORNS. CHARLIE AND TED ARE HORRIFIED. SCHLATT STOPS IN HIS TRACKS.]

[AS IF FLICKING A SWITCH, THE PRESIDENT FLASHES A CHARISMATIC SMILE AND DISLODGES THE BRA FROM HIS PERSON. HE ATTEMPTS TO HAND IT TO NIVISON, BUT HE DECLINES. SCHLATT AWKWARDLY PLACES IT ON THE COFFEE TABLE BETWEEN THEM BEFORE HE SITS DOWN IN A COMFORTABLE LOOKING CHAIR.]

SCHLATT : You’ve got some daring audience members tonight, Ted. And I’m an engaged man, too!

[SCHLATT HOLDS UP HIS LEFT HAND TO SHOW A GOLD ENGAGEMENT BAND ON HIS RING FINGER.]

[THE AUDIENCE COLLECTIVELY GASPS.]

NIVISON : So you’re confirming your engagement to Quackity?

[SCHLATT SHRUGS]

SCHLATT : You see anyone else walking around with a massive engagement ring on their finger?

SLIME : Other than you?

[TED AND SCHLATT LAUGH]

[SLIME DOES NOT]

NIVISON : So when do we need to save the date?

SCHLATT : We haven’t decided yet. I’m  a busy man, ya know? Country to run and whatnot.

SLIME : Careful! You don't want to give Quackity enough time to change his mind!

[SCHLATT LAUGHS WITH AN EDGE]

SCHLATT : That won’t be an issue. We’re a happy couple.

[AWKWARD SILENCE]

[SCHLATT COUGHS]

SCHLATT : Thanks for looking out though, man.

NIVISON : So what details can you give us about the wedding? If I may ask, that is?

SCHLATT : Of course! Well…

NIVISON : Well?

SCHLATT : Well… we’ve decided on the colors.

SLIME : Colors?

SCHLATT : Mmmhmm.

NIVISON : And those colors are…?

SCHLATT : Maroon, gold, and black.

[SILENCE]

SLIME: It’s almost like you’re planning a funeral with those colors, Mr. President Schlatt from the Capitol.

SCHLATT : Well, you see, Quackity is so excited for the wedding that he jumped right into all of the planning. I let him take over because I have a lot of presidential duties and a whole Hunger Games to oversee. Q has loads of free time, being a victor and all, so he’s been making all of the hard decisions. He picked the colors personally, and I think that combination embodies our relationship like no other.

[THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE AND SCREAMS FOR QUACKITY]

[PROLONGED EYE CONTACT BETWEEN SLIME AND SCHLATT]

[SLIME LOOKS AT SOMETHING OFF CAMERA]

SLIME : Uh oh, Ted. It looks like we’re out of time!

NIVISON : And we didn’t even get to discuss the Hunger Games! One question just real quick, Mr. President–what are your opinions on the tributes in the Games so far?

SCHLATT : Well, I am so glad to see those two boys in love reunited again! They’ll be sure to give my relationship a run for its money.

NIVISON : Well, you heard it here first, folks! Stay tuned for another interview with another very special guest!

[SCHLATT STANDS AND WAVES TO THE AUDIENCE. HE HUGS TED, AND PLACES  A HEAVY HAND ON SLIME’S SHOULDER. HE LEVELS SLIME WITH A HEAVY LOOK THAT TED MISSES.]

[IT IS NOT FRIENDLY.]

[APPLAUSE]

***

“Ludwig, baby! How’s my favorite sponsor couple doing?”

Quackity rolled his eyes. Every time Schlatt opened his mouth and spoke it grated at Quackity’s dwindling nerves. He tried to spend the least amount of time with the president as possible, but that became difficult as their relationship changed into something more .

Something worse.

Now he was stuck in the man’s office to make bets for Games he didn’t support. 

“Of course I wanna make bets, who do you think I am?” Schlatt laughed. “Q wants to bet, too.” Schlatt glanced at Quackity’s sour expression and added, “Loves the idea.”

Quackity told Schlatt the first time he’d approached him with this offer that he wasn’t interested. He’d told Ludwig the same thing when he’d asked. Schlatt knew how he felt about the Games, and so when the President told him he had to bet, Quackity knew it was a punishment. Slime had stepped out of line on TV the night prior, and now Quackity paid the price.

Betting was only part of it. He’d tell Slime about that. He wouldn’t tell Charlie about the persistent ache in his shoulder and the massive bruise that marked the spot. That was a burden for Quackity alone to bear.

They couldn’t know that he was weak. They wouldn’t let him stay if they knew.

“Double the usual amount–for both of us,” Schlatt said into the phone. Quackity’s head snapped to Schlatt. Schlatt bet millions on the Games each year–all of the money embezzled from Esempii funds of course. And he wanted to quadruple the investment just to punish Quackity?

“Schlatt are you sure–?” Quackity interrupted, but Schlatt waved his hand roughly in the air to stop him.

“Yeah…Yeah… the funds are all there…yeah. I’m betting on Emma, obviously. Q, babe, who are you betting on?” Schlatt snapped his fingers to get Quackity’s attention, as if the Victor had stopped listening. 

Quackity weighed his options. He could bet the same as Schlatt and save himself a lot of grief, or he could bet on an obvious loser who would piss Schlatt off and lose him a bunch of money in the process. Or, Quackity could bet on who he thought would actually win, which would also piss the president off. Two birds with one stone and all that.

Schlatt snapped his fingers at him again.

“I’m betting on Dream.”

Schlatt stiffened, but passed on the information to Ludwig anyway.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s cute, really. Outer districts gotta ban together and all that. Emma’s obviously going to win, but if Quackity wants to bet on a losing horse I’ll let him. He’ll know better next year, after Dream loses. Alright, I’ll talk to you later, Lud. Say ‘hi’ to QT for me! See ya!”

Quackity wished that the phone call had lasted longer, if only to give him more time to prepare for Schlatt’s ire. He was surprised when the president was almost…cheerful?

“Dream, huh?” Schlatt chuckled. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.” 

Quackity glanced at Schlatt and looked away. “I sure do.”

***

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW AIRED LIVE AFTER PRESIDENT JAY SCHLATT’S INTERVIEW PRECEDING THE DAY 3 MIDNIGHT BROADCAST OF THE FALLEN]

[SLIME AND TED ARE STILL SEATED AFTER THEIR CONVERSATION WITH PRESIDENT J. SCHLATT.]

SLIME : We have another very special treat for you all tonight, folks! A very special person took a break from the Games and is here to talk to us.

[CROWD CHEERS]

SLIME : Without further ado… Head Gamemaker Mr. Beast!

[THE GAMEMAKER ENTERS FROM CENTER STAGE TO RAUCOUS APPLAUSE. HE SHAKES HANDS WITH SLIME AND TED. THEY ALL TAKE THEIR SEATS.]

NIVISON : Mr. Beast, I speak for all of us when I say thank you so much for taking time out of your very busy schedule to come and chat with us–and the country!

BEAST : And I am so glad to be here! Running the Games was getting kind of boring.

[TED AND CHARLIE SMILE IN CONFUSION]

BEAST : Just kidding! 

[TED AND CHARLIE LAUGH ALONG WITH BEAST, AND THE AUDIENCE SOON FOLLOWS ALONG AWKWARDLY.]

BEAST: But there has been kind of a lull lately though huh?

SLIME : If you call three tributes dying one day a lull, then I’d hate to see rush hour.

[AUDIENCE CHEERS]

BEAST : Well, Dream’s team tried to get out of the action by climbing that cliff. Of course, I had to do something about that. 

NIVISON : You sent the spiders?

BEAST : Of course! We’ve been working on those in the lab for awhile–but the real masterpiece will be dropping in soon.

SLIME : Is there anything you can tell us about what to expect from the rest of this Games? However long they may last?

[THE GAMEMAKER SHRUGS]

BEAST : I think this Hunger Games is going to be quite different from the others. It’ll be worth the wait.

NIVISON : Mysterious.

[SLIME LOOKS OFF STAGE]

SLIME: Unfortunately, I think that’s all the time we have for tonight.

[THE CROWD BOOS]

NIVISON: We know! We know! But Mr. Beast has got to get back to running the Games! It’s been great having you, Jimmy!

BEAST: Oh, please. It’s Mr. Beast when I’m Gamemaking. Save the Jimmy for lunch.

SLIME: With that, dear people of the Capitol, goodnight! We’ll see you all tomorrow morning for commentary on the Games, as always.

NIVISON: Goodnight!

BEAST: And may the odds be ever in your favor!

[THE CROWD CHEERS AS TED, SLIME, AND THE GAMEMAKER GET UP TO EXIT THE STAGE. THEY ALL WAVE AS THEY GO. THE SCREEN CUTS BACK TO LIVE FOOTAGE OF THE ARENA.]

[A LARGE SHADOW SWOOPS BY]

***

“What do you mean no one’s with Karl right now?”

Sapnap sat on a couch with Bad in a corner of the sponsor lounge. He didn’t know why his former mentor dragged him in there–the Victor couldn’t sponsor anybody and both of Bad’s tributes were already dead. He wanted to go back to Karl after day one of the Games and never return to the Capitol ever again, but Bad had to mentor the other mentors as the most experienced and Sapnap didn’t want to leave without him.

“He’s an adult, Sapnap,” Bad replied.

“He forgets where he is sometimes. He shouldn’t be alone!” 

“I’ve got Impulse looking in on him every day–he’s fine. He’ll be fine,” Bad reassured.

Sapnap owed Karl more than to leave him back home with a Peacekeeper to check in on him every day. Sapnap owed Karl everything, really. And Bad. The two of them held him together after the Games better than any bandage. 

“I’m worried about him. The memory loss scares me,” Sapnap said. It’d been happening ever since Sapnap came home from his Games, but it hadn’t gotten severe until recently. He wasn’t happy when Bad originally requested his presence that year because he wasn’t sure if Karl would even remember him when he got home. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s my fault.”

“Sapnap–”

“D’you mind if I sit here?” Technoblade asked, and pointed to the armchair across from them. Sapnap hadn’t seen the other mentor approach. He looked exhausted, and Sapnap couldn’t tell if the fatigue was caused by his duties as a mentor, his Tributes, or something else. 

“Go ahead.” Bad gestured for the pink haired man to sit down.

“Thanks.” Techno semi-gracefully plopped into the seat. “I thought you both would’ve left by now.”

Bad smiled. “Have to help out the new mentors. You know how it is.”

Techno sighed and laid his head back in the chair. “We should get paid.”

“You guys don’t get paid for this?”

“Room and board. Victor’s winnings.” The District 12 mentor shrugged. “It’s the fine print of winning the Games–you gotta step up if the current mentor retires.”

“You’ll be the District 5 mentor after I retire, Sap,” Bad mentioned. 

“Never retire.” Sapnap gave him a baleful look. “Deadass.”

“Language!” Bad said, but he was laughing.

Sapnap thought that he had earned a life in retirement with his boyfriend after his ordeal in the Map–and he knew Bad did his best to make sure that was what Sapnap got to do. Realistically, the man should retire soon, but Bad would keep it up as long as he could so that the young Victor wouldn’t have to take his place as mentor.

It was all a headache.

“So what do you think about the ‘pretty boy from District 1’ meeting back up with your tributes, Techno?” Sapnap asked. Dream seemed like a good guy, but Sapnap wasn’t sure about that George dude. He was playing both sides, and Sapnap had a hard time telling where his true loyalties belonged.

“Don’t even get me started,” Techno said. “And that’s not even the worst of it.”

“Really?” Bad asked.

“They have taken all of my instructions as suggestions so far. They’ve lit fires, they climbed that massive cliff, they jumped into the lake and got soaked, they’ve pissed off the Careers, they haven’t been saving their rations like they should–who is that Boomer guy anyway?–and they ran straight for Spawn!” Sapnap had only ever seen Techno this distressed when Tommy was in the arena–Bad dragged him along that year, too. “Well, Dream did. Hannah’s been a model tribute, really.”

“Techno… do you know Dream?”

“Heh?” Techno fixed Bad with a blank, confused stare.

“You’ve only ever been this obviously stressed about Tommy in the arena. I was asking if Dream was important to you,” Bad said.

“And Drista.”

“What?”

“I was also this stressed about Drista–Dream’s sister. She went in with Tommy.” Technoblade looked away, and Sapnap felt like he was intruding all of a sudden. “Drista and Dream… they’re family.”

“Oh,” Bad said.

Sapnap, overcome with the urge to do something , reached out and placed his hand on the coffee table to get Techno’s attention. “Listen, I saw Dream in the Training Center. He’s smart, he’s a popular tribute, and he’s got the whole ‘star-crossed lovers’ thing going on or whatever. He’ll make it out.”

Techno didn’t say anything to him, but Sapnap saw some of the tension in the mentor’s shoulders ease up. The young Victor was glad to see it gone.

“Well, we’d better get going. I need to make a call and Sapnap has an interview,” Bad said, abruptly.

“Good luck with that,” Techno said to Sapnap.

“Thanks. You’d think they’d be sick of me by now, but whatever,” he replied. “I’m old news!”

“Get some sleep Techno!” Bad called over his shoulder. “You look like you could use it.”

“No time.” Techno shrugged. “See you around.”

As Bad and Sapnap walked away, the mentor leaned over to speak quietly to him.

“I didn’t know you were such a softie,” Bad teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

***

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW AIRED BEFORE THE FIRST REAPINGS FOR THE 54TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES]

[THEN HEAD GAMEMAKER PHILZA MINECRAFT IS SEATED WITH HOST ANTHONY PADILLA ON AN INTERVIEW SET. THIS INTERVIEW PREDATES HOSTS TED NIVISON AND CHARLIE SLIMESICLE.]

PADILLA: You hinted that you have an announcement when I booked you for this interview, Philza. Do you care to share?

[THE AUDIENCE WAITS WITH BATED BREATH]

PHILZA: I’m retiring this year..

[AUDIENCE WAILS]

PADILLA: And are the arrangements all made? You’re retiring for sure? 

PHILZA : Yes.

PADILLA : Who will run the 54th Games then?

PHILZA : I’ll run the Games with my apprentice, Mr. Beast. He’s been studying under me for quite some time now, and I think that after this year he’ll finally be ready to take on my role as Head Gamemaker.

[PADILLA LOOKS NERVOUSLY AT SOMETHING BEHIND PHIL. THE HEAD GAMEMAKER DOESN’T NOTICE. THE HOST ATTEMPTS TO REGAIN HIS COMPOSURE.]

PADILLA : And… what are your plans for retirement?

PHILZA : I think I’m going to go visit the districts. Pay my respects. Settle down and live a life. It’s more than most are allowed.

[PADILLA SHUFFLES HIS NOTECARDS NERVOUSLY. PHIL LOOKS CONFUSED BY HIS OBVIOUS ANXIETY.]

PADILLA : I’m glad that after all of these years of working together that you’ll finally get a break.

PHILZA : Of course! And you’re welcome to come visit!

[THE AUDIENCE “AWWS”]

PADILLA : I will.

[PADILLA NERVOUSLY LOOKS OFFSCREEN AGAIN]

PADILLA : Well, we as a country will miss you dearly as our Head Gamemaker Philza Minecraft. You have served us well, and you have been a dear friend to me in all the time we’ve known each other. 

PHILZA: Aw thanks mate.

PADILLA: With that, let’s watch some of the highlights from the Games you’ve orchestrated over the years.

[CUT TO BLACK]

[SCREAMING]

***

Funeral planning was not something Wilbur had planned to do when Dream left for the Games. When Dream eventually returned to District 12 in one of those weird seamless metal coffins? Yes. But he didn’t think they’d be burying Dream’s mom beforehand.

Tommy had brought Patches over to their house immediately after they’d found out. He’d said something about cats eating dead bodies and disappeared into his room with her. Wilbur was afraid to bother Tommy–they’d grown distant after his brother returned from the Games–but he was worried about him. Dream’s mom had practically raised them too, before Drista. 

Really, Tommy had more in common with Techno now, and Wilbur had no idea how to talk to his little brother anymore.

Wilbur pretended like the distance didn’t bother him, and the world kept turning.

Now, he sat at a table looking at dates and pricing and a bunch of stuff that Phil should probably be doing. “We should just bury her now,” Wilbur said to himself. The body would begin to deteriorate sooner rather than later, and it was better for them to get her in the ground as soon as possible.

“We need to wait until Dream gets back,” Tommy said.

Wilbur jumped–he didn’t know that Tommy had joined him in the room. His brother held Patches hostage where he stood by the stairs behind Wilbur’s seat. Every time the cat would try to jump up over his shoulder, Tommy would wrangle her onto her back in his arms. Wilbur wasn’t sure how much patience the cat had left, but she wasn’t growling or hissing.

She probably missed her owner.

“Dream’s not coming back,” Wilbur said. “Not in the way you think.”

Patches calmed down when Wilbur said Dream’s name. Tommy scratched behind her ears with one hand. “He’s coming back on that train as a Victor. Whether it’s tomorrow or a month from now, he’s coming back.”

When Techno had gone in, Tommy hadn’t been as hopeful. It made Wilbur’s chest hurt to see his brother in denial about Dream’s chances. Techno and Tommy both were flukes–both scarily smart and very scrappy. If the two hadn’t grown up orphans they wouldn’t have stood a chance. Dream wasn’t like them, and he’d just lost his sister. Wilbur was surprised that he’d made it this long, even with Techno’s guidance.

“Tommy–” 

“No, fuck you. He’s coming back. If Techno can come back, and I can come back, then Dream is coming back.”

“That’s not how it works–”

“It is how it works, Wilbur. I know you hate Dream now or whatever–”

“I don’t hate Dream.” 

He didn’t. Wilbur just couldn’t help but resent him a little for not volunteering for Tommy the year before. He resented himself for being too old to volunteer, too. It wasn’t personal.

“–but he’s coming back.”

“The odds are–”

“Fuck the odds! They’re never in anyone’s favor!” Tommy was right. The odds were always in the Capitol’s favor, but Tommy hadn’t figured that one out yet. “Dream’s smart. He’ll come home. You’ll see.”

“Tommy.”

“Wilbur,” Tommy said, petulantly. His eyes were shining, and Wilbur could tell that he’d upset him.

He took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right.”

***

[THE FOLLOWING PHONE CALL WAS INTERCEPTED BETWEEN Q.11 and P.12]

P.12: Tell your friend to be careful, Q.

Q.11: What do you mean?

P.12: Look into Anthony Padilla.

[DIAL TONE]

Chapter Text

Cannon.

A loud boom shook Dream into vague consciousness, and he groaned as he turned over. The tribute’s eyes blinked heavily and tried to focus on the dying flames in front of him. Everything was hazy due to the smoke from the fire and the sleep that clung to Dream, but he made out George’s upright figure across from him. Dream smiled softly underneath the still wet and itchy mask that clung uncomfortably to his face and went back to sleep.

***

Dream woke up the next morning to a fluffy head gently butting against his own. He grunted and covered his head with his arms, but the wooly thing wasn’t deterred–it simply started to burrow in between his forearms. Dream tried to push it away but it was persistent.

“That’s Dream’s sheep.” Hannah sounded very far away and very amused. “He doesn’t want to admit that we’ll have to eat it eventually.”

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and came face-to-face with Breakfast. Her snout was trapped between his forearms and he quickly freed her. The sheep headbutted him again, and he laughed and scratched behind her ears like he would Patches. “Hi, baby,” he said in greeting, and the animal bleated at him happily in response. “Good to see you again.”

“What’s its name?” George asked.

“Breakfast,” Boomer replied gruffly.

Dream rolled his eyes at the continued friction between George and Boomer. They’d have to get over it if… well. They’d just have to get over it.

“She resents that,” Dream said to no one in particular. He gently held the sides of the sheep’s head and cooed, “I wouldn’t eat you.”

Breakfast snorted.

“Speaking of breakfast,” Boomer said sadly, “we only have two ration packs left.”

Dream didn’t like how Hannah and Boomer looked at Breakfast, and he especially didn’t like how they also intended to eat the two ration packs he’d saved since the beginning for George.

“I’ve got more,” George said as he rifled through his bag and pulled out a few more ration packs. “Well, four more.”

“Soooooo, who eats the waterlogged ones?” Boomer asked.

“You and Dream.” Hannah grabbed one of the non-submerged packets from George and sat down on the ground next to him. George threw the two spare packs into his bag, and the two dug in. “What else do you have in there?”

George’s forehead wrinkled as he chewed. “Uh, a flask, another lighter, rope, and some knives.”

“Knives?” Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Wanna trade for the bow?”

“Sure.”

Dream grabbed the last two of his potentially waterlogged rations and threw one at Boomer. Hopefully, the seal had held up in the fall. They all munched in silence, and Dream slid a few of his more crumbly crackers Breakfast’s way. The sheep cuddled up into his side as he ate, and he was happy that nothing had happened to her while they were up on the cliff. 

“I think we should probably use the rest of the hand medicine today,” Hannah said between bites. “Because my hands still kind of sting.”

“Same here,” Boomer chimed in. 

Dream’s did too, but he hardly noticed the dull ache compared to the intense pain from the day prior. “Sorry, Hannah–my wraps fell off in the fall.” He smiled apologetically even though she couldn’t really see it–he’d been slipping food under the damp mask to eat.

He wasn’t really sure why he didn’t want the Capitol to see his face anymore, but he’d kept it up so far. 

She shrugged. “I don’t think they made much of a difference anyway, but we’ll wrap them again just to keep as much of the salve on as possible.”

Dream held out his crumb covered hands toward his sheep and sat patiently while Breakfast’s cold tongue licked what was left of the stale crackers from his hands. He noticed George watching him and winked–George looked away. He probably thought that Dream was gross or something, but he didn’t want to waste.

They all burned their trash when they were finished, and Hannah told Boomer and Dream to wash their hands in the lake so that she could apply the rest of the salve. Hannah applied Boomer’s first, then her own, and then she turned to Dream with a mischievous smile. 

“Oops, I should’ve waited to apply mine.” She gave George her best pleading expression. “George? Could you wash your hands and apply Dream’s? For me?”

Dream blinked at Hannah. Certainly this was the worst betrayal he’d ever faced in his life. (Seconded by George’s alliance with the Careers, which was then followed by when Drista made him fall in love with Patches.) They were trapped in a Map and assigned with the task of killing each other, and Hannah was trying to set him up with George. Her timing was atrocious. 

George’s brow furrowed as he looked between the two District 12 tributes. “Uh, sure. Hold on.” The District 1 tribute got up and went to the lake to wash off his hands.

“You are the actual worst,” Dream said to Hannah with no actual malice.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“What’s going on?” Boomer asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hannah said airily and patted the District 7 tribute with the back of her wrist–they hadn’t wrapped their hands up yet. 

Dream glared at them both. 

George returned, flicking his hands to dry them off. “Okay, so… do I just like, rub it on? Or…?”

“Yeah just spread it over his palms,” Hannah replied. “You don’t have to rub it in all the way.”

George gingerly took the salve from Hannah, sat cross-legged in front of Dream, and placed the jar on the grass next to his bent knee. The District 1 tribute held out his free hand for Dream’s, and–even though they’d done this before–Dream’s face heated as he put his hand in George’s, palm up.

The District 1 tribute gathered salve on his ring and middle fingers and then rubbed the healing ointment over Dream’s palm gently in a circular motion. He watched George’s slender, pale fingers as they worked against his larger, calloused palm. 

“All done,” George murmured softly, and he gingerly returned Dream’s hand to his thigh. The tribute gestured for Dream to give him his other hand. He did so, and George went to work.

Dream glanced up to look at George while he worked, and was rewarded with a subtle pinch of concentration in the other tribute’s brow and George’s the shadow that Gegre’s heavy lashes cast on his delicate cheekbones. He traced the curve of George’s nose with his eyes and made it all the way to the bow of the other tribute’s mouth when Hannah dropped something on his head.

“Make sure you wrap them,” she said before she walked away with Boomer to the lake.

In the grand scheme of things, Dream wasn’t sure if she was actually on his side or not.

George returned the tribute’s other hand and wiped the remaining salve from his fingers on the healing cuts above Dream’s mask. “Why didn’t you do that before, idiot?”

“Seemed like a waste.” Dream shrugged. He was glad for the mask because he was certain he was blushing. 

George scoffed and gathered the strips of cloth from Dream’s head and shoulders. The tribute from District 1 began to wrap Dream’s hands carefully, and Dream watched as Hannah and Boomer filled up their flasks at the lake with Breakfast. Anything to keep himself from getting too lost in George.

“So I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” Dream mentally hit himself over how quickly he’d responded.

“We should probably get moving before Emma gets Corpse and Alyssa, and they all come after us,” George said.

Dream deflated, though he didn’t know what else George could possibly have said to him. He was being ridiculous. “Oh.”

“We could go north–it might be a little colder, and I didn’t really see anyone go that way when we were all at Spawn.” George tied off a bandage and grabbed Dream’s other hand with no hesitation that time.

Dream blinked. “Yeah, no, that sounds good. I’ll check with Hannah and Boomer to make sure they’re cool with it.” 

“Boomer will say no immediately,” George pointed out.

“I’ll handle him.” Dream said confidently. George quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Like you handled that sheep?”

“God, no. Breakfast gets special treatment because she’s the second best girl.” He nodded toward the sheep with his friends–obviously Patches was the first best girl. He looked back at George and he was smiling, under the mask. “I will fistfight Boomer if he disagrees with you.”

“How charming.” George smirked and tied off the last bandage. The tribute squeezed Dream’s hand when he was finished with his work, and it did weird things to the District 12 tribute’s stomach. “You’re done.”

“Are you guys done? What’s the plan?” Hannah asked.

Dream hadn’t seen them return from the lake, and Breakfast brushed up against his shoulder. The sheep rumbled at George when he tried to reach out and pet her, and he rewarded her with the most offended expression Dream had ever seen on a person.

“I think we should go north,” Dream said as he scratched behind Breakfast’s ears to calm her. George side eyed him, and Dream shrugged. It was easier for all of them if Boomer thought it was Dream’s idea rather than George’s, and he didn’t want to start any fights before they were safe. Safer anyway.

“Because Emma knows where we are?” George surprised him and played along.

Dream nodded and looked toward Hannah and Boomer for their agreement.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? It seems like the Capitol wants us closer to Spawn. We might be safer if we’re closer,” Hannah said.

“It seems like they’re holding back right now though, so Emma and Corpse are definitely a bigger threat,” Boomer said. Dream did a double take; he was shocked Boomer was already sold on the plan.

Hannah looked nervous, but didn’t argue.

“So we go north?” George turned to look at Dream.

“We go north,” Dream confirmed. 

***

It took the group about an hour to redress and pack up their stuff. George smothered the fire but didn’t bother to make it look like they hadn’t been there. Emma already knew their location, so it would’ve been useless to completely cover their tracks. George tried to look away when Dream carefully pulled his dried shirt down over his head, but the tribute from District 1 ultimately failed. Hannah noticed him watching, and George couldn’t make eye contact with her without her flashing him a smug grin. She knew too much.

George noticed a bit unkindly that Boomer’s bag was still a bit waterlogged. Dream’s stuff had dried out overnight, thanks to George, and he was pleased with himself when the District 12 tribute tested the lighter and it worked again.

George and Hannah made the weapons trade. The bow and quiver were a welcome weight between his shoulder blades, though they made it harder for him to carry his backpack. He murmured a quiet “thank you” the next time he passed by Dream and pretended to not notice the color that bloomed on Dream’s cheeks afterward. He quite enjoyed making the other tribute blush, and he wanted Dream to know that George knew why he’d risked getting the bow and arrow from Spawn in the first place.

Hannah seemed to enjoy the new set of knives and the leg holster; she showed off the weapons to Boomer and Dream, and they both reacted accordingly. George was happy to see her happy, but a part of him wanted to see her fumble around with the bow before they traded. It would’ve been funny.

They traveled in a line–George in the front, followed by Boomer and Hannah, and Dream brought up the back (followed closely by Breakfast of course). George expected Boomer to put up a fight about following him, but he didn’t. Maybe Dream’s trust was enough for the District 7 tribute.

But George doubted it.

***

The group traveled a good distance north of spawn before nightfall, and they planned to walk a bit more before they made camp and went to sleep. Dream was about to tap Hannah on the shoulder and ask if George saw any shelter when a swooping noise came from behind him. All the hair on the back of his neck stood as he froze and watched Breakfast run ahead of him toward George. Hannah turned around to face the noise and her eyes widened immensely in horror. 

“Run!” Hannah cried, and George and Boomer both turned to look as well. Terrified by what they saw, the three ran off through the woods. Dream’s legs caught up with his brain, and he didn’t even have to look at the thing to know that it was terrifying. After their run-in with the spiders, he lacked the urge to look at what was trying to kill him.

He saw it eventually, though. The massive creature swooped down in front of him to grab for George, but Dream tackled the other tribute to the ground before the thing could get him in its massive claws. It hovered above them in the air and Dream cracked open an eye to finally get a look at it.

The thing had a massive exposed skeleton that protruded from its leather skin. The wings were jointed bone connected by a thin, membrane-like webbing. Its eyes glowed a sickly green as it glared at the two of them on the ground. Dream braced his whole body for impact as it bared its teeth and hissed, but the thing merely flew away.

Toward Hannah and Boomer.

“Get down!” Dream yelled after them. Hannah glanced back at him and George laid out on the ground, and then she dropped like a ragdoll. Boomer followed shortly after, yelling like the creature had sunk its claws into him. The phantom hovered over both of them, maw open, before it eventually flew away. 

They all lay in silence for a few minutes. Dream let George’s steady breathing calm his own, and he was only vaguely aware of how close he held George once the creature was gone. The only reason George still allowed it was because he was in shock, Dream reasoned. 

Finally, George turned his head to look at Dream. “Thanks,” the other tribute said quietly.

The other tribute’s thanks almost made up for the bow and quiver poking into Dream’s spleen. Still, he was flustered. “No problem.” The tribute from District 12 cleared his throat. “Do you think we’re good to go now?”

“I don’t know,” George said hesitantly. “That…thing could come back? Or there could be more…”

“It seems like dropping to the ground appeases it, though.” Dream shrugged with one shoulder. “We could always just do that again.”

“If we’re fast enough,” George pointed out.

“Guuuuuuuys!” Hannah called back to them. Dream and George looked away from each other to see what she needed. “Boomer fell in a cave!”

Dream and George clambered to stand, and they met Hannah at the edge of an underground cave. “ Another cave? What are the odds?” Dream asked.

“Not in Boomer’s favor,” George replied.

And they weren’t. The District 7 tribute’s arm was broken, and he was gingerly clutching it to his chest on the mossy rock below them. The cave looked damp, and humidity seemed to seep out from its mouth. Dream jumped down onto a rock platform, down onto the cave floor, and then he went to Boomer.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Boomer forced a strained smile. “Next question.”

“I don’t have another one. Here–” Dream shucked off his jacket and wrapped it around Boomer’s arm and chest like a makeshift sling. “Is that too tight?” Boomer shook his head.

“Is he okay?” Hannah asked from above.

“NO,” the District 7 tribute replied.

“I’m going to look around and let you all know when it’s safe to come down. This might be a good shelter for the night,” Dream called up to George and Hannah. “You guys keep watch up there for a second.”

He dug the lighter out of his bag and held the light out in front of him like he had in the last cave. He wasn’t sure what would happen to Boomer if a bunch of venomous cave spiders lay in wait in the recesses of the cave, but it would be better to find them before all four of them were in the cave asleep. 

Dream checked all the dark edges of the cave without any incident and found that it was one large cavern. He found a ridiculous amount of tall, white mushrooms growing from almost every available surface, but no spiders big or small. He decided to wait and consult George and Hannah before he even looked at the white caps for too long.

He returned to Boomer–who still looked like he was in immense pain–and yelled, “It’s safe!”

The two remaining members of their small group slowly made their way down into the cave. Dream was glad to see that they were safe, even though they had realistically been separated for about five minutes–but a lot could happen in five minutes.

Just look at what happened at Spawn.

“What happened?” George asked.

“Well, I dropped like a fly to get away from that…thing after you guys yelled, but Boomer fell into this cave–”

“The ground fell out below me,” Boomer interrupted, and Hannah huffed at him and crossed her arms.

“So it was a Gamemaker trap,” George decided, “and not a tribute trap.”

“Probably,” Dream agreed. 

“Nice going with the jacket, by the way, Dream.” Hannah punched his shoulder. “Do you think it’s a break or a fracture?”

“Nothing’s sticking out,” Boomer grunted. “So it’s either a clean break or a fracture.”

“I’m impressed you know the difference.”

“I’ve fallen out of a lot of trees. Not a stranger to broken bones.”

Dream was glad that he at least wouldn’t have to watch Hannah set Boomer’s arm. George rifled around in Dream’s backpack while it was still strapped to his back, pulled out the emergency blanket, and pressed it into Dream’s arms. Dream arched an eyebrow at him.

“It’s cold down here, and your jacket is currently being used as a sling,” George said. “Use this.”

“Hannah’s jacket doesn’t have any lining–she needs it more than me…” Dream tried to give it back to George but George kept pushing it back in his arms. 

“I’ll give Hannah my jacket.”

“But then you’ll get cold…” Dream grinned underneath his mask.  “Oh! You want to share the blanket.” 

“Shut up.” George unceremoniously dropped his bag on the ground and pulled off his jacket. Hannah, who watched the entire exchange with wide eyes, silently accepted George’s jacket and pulled it on. She camped out next to Boomer, and tried to make him as comfortable as possible so he could try and get some sleep. Dream hoped his friend went into shock if only to give him reprieve from the pain in his arm. 

George and Dream laid down back to back under the blanket with their heads propped up on their backpacks. They were waiting for the Fallen broadcast before they went to sleep so that they wouldn’t be woken up by all of the ridiculous fanfare. 

Dream would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see who the cannon from the early morning was. He’d thought that the death had been some nightmare he’d dreamt up until someone else mentioned it at breakfast. Aside from their team of 4, he knew Emma, Corpse and Alyssa were probably still out there. That left three other potential tributes that he hadn’t gotten to know in the Capitol. 

“My favorite color’s blue,” George said all of a sudden.

“Why?”

“It was either that or yellow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dream, I’m colorblind.”

“What?”

“Do you not have color blindness in District 12?” George asked, disbelievingly. As if that was a common thing where he was from.

“I don’t know. We barely have doctors. Nobody really talks about what colors they can and can’t see–they’re more worried about shit like black lung.”

“Black lung?”

“If you inhale too much coal dust in the mines, your lungs shrivel up and turn black.” Dream thought of his father’s frequent coughing fits and shortness of breath before he passed. “Most people in my district don’t live past age 50.”

“What the fuck? Why doesn’t the Capitol do anything about that?”

“No idea.” He hadn’t thought about his father in awhile, and it was weird that George had made Dream think of him. He took a deep breath, and the two lay in silence for a minute.

“What’s yours?” George asked suddenly, like he felt Dream’s mood dampen. He felt George turn to face his back, so he turned to look at the District 1 tribute. George elaborated: “Favorite color, I mean.”

“Oh, uh. Green.” Dream replied automatically. “It’s yellow and blue mixed together.”

“Still can’t see it.” George laughed. “Why do you like it?”

Dream hadn’t really thought about it before. “It’s the only color we have back home other than the blue of the sky. Everything else is gray or brown or black but the grass and the trees and the like, moss and stuff are green. Feels like home.”

“That’s nice,” George smiled wistfully. “I guess my favorite shade or whatever of blue would be like a darker blue–like deep water. It’s… comforting.”

“You’d love the mountains in 12 then,” Dream said, excitedly. “Sometimes they’ll turn a dark blue when they’re off in the distance and kind of blend into the sky. It’s really pretty.” George’s smile turned sad, but Dream continued on anyway, “The really close ones still look green though.”

“That’s me and you then,” George said. “You’re a close mountain and I’m a distant mountain.”

“It all depends on where you stand,” Dream pointed out. “If someone stood in the dead middle we could both be close mountains.”

George shushed him. “Do you think–”

But the young man was cut off by the Esempii national anthem. Dream desperately wanted to know what George was going to say, but he knew that there was no way he could hear the other tribute over the blaring trumpets. Dream sighed.

They watched the face of the boy from 9 get projected in the sky through the hole in the cave. Dream was pretty sure that the kid was the youngest of them in the arena. How the Gamemakers did what they did and then went about their lives like normal people when it was over every year was a mystery to him.

Dream wasn’t sure if Hannah and Boomer woke up to watch. He hoped Boomer had managed to stay asleep.

By the time he plucked up the courage to ask George what he was going to say before the broadcast interrupted them, the other tribute was sound asleep. The District 12 tribute told himself he’d ask tomorrow, and dozed off soon afterward.

Chapter Text

Schlatt’s grip on Quackity’s arm bruised as the President dragged the former Victor down the halls of the building that housed the Gamemakers and their labs. It was eight in the morning, and Quackity had barely gotten the opportunity to rub the sleep out of his eyes before Schlatt had forced him to get dressed and ready to go out for the day. He wasn’t sure why, though. No one interviewed Quackity about his Games anymore, and as far as Schlatt was concerned his fiancé was better suited to be out of sight–if not out of mind.

“Why are you dragging me to the Control Room before noon?”

“I need you to do something for me, pumpkin,” the President said dismissively. 

That didn’t narrow it down. Quackity dug his heels into the floor and stopped them both in their tracks. Schlatt yanked him by the arm like a dog on a leash, but the younger didn’t budge. “Like?”

“Like–” Schlatt wiped his mouth in frustration. “Like, I’m gonna get you to ruin your buddy Slime’s day.”

Quackity’s mind conjured the footage he’d found of what happened to the last anchor, Anthony Padilla. He couldn’t let that happen to Charlie. Worried, he pressed on: “How?”

“I don’t keep you around because you ask questions, kid. Let’s go.”

Another tug, but Quackity still wouldn’t budge. The former Victor set his jaw and looked Schlatt directly in the eye. “What are you going to do to Charlie?”

Schlatt scoffed in his face, and his fiancé caught the liquor on his breath. So the President was day-drinking now. Wonderful. “Prime, Quackity, I’m not gonna kill him.” Schlatt laughed. “He hasn’t pissed me off that much.”

Quackity blinked. “What are you going to do?”

“It’s what you’re going to do, babycakes.” Schlatt grinned. “We’re changing the rules.”

“I’m not moving from this spot until you tell me what’s going on.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes and released Quackity’s arm. The Victor tried to rub the spot where the President had gripped him so hard, but suddenly his back was pressed harshly up against the wall. The preexisting bruise on his shoulder throbbed on impact. The president gripped his fiance by the shoulders harder than before and fixed him with his cruel gaze.

“Quackity.”

The low, even tone the President employed was so atypical, and it scared his fiancé more than any of his nightmares about the Games. Quackity forgot who he was speaking to and had stepped out of line. Whatever happened to Slime–and himself–was all his own fault, now. Quackity cringed and ducked his head, but Schlatt grabbed his chin between two fingers and made the former Victor look at him. 

“The reality of your situation is, Q, that I don’t have to tell you shit. At the end of the day, you’re only here–you’re only alive–because of me. You owe me, Quackity! So you’re going to go in that room and do exactly what I tell you to do and you’re to fucking like it because I said so!” Schlatt’s volume increased with every word, and his fiancé cowered in his punishing grip. Schlatt released the younger’s shoulders and instead held him in place gently by the chin. “Aw, babycakes. I know you hate it when I yell, but you weren’t listening to me. You know I hate it when people don’t listen to me. I just–I do so much for you, and you can’t do this one little thing for me? Please?”

“I can,” Quackity mumbled and avoided eye contact.

Schlatt squeezed his fiancé’s chin harder. “What was that, sweetheart? You’re going to have to speak up.”

The younger flicked his gaze back to the President and steeled himself. “I can,” he repeated firmly.

Schlatt let go of Quackity’s jaw and patted the former Victor’s cheek appreciatively. “Good boy.” The older man pulled an envelope out of his suit pocket. “Give this to your friend for me, will you?”

Quackity took the message and tucked it into one of his front pants pockets. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Nah,” Schlatt said with a crooked grin. “I’ll watch it on TV. See you later, pumpkin.”

The former Victor walked the rest of the way to the Control Room alone. He counted tiles on the floor to calm his racing heart–he never knew when an encounter like that with the President could be his last. And he was angry. Angry that the situation happened in the first place, and angry that people had simply walked by them like it was nothing. Because at the end of the day, they all worked for Schlatt; no one saw anything the President didn’t want them to.

Unless there was a camera pointed in his face, Quackity was basically invisible.

He straightened the beanie on his head and took a deep breath. He entered the Control Room, and the handful of Gamemakers on duty barely glanced up from their individual workstations. Footage of the remaining tributes were projected in a grid pattern on the back wall; the screens displayed what remained of the Careers, the District 12 group, and a few of the remaining stragglers. Slime sat in the middle of the room in the circle of control panels with Head Gamemaker, Mr. Beast. A microphone was shoved in Slime’s face, but they weren’t broadcasting yet. All of the tributes looked to be asleep, but Quackity suspected that they were about to have a very rude awakening.

“Good morning, Quackity! Were you given the announcement?”

“Good morning,” Quackity greeted, though it had been anything but. “I was.”

He removed the envelope from his pocket and slid it over to Slime. His friend took in his shaken appearance and gave him a concerned look, but Quackity shook his head. It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if he told his friend about the altercation in the hallway. 

“Go ahead and read it, and then we’ll get you set up for the Map broadcast.” The Head Gamemaker started fiddling with a control panel. “Quickly, if it’s all the same to you.”

Slime ripped into the envelope while the former Victor watched with bated breath. There was no telling what was written on the piece of paper inside, and Quackity was terrified of what it meant for those in the Games. Mr. Beast turned away to fiddle with something else, and the former Victor guessed that the Gamemaker’s disinterest meant that he probably already knew what the announcement was. Hell, he’d probably had a hand in its invention. 

Slime pulled out the card and read it front and back, then he caught Quackity’s eye.

The look on his friend’s face filled his stomach with dread.

***

First, Dream woke up to the sound of a sheep bleating. Then, he woke to the sensation of soft hair tickling his nose. The tribute cracked open his eyes and was met with a face full of George’s fluffy hair. The District 1 tribute’s head rested in the crook of Dream’s shoulder, and at some point during the night, Dream’s free arm encircled George’s waist. His face heated as he realized that he and the other tribute had completely curled into each other overnight.

From the other side of the cave, Hannah coughed, and Dream hastily pulled away from George to stand. Or, he tried to. Dream attempted to tug the arm George used as a pillow out from under him, but the other tribute simply mumbled something in his sleep and turned over toward Dream. The brunet tucked his head into the other tribute’s chest and was generally unbothered by the fact that they both needed to get up for the day. The District 12 tribute used his free arm to gently lift George’s head so that he could get up. Once Dream was free, he sat up and carefully adjusted  the emergency blanket around the sleeping tribute.

He finally stood and stretched, and then he made his way over to Hannah.

“Long night, huh?” he greeted.

“For some of us.” She cut a glance to their third teammate, who was asleep on his back on the cave floor. “Boomer’s finally out.”

“He didn’t sleep at all last night?”

Hannah cringed, and the other tribute noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. “He was in too much pain. Kept me up too.”

“I’m sorry,” Dream said. He didn’t know what else to say. Suddenly he felt bad for comfortably cuddling with George all night under the crinkliest blanket known to man.

Hannah yawned and changed the subject. “I think your sheep came back this morning.”

Dream nodded and walked away–Hannah seemed like she wanted to sleep some since she didn’t get to in the night. As he approached the entrance of the cave, he saw Breakfast nervously hopping around on the ground above. Dream climbed up and out of the cave and into the artificial sunlight. Breakfast headbutted his legs as soon as he stood next to her, and the District 12 tribute smiled and patted his sheep on the head.

“If you’d stop running off, we wouldn’t get separated,” he berated lightly. Breakfast bleated and shoved her head into Dream’s hand again so he’d scratch her behind the ears. 

“Attention, tributes, attention.”

Dream’s eyes shot to the sky, where the same voice from the countdown emanated from. That was new. The Gamemakers had never made announcements mid-Games before.

“The regulations requiring a single victor have been… suspended. From now on, two victors may be crowned–”

His heart stopped.

“–if both originate from the same District. This will be the only announcement.”

“Fuck.” Dream kicked the dirt, and Breakfast scampered away from him. “Fuck!”

Cannon .

“Did you hear that?” Hannah shouted from the inside of the cave.

“Yeah,” he called back, though he wasn’t sure if she meant the announcement or the cannon. Probably both.

Really, he should be happy. He and Hannah could both go back home. She could keep working in her family’s apothecary and Dream could go back home to his mom and Patches. Maybe they’d grow old and reminisce about the Games together when the Map was far enough in the past that the memories didn’t sting anymore.

But George…

A floating silver object caught his eye–another sponsor gift. He chased it down, and returned to the interior of the cave. Boomer was awake again, and George, still wrapped up in the emergency blanket, ate a ration pack. Dream wanted to know what they both thought about the announcement, but he bit his tongue. If they wanted to talk about it, they’d bring it up.

“We got another sponsor gift.” Dream held out the container to Hannah, and it dangled by the strings. He left the parachute attached this time–they might be able to use it for something later. There was no way to know which one of them it was for. “Do you want to open this one?”

“Yeah.” Hannah took the canister in eager hands. She popped open the container and some sort of textile apparatus fell to the ground as well as two ration packets. A note fluttered down and landed neatly on top of the gifts. Hannah threw aside the capsule, and it skittered across the cave floor noisily. As she knelt and examined the note, one of her eyebrows rose before she handed it to Dream.

“I don’t think this part is for me,” she said, and started gathering together the rest of the loot. “Good luck with that, though.”

Dream took the note and read it:

Dream,

This is your new to-do list:

1. Stop feeding the sheep.
2. Get your jacket back.
3. Kiss George (for the sponsors). 

Good luck!

-T

He read the note twice and then shoved it in his pocket. Techno must have been really desperate for sponsor money if he’d promised a kiss. George would probably laugh in his face if Dream even suggested it. An impossible task, surely.

“I think it’s a sling.” Hannah held up the fabric that fell onto the floor from the sponsor gift. “I guess that means you get your jacket back, Dream. No more cave cuddling.”

The District 12 tribute rolled his eyes, and he couldn’t help but sneak a look at George. A cute flush colored the brunet’s cheeks as he finished up his ration, and Dream looked away before George caught him staring. The other tribute’s blush was probably nothing, or he was embarrassed that they had to share the blanket in the first place. 

***

After Hannah secured Boomer’s arm in the sling, she pulled George by his arm over to a cluster of the white mushrooms that covered almost every surface in the cave. “What do you think these are?”

George took a closer look. They had white stalks, gills, and caps, and a veil around the upper part of the stalk. “It has all the traits of a destroying angel–”

“But those only grow in the woods,” Hannah interrupted, like she had thought the same thing.

“What are you thinking?” George asked.

“We’re about out of rations,” she said carefully, “and there are a lot of these here.”

“What if they are poisonous?”

Hannah shrugged. “They could be meadow mushrooms or something.”

“Meadow mushrooms also exclusively grow in grassy areas,” George pointed out.

“To be fair,” Boomer piped up, “I don’t think the Gamemakers give a shit about what can and can’t grow where. If they think it’s good TV to have a bunch of idiot kids who don’t know any better die of mushroom poisoning, then they’ll make it happen.” At Hannah and George’s blank expressions, he added: “I saw a poison dart frog hopping around in a tree earlier and those are only native to tropical areas.”

George doubted that the District 7 tribute had ever even been to a “tropical area,” but he didn’t think it would be helpful to point it out. How did Boomer even know that stuff in the first place? 

“Boomer’s right,” Dream said. “I don’t think we should eat them if there’s a chance they could be poisonous.”

“Okay,” Hannah said. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, then.”

“We should just make what we have last,” George said, and then he cast a mischievous look at Dream. “Or, we could eat the sheep.”

Dream scoffed at him and muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” George asked.

“I called you an idiot.”

“Let’s be real,” Hannah said, “we are three ration packs away from eating that sheep.”

“Two,” Boomer said in-between bites of cracker. 

“ Two ration packs away from eating that sheep.”

Hannah continued to argue with Dream about Breakfast–who was no longer present outside the cave, anyway. Dream said that she ran away after the morning announcement.

George was only half awake when the voice cut through the silence of their cave. Dream had left him alone under the blanket, despite George’s groggy attempts to get the other tribute to stay. The blond was warm , and if George was any more shameless he would’ve just asked the other tribute to stay wrapped up with him a little longer. Only because the brunet was cold, of course.  

The revised rule echoed around the cave and a cold chill infiltrated the warmth of George’s cocoon. The cannon that went off almost immediately afterward made him sit up and pull the blanket around his shoulders.  For all he knew, that cannon could’ve been Alyssa–not that he planned on making it out of there, regardless. And for that, he had almost started to feel guilty, though she knew he had no intention of leaving the Map alive almost from the start.

And, if anyone deserved to make it out, Hannah and Dream did.

When Dream and the others weren’t looking, George ripped a few of the “unidentifiable” mushrooms free and shoved them in his pockets for safekeeping. They didn’t need to know about his contingency plan.

***

Alyssa tore through the trees and undergrowth. She didn’t have much time until Emma and Corpse noticed her absence, but she needed to make it to George. Even though George didn’t want to win, he had to see that they had a better chance of making it out together than they did alone.

Maybe, he’d change his mind for her. 

However, Alyssa didn’t notice that the District 2 duo followed behind her at a safe distance.

***

“Good morning, good people of the Capitol! I’m your host, Ted Nivison, and you are watching The Recount !” Ted paused for the jingle and the title card, and then he continued to read from the teleprompter. “We are on Day 5 of the 74th annual Hunger Games, but what all happened on Day 4? Not everyone can watch the Games 24/7, so let’s talk about what you may have missed in the Map!”

“Early, early this morning, Lucky from District 9 got not so lucky and was slain by the Phantom.” Footage of the poor boy getting ripped apart played on the reaction screen next to the teleprompter, and Ted cringed at the sight. The Gamemakers were getting more… creative in the labs. “Primespeed.”

He cleared his throat. “The Careers went on the hunt for food,” Ted said, and watched the footage of Emma and Corpse checking all the snares around Spawn play. “It shouldn’t be much longer until they go on the hunt for bigger, ‘Dreamier’ game.

“Meanwhile, Pokimane from District 3 continues to evade all of the other tributes.” This was the second day in a row that Ted watched her skirt around the edges of the Map on screen. He wondered how long she’d be able to pull that one off due to the impatience of the Gamemakers. “Give it a few days and we’ll see what happens when she crosses paths with the others!

“And finally, the Dream Team.” Ted paused for dramatic effect. They were definitely the fan favorites out of the remaining groups. It was unusual for a group of four to make it this long, especially since only one of them was a Career. “Bad news for Boomer fans: he’s got a broken arm. Not terribly devastating, but it’s unlikely that he’ll make it to the Final Five, now.” The screen played footage of Boomer falling into the cave and landing wrong on his arm.

“After, Dream used his jacket as a makeshift sling for Boomer, which left Dream to freeze in that cold, damp cave. Luckily, he and George shared a blanket to keep warm.” Ted wasn’t sure why his viewers were so interested in the sleeping habits of two teenagers, but he’d discuss whatever brought in the money. “And before that, Dream put himself in harm’s way to save George from the Phantom!” More footage of the Phantom attack, and Ted fought the urge to look away from the screen–he didn’t like the look of the winged thing. 

“Well, that’s it for today’s Recount! I will see you all tomorrow to talk about today’s events! Goodbye, and may the odds be ever in your favor!”

Ted smiled and waved until the “ON AIR” sign dimmed, and then he took a deep breath and slouched in his chair. Getting up every morning before the sun was even a suggestion in the sky to rewatch footage of brutal deaths right afterward really took its toll.

At least he got paid. A lot.

He pushed his chair away from the prop desk and stood up to remove his lavalier mic. Ted had started doing it himself before the show went live to save time, and because he really didn’t like how handsy the assistants could get. Usually, he and Slime would rig up each other’s mics, but Recount was a solo gig.

He doubted his co-anchor would be able to stomach all of the footage Ted had to rewatch everyday, anyway. It was for the best. 

Ted left the mic on the desk for the sound guy to retrieve and left the studio without much fanfare. The Recount was filmed on a small set located in the Tribute Center and on the same floor as the Control Room. He wanted to get brunch, since it was finally a normal time to eat a meal, and he had a few time slots on television later with Slime. He needed to eat while he had time or else he’d get all the way home at the end of the night without having done so, and that had happened too many times recently for Ted to count.

He was so focused on finding food that he ran into someone in the hallway. When Ted turned to apologize, he realized it was Slime. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked.

And then his friend started…crying?

“Charlie? Are you okay?” Ted reached out and put a hand on the other anchor’s shoulder. 

“I ki-killed her,” Slime choked out. 

An employee walked by and spared them an odd look. Ted glared at them until they kept going. “Killed who?”

It took his friend a minute to answer. “The District 6 girl.”

“That’s ridiculous, Slime. You’re not in the arena.”

“I made the announcement.”

What announcement? Ted wasn’t given any updates this morning. He didn’t even know Charlie had to be there so early that day. As far as he knew, Slime would show up right at the time for their first TV spot later. 

“I made the announcement, and then she…she–”

Ted wrapped his friend in a hug. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but what the tributes do isn’t your fault. Even if you do make some announcement, someone else wrote it and planned it. Me and you? We’re just really well-paid pawns.”

Chapter Text

“Gamemaker 11, start the night cycle. Gamemaker 07, release Mutt-812.”

“Yes sir,” echoed across the Control Room from two different Gamemakers. The group of Gamemakers watched on screen as the artificial moon appeared from behind a cloud in the Map as if it had been there the whole time. On cue, Mutt-812, the “Phantom,” cast its shadow across the moon.

There was only one tribute felled the day prior, and the citizens of the Capitol were getting hungry for blood. The seasoned Gamemaker had to guess that there would be one final confrontation–maybe two–before he called this year’s Games to a close.

On another screen, the Head Gamemaker noticed a lone tribute tracking something he couldn’t see. “What’s that?” Mr. Beast pointed. Maybe she was trying to find one of the other groups? Or maybe she was hunting one of the genetically modified sheep or rabbits. “Zoom in and follow the D-3 girl, 23.”

As he requested, Gamemaker 23, an intern, zoomed in on the girl from D-3. She hunted in the southmost edge of Quadrant 3. Separately, The two D-2 tributes were still following the D-1 girl to the D-12 group on the complete opposite side of the Map. So she wasn’t hunting her fellow tributes like he’d hoped...

What could she be hunting on the other side of the Map?

The admittedly terrifying screech of Mutt-812 alerted the girl, and she shimmied up the nearest, thickest tree with impressive speed. Mr. Beast recalled her learning to climb in the Training Center, and he was quite impressed with her progress. They’d have to give the trainer at the Climbing Station a raise. When the tribute reached the top of the dense tree, she waited with a sharpened dagger raised to her cheek. The Head Gamemaker watched in fascination as she lay in wait for her prey. The Phantom swooped by on leathery wings, and the girl jumped from the tree and out into the open air.

She landed squarely on the Phantom’s notched back. The room full of Gamemakers let out a collective gasp as they all watched the boney spikes on the mutt’s spine impale her unprotected stomach. But the tribute wasn’t deterred–she hastily slashed through both of the thing’s membranous wings and began to saw at its neck with the jagged knife. Even as she painted the thing with her own blood.

Gamemaker 02 wouldn’t be happy that his latest scientific success wouldn’t make it out of the Map, but it was a small price to pay for the quality footage. He couldn’t be sure, but Mr. Beast guessed that the citizens of the Capitol were going wild–even if this particular conflict wasn’t tribute versus tribute. He imagined crowds cheering triumphantly as Mutt-812 fought uselessly to stay in the air with its perforated wings and the additional weight of the dying tribute.

“15, ready a cannon. 14, get ready to retrieve both bodies.”

Finally, the Phantom fell from the air and took the screaming tribute with it. They landed in a graceless heap, and the crunching would have made a less seasoned Gamemaker wince. He idly looked over at the screen that monitored each tribute’s heart rate, and watched patiently as the girl from D-3 slowly flatlined.

“15, cannon. 14, retrieval.”

Cannon.

Mr. Beast watched as the bodies were retrieved and smiled to himself. He’d just lifted the curtain for the last act, and soon, it would be time to crown a Victor.

***

Hannah, Dream, George, and Boomer had been on the move since the morning, and it was about noon when the District 7 tribute asked, “Can we sit down for a second?”

She was the first to stop, and Dream almost ran her over accidentally. At the front of their little procession, George heaved a massive sigh of protest but still reluctantly stopped and turned around. Hannah knew he and Boomer didn’t like each other, but they both could’ve been a little more civil. Who would it hurt for them to stop a minute, anyway?

“Sure,” Hannah said for group, and slung Boomer’s backpack on the ground. She’d been carrying it since they left the cave, but not without protest. It took the tribute one painful attempt to get his injured arm through the strap, and then he’d let her carry it without complaint.

“We need to keep moving,” George said. “Corpse and Emma–and even Alyssa, probably–will be on our asses because of that cannon from this morning. And the Gamemakers will probably do everything in their power to help them track us down.”

“George, it’s okay. We’ll go hunt rabbits or something,” Dream said and looked pointedly at George. “Let Boomer rest.”

The two lovebirds could go smooch in a bush or something, and let Boomer rest. Hannah could keep watch while they were gone. She flopped down in the grass next to Boomer’s bag, and he sat down next to her carefully. He had to be more careful since his injured arm messed with his balance.

Dream carefully stepped around them and led George off into the trees–it didn’t escape her notice that the District 12 tribute had grabbed the other petulant tribute by the hand in order to do so. Hannah relaxed as soon as the two of them disappeared into the foliage because she trusted that they’d stay within earshot.

“I don’t know what his deal is.”

“George?” Hannah asked.

Boomer nodded.

“To be fair,” Hannah stated bluntly, “you antagonize him just as much as he antagonizes you.”

“Did you forget where we are?” Boomer gestured emphatically to the whole Map with his uninjured arm. “We’re supposed to antagonize each other.” Pause. “To death.”

“Yeah, but we’re a team.” Her shoulders drooped. “Until we aren’t anymore.”

Boomer scoffed. “I’m not going to even get that far. You’re going to have to put me down like a rabid dog.”

Hannah punched him lightly in his good arm. “If that one dude can win with his arms literally on fire then you could make it out of here with one bum arm.”

“Two bum arms,” he corrected, in reference to the fact that she had just punched him. Mock-devastated, he added, “I can’t even apply pressure to my injury.”

“Oh, don’t be such a–” Boomer pushed her to the side, and the rest of her sentence gave way to screams as she looked at him and saw the handle of the knife she’d thrown at Rae days ago protruding from the side of his neck. She scrambled to unsheath a knife from her leg holster, and then she blindly stabbed behind her at the attacker.

“Fuck!”

She recognized Corpse’s deep voice and began to panic because Emma was probably close by. Hannah turned and realized that she’d stabbed Corpse square in the calf. He kicked her away when she twisted the knife in, and the blow landed square on her shoulder blade. She hunched over Boomer’s backpack in pain, and the stuff inside dug painfully into her chest

Corpse loomed over her and reached for the massive blade strapped to his back. Hannah blindly reached for another one of her knives, but the District 2 tribute pressed her hand into the ground with his boot. She screamed again as her bones were crushed in vain hopes that Dream could hear her–wherever he and George were.

(Somewhere in the back of her brain, she hoped that they didn’t go off alone to kiss after all. That would be inconvenient–for her, at least.)

Corpse’s massive sword glinted in the moonlight as he drew it from the sheath on his back with both hands, and Hannah surged forward one last time with her free hand and yanked out her knife. Blood gushed from the wound, and she stabbed him again–just above the other wound. He howled and almost dropped his weapon.

If she was going to die like this, then she was at least going to get a few good hits in first.

***

Dream and George crouched behind a log as they impatiently waited for some unlucky game to cross their path. They still had two ration packs left, but there were four of them in the group until further notice. Ideally, a kill would supplement their food stores until…

With an arrow nocked in his bow, George looked well equipped to handle more than just squirrels. The District 12 tribute kept looking over to admire the way his curly hair fell into his mismatched eyes. Dream wanted to brush it out of the way for him, but every time George shook his head to get it out of his eyes just when the other tribute had plucked up enough courage to do so. Somehow, this was Techno’s fault. His mentor had put the idea of kissing the other tribute in his head, and it was making Dream crazy.

If only George wasn’t so damn pretty.

“Quit staring at me,” George said, cheeks flushed. “You’ll scare the squirrels away.”

Dream scoffed and was about to respond something about the squirrels not giving a shit about either of them–but birds scattered from the trees and Hannah’s screams echoed through their leaves, and Dream wished that he was less familiar with the sound.

George stood immediately, and the other tribute followed as they tore through the foliage toward where they’d left Hannah and Boomer alone together.

Cannon.

They both sped up. Surely, Emma and Corpse had found his teammates, and Dream felt guilty for insisting that they split up even if it was to give Boomer a break. He and George were only halfway back–would they even make it in time?

Once they were close, George readied an arrow. Dream thought he heard Corpse yell and the sounds of a struggle, and his fears were confirmed when he saw the District 2 tribute standing over Hannah wielding the intimidating sword he’d looted from Spawn. Although it looked like she’d stabbed him in the leg twice in the struggle. Dream was proud.

George fired at the tribute, but Corpse leapt out of the way just in time so that the arrow barely nicked his side. Dream was prepared to run after the enemy tribute with his axe, but Hannah reached up to grab his ankle lightly. He looked down at her and noticed, for the first time, Boomer dead on the ground next to her.

Oh.

George walked past the two tributes from 12 and nudged a second body that Dream hadn’t noticed with his foot. Dream saw white-blonde hair fanned out in the grass, and held his breath. “Alyssa,” George breathed, and Dream’s heart broke for him–though he wasn’t sure how deep George’s relationship with her went.

“Found you,” she croaked, and George jumped. There was never a second cannon, despite the blood that oozed from a knife in her stomach. The District 2 team must have followed her to George and then stabbed her to keep her down but still alive, so that she nor a cannon could alarm anyone in Dream’s group of their presence. There was no honor among Careers, it seemed. “Mind taking this thing out for me?”

“You’ll bleed out,” George said slowly.

“That’s kind of the point,” Alyssa grimaced. “This shit hurts.”

George crouched down next to her, and Dream suddenly felt like he was intruding. If Hannah was in her position he’d never forgive himself, and he knew George already felt bad for leaving her alone with the Careers. So, Dream forced his attention away from George and Alyssa as they whispered to each other, and he sat down next to Hannah instead. “Are you okay?”

Hannah lifted her crushed hand in between them like a trophy. It was already red and swollen, and he could only imagine the amount of pain that she was in. “Motherfucker stepped on my hand.”

He winced. “You did stab him in the leg, to be fair.”

Hannah grinned. “Twice,” she said smugly, and then her smile fell as she began to cry. “This is fucking awful.”

Dream reached to rub her shoulder, and she flung herself into his arms. He held her tightly and was mindful of her fractured hand even as her tears soaked his shirt. Over her shoulder, he made eye contact with George, who stood over Alyssa’s still body holding the knife that had previously pierced the girl’s stomach.

Cannon.

Distantly, he realized that there were only five of them left.

***

[FOOTAGE OF THE ARENA IS INTERRUPTED BY A SCREEN THAT READS: This broadcast of the 74th Annual Hunger Games has been interrupted by the Gamemaker Endorsed, Final Five Breakdown. Please wait. THE TEXT OVERLAYS THE CAPITOL EMBLEM.]

[A COUNTDOWN BEGINS ONSCREEN]

[AT THE END OF THE COUNTDOWN, TED NIVISON APPEARS ON CAMERA DISHEVELED BEHIND A DESK. THERE IS A SUSPICIOUS PURPLE STAIN ON HIS SHIRT AND A FEW CRUMBS AT THE CORNER OF HIS MOUTH. HE PUTS ON HIS BEST FAKE SMILE FOR THE SCREEN AND BEGINS TO READ THE TELEPROMPTER THAT SITS NEXT TO THE CAMERA.]

NIVISON: Hello, fellow Capitol citizens! If you’re watching this, then that means there are only five remaining tributes in the 74th Annual Hunger Games!

[CANNED APPLAUSE AND CHEERING]

NIVISON: Let’s run through the remaining tributes and their finest kills, as well as some of their greatest moments. Starting with the Capitol-proclaimed pretty boy from District 1 himself, George Lore.

[CUT TO A MONTAGE OF CLIPS FROM THE DISTRICT 1 REAPING, CLIPS OF THE TRIBUTE FROM THE PARADE, AND CLIPS FROM THE TRIBUTE’S MOMENTS IN THE EARLY GAMES PLAY ONSCREEN.]

NIVISON: One thing that always stuck out about George was that he has protested participating in this Games from the beginning. He outright said he didn’t want to win early on, and so far he’s only killed to defend others. In fact, he only has one kill on the board now, and it’s from Day 1.

[THE CLIP OF THE MALE DISTRICT 1 TRIBUTE KILLING THE MALE DISTRICT 8 IN THE FIRST FEW MINUTES OF THE GAMES PLAYS ON SCREEN. THE FOOTAGE SHOWS THE DISTRICT 12 BOY KILLING THE GIRL FROM DISTRICT 8, AND THEN HER PARTNER COMING TO DEFEND HER. BEFORE THE NOW-DECEASED CAN REACH HIS TEAMMATE, THE DISTRICT 1 TRIBUTE EFFICIENTLY STABS HIM IN THE NECK WITH THE KNIFE.]

[CANNED APPLAUSE]

NIVISON: He didn’t even hesitate. I can’t wait to see what happens when the two remaining teams go head to head. I think George is really going to surprise us before this Games is over.

[A BEAT]

NIVISON: Next up on our list is Emma Langevin from District 2. Probably the most favored by the sponsors as the winner of the Games, followed by their partner from their District. Emma is, if I may say, the scariest tribute of the remaining handful, and their shining moment from this Games occurred about twenty minutes ago, when they took down Alyssa from District 1.

[FOOTAGE OF THE DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTE SNEAKING UP BEHIND THE FEMALE DISTRICT 1 TRIBUTE AND COVERING HER MOUTH WITH THEIR HAND PLAYED. SHE STRUGGLED, AND A KNIFE GLINTED AS THE DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTE BROUGHT IT AROUND TO STAB HER IN THE STOMACH. THEY HELD HER CLOSE AS THE OTHER DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTE APPROACHED THE GROUP OF TRIBUTES AHEAD.]

[CANNED APPLAUSE]

NIVISON: And don’t even get me started on Corpse Husband! His follow up kill was insane!

[THE FOOTAGE CONTINUES TO PLAY AS THE DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTE APPROACHES THE FEMALE DISTRICT 12 TRIBUTE FROM BEHIND. HER COMPANION FROM 7 PUSHES HER AWAY HOWEVER, AND THE DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTE ENDS UP STABBING THE MALE FROM DISTRICT 7 IN THE THROAT.]

[CANNED APPLAUSE]

NIVISON: A duo to be feared, for sure. The Careers did not disappoint this year! I can’t wait to see if all of the sponsors are right about these two making it out of the arena together. And as for their rivals, the duo from District 12…

[A MONTAGE OF THE DISTRICT 12 REAPING PLAYS, FOLLOWED BY FOOTAGE OF THE DUO IN THE PARADE, FOLLOWED BY THE CLIP OF THEM MEETING UP IN THE ARENA AFTER THEY WERE SEPARATED. FINALLY, THEY PLAYED THE CLIP OF THE DISTRICT 12 BOY COMFORTING THE DISTRICT 12 GIRL AFTER THE MOST RECENT ATTACK FROM THE DISTRICT 2 TRIBUTES.]

NIVISON: Hannah Rose and Dream Run from District 12 have an unusual relationship for two tributes in the Hunger Games. After Dream’s sister died in the Games last year, it seems like he’s taken Hannah on as a new sibling. Watching their friendship progress has been heartwarming, but let’s not forget what they’re in the Map for…

[FOOTAGE OF THE DISTRICT 12 AND DISTRICT 11 GIRLS CLIMBING UP THE SIDE OF THE CLIFF PLAYS. THE DISTRICT 12 GIRL MOVES ASIDE MOVES ASIDE SO THE KNIFE THROWN FROM ABOVE CAN WEDGE INTO THE DISTRICT 11 GIRL’S OUTSTRETCHED ARM. THE GIRL FALLS, AND TED WINCES AT THE REPLAY.]

NIVISON: That was certainly a close one! I was on the edge of my seat the whole time! Meanwhile. Dream’s first and only kill was, like George’s, at Spawn at the beginning of the Games.

[FOOTAGE OF THE D12 BOY AND THE GIRL FROM 8 STRUGGLE ON THE GROUND. FINALLY, THE DISTRICT 12 TRIBUTE GETS THE UPPER HAND AND STRANGLES HER WITH HER OWN SPEAR. AFTER SHE SCRATCHES HIS FACE ABOVE THE CLOTH MASK HE WEARS IN THE ARENA.]

[CANNED APPLAUSE]

NIVISON: Absolutely brutal! With the mask on, he’s almost like some kind of avenging vigilante!

[TED CLAPS HIS HANDS TOGETHER]

NIVISON: Those are the five remaining tributes in the Map. I'm your host, Ted Nivison, and the next time I see you, dear citizens, we will have… a Victor!

[CANNED CHEERING AND APPLAUSE]

NIVISON: Good afternoon, folks!

[TED WAVES AND EXITS THE SET]

***

Mr. Beast watched as the D-2 tributes retreated toward Spawn. That was expected after the D-2 boy’s leg injury. But the D-12 group was not in pursuit as he had hoped.

“Wait, what are they doing?” the Head Gamemaker asked no one in particular.

“They’re sticking to the perimeter, sir.”

That just wouldn’t do.

“Activate Muttation-1101, 13.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

“Dream,” Hannah whispered. “Dream, are you still awake?”

The other District 12 tribute sat up groggily and rubbed at his eyes. George’s arm fell from Dream’s torso to across his lap–at George’s insistence, they’d been sleeping next to each other again. Hannah looked between the two of them, and his cheeks heated. “I’m awake now,” he said, partially annoyed. Then he remembered all that she’d been through in the day and felt guilty for being annoyed in the first place.

“Sorry,” she responded sheepishly. “I just wanted to talk to you without George overhearing.”

A spike of panic chased away any residual sleepiness that clung to Dream like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. Was she going to suggest killing the last District 1 tribute now that they were in the Final Five together? Dream doubted that he could do anything to hurt George intentionally, but he also didn’t want any harm to come to Hannah.

“Oh, stop it with the look,” she interrupted. “It has nothing to do with him.”

The tribute in question rolled over and curled into Dream’s side in his sleep. He smiled at George fondly and ruffled his brunet curls.

“I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate you.”

Dream smiled softly at her, but he was still worried about what she wanted to say next. “And I apprec–”

“No, no let me finish.” She held up her uninjured hand. “Before we were both reaped, I only had my parents and their apothecary. And like, getting reaped was–was awful, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think that either one of us would’ve even glanced sideways at each other on the street if things were different. But now we’re friends, and I’m just really, really happy that we met–despite the circumstances.” She looked beyond Dream. “And George is alright, too. And so is–so was Boomer.”

Dream glanced at Boomer’s hat that stuck out of a side pocket in Boome-Hannah’s backpack. She’d saved it before the group left their fallen friends to be retrieved. None of them had wanted to talk about any of it afterward.

“I’m glad we met, too,” Dream said, but he was frowning under his mask. She was acting like one of them was going to die. But then again, Boomer had died unexpectedly. Any of them could. “I had a–” He swallowed and looked around, mindful of the cameras that he knew were scattered around the arena. He didn’t like parading his trauma in front of the Capitol for anyone’s benefit, but Hannah needed to hear what he was going to say. “I had a hard time after my sister passed, but our friendship healed a small corner of the hole her d–she left. So thanks, I guess. For putting up with me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said imperiously and mock-saluted him. “You can go to sleep now, that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Alright,” Dream said, reluctantly. He felt as though he should say more to her–even though he didn’t know what else to say. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

***

“George.”

The District 1 tribute’s eyes fluttered, but he burrowed his head further into Dream’s back. George had insisted on sleeping together “for warmth,” and they’d given Hannah the awful foil emergency blanket. They didn’t need it–Dream was practically a furnace–and she wasn’t the type to cuddle.

Something yanked on the collar of George’s shirt.

“Dream–stop it,” he said into the other tribute’s shoulder blade.

“I’m not doin’ anything,” Dream mumbled.

George lifted his head and turned to face… Breakfast? The sheep bleated urgently, and went to bite his shirt again. The tribute removed his arm from around Dream and tried to push the nuisance away, but she was undeterred. The useless thing only bleated again, louder and more insistent this time.

He leaned down to whisper in the other tribute’s ear. “Dream. Your sheep’s here,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to wake up Hannah if she’d fallen asleep on watch. He could do it for the rest of the night. They all had a hard day, but Hannah most of all. He knew that Dream was worried about her crushed hand.

“George.”

His head snapped away from Breakfast and toward the sound of Hannah’s voice, though it was worryingly weak. He was alarmed to find that there was a thick wall of pulsating foliage where there was once empty space. If he had to guess, the leaves had started to grow along the perimeter of the Map while they were asleep.

To herd them to Spawn, probably.

With alarm, he noted that Hannah’s face was surrounded by the vines and branches, her body already swallowed up by the stuff. He blinked at her. Was this a nightmare?

“Run,” she shouted at him, and then the plants completely engulfed her. She screamed for a few seconds, and then the entire Map was eerily silent.

Cannon.

And then the overgrowth began to creep toward Dream and George.

***

Dream was half asleep when the screaming started.

He was fully awake when the cannon went off.

The District 12 tribute found George throwing his bow, quiver, and both of their backpacks over his shoulders. He looked apprehensively over Dream’s shoulder, and when the tribute checked to see what George was looking at, he saw a wall of green rapidly approaching them.

“Where’s Hannah?” he asked, looking around for their third.

George paused what he was doing and looked at Dream momentarily, as if he was weighing his options. “We have to go,” George settled on.

Oh.

Oh.

Dream blinked and glanced at the wall of moving vegetation again. There was no time for his grief–he could press it down until he was home again, and its presence no longer threatened his life. For now, they had to run.

The District 12 tribute jumped up and grabbed George’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They ran through the trees, almost tripping over fallen branches and rocks that seemed to just appear out of nowhere. Hand in hand they pressed on, and Dream focused on their intertwined hands and the ground below him rather than–

George yanked Dream’s hand to stop him before they ran into the clearing that surrounded Spawn. Dream impatiently looked at the overgrowth that was closely pursuing them. He tugged on George’s hand to coax him forward. “Come on.”

“Do you trust me?”

Dream snorted and rolled his eyes. “Always, duh.”

“It’s a horrible idea,” George said matter-of-factly, as if to convince Dream that he shouldn’t be trusted.

The blond spared another glance at the vines and leaves and branches that were about a foot, foot and a half away from their ankles. “Yes. I trust you. Obviously.”

And then George reached up with a slightly shaky hand to pull Dream’s mask down.

He opened his mouth to protest, but any indignation he felt as a result of his unmasking disappeared with the press of George’s mouth to his. The rushed brush of their lips was clumsy and over as soon as it began, but it was also the greatest thing that had ever happened to Dream in his entire eighteen years of life. George pulled away, and Dream chased the other tribute’s mouth with his own, but George lifted Dream’s mask back up before he could kiss him again.

George looked back at the overgrowth that had slowed to a crawl and smiled ruefully. “Thought so,” he said, and knelt behind a tree and drew his bow. Dream fought the urge to pout.

“What are you doing?” Dream said, still not confident that the man-eating foliage was actually stopped.

“You said you trust me, so get down here,” George replied, and tilted his head to the spot next to him.

Dream rolled his eyes and crouched next to the other tribute in the passable cover of the tall, skinny trees. On the one hand, Techno would kill them for staying so close to the devouring plants, but on the other hand, he kissed George–well, George kissed him. But that had to be good enough for the sponsors right?

“Come on,” George murmured, and Dream peeked around their makeshift cover to look at what George was doing. He could see the makeshift structure at the center of Spawn, and the remnants of a fire pit nearby. Inside the covered area, Dream could see the rest of the weapons and food and other loot that had yet to be used piled almost to the roof of the building. The rest of the area looked barren–a complete contrast to his first visit.

“What are you–?”

But before Dream could finish, George let his arrow fly into the clearing.

Straight into Corpse’s throat.

Cannon.

Somewhere, Emma screamed in rage. Behind them, the vines and leaves surged toward them once again.

Chapter Text

As Corpse’s body hit the ground, Emma ran for him. They felt the lack of heartbeat in their partner’s chest, and looked helplessly at the arrow that pierced the District 2 tribute’s throat. Emma’s anguished cries quickly turned to rage, when they caught sight of Dream and George in the trees. “ Why would you do that?! ”

Dream glanced behind George and stood, pulling the District 1 tribute up with him. The Gamemaker’s patience had clearly run out, because the overgrowth was once again pushing in on them. The two tributes had no choice but to run into Spawn toward a vengeful Emma, and together they ran from one danger to another. The overgrowth once again licked at their heels all the way to the edge of Spawn, where it seemed to pulsate against an invisible barrier. The three remaining tributes were exactly where the Gamemakers wanted them to be, and Dream guessed that they wouldn’t interfere any further.

Emma stood and dropped their large hammer to the ground next to Corpse’s body. They pulled their fallen teammate’s sword out of its sheath, and faced the other two approaching tributes. “We could’ve both lived and gone home! There could have been two Victors! And you ruined that for what a–a chance to play out your tragic bromance in peace?! He was my best friend!”

“Boomer was my friend!” Dream shouted back, axe drawn. He tilted his head down to speak to George. “Get distance and get a good shot. I’ll be fine,” Dream said to George in a low, even tone.

George clearly hesitated, but nodded at Dream and drew his bow. The District 1 tribute ran the perimeter of Spawn to try and flank Emma. The District 2 tribute was focused on George, but Dream did his best to draw Emma’s attention back to him.

“And Hannah! And Alyssa!” That last one was a stretch, but he was at least pretty certain that the female District 1 tribute didn’t hold any animosity toward him. It worked, though. Emma’s head swung to glare at Dream.

“We didn’t kill your partner!” Emma ground out. “That was her own dumbass mistake!”

Fire curled in Dream’s stomach as he ran at the remaining District 2 tribute. Emma had no choice but to meet Dream head on, even though he could tell that George was their real target from the way their eyes flicked away from him to follow the brunet’s path across Spawn. George had killed Corpse, after all. Emma swung the blade wide overhead, and Dream used both hands to brace the handle of his axe against the sword. He grunted with the impact, and the clang of netherite on netherite echoed in his ears. Dream realized now how strong Emma was, and they bared their teeth at him.

There were very few moments in the Map that Dream could admit to being scared.

That was one of them.

Dream glanced over their crossed weapons, over Emma’s shoulder, and saw George almost trip over Corpse’s body. He imagined that the Gamemakers would be collecting all of them together–the bodies and the Victor–at the end of the Games. It would all be over soon.

Emma abruptly withdrew their sword from the lock, and Dream stumbled forward at the loss of force, disoriented. The other tribute sidestepped around him, using his body to obstruct George’s view of Emma as they fought. He knew that the brunet would have to keep running the treeline to get a good shot, or risk shooting Dream in a vain attempt to hit Emma. He turned toward Emma just in time to block another blow–one that would have cut into his back. The force behind it rattled his teeth.

“Your pretty boy better keep away from that overgrowth,” Emma taunted. They smiled like they figured something out. “Would suck if he ended up like your other friend.”

Against his better judgment, Dream chanced a look over his shoulder at George to make sure he was far enough away from the man eating leaves and vines. He felt a stinging across his chest and then a sharp pain. And then he was on the ground. 

George shouted as warmth seeped across Dream’s chest and stomach. He looked down and saw ripped fabric and blood. His blood. Oh no.

Something whistled over him, but he didn’t have the strength to move his head to look.

Cannon.

***

Unspeakable rage made George loose the arrow that pierced Emma’s throat. They fell to the ground next to Dream, sword clattering into the grass. Emma died with a smile on their face–as if by injuring Dream they’d fulfilled their life’s purpose.

Dream wasn’t going to die. That wasn’t how this Games was supposed to go.

So, bow in hand, George ran.

He ran stiffly at first, from the initial fear of seeing Dream hurt , but gained speed as he approached his injured friend. If he didn’t know how much he cared for the other tribute before, he definitely knew now. George fell to his knees next to Dream and dropped his bow in the grass.

Even bleeding out, the District 12 tribute tried to sit up, but George gently pushed him by the shoulder back into the grass. “I need bandages,” George said, more to himself than to Dream. Emma’s last act had been to slice Dream open from chest to stomach, and he was losing a lot of blood. It was seeping through the cut fabric and pooling on his exposed skin. Desperately, George shrugged off his own jacket and pressed it to the gaping wound.

“And I need another kiss,” Dream ground out. George bit out a laugh, and Dream smiled painfully at the sound–though it was more like a grimace. 

“I think that’s the least of your worries right now.” George’s jacket was quickly soaked through and he looked around frantically for something, anything to help Dream live.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about since…since the first time.” And, even though the blond was bleeding out and dying, Dream winked at him.

George scoffed and threw his useless jacket to the side. “Dream–listen to me. I’m going to go look for bandages in the leftover supplies. Stay. Awake.”

Dream grunted, and George guessed that was about as good of an answer as he was going to get. He ran to the center of Spawn where the only structure that actually looked man-made in the Map stood. He’d helped Emma and Corpse store the remaining supplies from Spawn under its cover, and he knew that there had to be bandages in it somewhere. The District 1 tribute dumped a few unused backpacks on the stone floor before he found gauze and bandages. He wished they still had some of that healing salve, but he’d used the rest of it on the cuts on Dream’s cheek like an idiot. 

As quickly as he could, George shoved rolls of bandages and a few individually wrapped packets of gauze into his pockets. He wasn’t sure what his plan was once he’d patched Dream up, but he’d burn that bridge once he got to it. At the moment, he needed to make sure that as much blood as possible stayed in Dream’s body.

He ran back to his partner, who was once again trying to sit up. George helped Dream shrug off his jacket, and then he tore what was left of the injured tribute’s shirt open to reveal the bleeding wound. George winced, and then he carefully laid Dream back down on the ground. The brunet sopped up the rest of the pooling blood with Dream’s discarded jacket, but he absently realized that they’d torn the lining out to make bandages earlier, so the garments were less absorbent. And so George cleaned up as much of the blood as he could with the thing, but the thick liquid quickly replenished itself across the injured tribute’s stomach.

The brunet tore open a packet of gauze with his teeth, but a moaning sound that didn’t sound like Dream stopped him dead in his tracks. Alarmed, Dream locked eyes with him, and George scanned the overgrowth that surrounded them. It was different from the usual rustling sounds that emanated from the leaves and vines as it descended on Spawn, and a chill went down George’s spine. The Gamemakers were sending something after them.

“Can you walk?” George asked.

“If you help me up,” Dream said. He was glad that he and Dream were on the same page after they’d both heard the groaning from the leaves.

George threw his bow over his shoulder and then struggled to get Dream to a standing position–the other tribute was tall and decently built even after they’d both lost weight in the arena. Dream’s arm around George’s shoulder was warm as the brunet supported the other tribute’s weight all the way to the structure in the center of Spawn. The moans were getting closer, and the barrier rustled as though things emerged from it. At one point, Dream glanced over his shoulder and paled even further–which was impressive, since he lost a lot of his blood. Frankly, George didn’t want to know what was chasing them until he could get Dream safely on top of the structure. And then he could worry about whatever was coming out of the overgrowth.

George boosted Dream up, and with great struggle the blond climbed the wooden planks that made up the back, and only, wall of the structure. The brunet watched the other weakly roll up and over onto the roof, and then George stuck his foot between two of the planks and began to climb after Dream–eerily reminded of the time the two had spent climbing in the Training Center.

The District 1 tribute was almost to the top of the building when leathery fingers grabbed at his ankle. George finally looked back and met the glassy gaze of a humanoid monster. Its skin was green and rotting, and the sickly sweet scent of decay emanated toward George. There were many of them descending onto the center of Spawn, trampling Emma and Corpse’s bodies on the way–all wore the same ripped and moldy blue shirts and jeans. They emitted a horrible cacophony of moans and groans, louder now with proximity and without the dampening of the surrounding foliage.

George kicked in disgust until the thing let go of him, and then he scrambled up the side of the building. He immediately pulled out his bow and shot the one that grabbed at him. It fell and was trampled by the others as two more replaced it. Their rotting fingers reached for George,  and instead grabbed over and over again at the structure. The brunet shot arrows into two more out of fear that they would begin to climb, but it seemed as though they couldn’t do more than walk and grab. 

Clearly, they sent the wrong mutts.

George let out a breath and let his bow clatter on the wooden roof as he dropped to his knees next to Dream to try and patch him up again. The wound bled afresh after their struggle, and George hopelessly applied gauze and bandage after bandage to try and quell the endless bleeding. 

“I’m going to die,” Dream said weakly, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.

“You’re going home to your mom,” George said, determined. “You’ve got people back home. It’s not fair. You’re going to live .”

“Hey.” Dream grabbed George’s hands weakly and smiled at George. “It’s okay.”

The bandages weren’t soaking up any more of the blood, and George was rapidly running out of fresh ones. He fumbled with a roll of bandages from his pockets, but it fell through the cracks in the roof to land on the pile of useless supplies he’d helped the other Careers stockpile below. George’s eyes burned in his helplessness, and he hated Dream for making him–

“Do you trust me?” George ground out, trying not to cry. 

“The last time you asked me that, you kissed me–but I feel like I’m going to like whatever you have planned this time less,” Dream said, carefully, and then took a strangled breath. The subsequent heaviness of his gaze leveled George. “But I trust you. Implicitly.”

The brunet’s eyes pricked with tears as he reached down to pull Dream’s mask down the second–and probably the last–time. He softly pressed his lips to the blond’s cheek, before George pulled away from his…from Dream to rifle through his own backpack.

The District 1 tribute tugged the bag off of his shoulder and pulled the silver canister that used to be full of healing salve out. Dream’s eyebrows tugged together, but he didn’t say anything. George looked up to the fake sky, hoping that maybe he’d locked eyes with at least one camera and said:

“Hannah and I argued over whether or not these mushrooms are poisonous. If I don’t get a response in ten seconds, we’re both going to swallow them and–if I’m right–we’ll both be dead in seconds–no remaining tribute, no Victor. Up to you.”

George twisted open the lid and placed one mushroom between his teeth and one between Dream’s. George fixed his eyes on Dream and hoped the other tribute–his friend in the Capitol, his partner in the Map–saw everything George wanted to say to him in his gaze. 

From the look in Dream’s eyes, George thought he might’ve understood.

***

The interview Quackity was forced to sit and look pretty for had come to a halt when Schlatt’s assistant had approached with a missive from Mr. Beast himself. He’d tugged the Victor out of the room by his arm, and dragged him all the way to the Control Room. It was disturbing how often Schlatt had painfully dragged him by the arm through hallways this Games, Quackity thought.

The President threw open a door in the back of the Control Room and pushed Quackity roughly inside. “Stay put, sweetcheeks,” Schlatt said. “And don’t touch anything.”

His fiancé slammed the door. Across the booth, the 25th Gamemaker (Noah? Jonah? Colin? Landon? Declan?) shared Quackity’s bewildered expression. Clearly, 25 wasn’t used to having company.

Quackity looked out through the window of the booth to where Mr. Beast and Schlatt had crowded over Charlie’s shoulder. He thought he saw his friend’s light brown hair when he entered, but he didn’t have time to make sure before he was thrown in the booth. On one big screen up front, the tribute from 1–George?–stood on top of the Spawn building surrounded by zombie Mutts. Dream was laid out next to him, bleeding profusely and not looking like he would be alive for much longer.

“What’s he saying, Rowan?” Quackity asked.

“It’s Nolan,” the Gamemaker said, indignantly. He was clearly still upset by the fact that someone else was in his booth.

“People are dying, Landon. Now, what is he saying?”

The Gamemaker sighed and hit one button out of a million on his console. Quackity blinked, but now he could hear the anxious chattering of the Gamemakers in the room and the misbehaving, angry tribute on screen. George must have been something if they called Schlatt in.

“–get a response in ten seconds, we’re both going to swallow them and–if I’m right–we’ll both be dead in seconds–no remaining tribute, no Victor. Up to you.”

The room devolved into chaos, and Quackity watched as two of Mr. Beast’s favored Gamemakers worked to calm down the room. He imagined that the rest of the Capitol was in even more uproar. Quackity was amazed that one tribute from District 1 could cause this much of a stir.

Five, six, seven seconds passed before–

“George from District 1,” Slime said slowly into the mic, “what are your demands?”

“I want to talk to President Schlatt.” George raised his chin defiantly, poisonous mushroom pressed to the inside of his cheek, stood protectively over Dream. “And I want you to cut the cameras.”

Even more chaos erupted. Quackity thought of the minute long delay between what was filmed in the map and what was broadcasted “live” to the Capitol and the rest of Esempii. Nolan looked like he had the same train of thought. Quackity spotted a screen in the booth that displayed what was broadcasted to the Capitol, and George hadn’t pulled out the mushrooms yet in front of the viewers. That meant there was still time… 

“Cut the cameras!” Quackity shouted at Nolan.

If George wanted to live past the next five minutes, the citizens of the Capitol–and especially the Districts–couldn’t see him challenge Schlatt. 

“But–!”

“Cut the damn cameras!”

Nolan hesitated, and so Quackity started pressing buttons with both hands frantically. Finally, he pressed a big red button toward the center of the console, and the live feed was replaced with the Capitol’s emblem. The last thing the citizens of Esempii saw was George kissing Dream on the cheek with both tributes on the verge of tears. Gross.

“I could lose my job!” Nolan shouted at him.

“Not my problem!” Quackity shouted back.

To be fair, George’s life or death wasn’t Quackity’s problem either. But he loved causing problems for Schlatt, and George held the potential to be the newest pain in the President’s ass. Especially if the District 1 tribute convinced Schlatt to let Dream live, too. That was only if the other tribute was alive to see the inevitable hospital bed at the end of George’s negotiating, however.

“The cameras are off,” Slime said and cast an unsure glance toward Mr. Beast. Quackity was unsure that anyone reported to Mr. Beast the status of the Capitol Broadcast, as Nolan hadn’t reported anything and that was what he was in charge of. Or maybe, the Head Gamemaker just trusted his 25th lackey to do it without prompting. “And Mr. President Jay Schlatt is standing here next to me.”

“Get rid of the Mutts,” George ground out. “They’re annoying.”

Quackity suppressed a smile. 

“Gamemaker 07, contain Muttation-031,” Mr. Beast muttered. Quackity had never seen him so perturbed. Although knowing Schlatt, he could decide that this incident with George was all Mr Beast’s fault and “get rid of” him. Or the President could do something harmful to someone close to the Head Gamemaker, like when Philza retired.

“You know the rules of the Games, George–” Slime looked up to Mr. Beast as if to confirm what he would say next “–Rule #8: There can only be one Victor.”

“You said–!”

“The rules were augmented in the case of two remaining tributes from the same district.” Charlie said carefully. Quackity rolled his eyes–they were going to rescind that rule anyway last minute. They planned it all around Corpse and Emma being the last two tributes. “You and Mr. Run are from Districts 1 and 12. It wouldn’t be fair–”

“Bullshit!” George yelled. Dream grunted in pain and the mushroom almost slipped into his mouth, and the brunet dropped down to keep him from swallowing it. This time, anyway. “The President and the Head Gamemaker are standing in the room with you, right? If anyone can break the rules this one time, it’s them. We’ll do anything! I’ll be the pretty boy from District 1 and Dream will be Dream Boy–or…whatever–forever if you get us both out!”

“Mr. Lore–” Charlie’s diplomatic plea was cut off by Schlatt’s hand on his shoulder. The President and the Head Gamemaker argued quietly, and not even Nolan’s speakers could pick them up. Quackity chewed on his lower lip and he watched Dream’s heart monitor dip lower and lower on the wall.

George also seemed to notice Dream’s rapidly declining health, though he had no way of knowing the other tribute’s heart rate like Quackity. “Five seconds. And then we both die.” George hovered his hand with the mushroom in front of his mouth, and cradled the other tribute’s chin with the other. At his touch, Dream’s eyes opened and he blinked at George as if to show his solidarity. Even if he was probably going to die anyway.

“Fine! You convinced me!” Schlatt was in front of the microphone now, crowded over Slime. Charlie physically shrank into the chair, behaving as though acting as Schlatt and Mr. Beast’s mouthpiece had physically hurt him. “But you both owe me now, Georgie. And I will collect.” The president spoke cheerfully, as if none of this bothered him. But Quackity knew he was pissed from the tense line in his shoulders and the way his hands twitched, as if they itched for a glass of liquor. “Now get that shit out of your mouth.”

“Not until we’re both in the aircraft.”

Schlatt laughed darkly, and Mr Beast took over the microphone. “I need you to sit District 12 up, D1.” To Nolan, he added, “Turn the broadcast back on. Keep the delay.”

Nolan hit the red button Quackity had pressed to stop the broadcast initially, and a few others that the victor had hit in the process. He sideyed Quackity, and he gave the Gamemaker a cheeky grin in response. An apology message displayed on the live feed, transposed over the Nation’s seal.

[APOLOGIES, CITIZENS FOR THE BRIEF INTERRUPTION OF THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES. THE TRAINING CENTER EXPERIENCED AN UNPRECEDENTED POWER OUTAGE. WE HAVE WORKED TIRELESSLY TO GET THE POWER BACK ONLINE, AND THE BROADCAST WILL BE BACK UP SHORTLY.]

George squinted into the camera, and then looked back down at Dream hesitantly. “He’ll bleed more if I try to sit him up. The bandages are useless and we’re both covered in his blood.”

“Aircraft has already been deployed, D1. As soon as you’re airlifted into the hold, he’ll be taken care of. It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.” Patience vanished, the Head Gamemaker added, “Now, sit him up and keep him up. We haven’t got all day.”

George listened this time and lifted Dream’s upper body so that the other tribute was tucked into one side of his body. Dream muttered inaudible nonsense into George’s ear as he bled all over both of them, and Quackity had to look away from the display. Straight at Schlatt, who barreled toward Nolan’s booth like it did something to him.

Mr. Beast handed Slime a new notecard–the one that had the Victors’ names on it.

The President threw the door to the booth open, and both of its inhabitants froze. “Thanks for the assist, babe. We gotta go get a second crown made.” The President’s wolfish grin made Quackity’s blood freeze. It promised bad things in the Victor’s future.

Because Quackity had just won a lot of money from illegally betting on Dream, but Schlatt had lost more than just the blood money he’d bet on Emma.

He’d shown that Jay Schlatt, President of Esempii, could lose.

The thought made Quackity answer his fiancé’s bloodthirsty grin with one of his own. Maybe, Quackity and Slime and Tubbo could all make it out of there. Maybe, they could all be free.

All because of George Lore from District 1.

***

Dream had been in and out of consciousness since he’d painfully climbed to the top of Spawn. Sometimes George was standing over him, yelling at someone he couldn’t see, and sometimes his family was smiling down at him instead. He knew George was real and his parents and sister weren’t, but that didn’t make them look any less…tangible. Sometimes Techno and Tommy were there too, with Wilbur hovering nearby. And sometimes voices that he didn’t really recognize broke through the haze, and the fire in his body would return mercilessly to rip him in half.

One such voice cut through the haze one last time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.”

Dream fought to open his eyes so he could see who won. His head lolled to the side, and his fevered gaze met mismatched eyes. George had won, good.

Over George’s head, he met Drista’s eyes, and then his mom’s, and then his father’s. They all smiled at him and waved, before they disappeared together. He’d probably see Drista and his dad again soon, but he wished he could’ve said goodbye to his mother and hoped that losing her only other child wouldn’t devastate her again.

Dream tried to speak, but there was something in his mouth that kept him from doing so. He tried to spit it out, but George carefully took whatever it was and held it in front of Dream’s mouth like he’d put it back in at the drop of a hat. Dream noticed that George held a similar one between his teeth.

Oh, right. Mushrooms. 

 “You won,” Dream said weakly, unsure if George could even hear him. He was dead, wasn’t he? If he was, his ghost was grinning despite the intense pain that lingered in his body.

George smiled at him, and the tears in the other tribute’s eyes told Dream he must have died. Surely that wasn’t the same George he’d met at the parade so long ago. “ We won, Dream.”

“Oh, great. Techno’s not going to bring me back to life and kill me himself.” Dream heard… engines? “George, I hear jets. Am I supposed to be hearing jets?”

George laughed in spite of their situation and pressed his face into Dream’s neck. “They’re coming to get us–both of us.” George shuffled beneath the blond to keep him upright, and Dream’s vision flashed as his stomach twinged with pain at the disturbance. “Hold on just a few more minutes.”

The District 12 tribute’s head lolled back away from George, and he watched a Capitol jet break through the atmosphere and hover toward them. Across the clearing, a claw descended toward Emma and Corpse’s trampled bodies. He guessed it was a good thing that tributes didn’t get open casket funerals. 

George popped Dream’s mushroom back in his mouth–insurance, the blond guessed–as the blond was taken out of his arms and deposited onto a stretcher. George didn’t look away from him even as he was loaded into the aircraft. A nurse stepped in front of Dream’s line of sight, and just like that the brunet was gone.

Dream wasn’t sure when he’d see George again, but he already missed him.

Chapter Text

Upon his return to 12, Dream’s first thoughts were of Patches and how excited he was to see her again. His second thoughts were of Hannah–where would she go in that big metal box? Was she even actually in there since the foliage had swallowed her whole? Would her family have a funeral?

He caught sight of Wilbur, Phil, and Tommy, who had Patches in his arms, on the platform. Peacekeepers stood at the edge of the gathered crowd, but no one made any fuss. The District 12 residents were impossibly still, and among all of the somber faces around him, the two that he most wanted to see were absent.

Obviously George wasn’t there–he’d been sent home to District 1, to what was probably a much more riotous reception.

The Victor turned to his mentor to ask after his mother, but Techno kept walking–oblivious to Dream’s pause. Dream walked on as though nothing was wrong even though Phil’s grim smile should have been a warning. Even after the relative privacy of the train he still felt the itch of the cameras at his skin. An itch that spoke of danger should he act even remotely human.

The hesitance in Tommy’s eyes betrayed his usual, wide grin as he offered Patches to Dream. “Trade you the bandanna for the cat?” Tommy was speaking relatively softly–or as softly as Tommy was physically capable of speaking–and it seemed as though the boy was shouting in comparison to the grave silence of the people around them.

Dream blinked at Tommy slowly and then down at his empty hands. Did it even make it out of–?

“It’s around your neck,” Techno reminded him softly from Phil’s side.

With stiff fingers, Dream reached up and untied the loose knot of the bandanna. The faded red scrap of fabric fell from around his neck and draped uselessly in his clenched fist. He offered it out to Tommy, and the blond kid looked at the stained fabric clenched in the Victor’s hand and made an exaggeratedly concerned face.

“I sure hope you don’t hold Patches like that, big man,” Tommy said. “I think her eyeballs would pop right out of her head.”

Despite himself, Dream laughed. It was more of a surprised snort than anything, but it at least made Tommy’s stiff posture relax. Wilbur punched Tommy lightly in the arm at the comment, which earned the twin a sideways glare from Phil. Techno rolled his eyes affectionately.

At least for the moment, it was good to be home.

Tommy took the bandanna from Dream and gingerly handed over Patches. His cat purred as she put both paws over his shoulder, and he hugged her small body tightly to his chest in return.

“I did not feed her table scraps,” Tommy said, almost petulantly. “If Wilbur says I did, he’s lying.”

“Tommy would cut off entire chunks of fish, throw them on the ground, and then go ‘Oops!’ really loudly.” Wilbur rolled his eyes. “So if that counts as ‘table scraps’ then yes, he did.”

“Liar.” Tommy indignantly stuck his tongue out at his brother.

Dream squeezed Patches gently, and she nuzzled her head into the curve of his neck. And for the first time since he’d woken up after the Capitol doctors stitched him back together, he was grateful that George had saved his life.

“We’ve moved all your stuff,” Tommy continued. “The mayor wanted to put you across from Techno but I said, ‘No sir, my best friend and big bro Dream has to live next to me in House 5 or else.’ And the mayor said, ‘Yes, Thomas Careful Danger Kraken Innit! Anything for you, Thomas Careful Danger Kraken Innit.’”

“That’s not what he said,” Wilbur interjected.

“Might as well have been!” Tommy began to lead them off of the train platform, confident that they’d follow. “Anyway, Dream, you live next to me now.”

Dream swallowed and thought about how to carefully phrase his next question. “What about my mom?”

Tommy’s shoulders fell instantly even as he stopped walking, and Wilbur looked very far away all of a sudden. Phil, who’d been quiet up until then, put a gentle hand on Techno’s shoulder. Techno was even more quiet than usual on their way home, but Dream had attributed it to the fact that, even in victory, the mentor had lost a tribute. Techno never took that well.

“I think it’s best if we talk about this at home, Dream,” Phil said quietly, and placed a gentle hand on the Victor’s shoulder. The crowd parted for their little family as if they anticipated their exit from the platform. The whole thing felt like a funeral procession, and a part of Dream knew it was. Hannah’s sealed coffin was behind them on the train, after all. She would exit after them–probably to be buried.

He hoped that wherever she was, she wasn’t alone. Maybe with Boomer. He couldn’t help but think that she and Drista would get along. The three of them would cause a lot of trouble together, he thought.

The blond nodded and focused on Patches’ steady purring instead of the deathly silence of the crowd. Tommy didn’t try to fill the silence after that, and Dream almost regretted asking in the first place. But he knew that his mother would have been the first person there to welcome him home no matter what. So where was she? She’d told him she loved him before he left, but he couldn’t remember whether or not he’d said it back. Did she stay at home for his return because he didn’t say it back?

It was a long walk to Victor’s Village from the train station. No one trailed after the five of them, and Dream was relieved to be alone among family, even if their little procession was unusually silent. When they walked through the gate that blocked off the Victor’s houses, Tommy ran up to the third house on the left and unlocked the door.

Stood in the threshold of his new home, Dream found it hard to believe that one of the houses he’d coveted as a child was now his.

Wilbur trailed in behind Tommy, then Dream, and then Phil. Techno disappeared–presumably to his own house. Dream swallowed his inquiry about his friend, as he was probably just washing up. The mentor’s absence had nothing to do with Dream. Probably.

“The living room is just through there, if you want to have a seat.” Phil gestured. “I’m going to make us some tea.”

Dream nodded carefully and followed Phil’s instructions. Tommy was already perched on the armrest of the couch. He’d never owned a couch before, and this one reminded him of the opulent furniture on the train. Dream sat on the opposite end of the couch as Tommy, but sat on the actual cushions as intended. Dream sank into their softness, and Tommy snickered at him.

Patches climbed out of Dream’s arms and curled up on the cushions between the two Victors to sleep. Dream envied her trusting nature, and returned his gaze to both entrances of the living room that he could see from his spot. He knew that he was safe–he was home in his District with his family–but what if…

The kettle screamed in the other room, and Dream jumped. Hackles raised, Patches scrambled under the couch to hide at the disruption, and he felt bad for disturbing her.

“You get used to it all again eventually,” Tommy said casually. “Abrupt sounds and open spaces and shit. I had a hard time sleeping in beds when I came back. Too soft.”

Dream remembered. Wilbur, Techno, Dream–they’d all taken turns sleeping next to Tommy on the floor. No matter how many times they’d returned the kid to his bed, he would end up back on the hardwood with a thin blanket clutched around him. Phil would come in sometimes and sleep in the chair in the corner of Tommy’s room. It was a wonder none of them got sick.

“Although you had yourself a bit of a cuddle buddy in the arena. Are you going to be able to sleep without G-Man, my bruther?”

Dream blinked and looked at Tommy blankly.

“You know! Big G! The gogs! Gogy!” Tommy reached over and punched him in the shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows. “George,” Tommy finally supplied at Dream’s lack of recognition, in the most deadpan voice he’d ever heard out of the kid.

“Oh. I don’t know.” Dream frowned. “I didn’t think about what would happen when I got home.”

Would he ever get to see George again, aside from the occasional parties in the Capitol they would both be required to attend? Was he okay with that?

Tommy looked like he was about to say something when Phil appeared and shoved a teacup and saucer into Dream’s empty hands. He appreciated having something to hold onto, now that Patches was hiding under the sofa.

Wilbur poked his head into the room. “I’m gonna go check on Techno,” he said, and made a swift exit. Dream waited for the clicking sound of the front door to indicate that it latched and then relaxed a little bit.

“Pussies,” Tommy said into his own cup of tea.

Dream almost choked on the tea and watched as Phil gave Tommy the most disappointed look the newest Victor had ever seen on the older man’s face. Tommy was used to it and therefore remained unphased.

“You asked where your mum was?” Phil asked carefully. As if the older man was making sure that Dream wanted to hear whatever it was he would say next.

Dream nodded hesitantly from behind his raised teacup. In their silence, Tommy’s leg bounced against the armrest beneath him, his cat’s tail flicked at his ankle underneath the sofa, and the light above them buzzed with electricity. If he really focused, he could hear the house settling around them. He needed Phil to say something. Soon.

“The day you went into the Map–” Phil coughed into his fist. It was very loud in the small room. “Your mother–She watched the parade and then…” He took a deep breath and gave Dream a sympathetic look. “She’s dead, Dream.”

Dream’s fingers clenched around the teacup. He was afraid he’d break it, although he supposed it didn’t matter because it was his. The whole house was, and he’d only have Patches to share it with. As if on cue, she meowed at him from under the couch and rubbed her head against his leg.

“When I was–” Dream swallowed and found a spot on the wall that was easier to talk to than Phil before he continued, “–when I was dying in the Map, I thought I saw my mom. But that didn’t make sense to me, because if I was dying and she was safe and sound at home then why…” He had to stop or else he’d cry. And what if there were cameras in his house?

“Wilbur and I planned a funeral for her while you were gone, but I made them wait so you could come,” Tommy said, voice uncharacteristically calm. “I knew you would come home, and I thought you might want to be there.”

Tommy was sweet to wait, and he appreciated the kid’s confidence in him, but… “You shouldn’t have waited. I’d rather not attend,” Dream said. “Thank you for arranging it, though.”

“Dream–” Phil started.

“That’s okay, too,” Tommy said, with a shake of his head at Phil. It was almost funny to see the kid scold his father. “If you change your mind, it’s tomorrow. If you don’t change your mind, the headstone’ll be there next to Drista’s.”

The newest Victor nodded and looked down at his faintly scarred hands–hands that he barely recognized as his own now. If he was to mourn, he would not only be mourning his mother and Hannah, he would also mourn himself. He felt as though he’d been remade in the Games, molded by the Capitol into a Victor with a massive scar across his chest to prove it. He didn’t feel like his mother’s son anymore, and it felt wrong to pretend to be someone he wasn’t at her funeral.

And besides, there might be cameras.

***

The next morning, when the rest of the District was at his mother’s service, Dream took a walk. For fear of letting the ghosts catch up to him, he avoided his childhood home and Hannah’s family’s store. He spent the morning in the trees, skirting around the District and gazing up at the mountains thinking of George. The brunet’s presence was one of the precious few things he missed from his final days in the Map–the others were too far out of reach.

When he returned home from his walk, he went into the kitchen to wash his hands. Patches immediately came and rubbed around his legs in greeting, and he quickly went about fixing her a small bowl of food. Phil had smuggled some special cat food called Jambo Jam into the District for her, and he sat it on the ground for her to eat. She sniffed it and walked away, and her aversion brought a faint smile to Dream’s face–Tommy really had spoiled her with people food while he was gone.

The oddly ornate clock that hung on on the wall ticked away, and Dream carefully noted the time. The funeral would be over any minute, and the regret he’d anticipated at his absence started to creep in. But only slightly. He was afraid that his attendance would crack the stony facade he’d put up since the beginning, and a lot of feelings beyond his grief would seep through for public consumption. And the public cared a whole lot more now that he was a Victor.

The blond missed George. It was a lot easier to not think about things when the brunet was around.

A crack came from another room in the house, and Dream just about jumped out of his skin. Patches left her food untouched…which meant she was probably over at Tommy’s looking for “table scraps,” and everyone else in his circle would be at the funeral. Anyone else would have been a complete idiot to break into the home of a Victor, and likely knew better. It was probably just the house settling, or Patches broke something on her way over to Tommy’s.

Still, Dream’s heart raced as he opened the kitchen drawers at random and blindly searched for a weapon, unsure of where things were in his new home. Finally, he found a knife and held it down discreetly at his side. Even if it was just a few dumb kids from the District or even just Patches, he felt safer with the weapon.

He walked quietly down the hallway, checking each of the rooms on the lower level before he came to the study door. Dream had only been in there once before, when Tommy had shown him around the house. With shaking hands, the blond prepared for the worst, turned the door handle, and gently pushed it open.

Dream was prepared for almost anything behind the study door, but he hadn’t been prepared to see the President of the Esempii seated behind his desk with his feet propped up and a glass of swirling amber liquid in his hand. The Victor blinked. Twice. And the President was still there, laughing riotously at Dream’s no-doubt dumbfounded expression.

“It’s like you’ve never seen a President in your house before!” The man’s gaze slid to the knife Dream held at his side and laughed even harder. “I forgot I can’t sneak up on you Victors cause you’re all crazy. You totally would’ve stabbed me if I wasn’t me, huh?” Schlatt took a sip of his drink, and sighed dramatically. “Quackity–gotta love him–almost smothered me with my own damn pillow once. Didn’t work obviously, and I told him he’d have to try harder if he was gonna kill me!”

The chuckle Dream let out was more of a confused exhale than anything, but Schlatt seemed pleased at his reaction even though it was delayed. The President casually removed his feet from the desk’s surface and sat his glass down in their wake. He placed his elbows on its surface, hands clasped.

“You must be wondering why your beloved president is in your house.” Schlatt said, expression eager.

Finally, the Victor found his voice. “What are you–” Dream coughed. “Mr. President, what are you doing in my house?”

“There he is!” Schlatt clapped his hands gleefully. “And here I was worried that you’d gotten all of the brains knocked out of that pretty blond head of yours in the Map. Then I’d have to deal with your other hald, and he is far less agreeable. Anyway! You were bleeding out at the end of the Games–your body has an abnormal amount of blood in it, by the way–so I don’t think you heard any of what I told Georgie. So now I’m here to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“That you and George owe me.” The President looked at Dream like he was stupid. Maybe he was. “For saving both of your lives. I lost a lot of money because of you two, and I need you to pay me back.”

Dream’s response lodged in his throat. Pay? How could he? The Victor audibly swallowed. “I only have what the Capitol pays me for winning the Games. My family was dirt poor before I entered the arena, and–and now it’s just me, so–”

“I heard about that,” Schlatt said and sat back in the swivel chair with an appraising look at Dream. “Mom decided to end it all herself because she was afraid of losing another kid to the Games. Tragic, honestly.” The President sighed and shook his head. “I would never do that to my Tubbs.”

Dream declined to point out that Schlatt had put Tubbo in the Games before the President had even adopted him under weird circumstances, for even weirder reasons in the interest of self-preservation.

“I don’t want money from you! That pales in comparison to the money we could make together. All of it goes to me obviously, because of all the money you’ve cost me, but you can keep your little allowance. That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, really.” The President scoffed. “I just really need you and George to be in love. Whether it’s real or not doesn’t really matter as long as the Capitol citizens buy it–and they’re all stupid as hell, so it should be easy.”

“George is from District 1,” Dream said, deadpan.

“No shit.” Schlatt chuckled. “But now he lives with you, big guy! I had one of my guys leave him upstairs. He lives here now.”

The president kidnapped George and brought him to Dream’s house…for profit?

“You’ll do the Victory tour together, and come to the Victor’s Ball together, and do interviews together. You’ll even be crowned together! For all intents and purposes, you will be a couple. Understood?”

Dream hesitated and then nodded, unsure of how the man wanted him to respond in the first place.

Schlatt rubbed his hand over his mouth, and his eyebrows pinched in irritation. “I need you to verbally confirm that you will cooperate. A lot rides on this for me, and I won’t let a Victor from 12, of all Districts, with coal for brains bleed me dry of money anymore!” The President slammed his fists on the desk, and Dream had never expected this side of the nation’s leader.

The blond flinched back, but nevertheless gave the man what he wanted: “I can do that.”

Dream had only heard about Quackity from Tommy and Techno, but he doubted that the other Victor had tried to kill the President in his sleep because of residual trauma from the Games. The President was unpleasant, to say the least.

“Make no mistake, kid, your life is mine no matter what. This’ll just make me like you.” A wide, predatory grin overtook the President’s face that contrasted his easygoing tone. “And believe me, you want me to like you.” The man abruptly stood and nodded to the empty glass on the desk. “I left you some booze by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Dream said, if only because the President seemed like the kind of guy that expected gratitude for even the simplest things.

Schlatt walked past him, and Dream caught a whiff of alcohol and headache-inducing cologne. He reached a hand out toward the Victor as if to shake, and then thought better of it when Dream offered the hand that still held the forgotten knife. The man clapped the Victor on the back instead.

“See you at the Crowning, cupcake,” he said with a wink. “And don’t bring the knife.”

And then the President let himself out of Dream’s house. Dream counted every slow, cocky step and intently listened for the door. When he heard it slam shut, the blond let the knife clatter to the ground and ran up the the stairs two at a time.

George was home.

***

“Did Tommy get a cat?” Tubbo asked Quackity.

The duo had been sitting in the youngest Victor’s house alone after Schlatt scuttled off to do… something. Usually his fiancé didn’t go with Tubbo to his visits with Tommy, and the man certainly didn’t bring Quackity along, either. They’d sat on the couch for about twenty minutes in amicable silence staring off into space when Tubbo finally spoke.

Quackity glanced at the shredded edges of the window curtains. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“Meow.” Something furry pressed its head against Quackity’s hand. He looked down at where his hand rested on the edge of the couch and saw a brown and white tabby rubbing her head on his fingers.

“Meow,” Tubbo replied loudly, eagerly reaching across Quackity for the cat. The eldest gently pressed him back into the couch with his free hand.

“Tubbo, we’ve talked about this. You can’t show interest in cats.” In spite of his words, Quackity scratched gently under the cat’s chin. “It only makes them hate you.”

“Is that why Jambo hides from me?” Tubbo asked.

“Jambo hates you because you sling him around,” Quackity said, simply. And it was true. Tubbo treated Schlatt’s prized cat like a twisted up slinky.

“I sling him around because Schlatt slings him around!”
That was true. Schlatt tended to sling most of the things he loved around, but Jambo was the only one of them who actually enjoyed it. But only when Schlatt was the one doing it–which was unfortunate for Tubbo.

Quackity shrugged and looked at the kid exasperatedly. How was he supposed to explain the intricate nuances of a relationship between a cat and its owner? Jambo would never love anyone the way he loved Schlatt, and that was tragic because of who Schlatt was fundamentally as a person. “The cat eats trash, Tubbo. Clearly, he’s a shit judge of character.”

Tubbo slapped him on the shoulder. “Aww, Big Q. That’s like the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Is not,” Quackity said, and shoved Tubbo’s hand off of him. He’d said nicer things before…probably.

“One-hundred-percent is.”

In their argument, the two of them missed as the front door opened and a red blur ran in the room and straight into Tubbo, so that they both tumbled back into the couch cushions. “Tubbo!!” Quackity scooted over to avoid getting taken out by a stray leg as the two of them practically vibrated with excitement. These kids were lanky.

“Tommy!!” Tubbo yelled back, just as enthusiastically. And Tubbo was grinning for the first time in forever, and suddenly the journey was worth it for Quackity. At home, the younger Victor wasn’t happy very often.

A second figure entered the room in Tommy’s wake, and let out a deadpan, “Wilburrrr.”

Quackity recognized the tall man. He’d met him once before at a Victor Ball, even though Wilbur wasn’t one himself. The brunet was Tommy’s older brother, and Technoblade’s twin–though they looked about as similar as Schlatt and his twin sister did. The musician had somehow avoided the Games, unlike his brothers, and Quackity wondered if he ever felt guilty about it.

The two young Victors enthusiastically started talking about the cat, whose name was Patches, and how Tommy had taken care of her while Dream was “away.” Tommy eagerly picked the cat up and Tubbo patted her head appreciatively. She tolerated all of this, and Quackity suspected it was only because she wanted food. That was the sole reason most cats put up with their owners, after all.

The two boys disappeared into the kitchen to feed the cat, which left Quackity and Wilbur alone. The Victor, completely at ease, crossed his legs and sat back–as if he dared Wilbur to speak to him. The other man shuffled his feet, and adjusted the raggedy red beanie that covered his curls.

“How’s the wedding planning?” The tall man asked off-handedly.

“What?” Quackity stiffened. The tall brunet was the last person he’d imagine asking about that. It was also the absolutely last thing the Victor wanted to think about. Ever.

“The wedding planning,” Wilbur repeated, plain as day, and wiped his palms on his pants. “You look miserable in all of the footage.”

Quackity scoffed. “How do you know I’m miserable? That might just be my face.”

“Fine,” Wilbur said. “You look very excited to marry the President of Esempii, Quackity. Congratulations on your engagement.” And because he was insufferable–Quackity didn’t need to know the other man long in order to know that he was insufferable–Wilbur offered a little mock salute. Clearly, Wilbur knew more about Quackity than Quackity knew about Wilbur. The Victor didn’t like that.

“Why do you care if I look miserable?” Quackity asked. “No one else does.”

Wilbur looked the Victor over and then looked away. “I don’t.” And then the tall man stalked off–probably in search of Tommy.

Quackity watched him go, and then sat back on the couch once again. He was fucking weird in comparison to Technoblade and Tommy. Technoblade was quiet, and Tommy was not. They were easily digestible at Victor events. Wilbur was weird, and Quackity didn’t like him. Although, he might like to argue with him.

That is, if they ever saw each other again.

Schlatt knocked loudly on the front door with Philza Minecraft of all people behind him, and Quackity wilted in his seat before he reluctantly stood to let them in. Schlatt could open the door himself, but he preferred to let (read: make) Quackity do it. Phil smiled grimly at him in greeting.

“I missed you, Quackity! Nobody opened Dream’s front door for me! I had to do it myself.” The President embraced Quackity so tightly it hurt and then cast him to the side just as easily to walk further into the room. The man took note of the shredded curtains. “Damn cats, they scratch up everything! Not Jambo, though. He’s the best.” Jambo ate trash. Jambo constantly had to have surgery because he ate trash. Jambo’s favorite person was Schlatt. Surely, he was not the best cat. “Anyway, I was telling Phil to send Tubbo back when they come for the Crowning.”

Quackity smiled nervously between the two men. “You’re gonna send the kid away for that long? I’ll miss him.”

“Q never misses me, Phil. It’s tragic.” Schlatt placed a hand to his chest dramatically like he was physically wounded. “I do everything for him. Everything!”

“Tubbo can travel with us to the Crowning, Mr. President. And as for him staying here, you know he always has a place with us,” Phil said, and Quackity was grateful at the change of subject. “And so do you and Quackity, if you ever need it.”

“Thank you, Philza! That’s very kind of you of you to offer.” The President leaned on the armchair next to the sofa. “But I don’t think I could sleep overnight in 12 without some disgruntled miner trying to pickaxe me or Q here, you know?”

Phil nodded knowingly, and the glint in his eye suggested that Phil himself might want to try his hand at pickaxing the President. Quackity sure did.

“Understandable.” Phil nodded. “Then Tubbo will be safe here, at least.”

Schlatt clapped a hand on the former Gamemaker’s shoulder. “I trust you with the kid’s life, Phil. Speaking of, we should sit down and have a talk soon. I have big things planned for the 75th, and I could use your help.”

“You know I’m retired…”

Quackity watched Schlatt’s fingers tighten around Phil’s shoulder in an all too familiar display, and he didn’t envy the former gamemaker.

“And you know I wasn’t asking,” Schlatt said, pleasantly. “Anyway, I’ll see you soon. Say hi to the Blade for me! Let’s go, pumpkin.”

“Goodbye, Phil,” Quackity said, as he was grabbed unceremoniously by Schlatt and herded out the door.

“Goodbye,” Phil called and shut the door behind them.

***

George’s stomach rolled as he sat up in an unfamiliar bed. He wasn’t in his home in District 1. The Victor swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand, and the meager contents of his stomach threatened to come up. George swallowed down the bile and tried again, and he was able to hobble over the window and look out. He pushed the curtain aside and saw blue mountains that almost blended into the sky.

The scenery reminded George of Dream’s description of 12.

George recalled agreeing to anything in exchange for their survival in the Map, but he wasn’t quite sure what game the President was playing now. Would he really reunite the two of them “just because?” He doubted that the President had any kindness in his heart. And besides, he’d heard of early Maps set in residential-looking areas that were more buildings than trees. What if Schlatt had sent him to a new Games, and this was just an elaborate trick to put on another show for the Capitol citizens.

A bird chirped outside as George looked around the alien room for a weapon. A door downstairs banged shut and someone stomped up the stairs as if they were running. George reached out and grabbed the first thing he could find, a slender table lamp, and ripped it from its socket. The door to the bedroom swung open, and without thinking George threw the lamp, shade and all.

“George!” Dream shouted, as the lamp shattered against the door jamb. Luckily, George had swung wide and missed the blond by a few inches.

The brunet blinked and stared at the other Victor in shock. “Is this real?”

The blond tilted his head, confused. “What?”

George swallowed and looked around. “Schlatt drugged me and brought me here. I’ve been dreaming for days–dreaming of you and the Games. Is this another dream…another map, or is this real?”

“This is real,” Dream said, and the blond held out his hand like he would do to a frightened animal. George supposed that he’d become one after their stint in the Map. “You’re in District 12. Techno’s next door. This is my guest room. Patches is somewhere–if you want to meet her. It’s around noon. I can get you some water…?”

“This is your house?” George asked, looking around.

“The one the Capitol gave me,” Dream corrected. “I can show you the house I grew up in sometime, if–if you want to, of course.

George made his way around the bed toward Dream. Instead of answering, he just brushed by the blond on his way out the door. Dream grabbed George’s wrist to stop him, and green eyes searched blue and brown. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “But I’m sorry about how you got here.”

The brunet looked away. “If I’m going to be anywhere, I’d rather us be together,” he said, and then the District 1 Victor gently pulled his wrist away and walked downstairs.

George wasn’t sure what game Schlatt was playing, but at least he was with Dream now. If they could survive the Games together, then they could survive whatever came next.

Chapter Text

As he walked home next to George in the noonday sun, Dream kicked a pebble down the dirt road ahead of him. They’d just finished filming Schlatt’s contrived reunion scene at the District 12 train station in front of a crowd that already knew George had been there for two weeks already. Lucky for the President, it just so happened that the District 1 Victor was coming to District 12 on the very same day as the first monthly Parcel Day of the new Games year. Which ensured every citizen of District 12’s arrival at the train station to retrieve their Captiol-provided goods, and therefore a convenient audience for George’s “arrival.”

“You’d think they’d be more excited for all of the free stuff we won them,” George said. And it was true–last year’s Parcel Day was almost joyous, despite the steep price. Dream couldn’t stomach the enthusiasm at the time, though he understood.

“I’m sure your district is. This is our 13th Parcel Day in a row since Tommy won last year. Only the kids get excited about it anymore.” Dream kicked the pebble again. “A lot of people hoard their shares because they remember the times when the District was starving–I’d bet some still have candy and things from when Techno won.”

George glanced sideways at Dream, and his mouth was twisted up in the way that it did when he was going to say something he found funny. “Personally I was most excited to meet Sneeg officially. You think he’ll stay long?”

“Only if he’s staying with Techno,” the blond replied immediately.

George snorted, and Dream grinned down at his shoes. This was the longest the brunet had been awake since Schlatt had abducted him to Dream’s house two weeks ago, and probably the most the two of them had spoken since their first conversation in Dream’s guest room. George would wake up long enough to look after his own needs and then go to sleep once again. It wasn’t a full-blown laugh, like he had gotten before, but the other Victor’s even slight amusement still made his chest warm.

Loneliness had begun to creep in, despite George’s near-constant presence in his home. Dream didn’t understand why the brunet slept all time, but he was starting to think it was to avoid him. Even though the brunet had said weeks ago that he was glad the two of them were together again, but the blond was starting to wonder if that was only for his benefit. George was stuck in his house until Schlatt said otherwise after all, so it would be smart of him to stay on Dream’s good side.

“You’re making that face,” George said, squinting up at him.

“What face?” Dream kicked the pebble to avoid making eye contact with George. The small stone would probably make it all the way home with them at this point.

“The one where you’re thinking too much. I can hear your brain working overtime,” George teased and reached over to grab the other Victor’s hand. The blond’s heart picked up its pace, and he worried somehow that George could sense that too. “What’s bothering you? Is it your scar?”

Beautiful, wonderful George–he didn’t have to formulate his own pathetic excuse now. “Yeah, the skin is pulling again. Those Capitol doctors kind of suck.” The lie tasted bitter, but it was better than choking out the truth. 

“I can check it when we get home if you want,” George said and looked away. “The one on your face is healing nicely though.”

Dream’s cheeks heated at the thought of George’s slender fingers inspecting the puckered edges of his artificially healed wound. He highly doubted that doctors capable of incredible genetic experimentation and augmentation would do such a poor job of sewing him back up–even on a ridiculous time crunch–but a lot of Victors were scarred in spite of the Capitol’s incredible medical achievements. It was probably some kind of intentional reminder of the Victor’s mortality to both the survivors and the citizens, or however the Capitol rationalized it.

George continued lightly, “I’ll probably head back to bed afterward. Today was a lot.”

Dream’s tempered excitement plummeted. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

The two of them walked in silence until Dream spotted the neat lines of chimneys in the distance. They didn’t talk much the rest of the way home, but George still held onto his hand. He’d offered to check Dream’s scar later! It was the most he’d gotten from the brunet since the Map, and it would have to be enough for the blond for now. Hand in hand, they passed Techno’s house, then Tommy’s, and then they finally made their way up the path to Dream’s front door. 

Or, they would’ve, if Tommy wasn’t sprawled out on the front stoop and effectively blocking their way inside. Patches slow-blinked at the approaching Victors from her perch in the windowsill, and Dream blinked back at her in greeting. Tommy must’ve heard them walk up because he sat up once they were a few steps away. There were multicolored flowers delicately wrapped in paper and tied with twine laid out haphazardly on the stairs below the boy, and Dream eyed him curiously.

“Do you really miss Patches that much?” Dream asked, amused. “You used to hate cats.”

Tommy rolled his eyes more dramatically than George ever could and crossed his arms. “I’ve grown out of the boy I used to be. I’m Big T now, and Big T loves cats. And,” he paused and looked at Dream pointedly, “I’m actually here for Gogy.” Tommy winced almost immediately. “Actually, no. That’s a lie. I’m here for you, Dream–I just didn’t want to say so. Because I’m a Big Man and all that and you were very, very rude to me just now.”

“Go-gy?” George asked, still unused to Tommy as an idea and even less used to Tommy as a person. Dream had to explain that Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy were like family to him, and he still wasn’t sure George understood the concept fully. He aged out of the orphanage, and then he was reaped. It made sense why he didn’t mind staying with Dream for a time–the other Victor didn’t really have anybody to leave behind.

“That’s you, king,” Tommy stage-whispered to George, whose expression remained unreadable. “I’ve got plenty of other nicknames for you–all positive!–if you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” George scoffed, though the slight twitch in his eyebrow betrayed him.

Dream held back his smile. If anyone could break through George’s icy exterior quickly, it would be Tommy. He returned his gaze to the kid, who just seemed happy that the elder Victor had finally spoken to him. “What do you need me for? Wilbur and Techno not giving you enough attention?”

Tommy made an exaggerated dismissive gesture. “I want to spend time with my Big Bro Dream. The twins are so boring now. Techno’s been reading nonstop, and Wilbur spends all his time locked up in his room working on songs. And I don’t want to hang out with Phil–he’s like my dad, and it’s just sad to hang out with your dad! You’ve been back for so long, Dream! And I haven’t got to spend any time with you.” 

Dream did not miss the ever-present mischievous look in the kid’s eye and scoffed fondly. “Just tell me what you want, Tommy. It’s easier.”

The boy’s sky-blue eyes became round as saucers as he looked at his older brother imploringly. “I want to hang out. Like the good old days. Me, you… well just me and you. Everyone else is busy, or Phil, or…” Dead. “Busy.”

The blond heaved a sigh and looked over at George, whose expression suggested that he didn’t care what Dream did as long as he got to go inside and go to sleep in the next ten minutes. “Okay, Tommy. I’ll go with you. Just give me a second.”

“I’ll wait by the mailbox.” Tommy glanced at their still-joined hands with a disgusted expression and stood. Then he gathered up his bundles of flowers and lumbered to the end of the path to wait for Dream. 

George looked at the front door almost longingly and then yawned. “So when do you think you’ll be home?”

“With Tommy? I have no idea. Could be twenty minutes from now or the middle of the night. Depends on what his definition of ‘hang out’ is today,” Dream said, and already regretted not refusing and just going inside with George. But Tommy had believed in him while he was in the Map when no one else, not even his own mother, had. He didn’t know where he’d be without Tommy’s constant, stubborn support. “Please lock the house up before you go to sleep, though. I have my key.”

George squeezed Dream’s fingers and tried to meet his eyes. “I’ll see you soon.” The blond nodded even though he wasn’t sure when the other Victor would be awake again. His chest felt heavy as George pulled his hand away. “Why do you look so sad, Dream?”

He found a spot on the ground and focused on it instead of the burning behind his eyes. “I just miss you,” he mumbled. “It feels like you’re still home in District 1.”

George’s brow furrowed, and he immediately threw his arms around Dream. The brunet hugged him tightly but was careful of the other Victor’s scar, which made him feel bad for lying about it hurting earlier. “I’m at home right here, idiot.”

“DISGUSTING!” Tommy yelled from the end of the walkway. Dream playfully flipped him off.

George pulled away almost too quickly and headed into the house. The other Victor heaved a sigh once George was safely in their house, and then ambled over to an unimpressed Tommy.

“I can’t believe you flipped me off. My own big bruther. I’m telling Phil,” Tommy said.

“And then I’ll tell Phil about how I found you and Tubbo experimenting with explosives in the woods,” Dream said.

Tommy squawked indignantly, but the threat worked as empty as it was. Since the other young Victor had come to stay, the duo had taken to figuring out how to make bombs out of everyday objects in 12. It was as terrifying as it was hilarious, but Dream had promised to not tell Phil and wouldn’t. But he could hold it over Tommy’s head for the rest of the time. 

“Where are we going, anyway?”

***

Dream walked patiently next to Tommy, who seemed to be wandering aimlessly around the District. He wouldn’t tell the elder Victor where they were going, but the mischievous look remained. The further they went and the more people that they passed, Dream started to worry that Tommy was going to get him in on his and Tubbo’s explosives venture, but the other boy never joined them.

Tommy took a right at a fork in the road and Dream followed along. They weren’t headed toward the district outskirts, which ruled out explosives and the shack they’d all played in as kids. His old home was on the other side of town, so they probably weren’t headed there either. It was never nothing with Tommy, and Dream wondered what he wanted this time.

“Here we are!” Tommy gestured broadly at the empty plot of land in front of them.

Well, not a completely empty plot. There were rocks interspersed throughout the neatly trimmed grass, and some flowers sprouted around them. Dream looked expectantly at Tommy, confused as to why he’d brought them there, until he caught sight of a name deeply etched into one of the rocks–no, headstones. He’d brought Dream to a graveyard.

“Why are we here?” Dream asked quietly. His eyes dropped to the flowers in Tommy’s arms, and the elder of the two subconsciously backed up a step. Tommy at least looked a little bit guilty.

“I come see Drista every month. I’ve been doing it since… you know. And this month I didn’t because I needed to be there when you got home. So I figured you might want to come with me now that you’re back.” Tommy looked far off. “I don’t think she’s lonely out here, but I do like to come chat. Makes me feel the tiniest bit better.”

Dream didn’t know what to say. Tommy hadn’t tricked him technically, but he still felt deceived. Did he feel ashamed for never visiting? Yes. But he was afraid that visiting would open up some gate inside of him that he could never close again. Subconsciously, he wrapped his arms around himself to cover his scar, and he wished that George was with him.

“I understand if you decide to leave. I just thought that you might want to visit them,” Tommy said and held out one of the bundles of flowers. He must have picked them himself, judging from the uneven cuts and the fact that they were wildflowers. “I think Hannah’s here too. Somewhere.”

“Are you coming?” Dream asked warily and took the flowers.

Tommy shrugged. “If you want me to. Or we can come together next month if you want.”

Dream nodded once. “Wait here and we can walk back together.”

The kid handed him the other bundle. “Leave these for me then?”

“Thank you, Tommy,” Dream said. “For everything.”

His little brother’s answering smile made Dream feel a little bit lighter as he ventured into the graveyard with both bundles held close to his chest. He hadn’t visited since Drista was buried, and none of them visited his father’s grave after he died. It didn’t take the blond long to spot the recently turned earth and the new headstone that marked his mother’s grave. His father was to her left, and Drista was to her right.

There was an empty space next to Drista’s plot that he knew was meant for him, and a weight settled in his stomach. Going into the Games was a steady march toward death, but he’d cheated it with George’s help. Now there was no way to know how or when he’d die, but he knew for sure where he’d end up. Next to his sister and with the rest of his family–he wondered if George would want to be buried here too.

“Hi,” he said, voice very uncertain. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time since Dream could remember, he cried. Once the first tear fell, he knew he was gone. The gates had opened, and he was at the mercy of whatever came through. He clutched at himself in a cheap substitute for an embrace, as if that would stop every emotion that he had stifled in the name of his image from choking him as he fell to the ground with his tears.

He was the last standing out of his entire family, and he felt so… guilty. Was that how Tommy and Techno felt after their Games? At least Dream had George.

But Dream hadn’t killed them like Tommy and Techno had killed the other tributes in the Map. His family had been taken by illness and grief and the Capitol. And he wasn’t left alone. Not really. Tommy–poor traumatized 14-year-old Tommy–was trying to look after him. Techno, Phil, and Wilbur too. They’d always looked out for him, called him their family, even though he’d had his own for a time. 

And he’d been so caught up in trying to get George to pay attention to him! The two of them weren’t responsible for each other. George was not tied to him in any way other than their obligation to Schlatt. And Dream had been ignoring everyone else in hopes that George might wake up and spend time with him, like the other Victor owed him something. He wasn’t any better than Schlatt, in that case. No one owes anyone anything.

“I really don’t handle stuff well,” Dream said to the headstones. He heard Drista’s laugh in the back of his head and smiled in spite of the tears that ran down his cheeks. “Tommy’s more well-adjusted than me, and he’s 14.”  Dream took a deep but shaky breath and sat down on the grass properly with his legs folded under him, flowers still held close for some comfort. “I think I liked being in the Map. Not the dying or the killing part, obviously. But I liked the distraction–the goal. It was easy to think about keeping my friends alive instead of everything else.” He messily wiped one of his cheeks with the palm of his hand. “But now that I’m home and–and George is sleeping all the time, all I do is think . And it’s like I’m back to sitting in the shack and staring at a wall. If I didn’t have to feed Patches I think I would’ve gone crazy by now.” And he might be, with everything he’d been through.

“George is my–well, I don’t know what George is to me technically. We haven’t talked about it. We’ve kissed though. That was good. I’d like for that to happen again.” He was blushing just thinking about it again. “He lives with me, and the President has us ‘pretending’ to be in love. It sounds ridiculous, but the Capitol eats it up. The only thing is… I don’t feel like I’m pretending anymore. But it sucks because he’s sleeping all the time now. It feels like he’s avoiding me, and it’s not like he’s really ever awake for me to ask. And I really, really don’t want to because I’m so worried that the answer is yes–” He took a deep breath. “I can barely sleep without having these horrible nightmares, so I really don’t see how he does it. I remember being a kid when me and Drista would share a bed in the house, and she would get so mad because I’d kick when I had bad dreams…

“I think you all would like George.” He looked down and remembered the flowers Tommy had sent him in with–the ones that he had crushed to his chest during his breakdown earlier. “These are for you all. Sorry, Dad. I don’t have any for you. You probably would want like moonshine or something instead though, huh? I’ll see if Phil has any before I come next time. And–and I’m sorry you were out here by yourself for so long, but I guess you probably preferred that. We all missed you, but you already knew.”

Dream separated the two paper-wrapped bundles and placed one under the large flat stone with his mother’s name and the other under his sister’s stone. He settled back into his spot in the grass and realized that tears were gathering again. “Mom, I really wish you didn’t feel as alone as you did when I left…before even. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child, but I was so excited to see you when I got home. I should’ve stayed with you more after we lost Drista–it was just really hard to be at home. Harder for you, probably. I don’t know if it would’ve made things better or worse, though, and there’s no use dwelling on it anymore. But I love you, and I wish I had told you that more often.

“And Drista–” He looked at her headstone and his throat constricted again. Out of all of them, her death affected him the worst. She was just so young. He swallowed thickly and kept going. “You are so lucky that your parade outfit was just a bird with Tommy. If you could’ve seen the outfit they had me in….” Dream shook his head fondly and looked up at the clouds. “I miss you every day. Tommy misses you. He’s been hanging out with this other kid, Tubbo. They’re making explosives. You would love it.

“Haven’t seen much of Techno or Wilbur recently. I should see what they’re up to. My uh, partner that went into the games with me, she said–pft she called Wilbur hot. Didn’t realize that he’s Techno’s twin. Techno about had a stroke… I should go see Hannah, while I’m here. You would’ve liked her too.”

And Dream sat there and talked until his throat hurt about all the things that he hadn’t been able to talk about before. It was nice not feeling the pressure of cameras or other people watching him, looking for weakness. He didn’t have to be invulnerable here; he could just be himself.

When he was finally ready to leave, he said his goodbyes, stood and felt a lot lighter than he had in months. On his way back to the entrance, he noticed another recently turned plot on the other side of the graveyard and strayed over to it. Hannah’s whole name was written out over “ Loving Daughter and Friend ”. Sprouts peeked out of the dirt clumps, and Dream guessed that her parents had come to plant flowers. He inclined his head slightly out of respect.

“I wish we had become friends sooner, but our friendship meant–means–a lot to me. Thank you for trusting me, and I’m sorry I let you down. Rest easy, Hannah.”

***

Dream dropped Tommy off at his house with the promise of letting him and Tubbo hang out with Patches soon. He then made Tommy promise in return that the boys would be quiet if George was asleep. When he finally made it home, the blond sagged against his front door while Patches weaved in between his legs in welcome.

“Hello,” he said lightly, in the tone he reserved for his best girl. “Are you hungry?”

Patches meowed loudly and walked toward the kitchen. That was a yes, then. Dream followed and pulled out the mixture of fresh meat and vegetables he’d fed her before Phil had brought over the Jambo Jam that she refused to eat. He poured some out into her food dish, and smiled happily as she jumped up on the counter and began to eat immediately. Nothing beat homemade, it seemed. Satisfied that she was taken care of, Dream put the remaining cat food away and went upstairs to his bedroom.

Since he and George had never talked about what they were to each other beyond fellow Victors and friends, Dream initially thought that George would want to sleep alone in the guest bedroom. The first night he’d spent in 12, George had mistakenly fallen asleep in Dream’s room. And so the blond had very carefully carried the brunet to the guest room and then returned to his own bed. A few hours later, George had sleepily crawled back into bed with Dream and had slept there ever since.

That evening was no different–the George-sized lump under Dream’s covers seemed to be sleeping soundly, but Dream still walked quietly so he didn’t wake him. He changed in the ensuite into pajamas and brushed his teeth hastily. It wasn’t even that late, Dream was just dead tired because it was a long day and he didn’t really sleep that well anymore.

He gingerly pulled back the covers and saw George’s curled-up form already intruding on Dream’s side of the bed. The brunet’s shirt had ridden up in his sleep, and the other Victor followed the gentle curve of his exposed spine. He blinked rapidly and crawled in, pushing the image out of his head. And when Dream reached over to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, George turned and burrowed into his side like he had in the Games.

Despite the fact that this happened more often than not, Dream’s face heated. “George,” he said softly. “George, you’re on my arm.”

The brunet mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like “get good, idiot” but lifted his head anyway so that Dream could get comfortable. He was most likely still asleep, and Dream took the opportunity to readjust his arm which would be trapped under George for the foreseeable future. He embraced the other Victor fully, and asleep-George nuzzled further into his chest.

Both of them would probably overheat soon and roll away from each other, but George’s sleepy cuddling was everything to Dream at the moment. And he felt stupid for thinking that George didn’t like him, that George was pretending for his own sake. Because if he was sleeping to avoid Dream, then why was he sleeping in Dream’s room? Why was he cuddling with Dream? Why had he implied earlier that Dream’s house was just as much George’s home as it was his?

George had killed more people than Dream in the Map. He’d outsmarted the Gamemakers and argued with the President of the Esempii. If he truly didn’t want something then the other Victor certainly would not do it. Dream felt every bit the idiot that George had affectionately called him. He must have been sleeping to cope with what he’d been forced to do in the Games–not to avoid Dream. 

And so he just held him tighter. If this was what George needed from him, then it was the least he could do.

An hour or two later, he heard the front door of the house open tensed up. George lightly snored next to him, oblivious to the whole world. Dream hadn’t slept because, like Tommy and Techno when they’d come home, he couldn’t fall asleep without anyone on watch. No matter how many times he told himself he was safe at home with George and Patches, his brain wouldn’t listen. He half expected to hear the nightly announcements sometimes.

Soft footsteps on the stairs, and then toward the door. Sounded like Techno, but Dream had confused his footsteps with Phil’s before. The door creaked open, and Dream saw his friend’s long braid and one of Wilbur’s ugly sweaters in the dim light let in from the hallway. He sighed, relieved that the elder Victor had shown up even though one of them would come to sit every night since he got home like clockwork. Techno inclined his head slightly toward where he and George lay in the bed, and then settled quietly in the armchair in the corner of the room.

And finally, Dream closed his eyes and rested.

***

[THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW WAS INTENDED TO AIR AFTER THE BROADCAST OF THE REUNION OF THE TWO VICTORS OF THE 74TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES. THE INTERVIEW WAS FILMED BEFORE THE REUNION OCCURRED, AND IT WAS NOT A LIVE BROADCAST. IT NEVER AIRED AND THE FOOTAGE NEVER MADE IT TO THE EDITORS.]

[PRESIDENT JAY SCHLATT AND QUACKITY ARE SEATED ON A LOVESEAT IN THE LIVING ROOM OF THE PRESIDENT’S MANSION. INTERVIEWERS TED NIVISON AND CHARLIE SLIMESICLE ARE SITTING IN TWO ARMCHAIRS ACROSS FROM THEM. ALL PARTIES HAVE INDIVIDUAL CAMERAS POINTED AT THEM, AND THERE IS A TECHNICAL CREW PRESENT IN THE ROOM.]

NIVISON: Good evening, beloved Capitol citizens! Ted Nivison here with my co-host Charlie Slimecicle in the President’s mansion for a more intimate interview with our fearless leader and his fiancé. How are you two doing this fine evening?

SCHLATT: I think I speak for both me and Quackity when I say that we’re doing just wonderful, Ted.

SLIME: Does that have anything to do with the emotional reunion of the two Victors this morning?

SCHLATT: Of course! It just warmed my heart to see George get off that train today, and the other one just seemed…overjoyed to see him again. The Games really do bring people together.

[SCHLATT WRAPS AN ARM AROUND QUACKITY ALMOST POINTEDLY, AND QUACKITY GLANCES OVER AT SCHLATT WITH AN UNREADABLE EXPRESSION. REGARDLESS, THE VICTOR LEANS INTO HIS FIANCÉ.]

NIVISON: Now that the Games are over, can you tell us who you were quietly rooting for the whole time?

SCHLATT: Well, as a President that only picks winners–takes one to know one, you know–I saw something in the District 12 boy from the start. He’s the true definition of an underdog–coming from an outer District and losing his sister the year prior–but he kept his shit together and made it through.

[THE PRESIDENT SQUEEZES QUACKITY’S SHOULDER LIGHTLY, AND THE VICTOR GRIMACES]

SCHLATT: You know, he kind of reminds me of my Quackity, here. Both underdogs from outer districts… but look at them now!

NIVISON: Do you think that with time Dream and George could be just as happy as you and Quackity? Maybe even get married like the two of you?

SCHLATT: Undoubtedly. You know, I think of myself as a sort of matchmaker. After all, I made you and Slime the number-one hosts for Capitol television. I found Quackity, and then I adopted my son, Tubbo, into our little family. I like to think that I also brought the two Victors together through the games and that they’ll stay together forever.

QUACKITY: Or at least until they stop making you money.

[SCHLATT HOLDS UP A HAND TO BLOCK THE CAMERA’S VIEW OF HIM AND HIS FIANCÉ AND SQUEEZES QUACKITY’S SHOULDER AGAIN, PAINFULLY THIS TIME. QUACKITY CRIES OUT, AND SLIME LOOKS CONCERNED. TED LOOKS DUMBFOUNDED BY BOTH QUACKITY’S STATEMENT AND THE PRESIDENT’S VOLATILE REACTION.]

SCHLATT: Ted, do me a favor and make sure they cut all of that when this airs.

[TED BLINKS CONFUSEDLY AND LOOKS OVER TO HIS CO-HOST, WHO DOES NOT SHARE HIS SURPRISE. TED COUGHS INTO HIS HAND AND RETURNS HIS ATTENTION TO THE COUPLE IN FRONT OF HIM.]

NIVISON: No problem, Mr. President. I’ll have my team handle it.

[SCHLATT LEANS OVER AND WHISPERS SOMETHING INAUDIBLE TO QUACKITY, AND THEN HE REMOVES HIS ARM FROM AROUND HIS FIANCÉ’S SHOULDERS AND SITS UP IN HIS SEAT, STRAIGHTENING HIS SUIT JACKET AND TIE. IF IT’S EVEN POSSIBLE, QUACKITY SINKS LOWER INTO HIS SEAT.]

NIVISON: So what can we expect in the coming days in terms of celebrating the completion of this year’s Games? Given that it’s unusual for us to have two Victors, of course.

SCHLATT: Oh, we’re just doubling the usual hoopla. Districts 1 and 12 have already started having their monthly Package Day deliveries. I am proud to announce that Jambo Jam is being dispersed alongside the usual treats this year. The Victory Tour and Crowning are coming up soon, as well as the annual Victor’s Ball. We’ve got an exciting few days in the Capitol coming up for you, folks.

SLIME: I think everyone is looking forward to all of the Victor’s Ball looks, especially.  

SCHLATT: People go crazy over the outfits every year, but no one ever talks about the feast! I have to recover for at least a week after the event. 

NIVISON: I think my favorite part about becoming an interviewer is eating at the Victor’s Ball. Jambo Jam is sponsoring this year, I believe?

SCHLATT: They’re working with the party planners as we speak. Jambo will actually be in attendance this year. My tailor, Connor EatPant, is working on a little suit just for him.

NIVISON: I’m sure it will be marvelous.

SLIME: Speaking of party planning, how is the wedding planning going, Quackity?

[THE EASY BANTER DIES AT SLIME’S POINTED QUESTION. THE ENTIRE PARTY FREEZES IN ANTICIPATION OF QUACKITY’S ANSWER.]

SCHLATT: Quackity is meeting with the planning committee every day to make the perfect dream wedding–not just for us, but the whole country. Esempii has never had a Presidential wedding before, so we’re really trying to make history here, you know?

NIVISON: Our last two presidents remained single until they left office–what made you decide to tie the knot?

SCHLATT: Something about Quackity just drew me to him. When he won the Games, I knew it was meant to be.

[THE PRESIDENT CATCHES HIMSELF, PAUSES]

SCHLATT: Wait, that’s not right. Forgive me, I got caught up in the moment and misspoke. Ted, cut that, would you?

[SCHLATT GRABS QUACKITY’S HAND AND HOLDS IT TIGHTLY. QUACKITY SITS UP STRAIGHTER, ALARMED.]

SCHLATT: What I meant to say was–

[SCHLATT PAUSES TO GIVE THEM ENOUGH TIME TO CUT THE FOOTAGE IN POST-PRODUCTION]

SCHLATT: Quackity stood out to me as a Victor, but it wasn’t until last Victor’s Ball that I really saw him.

[NONE OF THIS SEEMS TO CALM QUACKITY, WHO IS LOOKING AT SLIME WITH A HORRIFIED EXPRESSION. SLIME’S FACE BETRAYS NOTHING IN RETURN, BUT HIS HANDS ARE SHAKING IN HIS LAP.]

[SCHLATT LOOKS OVER AT HIS FIANCÉ, EXASPERATED]

SCHLATT: For fuck’s sake, Quackity. If you don’t calm down they can’t use the good footage. Why are you so upset anyway? Something tumbling around in that brain of yours for once?

NIVISON: We can take a break and come back in five since this interview isn’t live–

SCHLATT: No, we don’t need a break. Princess’ll be okay after a few deep breaths. Are you even breathing, Pumpkin? Was it something I said?

[QUACKITY BLINKS AND TAKES A FEW DEEP BREATHS. HE REGISTERS THAT HIS HAND IS STILL IN SCHLATT’S AND THEN SMILES TIMIDLY AT THE CAMERAS. HE LOOKS NERVOUSLY BETWEEN SCHLATT AND TED.]

QUACKITY: I’m sorry, what were we talking about?

SCHLATT: See? He’s fine, just like I said. We were talking about our love story, sweet cheeks.

QUACKITY: Oh.

[SCHLATT GIVES TED A POINTED LOOK AND BACKTRACKS LIKE THE INTERRUPTION NEVER HAPPENED. TED NODS, STILL CONFUSED BY THE TENSION.]

SCHLATT: So anyway after Quackity won his Games, I sort of thought of him as my protégé and nothing more. But there was something about the way he looked at the last Victor’s Ball that made me reevaluate how I thought about my favorite Victor. Then I proposed…and the rest is history!

SLIME: When he was old enough of course.

[SCHLATT NARROWS HIS EYES AT SLIME, AND QUACKITY LOOKS BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM CONCERNED. TED LOOKS BACK AT HIS PRODUCTION TEAM AS IF THEY HAVE ANY ANSWERS FOR WHAT IS GOING ON.]

SCHLATT: You got something to say to me, Charlie? Cause I think you’ve got some problem that you aren’t addressing. Some issue . This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to go toe to toe with me, and you’ll find that you won’t like what happens at the end of this little dance.

QUACKITY: I think he’s just pointing out the facts, Schlatt.

[SCHLATT TURNS ON QUACKITY.]

SCHLATT: I’ll deal with you when we get home, babycakes. Ted, get your boy on a leash or we’re going to have problems. And the cut footage better be eviscerated . I want it so erased that it never existed in the first place.

[SILENCE]

NIVISON: One moment, please.

[NIVISON HAULS SLIME OUT OF HIS SEAT BY HIS SLEEVE, LEAVING QUACKITY AND SCHLATT ON THE LOVESEAT ALONE. QUACKITY FIDDLES WITH THE EDGES OF HIS SHIRT, WHILE SCHLATT GLARES AT HIM.]

SCHLATT: Do you hate me or something, Pumpkin? Cause you’re making me look real bad on TV.

[QUACKITY LOOKS UP FROM HIS FIDDLING TO BLANKLY STARE AT THE PRESIDENT]

QUACKITY: You don’t need me to make you look bad, Schlatt.

[THE TENSION IN THE ROOM RIPS OPEN AS SCHLATT GRABS QUACKITY BY THE COLLAR OF HIS SHIRT AND PULLS HIM IN REALLY CLOSE]

SCHLATT: Let me make this really fucking easy for you: I know you’re looking into Anthony Padilla, Quackity. And I’m assuming from the lost footage that you somehow got a hold of that you put two and two together. Phil was out of line, so I killed his little interviewer friend. Sound familiar? So you can either act right and finish this little wedding interview or I’ll call up my little firing squad real quick for your good friend Slime. Okay?

QUACKITY: Your grip on things is slipping, Schlatt. First me, then Slime, then your tributes. What’s next? Your country? Your position? If you can’t keep two kids from District 11 in line then why would anyone think you can run a country?

[SCHLATT THROWS QUACKITY BACKWARD INTO THE SOFA AND STANDS ABOVE HIM MENACINGLY]

SCHLATT: You owe me. Slime owes me. Hell, even Tubbo owes me. And Ted. This whole country OWES me. I killed the last incompetent, inept, idiot of a President, and I will kill anyone who gets in the way of that. You know how easy it would be for you to disappear?

[THE PRESIDENT’S FIANCÉ SCOFFS]

QUACKITY: It would have been–before. My face is everywhere, now. People constantly want to interview me. You’ve made me what I am, Schlatt. If the President’s fiancé suddenly goes missing–especially with your track record–people will notice. And it’s your own fault. If I was just some Victor from 11 then maybe I could disappear, but you’ve seen to it that I’m irreplaceable.

SCHLATT: You’re threatening me?

[QUACKITY SMILES WITH A LOT OF TEETH AND STRAIGHTENS HIS SUIT JACKET AND TIE THAT SCHLATT HAD MUSSED WHEN HE GRABBED HIM]

QUACKITY: You threatened me first, Pumpkin . But I’ll do your little interview. Just because you asked so nicely.

[TED REENTERS WITHOUT SLIME]

NIVISON: I sent Slime home for the day. I think he was just getting a little hangry. Sorry about that, Mr. President. Quackity.

[SCHLATT TURNS AWAY FROM QUACKITY TO FACE TED, AND AS HE DOES SO, TURNS ON THE CHARM]

SCHLATT: Oh, it’s no problem Ted. We’ve all been there. Nothing a nice plate of Jambo Jam can’t fix!

NIVISON: Of course, Mr. President! Now, where were we? Oh! The wedding! Many people are wondering–have you all settled on a date for the ceremony?

[SCHLATT GRINS]

SCHLATT: As excited as we are, we decided that it would be best to have the ceremony after the next Games.

TED: After the Quarter Quell? But that’s so far away!

QUACKITY: We didn’t want to overshadow the accomplishments of the current Victors and all of the excitement for the Quarter Quell.

[SCHLATT LOOKS SURPRISED THAT QUACKITY ANSWERED WILLINGLY, DESPITE HIS THREATS]

NIVISON: Of course! Mr. President, do you know what the Quarter Quell will be? I’m sure you’ve told Quackity.

[SCHLATT WINKS AT THE CAMERA. OF COURSE, HE KNOWS.]

SCHLATT: Of course, I don’t. We’re not allowed to peek at the cards before they’re announced.

QUACKITY: He’s a liar. You should tell me what you’ve decided on with Jimmy. Right now.

[THE FORMER VICTOR IS CLEARLY JOKING, BUT SCHLATT SEEMS TO TAKE THE TEASING SERIOUSLY. GRINNING, THE PRESIDENT LEANS OVER TO WHISPER SOMETHING TO QUACKITY INAUDIBLY, AND THE PRESIDENT’S FIANCÉ LOOKS SICK. TED LOOKS BETWEEN THE TWO, CONFUSED.]

[THE PRESIDENT’S TONE IS MOCKING]

SCHLATT: Just like I told Ted, Q, I don’t know what the Quarter Quell is. I find out with the rest of the nation when I open up that box and read the card.

[QUACKITY ABRUPTLY STANDS AND LEAVES, AND SCHLATT WATCHES HIM GO. TED WATCHES THE VICTOR LEAVE, ALARMED.]

SCHLATT (CONT’D): This is off the record, Ted, but do you really think I don’t know what’s written in that box? You’re going to be ve-ry busy once the Quarter Quell rolls around.