Chapter Text
His mother had told him once that his curiosity would get him in trouble.
And then she had died, leaving him alone with his father. Stiles knew, of course, that his father had tried his best to fulfill his role as a single parent, but being the head Peacekeeper in a District full of desperate, starving people usually required all of his attention.
So Stiles would busy himself by sneaking into the Mayor's library to read his books. What could he say? He was curious, and the Mayor hadn't set foot in the library since his old mother had keeled over by the bookshelves lining the east wall. It was a safe spot for him, and besides, the Mayor's daughter, Lydia, knew what he did and occasionally joined him.
By the time Stiles was sixteen, he knew a lot about the world. His constant hunger for knowledge had made him power through every book the Mayor owned. Twice.
Though Stiles was book-smart ('Nah,' he would say to Lydia, 'I'm a book genius.'), he was not 'street-smart'. And not being street-smart in District 12 usually got you killed in nasty ways.
'Dad, it's nothing-' he begins, wincing as his father takes his face in his warm, calloused hands, his tired eyes scanning the bruises that littered Stiles' cheeks and eyes.
'That's enough, Stiles.' his father's voice is rough, but quiet.
And Stiles closes his mouth, allowing his father to finish checking him for injuries.
'What did you do this time?'
Stiles winces. 'I, uh, tried to see if using the momentum of the carts going down deeper into the mines would make things go faster-'
His father groans, covering his eyes with his hands. 'Stiles.'
'It was a really good idea!' Stiles says defensively. 'I was tired of sending them down one at a time, it took forever, and if I had just put the heavier ones in the back instead it would've-'
'Stiles.'
Stiles lets his words trail off. 'Yeah..?'
'What was your punishment?' Stiles father moves back to sit on the edge of the old bed. It had been a gift from his mothers' family, to wish the young couple luck in an unlucky world. 'Besides the whole...' he gestures to Stiles' face.
'I, uh, I'm suspended from the mines for a week.' Stiles winces at his father's sigh. 'But! But, it's okay, because I can use this week to sneak back into the woods and set up traps for fresh-'
'No.'
'Dad-'
'No, Stiles. The last time you went into the woods, you were caught. I can't-' his father's voice breaks, and a bit of Stiles breaks, too. 'You were nearly dead, and I almost lost my position as Head. If that happened, we'd have no chance of survival. And if I lost you too...'
His words hang in the air, and Stiles' heart sinks. 'Okay, dad. Sorry. I'll find something else to do.'
His father nods tiredly, patting his shoulder before laying down and turning on his side, facing away from Stiles.
Crickets chirp at the moon, and Stiles sighs once before laying down next to his father, curling up the way he had just after his mother had died, leaving him scared of the terrors the dark brought with it.
--
'Aw, Lyds, don't be like that.' Stiles rolls his eyes as he picks up the small white flower from where Lydia had thrown it to the ground. 'You can't possibly still be mad at me for those berries, can you? It's an honest mistake, they're both red-'
Lydia pokes her head out from behind her bedroom door. 'Stiles, you purposely gave me indigestion so I wouldn't go out on a walk with Jackson.'
'Whittemore? The Victor's kid? Nah, Lyds, you deserve better than him. Come on, I was rescuing you.'
Lydia huffs, closing her door again and speaking through it. 'He's my best chance at living a long, less miserable life.'
Stiles guffaws, sliding the small flower beneath the door. 'Says who?'
'Says my mother.' Lydia's voice has gone soft.
Stiles instantly sobers. Lydia opens her door, her red lips drawn into a scared frown. She holds her arms out, and Stiles pulls her into a hug. They fit together perfectly, he's able to rest his chin on her strawberry blonde hair.
'Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have played that joke. Jackson'll try again; he likes you.' Stiles pets her hair comfortingly as she huddles closer to him. 'Plus, he's terrified of disobeying your mom.'
That draws a shaky laugh out of Lydia, and she releases him and steps backwards, picking up the flower and playing with it in her fingers. 'Hah, hah. Why're you really here, Stiles?'
Stiles feigns offense, putting a hand on his chest in righteous indigence. 'What, can't a friend stop by to apologise for making you poop funny for a week?'
'Ew, gross, Stiles,' Lydia slaps him on the arm with an endearing grin. 'No, not if said friend is Stiles Stilinski.'
Stiles rolls his eyes and sits down, pulling her with him until they are side by side. It was familiar, just something they had always done. 'I want to borrow the book on the electric fence.'
Lydia's eyes widen. 'Stiles-'
Stiles holds up his hands to interrupt her. 'I know, I know. The first time I messed around with the fence really didn't go well, but that's why I want the book this time. If I can figure it out, which I can and we both know it, then I could go set up traps again, just like old times.' he pauses, knowing exactly what to say to persuade Lydia, who is still shaking her head slightly. 'I could trap some rabbits, Lyds. We could eat rabbit again.'
Both Stiles' and Lydia's mouths begin to water. It's not like they both have it horribly, there are many in District 12 that have it worse, but fresh meat is still a delicious delicacy.
'Oh my god, really?' Lydia says softly, in awe.
'It's practically rabbit season, Lydia.' Stiles hums. 'I bet I could catch enough to feed the entire District.'
Lydia lets out an excited breath. 'Okay, I'll go get the book. Be careful, though.'
Stiles pats her hand as he helps her up. 'Aren't I always careful?'
--
Damn it, he should've been more careful. He's already caught three rabbits and a squirrel, but it's starting to get dark, and he's lost.
He can't risk staying out overnight. He'd get whipped for sure if he did. The wires that he'd messed with would be incredibly obvious to the Peacekeeper who checked on the fence every morning, and there was only one person who was stupid enough to do the things he did. Namely, him.
'Shit. Shit, shit, double shit.' Stiles curses, hefting the bag that held his prizes over his shoulder. He looks around with wide, searching eyes, trying to find out where he was, his breath coming in panicked little gasps.
Oh, there.
He can see the huge twisted tree, towering above the others. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, he begins running towards it.
The twisted tree is a tree that hung over the fence that separated District 12 from the outside world. Because of an electricity malfunction, it had caught on fire. Somehow, the fire was put out, and somehow, the tree survived. It was treated with respect. Anything that had burned as long as it had and lived practically commanded it.
--
'Stiles, have you been going over the fence?' Stiles' father peers at the soup in his old wooden bowl. Bits of meat float in it.
'No.' Stiles ignores the pointed look of 'how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am' his father gives him.
'Really, Stiles?'
Stiles shrugs. 'It was easy to cut off the power, there's this book in the Mayor's library-'
His dad rolls his eyes and cuts him off. 'Rabbits?'
Stiles beams. 'Yeah.'
--
'How many pieces of paper have your name on them, Stilinski?' Jackson jeers.
Stiles shrugs. He does that a lot around Jackson.
'I know you put your name in for the tessera. Why? Daddy too drunk to work right, so you gotta earn the food somehow?'
'I take out the tessera so I can give the extra food to people who are starving, Whittemore.' Stiles says through clenched teeth as he stares down at the history paper he's supposed to be writing for class.
'Ohh, so noble.'
'Actually, it is.' Lydia stomps up the them, her strawberry blonde curls bobbing. Jackson has the decency to look cowed. 'What Stiles is doing is saving a lot of lives, Jackson. Do you save lives?'
Stiles bites his lip to hide a smile as Jackson visibly deflates. 'Oh.'
'Oh is right. Now, why don't you apologise? You may be my future husband, but Stiles has been my best friend since before I could read, and I'd like it if the two of you could get along.'
Jackson, needless to say, is much kinder to Stiles after that.
--
Stiles' week is almost up, and he's dreading his return to the mines. He spends as much time as he can outside District 12, hunting and trapping until the light begins to fade.
Two days before his week is up, he returns to the fence to head inside and distribute his goods to those who need them, and is shocked to hear the steady hum of electricity.
He supposes it was only a matter of time.
--
Lydia is crying. So is his father.
He can barely open his eyes. His back feels as though it's been set on fire, and he lets out a moan.
'Stiles?' his father grabs his hand, which causes his arm to move, which causes his shoulder blade to twitch, which ow.
'D-dad?' he says, or he tries to. It comes out sounding like, 'Agh..'
'Oh, thank god- he's not dead, Lydia, he's alive, go get-'
'Yeah, yes, okay, I'm going, yeah-' Lydia's voice sounds high and hysterical. Stiles has no idea what's going on. He has a vague recollection of the Peacekeepers finding him trying to climb the twisted tree, and a public whipping. Oh, god, his second public whipping. He's a menace. Really, he's lucky he isn't dead. He's surprised they let him live, and in the back of his mind he wonders if they've got something worse planned for him.
--
'Ladies first!' cries Harris gleefully. He's the Captiol's representative for District 12, and everyone hates him.
It's been a month, and Stiles' back is nearly healed. The stitches came apart once or twice when he went back to work in the mines, but he's fine now.
It's hot. The Reaping Day is a muggy, tired day, which is unusual, but almost welcome. It's a break from the cold.
Stiles holds his breath. Not Lydia, not Lydia, anyone but Lydia-
It's not Lydia. It's some girl no one knows, from a family of invisible sufferers. She's obviously starving. It's amazing that she makes it up to the stage to stand next to Harris without falling over, dead as a door nail.
Jackson leans over, whispering sadly, 'She won't last long.'
Stiles opens his mouth to agree, but suddenly he has no breath and the world is spinning and Harris is laughing, 'Our little trouble-maker. What a coincidence; as soon as he gets to be too much trouble, he's sent off to die-' and Jackson is holding him upright, but barely, his face gone white as Stiles imagines his own is.
He can't look at his father, doesn't want to see how he'll stumble, doesn't want to see the shock that's probably mirrored in his own face- Stiles Stilinski Stiles Stilinski Stiles Stilinski
Lydia is screaming. He begins to shake. Oh god.
'Take care of Lydia. Take care of my father.' he hisses, desperately gathering the shredded remains of his self control.
Jackson swallows hard. Their relationship is weird and shaky at best, but he is loyal.
'I will.'
'Promise me-'
'I will, I promise.'
Stiles nods and makes his way onto the stage.
No one claps.
--
'Dad, it's okay, we both knew that they had more than just a whipping for me-'
Stiles' father sobs into his shoulder, clutching at his son like he can't bear the thought of loosing him, too. Stiles does the same, except he can't cry. Not yet. He has to be strong for his dad.
'I love you, dad.' he gasps, biting his knuckles to keep the tears from spilling onto his cheeks.
'I love you too, Stiles, oh god- I love you too.'
Lydia's tears are endless. She flings herself onto him and begs him to come back. He promises he will, but he kisses her softly, just because he knows that it's an empty promise. She seems to realise that too, and sobs harder.
Jackson is still pale, but he clasps hands with Stiles and pulls him into a quick hug. Stiles suddenly looses control.
'The families I tessared for-'
'I'll help them.'
'My father- he doesn't eat well, and if he gets a hold of alcohol he'll forget his pain, he'll lose his job if that happens-'
'I'll make sure he eats right. He won't lose his job, I'll check on him everyday-'
'Lydia,' Stiles gasps, panic making his eyesight dim, 'Lydia, she..she likes strawberries and rabbit stew and the little white flowers that grow behind the school-'
'Stiles.' Jackson presses his forehead against Stiles' own, causing him to swallow his words. He sobs once, and then they're okay.
A lot of people say goodbye to him. Mostly people he helped, or his mother had healed long ago, or his father protected.
Stiles makes each of them promise to watch out for his father. He's lost so much already, and now he's loosing the one thing he had left.
And then it's time to leave.
Stiles swallows the lump in his throat, and when he tries to shout, 'Goodbye!' he finds he can't, so he waves instead.
He refuses to look away until District 12 is a speck in the distance, the train speeding on as he watches the only home he's ever known disappear forever.
He can't help but be bitter that he wasn't able to visit his mother's grave one last time.
--