Chapter Text
Tommy
Tommy's head was pounding. It never seemed to stop throbbing these days. Ever since the explosion in the arena, marking the end of the games and the beginning of the ringing in his ears, there had been a near constant pressure in his head.
Even after the ringing had died away, he had been plagued by migraines. much to the grim amusement of the only other victor from his district - a cynical, unpleasant woman called Jamie, who had become his neighbour since moving into the Victor’s Village.
Wilbur had, in his honour, taking to pulling pranks on her, retaliating in any way that he could think of whenever she would purposefully make too much noise to aggravate Tommy's pounding head. Then, when Jamie would march across the road, bang at the door and demand to know why there were ants crawling everywhere in her kitchen, with trails of sugar leading from the street to every possible entrance, Wilbur would look the picture of innocence and deny all knowledge.
And if Tommy noticed that he no loner took his tea with sugar, to make up for the sudden dip in their rations of the rarity, then who was Tommy to comment?
Now Tommy lay with a shirt draped across his face to protect it from the cruel sun rays, high up in the branches of one of the many fruit trees that covered District 12. He didn’t know how long he had lain up there for, and he had no real desire to move anyway. Opting instead to lay there in the relative calm of the apple tree, and bask in the temporary peace before he would be forced back to reality.
The past few weeks had been hectic and Tommy had been left no time to breathe as he embarked on his Victory Tour. Having to face families and rub in their faces that he had outlived - even hilled some of - their children.
All he could hope was that the announcement of the twist for whatever this Quarter Quell was would overshadow any lingering thoughts of him running through the Districts and the Capital.
As though summoned by that thought, Wilbur’s voice pounded through Tommy’s head.
“Toms? You up there?”
“Fuck off,” he mumbled in reply.
“There’s… been some news. You kind of… really need to hear it.” The concern in his voice was enough to convince Tommy to pull the shirt off of his face and sit up, straddling the branch and looking down at his surrogate older brother.
Wilbur’s face was pale. The only time he had seen his brother look so distressed was when-
“The Quarter Quell,” Wilbur forced himself to say. “It’s all ex-tributes.”
Tommy fell back against the tree trunk in fits of maniacal laughter. Tears streamed, unbidden, down his face.
At least they didn’t have to bother District 12 with a reaping.
Phil
Phil and Kristen practically fell into each other the moment that they got off the stage, rejoicing in the fact that they had been saved.
Though they both knew that their worries were far from over. Just because they had been spared revisiting the arena, it didn’t mean that they weren’t both dreading the start of the hunger games.
Admittedly, Phil had been relatively certain that he wouldn’t be entering. He had built up a reputation among his fellow victors, as one of the oldest surviving past winners. He knew many of them were inexplicably fond of him - a sort of fame which had thankfully also passed on to Kristen. And while he desperately didn’t want to see any of his friends return to the arena, he knew that if his name was pulled there was little to nothing he could do to stop them from volunteering in his place.
And, sure enough, when his name was pulled out of the large glass bowl, he had barely had time to react before one of the younger men - Tapl? Perhaps? - was stepping forwards to volunteer.
And then Kristen’s reaping had passed without a hitch, and they were all ushered off stage.
Kristen pulled away from him and grabbed his hand, a grim worry on her face.
“Come on - Techno’s reaping is next,” and Phil allowed himself to be pulled away to find a screen.
His fingers were crossed for his old friend. He had a bad feeling that the reason why they had decided on this particular twist for this quarter quell was as a result of Techno. And he also knew that, regardless of the amount of respect and renown Techno had, no one in District 2 would be volunteering to take his place, not after the trouble Techno had gotten into with the Capitol lately.
Phil held his breath as he watched the announcer reach into the bowl and pull out a slip of paper. He saw her glance quickly towards Techno, who was looking straight ahead of him, a fire lit in his scarlet eyes, his tusks still not having recovered from where they had been filed down the last time Techno had gotten himself into trouble with the president. He didn’t look angry, exactly, though Phil was sure that was the way he would appear to be to anyone who didn’t know him the way that he did.
Was it resignation? Determination? Or just plain exhaustion?
Phil would never know. Techno would never tell him.
Kristen squeezed him tightly as the announcer read out Techno’s name.
A wave of silence fell through the crowd in District 2, everyone holding their breath as the hybrid stepped out of line. Somewhere in the back of the crowd, someone whistled, the tune of the resistance.
Just before the screen cut away, Phil saw the corner of Techno’s lips quirk into a smirk.
Dream
“I volunteer as tribute.”
Dream didn’t allow himself to think of George’s reaction to his betrayal. He had long ago taught himself how to school his features to be the picture of indifference.
Cool, calm and collected. That was him.
He could feel the Capitol’s drones zooming in for a close up on his face as he stepped forwards to place a gentle hand on Purple’s tense shoulder to push him back in line with the other two male Victors from District 4.
Dream didn’t look at him, but he could sense the gratitude rolling off of him in waves. And when he caught Punz’s eye, standing in the front row, hands gripped tightly around the rail in front of him, doubtlessly the only thing holding him back from springing onto stage and demanding to take his little brother’s place instead, he saw how they were filled with angry tears. And Dream knew, even if he would end up facing George’s wrath after this, it was worth it. It was the right thing to do.
Dream set his jaw and nodded at his friend, who slumped back in relief, nodding his thanks up at him.
The selection of the female tribute blew by, Dream paying no attention to it, in favour of focusing on keeping his stance steady and his thoughts away from his fiancé, who he was sure would be fuming where he watched back in his own district.
He didn’t bother trying to muster up a polite smile for the watching Essempi - no one at any of the reapings had so far. It was probably thanks only to a bit of divine intervention that no one had yet snapped and strangled the announcers when they pulled the names and sent them to their funerals.
He’s off the stage for barely thirty seconds with his thoughts when Purpled sprinted into the room. Dream put up a hand, silencing the teenager before he could even begin to speak.
“Don’t thank me,” he warned, trying now to force a smile, though he knew it resembled a grimace more than anything else. “After all, chances are I won’t even make it to the arena once George gets hold of me.”
Because he knows it’s true. Even as his voice cracks upon speaking his lovers name, though, Dream can’t regret what he did. Even though he would have been furious had George been the one to break the promise - the vow to each other that neither of them would volunteer, no matter what, he didn’t have it in himself to regret it.
Purpled was a child. Yes, he’d already been in once before and won, but he was still a kid. Dream couldn’t - wouldn’t - allow him to go in again. Dream had been the one to mentor him to his victory, to secure his sponsorships. All because Purpled was just a child and he deserved a chance to get away from the Games - to live how Dream himself had never quite been able to since his own victory - if that was even possible in the Essempi.
Dream was only glad that George’s reaping had already been.
Karl
“No!”
There were numerous gun barrels pointed directly into Karl’s face as he screamed and writhed in a desperate attempt to escape Quackity’s grip and reach Sapnap.
The expression on Sapnap’s face was pained as he stepped forwards out of the line of victors. He met Karl’s eyes easily and there was a pleading look on his face, begging him no to do anything stupid and get himself shot.
It’s only that look that convinced him to fall, to collapse back into Quackity’s supporting arms, his body still wracked with quiet sobs.
His mind flashed to George, over in District 3. In a similar situation to him with his fiancé being sent off to the Games alongside Karl’s boyfriend. But at least George had the status of ex-victor to allow him to the Capital as they all prepared for the Quarter Quell.
And Karl was fairly certain that after the scene he had just caused there was only a minimal chance that he would be allowed to travel with his boyfriend.
Karl was so distraught that he completely missed the selection of the female tribute. And he took it as proof that there can be no God out there when he saw Tina step out and take Sapnap’s hand.
Behind him, Quackity took a shuddering breath.
For as long as he could remember, it had been the four of them. The closest thing Karl had to a family. That family had already been put at risk and and just barely scraped through twice before.
As though all of the Essempi were together in trying to rip his family apart in the most awful way.
They had held their breaths the previous year, and when neither him nor Quackity had been drawn they had rejoiced as they both then ages out of the Games and became ineligible for future reapings. Sure that their pain was finally over. That the Capital had failed in their mission to rip his loved ones away from him.
Karl’s sobs returned with a new vigour as Sapnap and Tina were ushered off the stage and a bitter thought crossed his mind, unbidden:
“Third time’s the charm, right?”
Niki
Niki’s hands were shaking.
She couldn’t tell if it was from fear or fury.
All she knew was that she couldn’t bring herself to look at the camera after her name is called. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she had.
She could feel the weight of Jack’s eyes on her from across the stage, standing in line with the other unpicked tributes.
Only, Jack had been picked. But someone had volunteered for him. Someone had taken his place. No one granted Niki that mercy.
She did not look at Jack.
She did not look at anyone.
She stared at her hands and wondered if the arena would have her axe.
Puffy
Puffy is tired. Exhausted, even.
The reaping is always exhausting to watch. To see the faces of those desperate for their lives. To watch the sobbing of their loved ones. To be forced to consider her own part in it all.
This one, though, had been particularly unpleasant.
Eret placed a soothing hand on her shoulder after the final tributes were announced - no surprises from District 12.
So many of their friends would be returning to the arena, and there was nothing that she could do to help them.
Schlatt sat back in his chair and let out a long sigh.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate my job?”
Puffy, Eret and Foolish indulged in nervous laughter before shooting furtive looks around.
In the Capital, you never knew who could be listening.
“That District 12 boy… Tommy…” Tubbo trailed off. Puffy saw her brother reach as though to comfort his son, but hesitated and stopped himself at the last moment. Schlatt and Tubbo’s relationship and been… strained lately, to say the least. “He’s my age. Younger, even.”
No one knew how to reply to the observation. The same one he had made the previous year when Tommy had first been selected.
“At least Purpled isn’t going in again.”
Foolish offered weakly at last.
What kind of consolation was that? One minor being forced to participate in the Games twice in a lifetime rather than two?
Puffy looked at Tubbo again. There was a flinty gleam in his eye as he watched the District 12 boy be ushered off stage, a glimpse of his waiting brother shown before the screen cut away.
A shiver rolled up her spine. She had never seen her nephew look so dangerous before. It took her a moment to realise that what she was feeling wasn’t fear, though.
It was something far more dangerous and lasting than fear.