Chapter Text
“They’ll watch you win.”
The final words Ray ever got to say to Finnick were haunting him now as he stepped out from his brother’s house, his sister-in-law’s wailing audible throughout the streets. Any attempt at comfort had seemed insincere, nothing could alleviate the agony of seeing Finnick ripped from them, sent away to fight to the death.
“But he could win, right?” Shad had asked through clenched teeth, from the pile his family had formed around him, his wife’s face buried in his shirt, his three sons clutching him and each other as if afraid another one of them would be sent away. Only Merry seemed undeterred by the day’s events, sat with her uncle on the floor. “You’ve been teaching him, training him, he’ll know what to do, right?”
Maybe that was the worst part of it. Knowing that if Finnick didn’t come home, it would be all his fault, that he hadn’t taught him well, or enough. He’d be forced to sit and watch every action Finnick took, and anything he’d forgotten to teach him, or hadn’t had the time to yet, would be on full view. He couldn’t think of anything he’d neglected to say, but then, who did?
“He’ll have better luck than most of the other tributes,” Was all Ray had managed to say. The misery of the house was too much, and he’d stepped outside to clear his head, sat on the doorstep, watching his neighbours go about their day, preparing for the parties and celebrations tonight would bring, carrying catches as if everything was normal, as if the world hadn’t ended when Finnick’s name was called. How did they do it, when he felt like the world had shattered around his family, leaving only him to try and pick up the pieces.
People who passed by acted as if they couldn’t hear Allis wailing like a siren, and anytime anyone dared to look at the house, they quickly averted their eyes at the sight of him. Some at least had the courtesy to look guilty as they passed by carrying food and alcoholic drinks, ready to celebrate. Ray could do with a drink right now, only he feels it may be in poor spirit to steal some from a party. No doubt if he asked one of the passer-bys, someone would give him one, but he doesn’t feel up to talking.
After a few minutes sat, Ray pushed himself back up to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets and letting his feet carry him wherever they may choose. His wrist felt strangely naked without his charm, but it was worth it. Finnick had always liked the look of it, always wanting his Uncle to show him the simple carved beads that decorated it, to hear the tall tales he spun about where he had gotten them from. Even if it brought only a moment of comfort to Finnick, he’d happily lose it forever.
“Guys, it’s Mister No-dair,” Came a quiet voice from behind Ray, one he only passingly recognised, but the name told him immediately who it was. Finnick and his friends always referred to each other’s parents politely, but they’d found Finnick’s uncle, who was as much a feature in the family as Finnick’s parents, a point of confusion. Finnick’s suggestions to call him Uncle Ray like he did fell on death ears: they’d decided to go for ‘Mister Not Odair’, which eventually shortened to ‘Mister No-dair’. He was surprisingly fond of it, he found.
He stopped and turned to look at Finnick’s friends, watching him quietly from the end of a jetty, fishing rods in hands. He waved at them, barely managing to smile. The small one (what was his name again? David?) stood up slowly, staring back at him.
“Afternoon, lads. Catch anything worth showing off?” He asked, slowly walking over to join them. There was something so unnatural about the way the three of them were sat that took Ray a moment to figure out: they were too quiet. Usually when he passed by Finnick’s friends, they were play fighting, arguing, or joking around loud enough for half the district to hear them. But now, they were quiet enough that he could hear the waves lapping against the jetty with ease.
“No,” the average sized one said (how did Finnick say to remember their names again? Riggs had the bold name and was big, David, no, Davey, that was it, was as wet as Davey Jones’ Locker, and the average one was… Adrian! That was it). “It’s… it’s been quiet.”
“I bet. Not for long, though. The celebrations are going to start soon,” he said, and heard Davey sniffle loudly, trying to quickly cover it over. “Are you boys going to go?”
“Doesn’t seem right, not without Finnick,” Adrian shook his head. He turned to look at Ray. “To celebrate him getting sent away.”
“I know,” Ray agreed quietly. “But, you’re allowed to be glad that it wasn’t your names pulled. Even if you didn’t want Finnick to go either.”
“I’m not glad,” Riggs muttered, reeling in an empty line. “Someone should have volunteered. One of us, even. If we weren’t such cowards…”
“It’s not your fault,” Ray cut him off. “All four of you are too young for the Hunger Games, it shouldn’t be put upon your shoulders.”
“Finnick won’t be celebrating. I don’t think it’s right for us to,” Davey added.
“Finnick will be heading to the Capitol as we speak, and no doubt eating food the likes of which you boys couldn’t imagine,” Ray assured them. “I have heard the food in the Capitol is almost worth volunteering for by itself.”
Davey gave another horrible sob, and Riggs pulled him in to a half-hug. He was clearly doing as much to help these boys as he was back home. He made to leave, but Adrian halted him.
“Are you alright, Mister No-dair?” He asked. “You and Finnick always seemed really fond of each other, are you holding up alright?”
Fond was possibly not the right word for it. With four younger siblings to contend with, Finnick had often found himself at the bottom of the list of priorities of his parents, since he could care for himself. It was an open secret that Finnick thrived off of attention, of his friends, his classmates, his parents, when he could get it. And since training was typically a one-on-one affair, Finnick had grown close with Ray, eager for his undivided attention.
The benefit of being an Uncle, rather than a father, was that it was less frowned upon to have a favourite.
“I’ll be fine. He’s not the first person I’ve known who’s gone to the Games,” he assured them, feeling the familiar weight settling in his chest. He might not have been the first to leave for the Games, but he hoped he’d be the first to return.
“Are you going to collect to sponsor him?” Adrian asked. “We’ll help.”
“You boys don’t need to do that,” Ray assured him, but Adrian had dropped his fishing rod to the floor, standing up with Davey.
“We want to! We want to get Finnick home,” Adrian insisted. “We’ll get people at school to donate, they can’t say no. Even if we only get a couple dollars each from all the girls who think he’s sooo handsome, we could raise quite a bit.”
Ray felt the chuckle before he even knew it was coming. Sweet boys. He was glad Finnick had friends like them. “Alright, sure. Collect what you can and bring the money around our house before the Games start, and we’ll see if we can’t help him get home.”
“He will win, you know,” Adrian said in such a matter-of-fact tone that Ray couldn’t help but smile. “Finnick’s smart, and strong, and…” Adrian trailed off, scratching at his nose with the back of his hand. Ray turned away, struggling to keep his own eyes dry in the face of three crying children. “And he’ll win. He has to.”
“Yeah, I hope so too.”