Chapter Text
Grey Thornton, 17, District 12.
There was a lot in Grey's life that didn't go right. Being born in the most desolate district didn't set him up for a lot of good.
But he was born into a family of love. The Thornton family had everyone they could ever need within the confines of their small one-story shack of a house—a mother and a father, and four younger siblings that kept his spirits high.
He spent a lot of time learning from his mom. She was an apothecary, providing services to people in the Seam as needed. They didn't have a real practice or shop, but there were still always too many bodies to heal and never enough to go around. Grey learned as much as he could from his mom, he helped out when he could. And even though the environment was grim, he loved it.
And all of that was too generous for District Twelve. There was one day that was too bright, too sunny. Grey should have known something was wrong the moment he woke up.
But it wasn't until he was pulled out of school by his teary-eyed mother did he realize how quickly things could change.
A heart attack. He was barely forty. So much life to live yanked away from Grey in a single sentence. And to die in a mine of all places. He wasn't even around his family…
Grey didn't cry. He was sad, devastated. But as the oldest, he felt his father's responsibility fall onto his back. He had already experimented with cutting hours at school to make a little extra pay before his dad…
He searched the district for people who were willing to pay him. He was successful, in a sense. Delivering letters between the wealthier residents as needed. Sweeping up a shop after a long day of sales. He even learned to bake, filling in when someone was out with the flu.
Grey was busy, but his family was stronger for it. His income ensured his siblings would never have to bear the responsibilities that he did. No extra names in the reaping bowl, and no 16-hour shifts. They would have the life they wanted. Not the one Panem said they should have.
(If only it were that simple.)
Grey made it work. He worked, it felt like somewhere new every day. But there was one job that remained constant in Grey's life.
A watchman at the local cemetery.
Apparently, gravedigging was too common of an issue in Twelve, and the mayor was tired of paying people to re-bury the excavated bodies, so it was cheaper to just hire someone to stop that from happening. Grey never saw anyone in the area while he was on shift, his presence alone was enough of a deterrent. But they gave him a crossbow and taught him how to use it and left him on his own accord. As long as no graves were robbed, and the lanterns stayed alit he would be paid.
There was a lot of empty time, however. Grey found himself wandering amongst the walkways, reading the names listed on the graves and the years they walked the planet. Some were so faded that it took weeks to decipher who they belonged to. Some were fresh and easy to read.
Morys Thornton's name was the latter.
Some of the names were familiar to Grey. With all his work, he was familiar with the families where these names made the biggest difference. But some eluded him. People who lived secluded from the rest of the district. Those who had no family to claim them.
Grey didn't like that. Where was the line between life and death? How long did someone have to be underground before they no longer affected those still above it? What could elongate that time?
What could Grey do to keep his father alive?
He always loved the stories his parents told him growing up. The fantasies he could surround himself with. They stayed with him and reminded him that he could be anything.
He wanted to gift that to these people whose names were already etched in stone. They already told their story, it was Grey's job to ensure no one forgot them.
So during his many free hours at the cemetery, he made a habit of bringing a notebook and pencil to his shifts. He wrote each name down on a piece of paper - front and back - and gathered as much information on each name as he could. It was a heavy lift on Grey's part, but he felt honored to do it.
Who else would ensure these souls would stay alive?
Like everything else in Grey's life, it was a responsibility that fell on him and him alone. Yet he did it with care and not a single complaint.
There were just so many names itching with stories to tell.
~~ The Perseverance of Morys Thornton ~~
Morys Thornton was a man of many strengths. Being born in the Seam was not one of them. But he made the best of it. He was not set up to succeed. But he did.
It went unnoticed in the eyes of the Capitol. A poor boy was born to the Seam, married in the Seam, and had children in the Seam. But they couldn't see beyond their perceptions of a man living in conditions they would rather die than be in. So they couldn't see the wealth of love within the walls of the Thornton home.
His time may have been cut short needlessly. But the mark Morys Thornton left on the world will live on. It'll live on in the mines, where he took his last breath. It will live on in his wife, Aralia Thornton. And most importantly, in his five children.
Life in the Seam of District Twelve could break even the strongest of people. But no one was stronger than Morys.
To be continued…..
Present…
Grey sits on the ground, his back leaning against the couch that decorates the small room in the Justice Building. He doesn't want to sit on it. It feels wrong. He doesn't want to accept what is happening to him any more than he has to.
His green cardigan has untucked from the similar colored dress pants that have always been a little too big on him. He could tuck it back in, but he just puts a reminder in the back of his mind to fix his outfit before he leaves the Justice Building. He knows the hugs and tears from his family will untuck it again.
(He grips his notebook carefully, letting his father's wedding band rest on the worn leather that protected the pages inside. He wanted to continue his father's story this afternoon. Now he doesn't know if he'll be able to finish it at all.)
Somehow he knew. After Kalara Volkan's name was read, he knew he would be next. He was already halfway to the stage when Grey Thornton was called.
But he doesn't belong here. He belongs with his family. With the people who love him unconditionally.
Yet when the door opens and they all come barging in, he can't help but think how wrong it feels. He shouldn't be here. His father should be alive.
He shouldn't be here.
He pushes himself off the ground and into the arms of his mother and his four siblings. Everyone is crying, and voices overlap with one another, echoing each other's sentiments.
"I can't believe this is happening-"
"How could it be you-"
"Please come home-"
His answers are similar, yet he means them all the same. "I will. I'll try. I'll fight, hard."
Because that's all Grey's ever done, is it not? He's had to fight for himself every step of the way. It's expected of him, required, even. Because if he didn't, no one else would.
And it wouldn't be fair for his family if he didn't. If he lays down and rolls over, what precedent does that set for his little sisters and brothers?
Who will take care of them when he's gone?
His mind struggles with these thoughts as they say their goodbyes. His mother is sobbing, begging him to fight to come home. He promises her he will.
His oldest sister, Eira, begs him to do the same. She reminds him of his crossbow training, and he doesn't have the heart to remind her that he's never had to use it against a person.
Ivo tells Grey he loves him, and Grey hugs him tightly, telling him he can take his bed while he's away, just temporarily. Ivo promises he won't. He wants everything to look the same for Grey's return.
Silene and Calen don't know what to say, but they hug their oldest brother tightly. And they're still in his arms when the Peacekeepers open the door, and demand the visitors to leave.
Three minutes. That's all the Capitol has deemed worthy for someone in its twelfth district. Do tributes in higher districts get more time? Are they in such a rush to slaughter him?
Admittedly, no amount of time is enough for Grey to spend with his family. When they're basically forced out of the room, and Grey is left alone, he puts his hands on his forehead to push back on the intrusive thoughts. He tucks in his shirt, as he intended to, and he wonders why he feels…off.
It hits him. Every member of his family cried. Some of their tears decorate the carpet at his feet. Every member, but him.
He hasn't cried since his dad died. He almost forgot what that feeling was like. The uncontrollable wave of despair that threatens to pull you into a void of darkness.
The line that separated him and his father was so thin, that he always wondered if he could get close enough to see his dad again.
The Capitol may have just granted him that wish.
Grey sits in the chair closest to the window, ignoring Kalara's presence beside him. He stares at it as the workers prepare it for departure. He doesn't pull away until the view outside moves so fast that it starts to make him nauseous.
By then, it's probably been an hour since he sat down. Kalara has relocated to the dining table, an empty plate in front of her. Grey assumes it was filled with pickings from the buffet that lined the wall.
But he's not hungry. He pours himself a glass of water and then takes a seat on the other side of Kalara. She's formed a fist with the hand that rests on the table in front of them.
"What?" he asks.
"The Avoxes are supposed to do that for us," she explains. He looks back over at the water station and standing there is a woman with her eyes glued to the ground.
"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Grey almost pushes himself up from the table, but a look from Kalara demands him to sit.
The air around them is still and for the first time since being reaped, Grey has a moment to take in his opponent sitting in front of him. He knew her from school, of course, they've shared a grade since childhood. But it's her surname that brings attention to her.
Kalara Volkan. How cruel can the Capitol be for choosing her on her last year eligible for the reaping?
The train doors slide open and in walks Zara Volkan. The duo's designated mentor. She looks over at Grey first, his position still awkward from his misunderstanding about the water. Then, she looks at her granddaughter.
Not a word is shared between the trio until Zara takes a seat at the head of the table. Her age shows. And unlike every other district, Zara hasn't been blessed with a victor comrade to help reduce her workload. Maybe that's how her own grandaughter's name ended up as the reaped tribute this year. Maybe the Capitol needed a reason to remember the significance of District Twelve.
If that were true, what was their reason for choosing Grey?
"Hi-" Grey starts, but Zara holds up her finger.
"Ah. Hang on," she says, keeping her eyes fixated on her granddaughter. Grey goes to take a sip of water, but the glass is empty. He instinctively stands, but Kalara's words come back to him.
He looks over to the Avox, who already has the pitcher of water in her hand. She pours it into his cup.
"Thank you," he says. She avoids eye contact but gives a small nod of affirmation.
Kalara glares at him inquisitively, but she doesn't say anything to him. Instead, she looks back at Zara.
"Well. I won't pretend like this doesn't completely suck for you," Zara says to Kalara. "For you both," she adds, remembering Grey, too, has a seat at the table. "But it's my job to mentor you, and I take my job very seriously. I am not your grandmother, I am your mentor. Got it?"
Kalara nods. Zara doesn't pretend to address Grey this time.
"Got it. What's the plan?" Kalara asks.
"Well, we're going to watch the reaping recap tonight. We're going to determine who might be a good ally for you. Then, we'll devise a training plan. We'll reach the Capitol in three days, so we have a bit of extra time. For now, get comfortable. And enjoy the food," she pushes herself out of the chair and starts to stand when Grey speaks up.
"What about me?" he asks, unsure what triggered the question. Surely her instructions were for both of them, no?
(If that were true, why didn't she look at him when she spoke?)
"The plan goes for both of you. The recap starts at seven. Don't be late." She stands and moves towards the doors to another car. Grey finds his eyes locked at the last place he saw her, trying to take in all the information. Trying to sort through what it means.
What it means for him, of all people.
He only snaps out of it when Kalara stands up and moves to the same door as her grandmother.
"Wh-where are you going?" he can't help but ask. His head is spinning with everything. Only an hour ago, he was in the safety of his district. It wasn't glorious, and it wasn't guaranteed safety. But it was comfortable. He knew his place. And now he's swimming in a sea of unknown, while Kalara and Zara paddle away on a raft.
He deserves his place on the raft, too.
"You ask a lot of questions," is all she says before she disappears the same way Zara did.
Grey leans back in the dining chair, questions still lingering on his tongue. With nothing else to do, he disappears into the train car that holds his room. He sits on his bed, watching the passing trees that change in shape, size, and color as they get closer to the Capitol.
He misses the comfort of his district trees. Of the ones that lined the cemetery. The one he would be buried in, in a plot beside his father if he can't manage to pull this off.
I have to try. It's just another obstacle I need to overcome. My family wants me, needs me to come home. I can't disappoint them. These are the thoughts that pull him back to his journal. He had hoped to finish his father's entry this week, and now his timeline has become that much more urgent. So without anything else to occupy his attention, he starts to write.
~~ The Strengths of Morys Thornton ~~
Morys was destined to live in the mines the second he was born. Although he didn't wield a pickaxe until he was eighteen, he grew up with coal dust coating his shoes.
He knew that would be his life. But if he could bear the dangers of the mines in place of his children, then it was a life well-lived.
Morys loved all of his children equally, and he made an effort to spend time with each one of them. He learned which of his kids enjoyed which hobbies and activities. He sometimes went to work earlier, just to save up for a small gift for his kids.
I've never known a better man. He spent a week saving up to buy me this leather journal for my birthday.
I wonder if I disappointed him by not writing in it for so long. I couldn't bring myself to ruin the pages. I continued to write in the paper notebooks from school.
But his story deserved to be written in a book that will last. His story deserves to last.
No matter what it takes…
(The handwriting veers off the line.)
He doesn't know when he dozed off, but he knows when he regains consciousness the light has disappeared from the sky. He notices the sideways words on the paper in front of him, but that's not what concerns him.
He leaves his notebook on his bed, scrambling to return to the main car for the reaping recap.
Is that where it is? Did she say? Grey can't remember, but he continues to head that way as it's the only place he's seen thus far with a television.
And thankfully he was right because Zara and Kalara sit on the couch as the Capitol Anthem fades to introduce the tributes for the 106th Hunger Games.
"Why did no one get me?" Grey asks, taking the solo seat by the window. No attention is given to him, leaving his question unanswered.
No, not unanswered. Grey got his answer, whether they wanted to give it to him or not.
He focuses on the recap. District One starts off the program and as expected, two lethal-looking volunteers take the stage. Grey shudders at the thought of meeting either of them face-to-face in the arena.
District Two presents similarly well-trained volunteers. Except there is something different between these two tributes that the pair from One didn't have. Whereas the pair from One looked at each other with a form of respect, the pair from Two hardly looked at one another.
"Tension there. It'll affect the Career dynamics," Zara explains.
Grey doesn't understand the implications of that, but there's no time to ask.
The pair from Three are unassuming thirteen-year-olds. They don't make an impression on the Twelve trio.
The last of the Careers are, as expected, strong and ruthless. Instead of a handshake, they pull each other into a hug.
"Lovers?" Kalara asks. Zara shrugs.
"Maybe," she replies unsurely. Grey wonders why Kalara asked.
With the last of the expected volunteers done, Grey focuses his attention on the rest of the districts. The ones where his best shot at allies would lie.
The two from Five seem capable. The girl is older than the boy, but both of them have a mean look on their face. Along with some leftover dust from the factory they likely work in. He notes them as potential allies.
The girl from Six catches his eye. A twelve-year-old is reaped, and a girl volunteers. When she reveals her name, Grey understands why.
"Sisters," Kalara says before he gets the chance. The sister can't be more than five years older, but anyone who volunteers for their sibling is bound to be strong.
Grey knows he would, had he been put in that situation.
The boy from that district is also twelve, but unlike his district partner, he has no brother to volunteer for him. The girl looks at the young boy with pity.
She might be a good ally, he thinks to himself. But he knows the lengths she will go to for her sister. He's going the same lengths for his own family.
Seven is next. Two strong older tributes are reaped, and Grey intends to mark them both as potential allies until the boy holds up a finger directly toward the camera.
He crosses off the boy. He doesn't need unnecessary negative attention towards him.
Eight comes and goes. Two poor kids who couldn't be older than fourteen take the stage. The boy cries while the girl holds back tears.
Grey can't dwell on it. He can't. He has to think about himself. He has to.
Nine is next, and neither of the tributes makes too much of an impression at first. The girl is around sixteen, and the boy is seventeen or so. Grey's about to write them off as potential allies when the boy does something peculiar that catches his attention. Except for the Careers, the reaped tributes' reactions have ranged from anger to sadness. The boy, whom the announcer names Devin Calloway, just smirks. He leans back slightly as if to stretch out a knot in his back.
Intriguing. Grey doesn't know what to make of the strange boy. District Ten comes on quick enough for him to forget the boy. For now.
The two from Ten look exceptionally strong, especially the girl who volunteers. Her name has no resemblance to the name of the reaped girl, and Grey can only wonder what her motives are.
But he notes the boy as a potential ally when District Eleven is next. The last group he has to meet.
To counter his expectations yet again, the two from Eleven strike an interest in him. The boy is young, no older than 15, but he has a goofy grin on his face that doesn't dissipate despite him being sent off to his potential death. The girl is older, Grey's age and she has a much more serious look about her.
And then Eleven's gone and Kalara's name is called. The Capitol announcers revel in her lineage, and Zara receives extra attention at the reaping. The comments are nothing short of what Grey expected, what usually happens when a Victor's family member is reaped. Even when Grey Thornton's name is called, the focus stays on Kalara.
Grey can't pick out a single comment they made about Grey. Not about his odds, his calm demeanor, or anything else that a sponsor might be looking for.
"Well. There's your competition. Who stood out to you?" Zara asks.
"The two from Ten. They seem strong," Kalara says before Grey has the chance.
"Yes, an outlying volunteer certainly is interesting. I would recommend trying to figure out why before you accept an alliance with her, though. Anyone else?"
"Nine," Grey interjects. He clears his throat. "The boy in particular."
"Okay. Why?" Zara asks him.
"He…just seemed unimpressed by the whole thing. He didn't show fear," Grey explains, but he's unsatisfied by his words. There was something more to the boy…he just can't place it with words.
"Yes, that can be appealing to potential sponsors. I wouldn't rule him out," Zara says.
"I thought the two from Five looked tough," Kalara adds. Zara nods in agreement.
"Yes, I noticed that too. Though I don't think they'll have much in the way of guidance from their mentor," Zara clears her throat. "Okay. In the morning we can start developing training plans. For both of you. Keep a note of who you are interested in allying with, training is going to be your only place to make allies. Keep an eye on them during the chariot rides, though. You can learn a lot just by watching. Any questions?"
For once, both of the tributes are quiet.
"Okay. Get some rest," Zara dismisses them and they oblige, both heading in the direction of their sleeping cars with Kalara in the front.
The walk is silent and Grey can feel the tension from Kalara. He can't place why.
"Can…can we start over?" Grey asks just before they reach their respective rooms. Kalara stops and turns to face him.
"We never really started in the first place," she says nonchalantly. Grey opens his mouth, but by the time a thought dances on his tongue, Kalara has disappeared into her own room. Frustrated, he goes into his room and lets the door slam shut behind him.
With nothing to keep him standing, he crawls into bed and lets the chaos of the day settle in his brain. It was only this morning he was waking in his own bed, dirt from his last cemetery shift sprinkled on his clothes. All left behind in the district he doesn't know if he'll ever see them again.
He will try. With everything in him, Grey Thornton will fight to see District Twelve again.