Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My heart is a ticking bomb. I can feel it, deadly, dangerous, thrumming against my rib cage, trying to fight against everything I know is true.

Everything I lost.

Everyone I lost.

Lenore Dove, my heart. My little goose girl. My darling. She brought me up from the depths, saved my life, made me whole.

I can no longer do the same for her.

Another body the Capitol has to pay for. Another innocent life, torn apart by greed and hatred.

I will kill them. I will kill them.

It can’t be true. It just can’t. My girl is alive and vibrant and has a long, long life ahead of her.

This isn’t happening. It’s not real.

The reaping flashes before my eyes as I lie in the train, breathes coming fast and sharp. Her beautiful face, bloody and crushed, dull eyes, once as beautiful as the moon, hitting the cobblestones. A fallen bird, wings splayed, bright feathers drifting to the ground.

A murder. One shot. Two, three. Again and again. One too pay for disobedience. Another for shame. Another for trying to tempt fate. Woodbine never had a chance. Lenore Dove should have known, should have stopped…

Nothing changed. He died. They dragged me away, drugged me, took me away from her body. I fought like a wildcat, but it did nothing.

She was taken from everyone. From me.

And it was for nothing.

Now all of us are dead, and there’s nowhere I can run.

My girl died for a boy she never loved.

Now I’m going to die for the only girl I ever did.

. — . __ . — .

After what feels like hours, someone enters the car I’m lying in. I try to sit up, try to brush away the sweat and tears from my body, but the bonds cutting into my wrists prevent even that.

Whatever. I relish that pain now.

Even through the numb fog surrounding me, I can tell it’s not one of my fellow tributes. The crisp dark blue suits of the Capitol workers are distinct enough for that. I force myself to look up, to confront another person after losing the one who made me who I am.

A young woman, maybe five years older than me, is staring down at me in horror.

Her blue eyes, unnaturally so, and darkly rimmed with makeup, widen as I look at her. Her hair is twisted atrociously, like a massive cake decided to sleep on her head.

Another Capitol monster. To them, the Districts are no more than trash, born and bred for their amusement.

And at this moment, she is my captor. Another cog in the workings of the Capitol.

I try to spit at her, but my jaw, bruised from the scuffle with the Peacekeepers, resists the movement. Instead, I go for a glare; one I hope expresses every drop, no, every gallon of hatred I have for her and everything she represents.

“What do you want?” I manage, voice grating.

Hours before, I screamed myself hoarse, yelling things that would have once been unthinkable.

Her voice, high and shrill, annoyed me, just as much as the rest of her.

“I-I’ve come to collect you. We’ve almost arrived. You need to m-meet your mentors.” She stutters over her words, and I hope that means every bit of disgust and loathing in my face got to her.

I want to swear, to yell, to start telling each and every person how much blood the Capitol has spilled.

But I know no one will hear me.

And, honestly, why should I fight? Why should I when these next few days will be me against the world. Me against myself.

Why should I bother trying? When nothing is left, when I won’t survive past the first day, when Ma and Sid can do nothing for me, and I can do nothing for them… why should I keep going?

. — . __ . — .

Two guards, tall men in the same deep blue uniform as the attendant in the train, drag me out of the car.

The tribute tower, where hundreds of kids have spent their final days, looms before us. On my right, the first boy called, before Woodbine, mutters under his breath. Behind me, Maysilee Donnor is walking along, primly as ever. Even without looking, I can tell she’s being just as stuck-up as she is in Twelve. To my left, Louella is staring up, up, up at the city around us. One of her little hands - too delicate for this horror - is gripped in mine, seeking comfort.

I can’t give it, but I try.

If one of us can get home, it should be her.

She’s the youngest, and she has a whole life to go back to.

My life is already tainted. My heart is busted.

They took my love from me. They took the one person “worth taking” as she would have said.

“Haymitch?” Her voice is soft, barely over a whisper. I should've been looking after her. That’s what Lenore Dove would have wanted. I glance at our guards, but they don’t seem to care.

“Yeah?” My voice is still rough, and I can barely keep the pain inaudible.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“No, sorry, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” She squeezes my hand even harder, and I hold back. She is one bit of home. Each of these people, likable or not, are parts of my life. We need to stay together, stay strong.

We will not paint their posters with our blood.

Just as I think the walk to the building might just be the longest walk of my life, I hear a small sound past Louella.

It’s Maysilee. Holding onto Louella’s other hand, she mirrors me. Louella sighs, just a bit, and I want to release a breath with her. Maybe this town girl isn’t so stuck up as she wants us to think.

Her eyes meet mine, and the cold blue that has been taunting me since childhood seems suddenly less cold. More determined. She left people behind too. Now here she is with me, here for Louella.

A loose strand of hair falls across her face, and I notice a red mark, vaguely palm-shaped, across her cheek.

“Drusilla,” she mouths, seeing my confusion, and makes a slapping motion.

I raise my eyebrows. Maybe not so stuck up as I thought.

Chapter Text

It’s been three days. Three sunrises, shining in my eyes as I wake up alone.

No Ma, no Sid. No Lenore Dove.

At the very least, I know they keep my family around. There’s interviews, after all. But it would be better if nothing happened. I want Sid to live a long, long life. A happy one. Maybe one where he forgets me.

I can see it so clearly- my little brother, growing up year after year. Having his first kiss with someone from the Seam he knows he loves. Finally gets into the mines, but gets lucky. He’ll be a manager, and have an easier time. He’ll marry that lover of his. Maybe have some kids, I don’t know. He’ll live in happiness for the rest of his life, enjoying every day as it comes. Every sunrise.

Like I used to.

Sure, it’s nice here. We have the lacy curtains hanging down over the massive windows, looking down, down, down all the way from the top floor. Food is delivered with the ring of a bell. We met our mentors, Mags and Wiress, and they seem as kind as could be reasonably expected.

My fellow tributes are the people who really make it bearable, though. Louella, my little shadow and childhood “sweetheart” is still brave in the face of all this. She’s still fighting.

And Wyatt, who I never expected to form any connection with, has more nuance than expected. He’s still a Booker Boy, but at least he’s not proud of it. And he’s helped me comfort Louella a few times. I can see his gentle eyes looking down at her as she talks, telling stories about his life as an oddsmaker.

And Maysilee. Miss Donnor. She has hidden depths if anyone ever has. Every step she takes pains me, because when you strip off all the clothes and prosperity, she’s just like Lenore Dove. She flounces her style, and she makes me laugh. When I laughed yesterday, after a comment on Capitol fashion, it was a surprise. I thought I would never laugh again: not in the Capitol and never in the arena. But she’s not all attitude. There’s a soft side as well. She’s not afraid of anything or anyone, and has given me more courage than I’d like to admit.

A familiar rap in the door, followed by a barked command by Druscilla, gets me out of bed. Today, she sounds even more fed up than usual. Oh joy.

I struggle as I change for the day, pulling on my shirt, collar catching on the final gift from Lenore Dove. Every flash of light off the beautiful striker is a reminder that I no longer have her in my arms.

It’s as if she and the gold traded places- one comes to me, the other, to the ground.

I’ve stopped crying now, haven't cried since the first night. That’s when it hit me the most. Now I think it's better to ignore the pain, to try and remember the good bits.

But as I trudge downstairs, determined to waste as much of Druscilla’s time as possible, my heart is still throbbing. I’m the first one down, for once, so I just sit, eyes closed, and face the window, letting the light turn my eyelids red. Tomorrow, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be in the arena.

We’ll enter the arena, say we’ll act as one. Say the Newcomers have a chance.

But I’m poison, so I should leave first. I can’t help them, not to be next to them. Ampert can ask, but nothing is going to happen as planned if I’m with them, guiding the flock of lost birds.

“Hey.”

I startle, as Maysilee slides into a chair across the table from me.

“Oh. Hi.” My voice is rusty from sleep, and lack of water. I pour myself a glass from the big pitcher in the center of the table. If I’m trying to fight, then I should at the very least hydrate myself.

Maysilee does the same, taking the glass in her long, narrow fingers. Her bracelets clatter against the glass, a sound that would have annoyed me back in Twelve. Not anymore, though. She’s explained the meaning behind each one to me.

“Ready for another day, Mr. Abernathy?” She laughs, just a bit. Quietly. “You just sound really excited to see me.”

I reach across the table and snatch a roll.

“Glad you can tell,” I deadpan, bringing a smile to her lips.

Honestly, leaving your twin behind must be like losing half of yourself. Like my broken heart, split in two, never to be reunited.

We sit in silence, her sipping coffee, me eating away at whatever food I shoved onto my plate.

I’m not even hungry, crazy as that sounds. In the Capitol, eating is a routine, not a necessity. It’s weird and it disgusts me, but it’s true. The leftover food from this one table could give a family of four several days worth of sustenance. But here, leftovers are thrown out, so I try to eat as much as possible.

When I’m in the arena, I’ll need every bit of food I can get.

Because our resident snob is “not a breakfast person” she starts with coffee. I told her on the first morning she was going to want breakfast in the arena, but we’ll see.

Out of the blue, just as we hear footsteps making their way downstairs, Maysilee grabs my arm.

“Haymitch. Listen to me. In the arena, we’re allies, right? Above Newcomers, in our district? You’ll be my ally?” She sounds more desperate than ever before. No longer angry or sassy. Scared.

“I-” What do I say to this? Yes, I’ll be your ally, but I’m marked for death anyway? No? This girl from town might be my best chance. She can help me save Louella. Maybe knowingly, maybe not. It doesn't matter, in the end; the odds are not in our favor. And honestly? I could use the company. “Yeah. Yeah, for sure.”

When she smiles, it’s like the sun breaking from behind a cloud.

Chapter Text

Everyone files downstairs. Wyatt with his messy bedhead, Louella with her round eyes, still taking in everything around us, Drusilla and her harsh, violent makeup, Mags in her nightgown, and Wiress, notebook in hand, scratching out another note for herself.

We’ve created our own little group. Bound by chance- or maybe plain old bad luck- we’ve come together. Honestly, I’m starting to like everyone. Not Drusilla, of course, but Wyatt and Maysilee are so nice to Louella and they’re starting to feel like true friends.

I know that I won’t be going back home, but killing them if it means protecting Louella will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

My little sweetheart is so pure. She deserves a life without the horror the arena brings. She hasn’t lost her love, hasn’t had her heart broken beyond repair.

The pain still hits me. Like a clod of mud straight to the chest, knocking out all of my air and sending a creeping ache through my whole body.

Lenore Dove’s wings couldn’t carry her, so I have to carry her memory.

“Haymitch?”

I look up, eyes burning. Mags is holding out a plate of mashed something to me. “You need to eat.” I know she can see the heat behind my eyes, but instead of mentioning anything, I slowly, slowly reach out and take the dish from her.

“Thanks,” I say, but my voice sounds dull. Maybe not to anyone else though. Only Lenore Dove knew when I was hurting back home. Ma and Sid loved me, but they could never tell if it was a bad day. She always knew, though.

An elbow bumps mine.

I’m sitting between Louella and Maysilee, and despite being a whole lot bigger than both of them, I have no room. Maybe because of it, I dunno.

I watch Maysilee’s elbow as it travels away from my side, careful not to touch her when I reach for my glass. Seeing her little habits and ticks makes me think of my darling I left back home. Dead and gone, but still a posh girl from town makes me think of her.

Somehow, Maysilee wears her black jumpsuit a lot better than I do. It’s not fair, really. Mine’s baggy in odd places and feels like an old miners uniform. Hers looks like a fashion statement. She can make anything work. I would know. I went to school with this girl for my whole life. She has style.

Kind of like a fluttering dress of rainbow patchwork, lace collar and tall boots. Someone with a sparkle. My girl had flair. Miss Donner has it too.

Drusilla slams open the door, hands clapping.

“Up, up, up! You have to be presentable for training in… seven minutes, so get to it.”

We stare at her, hair still tangled, eyes glazed.

“Now! Get ready, get walking!” She breathes hard out her nose, hands waving. “All of you! You!” She grabs at Louella, taking her by the collar. Her eyes widen, hands flying to her throat. “Sit up. Training starts soon and this mess-”

“Let her go, Drusilla.” I’m standing now, hands clenched at my sides. Nobody touches Louella. Especially not some stuck up, hair-dyed, complete bitch of the Capitol.

Drusilla just tugs at Louella harder, and as I watch, heart pounding, as tears, large and shining, pour down her face.

“What’s the problem, boy? What’s wrong?” She laughs, and tightens her hold.

I lunge towards her. She needs to stop, to shut up.

“We,” I make out as I grab her shoulders. “Are not…” I raise my hand, pushing Drusilla off Louella. “Your playthings.” I need to hit her, make her feel what she deserves, make her take that pain that she’s giving us.

And I’m about to, forcing her to the ground before anyone else can do anything but gasp. But then… I see it.

She’s scared. Scared of me. Not because of what I could do, but because of what I already have. I’m being the monster they think I am. I’m hurting someone with no real power. She’s another pawn, just like me. Well, no. Not just like me. But she’s not important to the Capitol. Nobody is.

I would never, never ever, compare my love, Lenore Dove, to someone as poisonous as Drusilla.

But in that moment, when I see her eyes, I see the perfect kaleidoscopes of my dead girl. My goose-girl. She’s scared she’s going to die. She’s scared of me like I’m carrying a gun and marching around Twelve.

I’m the raven, knocking at her chamber door.

I never wanted to be someone’s raven.

So I let her go, breath still coming in little choking gasps, hair mussed and frazzled.

The dead silence around the room hurts my ears as I stand, and go to Louella who’s trying to regain her breath still. I look her in the eyes, and she smiles, just a bit. It gives me the courage to say what I need to say next.

“Drusilla.” I turn to her, arms wrapped around Louella. “If you ever touch any one of us again, I swear I will kill you.”

And she nods.

Because now I’m the raven.

-

When everyone has actually got ready and Drusilla has regained her composure, we cram into the elevator.

“Alright.” She’s smoothing back her platinum blond curls, and avoiding eye contact with me. “Today’s training is going to be a time to impress the Gamemakers who are observing you. I want to say that my district…” She shudders a bit. Clearly the “barbarity” of Twelve is still making an impact. Ironic, considering all the blood she’s spilled in my life. In many lives. “Is as good as it can be! You all need to be presentable, talented, and… ruthless today.” I feel her eyes flicker over me.

We ride the rest of the way down in silence, even Maysilee.

As we’re leaving the little box, Mags takes my hands.

“Haymitch. I know you want to protect Louella-”

“Need to,” I interrupt.

“Need to,” she amends. “But remember that you are more than another killer. As someone who has been through the games, I’ve been where you are. Made choices like yours. Just know who you are, that’s all.”

Mayilee, Luella, and Wyatt are waiting for us. I know Mags can try, but she’s already won. I know I won’t be leaving the arena alive. So…

“Haymitch.” Again with my name. “Don’t become their monster.”

Then she’s gone and all that remains is the faint smell of coffee, lingering in the air.

Don’t become their monster.