Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE: THE VICTORS

Nicky 

Nicky Hemmick’s parents took him out of school when he was eleven and a half to start working at the textile factory. His aunt Tilda had recently moved in with them and brought her son Aaron with her. They needed more working hands to feed all of them, and Nicky was the only choice. 

Nicky didn’t like his aunt Tilda, who complained consistently of a chronic ailment that no one could see, and yet it prevented her from working and contributing to the family. She collected measly Capitol rations and kept them for herself. 

He didn’t know enough about his cousin Aaron to have much of an opinion, though he supposed that would have been his own fault. Nicky spent almost no time at all at home.

He worked in the factory from sun-up to sun-down, and spent his evenings with the other boys his age who were taken out of school too soon. Many of them were so young that they couldn’t read. Nicky offered to teach them, but no one had taken him up on it, all too exhausted from the manual labor to exert any intellectual work. 

Nicky liked to read. On Tuesdays, his one day of the week off, he spent the day at the district’s modest library when he wasn’t running errands for his family. District 8 was rather big, and Nicky was lucky that the library was built in the East quarter. Aaron, who lived in the West quarter before moving, had never been to a library before. The only time that the two spent together was the long, mostly silent walks to the library. 

Nicky read about all sorts of things. The Capitol didn’t allow for the Districts to have access to many books, but Nicky learned about different bugs, plants, weather patterns, and the long, boring history of Panem. Nicky’s favorite part, though, was that some folks from the district had managed to sneak in folktales and stories of magic in between the pages of Capitol-approved books. It felt like reading secrets.

Aaron liked to read, too. At only nine years old, he was reading books about medicine and healing over and over again, until Nicky believed he could recite them from memory. Nicky had asked Aaron once why he liked that stuff so much, but Aaron had just shrugged at him. He was quiet most days, and downright rude on others. Still, Nicky would seek out his company for these trips.  

It could have been a pleasant life. He had a roof over his head, food on the table, and friends to talk to. So what if he was overworked, constantly exhausted, and always on edge about a factory machine malfunctioning and shredding him to bits? He had it pretty good, compared to other kids out there, he was sure. 

Except, Nicky had a secret. A secret that on Reaping Day of his 14th year, he decided to share with his parents. He’s not sure why he did it. Reaping Day always made him act strangely. He wasn’t exactly worried about his odds. He brought in enough revenue that he hadn’t had to exchange entries for tesserae, and he was only 14. That’s only three entries. But still, The Reaping made most people act up. 

“Mom, Dad, before we leave, I have to tell you something,” Nicky said to them. They barely looked up from where they were sitting, counting coins for the following day’s grocery run. 

They didn’t seem to care because Nicky did this every year. He stood in front of his parents and made a big speech about how much he loved them, just in case the worst happened at The Reaping. That year, he did much of the same, but he’d also wanted to tell them something else. 

“I think I want to marry a boy one day, not a girl,” Nicky said in a rush. He’d wanted to get it all out before Tilda and Aaron came downstairs.

“That’s impossible.” His father told him. 

“It’s not. I’ve read about it in the library, apparently it’s something that a lot of people used to—”

“You will not speak of this again,” His father cuts him off. 

“But I—”

“No. No son of ours is like that. You will not entertain these thoughts. You will not let evil into your soul. You will not speak of this again. Is that clear?” His father demanded of him. Nicky looked over to his mother for help, but she had turned her whole body away from him. He watched her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Nicky had known that being gay was a Capitol offense, and he knew that his parents were staunch believers in the Capitol’s mission. He didn’t know why he’d thought that they would love him anyway. Maybe all the fairytales he’d read had messed with his head. 

When his name was called at The Reaping by their District’s escort two hours later, it was only the second worst thing to happen to Nicky that day. 

When he was afforded thirty minutes to say goodbye to his loved ones, his parents did not show their faces. That was the worst thing. He would not get to say goodbye to them. To say he was sorry. To tell them that he didn’t mean what he said earlier. He was just confused, that was all. 

Tilda and Aaron were nowhere to be seen, either, though Nicky was sure that Aaron, so young at the time, had no choice in the matter. 

The only one who came by to say anything to him was Erik Klose, a boy Nicky had only known in passing for a few years before Nicky was removed from school and Erik moved into the Victor’s Village. 

“Hello, Nicky. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”

“Erik. You’re Erik,” Nicky said. “We went to school together.”

“Yes. My brother Hugo will be your mentor. He is very kind. He won seven years ago,” Erik told him.

“Do you always visit your brother’s tributes before they’re sent to their deaths?” Nicky asked. 

“Only the ones I know,” Erik replied. 

“We don’t know each other. Not really,” Nicky said. 

“Maybe someday we will. You might come home,” Erik said, with a sincerity that was unimaginable to Nicky, given his current position. 

Erik departed the room with a short hug and a clasp on the shoulder. He was right, too; his brother Hugo was very kind. And helpful. He spent the train ride to the Capitol telling Nicky and his counterpart, an older girl named Jen, everything he thought was important for them to know about the days leading up to the Games. He assured them that after the opening ceremonies finished, they’d begin talking strategy for their actual gameplay. 

~~~

Nicky hadn’t been very interested in talking strategy. He figured there was no use, seeing as though he’d likely die within the first few hours of the game. He was not strong, not exceptionally smart, and likable enough. Unfortunately, likable enough meant that he was too likable and would be seen as a threat. He stood no chance. 

As he progressed through training, the possibility of survival seemed increasingly unlikely. The Career pack formed and seemed as vicious as ever, and while Nicky got along swimmingly with the other tributes, he knew he didn’t have the strength to look any of them in the eyes and kill them. He’d let himself be killed first; he just knew it. 

He formed an alliance anyway, because Hugo advised him to. It was him, Jen, both from 11, and the girl from 5. Their plan was simple in structure: flee the bloodbath at the Cornocopia and regroup north of its mouth. 

Nicky didn’t know until after his Games were over what happened at the bloodbath. In the arena, he had followed the plan almost to the letter. He only deviated once when he’d spotted a small satchel, barely big enough to fit a glasses case, about five paces ahead of his platform. He ran for it, then fled north just like they’d all planned. But no one joined him. He spent hours searching, listening to cannons boom as more and more bodies piled up from the bloodbath, and still no one joined him. He continued his trek north, believing that moving was better than staying still so early on in the game.

The satchel held a folded-up water pouch and a similarly folded pamphlet on wildlife. Nicky figured that maybe 10% of the material on it would be useful in the arena he was placed in, but 10% was better than nothing. 

He was surrounded by trees, barren of any leaves, and rivers filled with icy waters that Nicky had to blindly trust were drinkable. The temperature was cold enough at all times to shiver and wish for a jacket, but not so cold that the ground froze over. 

On his first night, Nicky learned that every single member of his alliance, including his district partner, had died in the bloodbath and the ensuing aftermath. At the time, he felt no grief, only anger. His alliance had agreed upon a plan, but all except him were too weak, or scared, or tempted by the cornucopia’s bounty to enact it. They just left him there to fend for himself, with no practical combat skills or tools. What was he supposed to do? 

He spent the whole night combing through the wildlife book again and again. When the artificial sun had just started to rise, Nicky confirmed that he could match some of the plants he saw in the arena to plants he had seen in both his wildlife pamphlet and a book he had read in the library back in District 8. Nicky was able to correctly identify Pernith root, and from there, he quickly remembered what the book back home said about that particular plant. 

It was a science and nature book, all about what can happen when different outdoor elements are combined. It was a book that also warned of the dangers of mixing certain plants, ingredients, or chemicals with others. It was a book that told him what you’d get if you mixed water, tree sap, and ground Pernith Root. You got a deadly poison. 

Collecting enough sap and Pernith Root was an overt task, completely counterproductive to Nicky’s goal to stay inconspicuous, but the arena had plenty of both to spare. Nicky was consistently terrified that he was about to get himself caught and killed. The more he collected, the more he felt a renewed sense of strength. He laughed to himself, thinking about how confused viewers would be, how strange they would find it that a young tribute was seemingly gardening throughout his whole Games. 

When the cannons had sounded, and the anthem had played in the sky on the third evening, Nicky had collected, ground up, and combined enough poison to kill a battalion. And there were only seven tributes left. 

Nicky received only one parachute during his games, and it was a box filled with a case of empty bottles. Hugo must have known what Nicky was doing. It figured that Hugo was a reader too, with nothing else to occupy his time in the Victor’s Village but library books and food. He could see Nicky’s plan taking shape and sent what he could to help. 

Nicky wondered how Hugo had convinced sponsors to donate to such an odd tribute. He filled each bottle with the poison, hoping that if his plan worked, tributes would believe it to be an electrolyte drink. 

The Games like to push tributes together around the final six, and Nicky’s head gamemaker called for a Feast at the Cornucopia. Nicky had been hiding out around there, hoping for something like this. He rushed the Cornocopia, placed two bottles of the poison within each pack for each district that had a tribute left, ignored his own pack, and sprinted away faster than he’d ever done anything before. The Games concluded less than three hours later. The remaining tributes had either killed each other violently in a clash at the Feast, or died silently from Nicky’s poisoned bottles. Nicky Hemmick won his Hunger Games. 

He felt no relief, no joy, no excitement. He didn’t suppose any Victor did. Hugo advised him to be very charming during his stay in the Capitol and to push through the numbness. 

Hugo said that the Capitol wasn’t very pleased with his win; they didn’t find it exciting enough. Hugo told him to be as excited as he could while parading himself around. Nicky trusted Hugo, so he did his best. He’d be neighbors with Hugo soon, neighbors with Erik, too. Maybe they would get to know each other after all. 

When he made it home, his parents were right there at the train station with his Aunt Tilda and Aaron waiting for him. They acted like his last day at home before the Games had never happened. They acted relieved to see him. They acted like they loved him. Nicky couldn’t forget that they didn’t, not truly. 

They all moved into the Victor’s Village with him, but Nicky spent most of his time at the Kloses’ house. He loved being with them. He felt like he needed to be near them to keep breathing through his endless nightmares about the children whose deaths were on his hands. 

Hugo was the only person in District 8 under the age of 30 who could understand what it was like to be in the Games, and Erik was the only person who could understand Nicky. 

Erik told Nicky that it was love at first sight for him, but Nicky didn’t believe that they started falling in love until after Nicky returned from the Victory Tour the first winter after his Games. They had gone over two weeks without each other, and it had made both of them feel like crawling out of their skin. 

The night Nicky got back was the first night they’d kissed. Nicky felt like his feet were on fire when he tore off the train, straight past the cameras and his family, and towards the Kloses’ house. He heard Hugo articulate an apology to the Capitol cameras and an excuse about “bad shrimp.” He could feel the sweat dripping down his back as he pounded his fists against the front door, screaming Erik’s name at a volume that would have drawn much more attention if they lived in any other area of the district.

When the door flew open, Nicky saw that Erik was just as sweaty as he was, despite not having run anywhere. Erik pulled him through the door by his shirt collar, but Nicky was the one to eventually smash their lips together. 

From then on, they were increasingly desperate for each other's company, but the more time they spent together, the more important it was for them to be discreet. It was more difficult for Nicky than he’d thought it would be. He wanted to be close to Erik all the time.    

Being no one’s favorite Victor with an uncompelling Games meant that Nicky was mostly left alone by his District. All he had to do was continue smiling, but living a lie about who he was felt like slowly melting on the inside. He wondered if things would ever get to change for him, for anybody. He thought about what he could have, in a different life on a different planet. 

He remembered a word he learned back when he was still in school: freedom. The teacher said the word like it was a bad thing, something disruptive, something to fear. Nicky thought differently. He craved the chaos of freedom above all else. 

In his spare time that he couldn’t spend with Erik, Nicky began drawing. He drew a different life for himself and Erik on a faraway planet. He thought up adventure-packed stories about the two of them. He began telling those stories to the children who could not read stories for themselves. 

No matter how busy Nicky kept himself, no matter how many worlds he created where things were easier, he could not escape himself. He could not escape the hint of fear that sometimes crossed his mother’s face when she looked at him. He could not escape his father’s overt disgust and refusal to speak with him. He could not escape his own mind, which played the sounds of the cannons announcing the deaths of his fellow tributes over and over and over again. 

Nicky didn’t believe that Victors were ever set free from their Games. He didn’t see how he could ever be the same again. 

“You don’t have to be the same as you were before,” Erik told him. “It’s ok to be different. Sometimes change is even a good thing.” 

“You’re an optimist,” Nicky replied. 

“We should all be optimists,” Erik said easily. Nicky wanted to argue, but decided better of it. He loved the way that Erik saw the world. 

“I want a life with you,” slipped out of Nicky’s mouth. Erik’s face turned serious. 

“Then have one,” Erik said, and interjected when Nicky opened his mouth to interject. “No, no. No objections today. We’ll worry about things as they come, not before.” 

Nicky allowed himself a slice of optimism and didn’t argue with that. Maybe, one day, Erik could be right. Maybe Nicky’s desire to be himself, to be free, would take him someplace he wanted to discover. Maybe if his family never came around, he could create one that didn’t have to, that loved him for who he was. 

Maybe, if Nicky wanted a life, he could have one.       

Chapter Text

Dan

Dan Wilds had lived with her aunt and young cousins since she could remember. Dan’s mother had her at age 15; she’d gotten pregnant with an older man from a lumber mill, and was promptly reaped before Dan could even reach the age of two. She died ninth in her Hunger Games. Dan had no memories of her and was never told who her father was. According to her aunt, her mother was such a whore that even she didn’t know. Dan had given up searching crowds of mill workers for a face that matched her own when she was very young.

Dan met Matthew Boyd at school. They were placed in the same third-grade class, in seats right next to each other.

“Nice to meet you, Matthew,” She’d said to him on the first day, reading his name tag and sticking out her hand for him to shake. 

“Same to you, Danielle. It’s just Matt, though,” He said.  

“And I’m just Dan,” She’d said in reply. 

On the second day of school, Matt put tree sap in her hair as a greeting. He always claimed he did it because he thought she was cute and got nervous. Dan always suspected that he was trying to be funny to impress her. The thing is, Matt was funny. And kind. And handsome. She hadn’t even minded that her hair was sticky, because Matt had been apologizing so profusely, begging for her forgiveness, and offering her his dessert in exchange for her not telling their teacher. Dan wasn’t a snitch, but she snatched up Matt’s chocolate square anyway.  

Dan and Matt became an inseparable duo in no time. Their teachers split them up and sat them on opposite ends of the room daily. The kids at school teased them for having a crush on each other for years, until Matt turned 12 and had to leave school to work at the nearby lumber mill to help his mother make ends meet.

On his final day at school, Matt asked Dan to be his girlfriend. She didn’t really know what that meant, only that her aunt had boyfriends often, and none of them were particularly nice to her or to her aunt. But... none of those boyfriends were Matt. Matt wasn’t like anyone else she had ever met before. He was her best friend. Every story she had ever been allowed to read told her that people were supposed to end up with their best friend. So Dan told him “yes,” and every day after, Matt waited by the school doors to walk her home and hold her hand. 

He took the early shift to get to the school on time for dismissal. He worked from three in the morning until two in the afternoon when he picked Dan up. From then until dinner, Dan told Matt about what he missed in school that day. Matt still wanted to learn parts of what school had to offer, and he especially wanted to know what gossip he was missing. He was an incredible audience. 

When Dan turned 13, she told Matt that she loved him. He said it back, and even apologized for not saying it first. Dan had laughed at him and kissed him for the first time. She felt so grown up kissing a boy that she loved. She wondered if that was how her mother had felt, with whoever her father was.

Matt never wanted her to meet his father. His parents were no longer together, which rarely happened in the Districts. Households were often too poor for couples to marry, then divorce. Marriage for the sake of economic convenience was far more common than anything else Dan had ever seen, and it seemed like a waste of resources to leave a marriage when two people were contributing to the household instead of one. 

Matt’s father lived in town, in an apartment. Dan didn’t know exactly where. His mother lived in her family’s home a few roads down from where Dan lived. Matt’s mother was extremely kind to her, and his grandmother even more so. Dan liked to be there very much, and was always sure to use her best manners. 

When she started spending most of her time at Matt’s place, and Dan’s aunt couldn’t get free childcare out of her, she resorted to calling Dan names that Dan didn't even understand. Looking up the word whore in the dictionary at school the day after a fight had been supremely embarrassing. 

Dan often fantasized about running away, but she knew she’d never leave Matt behind, and Matt would never leave his family. She thought about quitting school, getting a job, and saving enough money to afford a room in someone’s home. She had a friend at school who lived in the basement of the apothecary; it could be done. 

She dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. Her cousins needed her, and they were so young. It wasn't their fault that they were born to a miserable woman, just like it wasn't Dan's fault that her mother had died and left her to her aunt's care. It wouldn’t be fair to them if she ran off with no explanation. She’d have to wait it out until she was old enough to register for her own plot of land with the Justice Building. 

Dan thought about her future a lot. Maybe she shouldn’t have. 

~~~

Six months after Dan’s 13th birthday was The Reaping. Dan donned the same dress she had worn the year before. It was technically still new, because she’d only gotten it when she was 11, but it was already starting to be far too small in too many places. Last year, the armpits had ripped before the names were even called.

Dan’s aunt wanted extra tesserae last year, so her name was in the running nine times. Not too bad, less than many of her peers, but not ideal either. Her name was called before she could properly criticize the escort's outfit in her head.  

Matt cried more than Dan did when she ascended the stage to stand by the Peacekeepers and cameras. She could hear his wails from where she stood. Capitol cameras panned straight to him like a shark smelling a gunshot wound, and Dan watched the screens as lenses zoomed in on his abject terror. 

She didn't know how to be strong for him. She didn’t know how to be strong for herself. When her aunt and cousins visited her to say goodbye, she couldn’t bring herself to hug them or to speak at all. She had let them hug her, she let them cry for her, she let them say goodbye to her, and then they were gone. 

Matt had taken their place. Dan couldn’t even look at him. He hadn’t minded. He kissed her cheek, he told her he loved her, and that he would wait for her to come home. 

“You have to move on if I don’t,” Dan had told him, finally finding her voice. “You have to find somebody else. You’re only 13, Matt. You can’t be sad about me forever.” 

“I don’t want to meet anyone else,” Matt said. “But I will. I promise you I won’t be sad forever, but only if you promise me something.” 

“I don’t think I’m in the position to make any promises,” Dan said. 

“Promise me you’ll fight. You’re a fighter, Dan. I know you are. You have to fight in there. Don’t make me have to meet somebody else.”

“You’d do fine,” Dan told him. “Everybody likes you.”

“Fight, Dan. Fight for me.” 

Dan promised him that she would. When she boarded her train to the Capitol, the first thing she asked about was strategy. She wasn’t interested in the food that the Capitol had offered her to mitigate the disaster that they had turned her life into. She wasn’t interested in the real bed that she would get to sleep on. She was only interested in her survival. She had a promise to keep. 

Her District partner was mostly a dud, and Dan couldn’t find many uses for him. Like most of the men from 7, he was strong from working in lumber mills for most of his life, so he could certainly come in handy in a physical fight. But he was dumb. Dan had chosen to ignore him entirely rather than work around that. 

She scheduled private meetings with their mentors to talk about individual strategy. One of their mentors was a man in his late 30s who very clearly favored the district’s male tributes. He told her that he knew her mother in school. Dan wasn’t impressed by that admission. The other, a woman in her 20s, was much more useful to talk to. 

Dan aligned herself with two women, Maude and Leah, from 3 and 8, respectively. They agreed to stick together until the final six, and they agreed to allow each other 30 minutes to split off before going after one another. It seemed to be the best option for her, it was a strategy that often won the Career pack the Games. 

~~~

When faced with the reality of the arena, Dan was overwhelmed. They were placed in a swamp-like climate, with mud up to their mid calves at all times. Walking was a slow affair, and running was nearly impossible. Rocks and other hard surfaces to rest on were few and far between. The Games consisted of wading slowly through an endless flow of mud, hoping that you wouldn’t encounter another sign of life and have to fight for your life without the full functionality of your lower half. 

Not to mention, the Swamp Creatures. It was some kind of muttation. Dan tried her best not to get a good look at it, but Maude thought it was a cross between a piranha and a beaver. Whatever it was, it bit. And it bit hard. Dan spent more time tying leaves together to try to patch up bites on her and the other girls’ ankles than she did doing anything else. 

They encountered the Career pack on the fourth day, and none of them were in particularly good shape. Four of the six careers were still in the game, and Dan saw that they were itching for a fight. 

Dan had made it out unscathed, using the mud to her advantage. She slithered into the swamp, crawled through the muddy, murky, soupy mess, and whenever a Career got too close to her, she did her best impersonation of the Swamp Creatures. She bit down on Career's ankles as hard as she could, hoping that in the chaos, they would mistake her for the mutts and stay away.

Leah and Maude each managed to kill one Career before the boy from District 1 struck Leah through with his long knife. The cannon firing made Dan tense. Maude used a convenient cannon boom from some other unfortunate soul somewhere else in the arena to play dead herself. When Dan continued to bite down on their ankles, the remaining Careers got frustrated enough to vacate the area.    

When Dan sat up in the mud, convinced that she no longer needed to conceal herself, Leah’s body was already gone. 

Dan and Maude continued to explore for another two days after that. The going was at a snail’s pace, and Dan had thought that it must be a boring Games for the viewers with how slowly things moved.

Eventually, Dan found something that she shouldn’t have. She found drains. Drains that water and mud slowly trickled into. 

“This must be how they’re controlling the swamp environment!” Dan exclaimed to Maude. “We should mess with them.”

“Why would we do that?” Maude had asked her. 

“Well, if we plug them up, then the arena will flood with water, probably. Or at least, more mud. No one would be able to eat if all their stuff were suddenly underwater. And I bet not everyone knows how to swim. If we get the water that high, maybe we can flush some tributes out.”

“I don’t know how to swim.” Maude countered. 

“I’ll teach you,” Dan had promised.    

“I don’t want to do that,” Maude told her. “I don’t think we’re allowed.” 

“Then I guess this is where we split off,” Dan said, matter-of-factly, but with a tinge of sadness. “Just, please do me a favor and stick to the original deal and give me 30 minutes.” 

“Okay, Dan. Stay alive,” Maude said. She seemed more resigned than anything else. They both knew their alliance couldn't last forever.  

“You, too. And keep your things dry. Climb a tree if you can’t swim.” Those were Dan’s final words to Maude. 

Dan plugged as many drains as she could find. Once she knew what to look out for, she could find quite a lot. The arena flooded faster than Dan thought it would. When the water reached waist height, Dan heard the first cannon. 

By the time the Gamemakers reversed Dan’s mistake and drained the arena, four tributes had died in the flood. Dan felt both responsibility, and a sick sense of pride at outsmarting the Gamemakers. She used that feeling as a drive to stay around longer and fight harder. 

Eventually, after three full weeks, one of the longest Games on record, only the boy from District 1 and Dan were left in the Game. In her desperation to stay alive, she clawed his eyes out with her fingers and used her strong grip to rip out one of his testicles. From there, he was an easy kill. She dedicated it to Maude and Leah. Dan Wilds had won her Hunger Games.

When the final cannon sounded, when she was officially crowned the Victor of her Games, Dan looked into the sky and whispered to Matt, “See you soon.” 

~~~

“Soon” had turned out to be not so true. First, Dan spent several days in a Capitol infirmary, healing her bites and, apparently, her broken ribcage. She hadn’t noticed at the time, but upon waking up and realizing that it hurt to speak, she realized that her final fight must have taken more strength from her than she remembered.

She was informed that when she was better, she would be required to attend a party, a parade, and several interviews, all taking place at the Capitol. It could be several weeks before she was allowed home. 

Before she had been dismissed from the infirmary, she received a visitor whom she had not been expecting. 

Mr. Wymack was a Gamemaker. Dan knew that, and she had been scored a 9 by him and several others during her training. He had helped create her arena. She did not know why he was there. 

“Ms. Wilds, congratulations, it’s nice to meet you,” Wymack had told her. Dan said nothing in return. 

“I wanted to give you a piece of advice, before you leave here and go out into the Capitol to celebrate your win,” He said. 

“Why?” Dan asked. 

“Because I want to,” He told her. He didn't make any sense to her at all, but Dan motioned for him to continue speaking to her anyway. 

“The Gamemakers and the President are not… pleased with you, Ms. Wilds,” he said. 

“It’s Dan.” 

“The Gamemakers do not like to be outsmarted, Dan,” Wymack had said. 

“You’re a Gamemaker,” Dan said. 

“Sure I am,” Wymack said.

“Why should I care if you’re unhappy?” She asked. 

“The Capitol is not your friend. You, a tribute from the Districts, must know that,” Wymack said. 

“Why should I trust you, then? You’re from the Capitol,” Dan said. 

“Am I?” Wymack asked, and Dan once again hadn’t known how to reply to that.

“I’ll earn your trust one day. I’m asking for your cooperation now on credit, with the promise that I will one day pay you back,” Wymack had assured her.  

“Ok. Let's say I do trust you. Let's say I agree to accept your advice. Then tell me, what do I do about the unhappy Gamemakers?” Dan asked. 

“Let me deal with them,” Wymack said. 

“And the unhappy President?” she asked.

“Be humble. Don’t brag about your big move with the flood. Do not admit to outsmarting the Games. The President is looking for an excuse to punish you,” Wymack advised her.

Dan chose to trust Wymack’s advice once she left the infirmary. Something in his face, something inside of her gut, told her it was the right decision. 

During her stay in the Capitol, she kept her head down, stayed humble and simple about her victory, and avoided questions about her flood maneuver like the plague. She’d tried to focus more heavily on her impersonation of the biting muttations, and tried her best to showcase her win as a testament to her strength, not her strategy. 

Unfortunately, try as she did, those around her did not act as graciously as she did. Her mentors and her prep team could not stop bragging about her, all over the Capitol. When the cameras arrived back with her to District 7, all her aunt could do was gush into any camera she could see about how clever Dan’s little trick was. 

Matt especially had a hard time keeping his mouth shut about it. When she stepped off the train, he was waiting there for her, with her aunt and his mother and all of her young cousins. Dan had leaped at him, wrapped her brittle, worn legs around his strong ones. Matt kept her rooted to this world. He was as sturdy as the trees he spent his days chopping down. 

With a camera pointed at her and Matt’s reunion, Matt had no problems waxing poetic about Dan. Dan, his brilliant girlfriend, who stunned the whole nation with how smart she could be. It was so kind, so genuine, so Matt, but it made Dan’s blood run cold hearing it. Despite her best efforts to mitigate disaster in the Capitol, Dan’s stunt in the arena had followed her out of it.

The next year, Matthew Boyd was named the male tribute from District 7. Dan knew it was her fault. 

Chapter Text

Matt

Illegal drugs were not unusual to come by in Donald Boyd’s apartment. Matt had known since he could understand language that his father was a drug dealer. It was the only way that he could afford to live on his own after he separated from Matt’s mother. He bought drugs down at District 7’s black market, crushed them, melted them, and watered them down. Then, he would don his only suit and sell them off at a high premium to richer members of the district, usually those residing in or around the Victor’s Village. 

Sometimes, he had tried to get Matt to come with him. When Matt was younger, he would. He used to enjoy spending time with his father. He used to be hopeful for a relationship between the two of them. He walked hand-in-hand with his father and would wait on the street playing with sticks while his father conducted his “meetings.” 

The older Matt got, the more bored he became, sitting there waiting. So, his father allowed him to participate in a drug deal when Matt was only eight years old. He had called it the “Boyd Family Business.” 

When his mother found out, she went over to Donald’s apartment to scream at him. It was the first time Matt had ever seen her go into Donald’s part of town at all. It was the first time his parents had interacted with each other since their separation. From that day on, Matt chose to have a more distant relationship with his father. He never wanted to see his mother upset like that ever again. 

The Peacekeepers never charged Matt’s father with anything and never turned him in, likely because Donald Boyd was the only man in town who was willing to sell drugs to them. No one else wanted to serve the violent Peacekeepers. No one else wanted to incur the risk of selling to them, or even worse, be seen as a Capitol bootlicker. 

Matt had never told Dan what his father did for a living. Even as he got older, even as he gained a better understanding of his father’s dealings, he still did not share details with her. He had thought that maybe she knew, maybe someone at school had told her, but she never said anything about it. 

The whole drug thing made him uncomfortable. His father made him uncomfortable. He spent as little time in Donald’s apartment as possible. Matt accepted a pouch of money from him every year for his birthday and brought it straight to his mother. Aside from that, his dad never had much to offer Matt, and Matt felt that this was mutual.  

Matt never took Dan to meet his father, but his father took himself to meet Dan. 

It took Dan and her family two days to move into the Victor’s Village after she returned from her Games. It had taken only two days after that for Matt’s father to go knocking on Dan's door. 

His father had known about Dan’s relationship with Matt, he knew what a mess Matt was during her time playing in the Hunger Games. None of that knowledge had stopped him from showing up at her door, less than one week after her arrival back to District 7, and asking her if she’d like to purchase something “for her pain.” He’d even offered her a half-off deal for a first-time customer.

She had aggressively rejected his offer, called him a scumbag, and advised him to remove himself from her property. It didn’t make Matt feel any better about the whole thing. 

The great thing about Dan, well, one of the great things about Dan, was that she had been confused when Matt had apologized to her about the whole ordeal. 

“You didn’t knock on my door and offer me drugs,” She had said. 

“No, but he’s my father,” Matt replied. 

“Did you tell him to come by and offer me drugs?” Dan asked.

“What?! No! I would never do that!” Matt said. 

“Then you have nothing to apologize for,” She told him. 

“I should have warned you about him,” Matt said. Dan shrugged at that; she hadn’t been phased in the slightest. 

“Matt, I just won the Hunger Games. I think I can handle a weird old man offering to sell me drugs. Even if he does happen to be your father.” 

Matt had laughed at that. He laughed at most things Dan said to him. 

The whole country of Panem knew about Dan and Matt’s young relationship; their reunion had been plastered all over every daytime and late-night show in the Capitol following Dan’s Games. Even those without televisions could not escape the radio talk shows or the lengthy newspaper articles about their young love, and how they were so lucky to be back together again. 

Matt knew he was lucky, and with those feelings of luck came searing relief and a crushing guilt. He likely had not been the only significant other of a tribute. How many boys and girls were out there in the other districts, watching Dan and Matt reunite, wishing that it was them and their partner?

~~~

Dan’s Victory Tour started in the dead of winter. It was the longest time that Matt had spent away from her since her Games. They both took it hard; the memories of Dan leaving on a train that first time, her future uncertain, her life on the line, refused to leave Matt’s mind the entire time she was gone. 

Matt wrote her a short letter each day that she was gone, detailing his day so that he would remember what to tell her when she returned. He had done the same thing when she was in the arena. This time around, his friends at work found them and howled at his spelling and grammar errors, but Matt hadn’t cared a bit. He missed her, he felt like he needed to see her at all times, he worried about her when she was gone in a way he didn’t used to, before she was sent into the Games. 

The day she returned, Matt left work early to greet her at the station. Strangely, he felt more relieved to see her than he did when she came home from her Games. 

He gave her an enthusiastic greeting, picking her up and spinning her in circles around and around, but he only received a small squeeze from her in return. Matt thought it could have been the cameras spooking Dan, making her less joyful than usual, but she continued to be subdued throughout the evening and into the next day. 

“Did something happen on the Victory Tour?” Matt had asked her outright. 

“No,” Dan denied quickly. “Why?” 

“You seem off,” Matt said. 

“I’m just tired. A lot of travel in such a short amount of time,” She tried to explain to him. 

“It felt like you were gone for forever to me,” Matt admitted. 

“I missed you,” She told him. 

“You, too. I love you,” Matt said. 

“You, too.” 

Matt didn’t believe that all that was bothering her was fatigue. He’d seen Dan exhausted before, and this wasn’t that. This was something else, something she wasn’t telling him. Matt had to wonder if anything had happened to her while she was in the Capitol for two nights. He hadn’t wanted to make Dan uncomfortable by outright asking, but he kept a more careful watch on her the first few weeks that she was back home. 

Eventually, Dan returned to her normal self, and Matt stupidly forgot that anything had seemed off. Three months later, Dan asked Matt if he wanted to move in with her and her family.

“There’s room for you,” she had said. “Plenty of room. For your mom and grandmother, too. My cousins can share a room; they won’t mind.”

“Dan, we’re not even 15 yet.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I was just given a big, free house. I want you to come stay. We’re still in the cold months, and I remember how hard it was last year for your family to keep the fireplace burning,” She had insisted that Matt and his family come to live with her. As much as he wanted to accept, he knew he couldn’t. 

“My mom will never go for it. Besides, Victors have to register everyone who lives in the village with them. Only immediate family and spouses are allowed. And you know there’s a five-person cap. If the Peacekeepers found out we were squatting, they’d have us all hung,” Matt had explained. 

“So let’s get married then!” Dan said, with a note of high-pitched desperation in her voice. 

“Dan, what’s going on with you?” Matt had asked. “You don’t seem like yourself.” 

“I just— I want to be with you, you know? I don’t want to lose you,” She said.

“You won’t lose me,” Matt had asserted. 

“I almost did,” She’d whispered. “I still might.” 

Matt took her hands in his and kissed each knuckle softly.

“Don’t talk like that. You did it. You survived, just like I knew you could. The worst is over now,” He’d said. 

“You shouldn’t say that. You don’t know that,” Dan said. And she had been right. 

~~~

When Matt’s name was called at the Reaping, he truly hadn’t been expecting it. He’d thought, for some wild, unimaginable reason, that since Dan made it out alive, they both got to be okay. Why had he thought such a silly thing? Matt was smarter than that, and yet, he had let his joy cloud his vigilance.

When his name was called, he tried to find Dan’s face on the stage with the other Victors, but all he could see was his own, staring shell-shocked, plastered all over the large screens. A Peacekeeper had to walk him up to the stage. His legs hadn’t moved on their own. 

A mentor whose name Matt had not known had her arm wrapped around Dan as Matt processed up to the stage. When their District escort had lifted Matt’s hand up in recognition, he heard Dan cry out from behind him. He hadn’t been able to turn around and look at her. 

His first goodbye had been from his mother and grandmother. They hugged him tight, told them how much they would always love him, and begged him to fight. They told him no matter what he did in the arena, they still loved him. They outright permitted him to kill others to keep himself alive.

Matt’s father came to say his goodbyes next. He asked Matt to sit, and handed him a small, concealable pouch. 

“You can take them, if you need them,” His father told him. “They help with the pain.”

“I’m not in pain,” Matt said. 

“You might be, when this all sinks in. If you want to numb it all out, take one. Don’t take more than four at a time.”

“What are they, really?” Matt asked. 

“Come on, Matty, you know what they are. They’re pills. They help numb your mind,” His father had told him. 

“I’m not interested,” Matt said, though he realized with a jarring sense of self-revulsion that that hadn’t been entirely true. A part of him, a small part of him, did want to numb out this pain. He still hadn’t seen Dan yet. He took the pouch from his father’s hand and placed it in his left pocket. 

“I’m not going to take them,” Matt told his father. 

“Good luck, kid,” His father told him. Matt remembered thinking as he watched his father leave the room that those were pretty lame last words to have with your child.

He didn’t see Dan until he was on the train to the Capitol, searching for her. He found her in the last car, head facing out the window as she watched District 7 fly by. 

“It’s my fault,” Dan said. She was still facing away. She had recognized Matt by his footsteps alone. 

“It’s not,” He started, but she hadn’t let him finish.

“It is. I told you, the Capitol was mad about how I won my Games. I told you they might punish me.” 

“That was a whole year ago!” Matt futilely tried to argue. “Don’t you think they would have already done something by now?”

“The Capitol has all the time in the world to punish its Victors,” Dan replied, head snapping forward to face him. “You wouldn’t be here if I hadn't—”

“If you hadn’t what? Hadn’t survived your Games? Hadn’t lived? I’d much rather be here, with you, than in District 7, with you dead and gone,” Matt told her.

“Don’t you hate me, though? For dragging you into this?” She asked, voice smaller than Matt had ever heard it. 

“I’ll only hate you if you spend this whole time moping and blaming yourself instead of helping me win my Games. Help me train, help me fight, help me get back to you,” Matt begged. 

Dan launched herself into his arms. Neither of them had moved. They spent the night on the train together, pressed up against each other on the skinny bench. It was their first sleepover since they were young children. Under different circumstances, Matt would have made it more romantic, but he’d reasoned that if he survived and got back to her, they wouldn't have anything standing in the way between them and a lifetime of romance. 

Matt’s District counterpart was an older girl, 17, who whined to anyone that could hear her that one of District 7’s mentors had a “problem with favoritism.” Dan had scoffed when she heard that, but didn’t deny any rumors. After all, the Capitol ate up the tragic story of Matt and Dan’s young love being cut short by unfavorable odds. 

The whole Capitol wanted to know how he was doing. They all wanted a piece of Matt, so much so that Caesar Flickerman fudged the rules and allotted Matt an extra 45 seconds of his interview. Matt was the most-watched Victor of the year. The Gamemakers had scored him an 11. There were record-breaking bets on his odds of survival and the odds of a reunion between Dan and himself.

Dan believed that this Capitol favor would be Matt’s ticket to victory. She told him that on her end, she would play up the maybe-soon-to-be grieving girlfriend to secure Matt some hefty sponsors. They joked about it, but the thought of Dan having to stay in the Capitol through the Games, regardless of Matt’s survival, actually having to be a grieving girlfriend amongst such an unfavorable audience, turned Matt’s stomach. 

Every night, he stared at the pouches of pills that he had taken out of his pocket and placed on his nightstand. Every night, he thought about taking one or two of them. He would knock on Dan’s door instead. They spent long nights staring at each other until their eyes couldn’t hold themselves open. 

Dan promised Matt that all he would have to do once he got into his Arena was fight. She promised to take care of everything else. Well, Matt could certainly fight. He fought his way through the Bloodbath at the cornucopia, bashing the skulls of two tributes who came at him against one another, and leaving their passed-out bodies to die in the ensuing violence. He fought his way through the Arena, a landscape constantly trembling with earthquake-like tremors, leaving the tributes consistently unbalanced. 

He sought out an alliance with District 4, whose two tributes had not joined the Careers that year. He killed one of the Careers and a boy from 12; he didn’t know either name. He’d refused to learn anyone's names during training, knowing that if he learned about any of them even a little, he wouldn’t have been able to kill them. He threw up when they had died, and the cannons sounded. He prayed that Dan would not hate him.

Dan was correct in her strategy and had secured him many sponsors. She had hastily drawn the drama symbol onto his third parachute gift, her way of encouraging him to subtly play up the fact that he was the fan favorite to win that year.  

Despite the extra resources from Dan, Matt’s small alliance turned on him before he turned on them. It had been earlier than they had originally agreed upon to go their separate ways. Matt spent three days on his own, but he had enough from sponsors that he didn’t worry about it. 

Due to the betrayal, Matt had an easier time killing the boy from 4 when they were the only two left in the Game. It was a quick, clean death. There was honor and dignity to it, the boy had taken Matt’s stab like a champ. It had not been the bloody and bitter end that usually accompanied a final two showdown. Matthew Boyd had won his Hunger Games. 

Matt hadn’t needed nearly as much time recovering in an infirmary as Dan had. In fact, he was out within a few days. Because Matt had been a fan favorite who had actually won, the Capitol considered it to be a successful Hunger Games, with plenty of citizen approval. His nurse told Matt that his Game was “just the right amount of exciting, nerve-wracking, sad, emotional, and violent to satisfy the Capitol’s needs.” 

Matt felt sick about giving them a good show. He fell asleep thinking about his father’s pills, wondering why he’d flushed them down the toilet on his final night before entering the arena, craving a substance he had never abused. 

Dan was told that she was permitted to visit after Matt had been monitored for over 12 hours. She arrived in the waiting room after waiting 11, and loudly demanded that she be allowed into his room early. Matt could hear her voice from down the hall. He let out a shout of his own for her. 

“Dan!” He had called out. “I love you!” 

“Matt? Are you in there? Are you ok?” Dan’s voice rose above the nurses and interns begging her to keep her voice down. 

“I’m fine! I miss you!” Matt yelled. 

“These bastards won’t let me in to see you!” Dan yelled. 

“Try not to get kicked out!” Matt warned her, but he knew that she would be able to recognize the laughter in his voice. 

When she was finally allowed in, Dan had barreled into the room and dove at Matt with no regard for any potential injuries he could have had. Matt rarely saw Dan cry, and even then, he had not seen her face, but he could feel her tears landing on his neck, sliding down his chest. Matt hugged her as tightly as his sore body would allow.

When Dan peeled herself from Matt’s arms and his field of vision expanded, he realized that Dan had brought along a man with her. He was a Gamemaker, judging by his outfit. Matt guessed that he was the man Dan had told him about, Wymack. He was the one who had warned her about the President’s displeasure over her win. Matt had tried to scan the Gamemakers for a friendlier face when he’d been scored by them, but hadn’t guessed that Wymack was the man standing before him on that day. Wymack didn’t look friendly. 

“I want to talk to you both,” Wymack had said. 

“Why?” Matt asked.

“I want to issue a warning,” He said. 

“What kind of warning?” Dan asked, at the same time as Matt repeated, “Why?” 

“Life warning. Because I think that the two of you might be able to help me out, someday,” Wymack answered, before continuing.

“Listen, there’s something you need to know. Matt, you were the Capitol’s favorite to win this year, and you did. Congratulations,” Wymack said. Matt’s only reply was to stare further at the man. 

“Everyone wants you. You only got a small taste of what that’s like before you entered the Games. It’s only going to be worse from now on,” Wymack said. 

“How so?” Matt asked. 

“They’re going to buy and sell and trade you every year that you’re back to mentor or spectate the Games. You’re only 14, so you have a few years yet to keep your body to yourself, but Capitol women are obsessed with your devotion to Dan. They see it as the most romantic thing they’ve ever heard of. Many of them will want to personally celebrate you by stealing your time to win your favor. Even more of them are spiteful, envious. There will be people who will try to break you two apart.” 

“I’m not leaving Dan,” Matt answered. 

“It would be best if you did not. Try to ignore Capitol interference as much as you can, stand up for one another, and stick by each other no matter what. You must remember that you are your only allies,” Wymack said, the unspoken I’m not your ally, not really, hung thick in the air between the three of them. 

“I don’t understand,” Dan said after a pregnant pause. “If they want us to break up so bad, shouldn’t we do what they want? Or at least, tell them that we broke up so they feel satisfied and leave us alone?”

“Why would we ever do that?” Matt asked. He felt betrayed by the mere suggestion. Dan had the decency to look a bit ashamed of herself as she replied. 

“I just— I don’t want anyone to be punished again. Not because of something that I did, or didn’t do, or said I would do but didn’t do well enough. If my cousins are sent into the arena in a few years, if it’s my fault again, I just can’t—” she trailed off, barely able to choke out the words.

“My reaping will always be the Capitol’s fault,” Matt told her. “No one else's, especially not yours." 

“Do be careful to keep your voice down,” Wymack interjected. “I was able to disable the cameras in this room, but the hallway video and audio surveillance is still active. We don’t want anyone to overhear this little chat.” 

“I don’t understand. They punished me, they tried to take my boyfriend away in the Games, why can’t they just leave us alone?” Dan asked, her voice was filled with desperation. 

“You’re their Victors, they will never leave you alone,” Wymack said, with a sadness in his eyes that sealed Matt’s fate. “If you give them what they want just like that, if you two just call it quits to satisfy the Capitol’s thirst for drama, who knows what they’ll ask of you next time? Keep each other close, no matter what.” 

Matt wasn’t sure whether or not to trust this man. His instincts were having trouble leading him in any direction. However, trust was not relevant in this case. Wymack had advised Matt to do something he was planning on doing anyway for the rest of his life: keep Dan Wilds close to him. 

His time in the Capitol before he was able to return home was only bearable due to Dan’s presence. He didn’t know how she’d been able to stomach it the year prior, with just herself and her mentor, with the knowledge that the Capitol hated her and wanted to see her punished. 

Capitol residents clawed at Matt with fervor. He was still 14, he hadn’t even begun to really think about intimacy beyond some heavy kissing and light touching with Dan, and yet citizens of the Capitol were chomping at the bit to let him know that they were counting down to Matt’s 18th birthday. It made him feel nauseous. 

If Dan hadn’t been there with him, a steady hand resting on his arm at all hours, he might have accepted the drinks, powders, and pills that these citizens had offered him to “show him a good time.” He felt so awful for being so tempted. He wondered what might happen to him five years from now, when he was taken back to this place year after year, when he was no longer young enough to refuse advances. Would he slip into temptation? Would Dan? Would they remain strong enough to hold themselves together? 

Matt had not always believed in himself, but he would always believe in Dan. He had to believe that she would be able to carry him if he could no longer carry himself. He wanted to be the sort of person who could carry her, too. He didn’t want to be his father’s son. He promised himself he would spend the rest of his life protecting what little he had. If the Capitol had something to say about it, they could take it up with Matt himself. He would make himself ready for them.

Chapter Text

Andrew

Andrew Doe grew up with half a name, and a life to match. Someone, somewhere, had placed him in District 3 when he was very young. It was one of four districts that took orphans. Andrew supposed he should have considered himself lucky that he did not end up in 11. 

Not many families in the districts wanted an extra mouth to feed. Orphans were usually wards of the Capitol, housed in a cold facility that always had more children than beds. They attended school until age 10, and would then be sent to work within the district’s industry. They were not always given food until they began working and earning small wages. Most orphans were only able to feed themselves by exchanging tesserae for extra name entries. By the time Andrew turned 12, his name was already entered over nine times for the Hunger Games.

Andrew was six when he realized that his memory was perfect, six and a half when he discovered that he could remember every excruciating detail from that year’s Hunger Games, and could see them just as vividly over and over again in his mind. He stopped watching altogether when he turned eight. He was forced to sit through them in the facility he was living in, but he closed his eyes through the whole thing, willing his brain not to remember any details, any sounds, any names.

Andrew knew more than all of his teachers by the time he reached age nine. He read all of the books in the district's library twice, memorized every word, every fact, every theory. His teachers called him a genius, and always requested that he tried talking a little bit more in class. 

Andrew didn’t like talking to others. The times that he had tried had gone poorly for him. Other children at school had no interest in the strange boy who came from nowhere. His stories did not match up with theirs. He did not play the same. Adults who claimed to be well-meaning people had scooped him into their homes because they wanted to have a genius in the family, and tossed him back out at the first sign of trouble. Andrew always caused some sort of trouble.

He’d been violated in every way imaginable. He’d been promised things that never came true. He’d done his best to believe in something, and had that belief shoved into the dirt before he reached the age of seven. He stopped thinking too hard about it. He separated everyone else and their issues into the “not my problem” part of his brain. There was no loyalty in District 3. Not to the Capitol, and certainly not to each other.

Andrew felt nothing when he got reaped. Felt, in a pattern-recognition sense, that this was the way that his life was meant to go; 12 years of misery followed by a gruesome death. He wasn’t going to let someone kill him that easily, but he wouldn’t be sad to see himself go, either. 

He did not see a world in which he won. He would not even entertain the thought, despite how hard his mentor, a kindly woman with smile lines named Betsy, tried to convince him that it was possible. 

“If you make an ally, I can get you sponsors,” Betsy had told him and his district partner the first night, on the train to the Capitol. 

“Not interested,” Andrew said. 

“Um, Betsy? Do district partners, like, have to ally together?” Andrew’s district partner, Sydney, had asked in an unsubtle attempt to distance herself from Andrew. 

“We will not be allies,” Andrew told her. 

“Well, good, because no offense, but I—” 

“I might have to kill you. I could do it,” Andrew interrupted her, suddenly feeling as though he would even like to. Sydney had freaked out at the sentiment and asserted that she would not speak to Andrew for the rest of their time leading up to the Games. Fine by him. 

Betsy, or Bee as she insisted he call her, didn’t mind that Andrew hadn’t hit it off with Sydney. She was patient with both of them and agreed to give them their strategy lessons separately. She committed to splitting her time evenly between the two of them, even when Andrew claimed that he would not be agreeable to her strategy suggestions for him. 

Andrew’s arrival in the Capitol was not what he expected it to be. From what he remembered, he thought that the Opening Ceremonies consisted of getting into a costume, going on a chariot ride, and maybe having some time to meet the other tributes. 

He hadn’t realized just how long it took to get the tributes “ready” for cameras. Andrew hadn’t ever thought about the way that he looked before; he likely wouldn’t do so again, but his prep team couldn’t stop talking about it. They obsessively discussed his hygiene, or lack thereof, to the point that Andrew almost wanted to comment on it. He chose, instead, to draft up in his mind and agree to a contractual vow of silence for the duration of his stay in the Capitol. 

On the chariot ride, Sydney refused to look his way. She turned her whole body away from his, smiled, and waved at the crowds in her silver costume. They looked like disco balls, dressed up to match District 3’s technology industry. Andrew did not smile. He did not wave. He crossed his arms and rode his chariot in silence. 

Andrew had barely dismounted the chariot before he was practically bum-rushed by a taller figure, a boy with curly hair who looked to be a few years older than him. 

“Who are you?” The boy asked, a mix of wonderment and astonishment in his voice, as if Andrew were a long-lost deity he had been searching for. 

Hemmick, Nicky, Andrew’s infallible brain supplied for him. Won his Games with poison. Uninteresting. 

Andrew stared back at Nicky with no response. 

“I mean, sorry, I’m just confused, is all. Were you raised by your father? How long have you been living in District 3? Did you and Aaron ever meet? He says you haven’t, but maybe he doesn’t remember. Are you also allergic to strawberries?” Nicky’s words rushed out of his mouth in a flurry. Andrew, for all of his talents, could barely keep up. He continued staring at Nicky. 

“Do you, uh, speak? Wait a minute, are you an Avox? Is that why you and Aaron were separated?” Nicky asked. 

“Who is Aaron?” Andrew broke his contractually agreed-upon vow of silence within an hour of agreeing to it. 

“Oh, wow, I guess you two really haven’t met each other, then. He didn’t know who you were either. You seemed to spook the shit out of his— your, mother,” Nicky said.

“I do not have a mother,” Andrew said, slowly, as if talking to a toddler. He was feeling more confused by the minute, an emotion that Andrew did not enjoy.

“Er, right,” Nicky said. “Maybe we should start over. I’m Nicky Hemmick. I won the Games three years ago.” 

Andrew went back to staring up at him, and within seconds, the tributes were called to make their way to the Tribute Center for the night. 

“I need to get back to my tributes, but we should talk,” Nicky said, voice low. “I don’t really know how to tell you this, but you have a brother. And he’s my cousin. Which makes us family.” 

“I have no family,” Andrew shot back at him. 

“Maybe not in District 3, but in District 8, you do. And I’m it. Please, let’s talk before you enter the arena.”

“I will pass,” Andrew said.

“Are you sure? I mean, I know it’s a lot, but I promise I can do my best to explain. Your mom told me a few things before I left this year,” Nicky said, and he’d looked a little heartbroken. Andrew’s heart clenched. He couldn’t bear hearing something like this, not so close to his own death. 

“I have never had a family. I will never have a family. I do not care who your cousin is,” Andrew said, and turned his back on Nicky. 

“You’re identical!” Nicky called out to his retreating back. “Identical twins! Down to the freckle on your left shoulder!” Andrew’s pace had not slowed.

~~~

Andrew began his own preparations for the Games as soon as he arrived in his quarters. His strategy was to watch every recording of every Hunger Games that was available for consumption. He could rely solely on his brain, if he had to. He studied and memorized tactics that every tribute from years past had used, dead or alive. He built up an idea of what someone needed to become to be a Victor. Once he had a good picture, he was confident that he would be able to formulate an effective game plan when he began training. 

All he needed to acquire in the arena was water. He could go without food; he’d done it before. He was sure that he was walking into his own death, but he refused to die without a fight. 

Due to his apathetic Opening Ceremonies performance, the Capitol quickly developed the same disdain for Andrew that those in District 3 had. Other tributes gave him a wide berth, not knowing what to make of the young, short, angry child. He said nothing to any of them. He felt no need. 

As far as anyone saw, Andrew did nothing during training. He slowly paced around the room, looking everywhere but at the stations he was passing. He sat immovable on a bench and stared a hole into the table that held different types of knives. 

Andrew’s genius could not be seen by laymen, such as these tributes and Capitol folks were. Andrew caught every word of the other tributes, memorizing who was aligning with whom, who was already planning betrayals and when, who was skilled with what weaponry, and who posed any sort of intellectual threat (no one). Anything that Andrew may need to know about the other tributes in the arena, he did. 

He gave himself a treat on the final day of training. He allowed himself to visit the knife station. He highly doubted that he would possess any weapon in the Games; he would not be rushing to the depths of Bloodbath, but he wanted to see what the Capitol-grade knives could do in his hands. 

He’d always had an appreciation for knives. They were the only thing in District 3 that Andrew could rely on to keep himself safe since they were so easy to steal from the market. He clung to every word the instructor told him.

When it was time to present his skills to the Gamemakers, Andrew walked in, listened to them announce his name, memorized every detail of each of their faces, then walked out. He scored a 1 the following evening. 

“Are you on a quest to ensure that you have no sponsors?” Bee had asked him during his interview prep session. Andrew gave her a bored look in response. 

“If you are, just say the word. I’ll respect your decisions and focus my attentions on Sydney.” 

“Sponsors will not do her any good,” Andrew replied, unable to keep himself from commenting. 

“They could do you some good, though,” Bee said. “Will you think about actually trying on Flickerman tonight?”

“No,” Andrew replied. 

“Alright, then. I respect your decision to…” Bee trailed off.

“Die on my own terms. Live on my own merit,” Andrew finished for her. 

“Ah. I see. Well, as your mentor, I desperately implore you to reconsider. But, as your friend, I’m rooting for you,” Bee said, and gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. It was the first time Andrew had allowed anyone to touch him in six years. Bee was the first person in his life to call him a friend. 

She handed Andrew a dark grey suit for his interview. He did not like it. All night, he sat quietly and forced himself to listen to and commit to memory every word that every tribute said. The more information he had on them, the better. 

Sydney had chosen to use her allotted time with Caesar Flickerman to tell him all about how her district partner, a savage nobody from the worst parts of the district neighborhoods, was threatening her life and was out to get her the first chance he got. She marketed herself as a helpless 17-year-old victim who was being bullied by a four-foot-nine 12-year-old.

Of course, the Capitol bought it. The Capitol had always been stupid. They especially bought it after Andrew had his own interview, and said nothing at all. He was, in Bee’s words, “the country’s least favorite to win.” 

She told him he could turn things around, if only he would blah blah blah. Andrew stopped listening after a while. He knew that she respected his decision not to accept sponsors. It never stopped her from trying to change his mind, though. 

Andrew had always been alone, and he would be until the day he died. Whether or not that was in this year's Hunger Games was inconsequential to him. 

~~~

Andrew entered the arena with zero allies and was immediately hit with a gust of wind so strong, he had to brace his foot behind him to keep from falling over. Two tributes weren’t so lucky. The gust had startled them so much that they had been blown off their platforms, and then blown to bits. 

Andrew barely heard the gong singing over the whistling of the wind, telling the tributes that the Games had begun. He ran as fast as he could to the first backpack he saw, and grabbed it at the same time as another tribute. The other boy looked up, startled by him, not ready to face the harsh reality of the Hunger Games as it had just been thrust upon him. Andrew used his shock to kick him in the stomach, yank the bag from the boy’s loose grip, and take off. 

Andrew ran against the wind. It made his trip a lot slower, but he figured that he would have time based on the other tributes’ need to properly bloodbath, regroup in the remaining alliances, and take stock of the loot and the arena. That was the pattern that the Games followed. Andrew conservatively estimated that he had about four hours to separate himself from the packs of allied tributes. 

He counted seconds in the back of his head. At 7,200, he allowed himself to stop and open the backpack he grabbed. It had a warm-looking sweater, three water bottles, a roll-up sleeping bag, and two long, sharp knives. Andrew’s eyes lit up. He had a way to protect himself, he had water, and he had comfort items. It was more than he was used to having back home at the Capitol orphan housing. For the first time since his name was called, Andrew had the crazed thought that he could win himself his Hunger Games.

He walked into the wind for another 10,800 seconds, then let himself rest with his back to the wind. That was somehow worse than facing it. The arena was warm, but the constant gale-force winds were freezing. It made for a very disorienting bodily experience. Andrew could never tell what temperature he was. His body sweated and shook simultaneously. 

Andrew did not stop moving against the wind, and did not encounter many other tributes the first three days. He was not without issues, though. The Gamemakers, probably hoping to take him out of the game on their own, sent mutts after him. They got impatient that he was still alive, it seemed. Apparently, the only thing that the districts and the Capitol could agree on was that they hated Andrew and wanted him dead. So sad, too bad, he’d thought.  

The first mutts were tracker jackers. Andrew had come across a nest of them once, when he was nine, but hadn’t gone close enough to risk getting stung. In the arena, the nest popped up in the tree he was hiding in seemingly overnight. The mutts would likely be disturbed if he made any sudden movements, including dropping down from the tree to escape them. 

Andrew was in a tough spot, but not without ideas. It took almost 3,000 seconds, but Andrew managed to slowly, silently zip himself and his few items up fully into the sleeping bag. He looked down one last time before closing the bag over his head and plummeting from the tree. He wasn’t sure how far the fall was. He landed hard on his shoulder, heard something crack, and didn’t take the time to register the pain. 

He had granted himself a makeshift shield from the mutts with the sleeping bag, but it was fallible. If he hadn’t gotten himself away from them fast, they would have found a way to get through to him, and then he would have been a goner.  

Andrew did not run, he rolled. He went with the wind this time, used it to help him gain a little speed. He thought about how ridiculous he must have looked, rolling around in a sleeping bag, completely blind to all threats, desperately trying to escape venomous wasps. Andrew had no need to be dignified, but even he had felt minor embarrassment at the thought of the entire nation watching him roll around on the ground. 

After 600 seconds, Andrew stopped. He could no longer hear buzzing in his ears. He wondered if the noise was ever really there to begin with, or if it was just the wind playing tricks on him. He hadn’t disturbed the nest on his fall down, after all, just made a lot of noise. It was possible that nothing had ever been chasing him. He’d never know. 

The next mutts were more overt in their operations. Deer that had been crossbred with what Andrew could only guess were bears were sent after him. Three of them stampeded him, with antlers as sharp as their claws and brute strength that knocked him to the ground. He landed on his bad shoulder for a second time. His bones felt like they were starting to jut out of their sockets. He ignored it. He was lucky that he had knives. Luckier that he knew how to use them. Animals were Andrew’s first kills in the arena. He was too suspicious of the Capitol to eat muttation meat, but he certainly thought about it. 

At the final six, the Gamemakers called a feast. They hadn’t done so the past two games, likely because that strange guy claiming to be his cousin, Nicky Hemmick, had used his feast to poison the remaining tributes. Too quick an end to those Games for the Capitol to be satisfied, Andrew remembered.  

Originally, Andrew planned to skip it. Not worth the trouble of having to defend himself. But his shoulder, shattered and likely infected by now, had started to send explosive pain down Andrew’s entire left side every time he moved. There was nothing to craft a makeshift sling with, the arena’s landscape was mostly barren due to the wind. Nothing could grow, all the trees were slanted at least 45 degrees, and none had any leaves. Andrew had only gotten away with being unnoticed because he ran into the wind, opposite of everyone else. 

He desperately needed a sling or a splint or some kind of pain medicine if he stood any chance of fighting his way out of this arena. A part of him had started to actually want to get out of the Hunger Games alive. The longer he lived, the more he thought his original estimate that he would die might have been incorrect. Andrew had never been wrong before, but living through the Hunger Games might be a great place to start. 

In the end, it came down to Andrew and the pair of tributes from District 1. Three others were killed at the feast, one by Andrew himself. A tall, wiry boy from District 11, who had tried to steal Andrew’s feast item right out from under his nose. Andrew felt nothing when he slit his throat, but closed his eyes for him before the Gamemakers pulled him out of the arena. He also stole the boy’s blowtorch.

The end of Andrew’s Games was a bloody, rabid mess. Two careers versus one angry, unfavored 12-year-old. Andrew used the wind to his advantage. Andrew, so used to running headfirst into it, had no problems continuing to do so. He ran until he could feel his shoulder throb in its new sling, and stopped in a clearing to catch his breath. He knew the Careers were hunting him down, and he hoped that they wouldn’t take too long to get to him. He was ready to end this, one way or another. 

They approached him tired and panting, not used to running headfirst into the wind. Andrew could hear them from a quarter mile away at least. He used the wind. He lit the sleeping bag on fire with the blowtorch and let the flames spread downwind. There was plenty of dry air to light the arena up. He heard the surprised shouts of the Careers, but knew it wouldn’t stop them for long. They’d run through flames to get to him; they wanted him dead as much as he did them. 

The girl reached him first. She had a long sword, but no practice using it. She raised it up over her head, likely in an attempt to slice him in half, but she had no grip, and the wind tore it from her fingers and sent it hurtling behind her. Andrew lit her lips on fire when she came at him with her claw-like fingernails. Then he slit her throat. 

The boy was harder to kill. He and Andrew fought for what felt like hours, each of them sustaining multiple cuts, burns, and bruises. The amount of smoke Andrew inhaled made him homesick for the hand-rolled cigarettes he used to steal back in District 3. 

Eventually, the Capitol must have gotten bored with the repetitive fighting, and they sent out a new mutt to terrorize them. This one bit, hard. Andrew recognized these mutts from the Games that Dan Wilds recently won. He had studied them the night before he entered the arena. He remembered that while the bites were painful, they were not poisonous. He’d be fine if they bit off a chunk of skin or two. 

The boy from 1 was more distracted. He was working on killing the mutts and Andrew at the same time. Big mistake. Fatal, even. Andrew struck him through the back using his partner’s discarded sword. Andrew Minyard had won his Hunger Games. 

*** 

Andrew needed to be in the infirmary for several days. He was not in good shape. Despite a few hours with the sling, his shoulder was almost entirely detached from his skeleton. He was also severely malnourished. He had been in the Hunger Games for six days, eight hours, and one minute. He hadn’t eaten a thing the entire time.

Bee was the first one to visit him. 

“Sponsors could have sent you food, you know,” She’d said. 

“Wasn’t hungry,” Andrew replied. She smiled and sat at the foot of his bed. She hovered her hand right above his calf, and when he nodded at her, she placed it gently down.

“I am so proud of you,” She told him. Andrew didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. 

“I look forward to being your neighbor,” She continued. 

“Fat chance,” Andrew said. She gave him a questioning look. 

“They’re not going to give a house in the Victor’s Village to a 12-year-old,” Andrew tried to explain. “And I do not have a family.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Bee told him. It was Andrew’s turn to give her a questioning look. 

“I had a friend fudge some papers. Did you know that you have a “great-uncle” in District 3? He’s so happy to have found you. He signed off to be your guardian so that you can have the house.” 

“I do not need your charity,” Andrew said. “And I will not live with a strange old man.” 

“He’s my brother, Andrew. And he’ll leave you alone, he lives with me. This is just so that you can have access to the keys of the house before you turn 18. It’s not charity, it’s your right to live there,” Bee said. 

Andrew had not wanted to accept any favors from her. 

“What will I owe you?” He asked. 

“Nothing but your company at the Hunger Games next year. And the year after that. And so on,” She said. 

“What if I don’t want to keep you company?” He asked. What if you don’t want me around? went unsaid.

“You’re entitled to your space,” Bee countered. She seemed to be more stubborn than Andrew was. 

Andrew said nothing, but gave her a small nod. She smiled warmly at him. They sat in silence together for another hour. Andrew was never really one for crying, but a part of him felt like he could have, in that moment. Sitting with Bee, the first person in the world who wanted Andrew around, saying nothing, just living. Andrew had lived. He still didn’t know if he really wanted to. Maybe it would have been better for him to have died in the arena, but it was still too early to tell. But now, he had the option. He had the choice to live and continue living.

“I’m going to come back tomorrow,” Bee told him after another 20 minutes of sitting in silence. “We’re going to need to talk strategy.” 

“For…” 

“Post Hunger Games strategy is important, especially in your case. You must know, Andrew, you were not a favorite to win. Quite the opposite, actually. A great many people lost a lot of money betting on your violent death.” 

“Sucks for them,” Andrew said. 

“Indeed. Unfortunately, you will have to bear some of that responsibility. The Capitol will see to it. They will not let you get through this untouched by more of their wrath.” 

“Oh, joy,” Andrew deadpanned. 

“Another thing you should know,” Bee said, her voice quieter this time. “You, uh, you’ve got some family. Some blood family, down in District 8. Nicky Hemmick, he uh, was on Flickerman quite a bit while you were in the Games, pleading with anyone to give up any information they might have about how you got to District 3. He says he’s your cousin. Blood tests have confirmed the relation.” 

“Okay,” Andrew said.

“You have a twin brother. His name is Aaron,” Bee told him. “You might have an opportunity to meet him during your Victory Tour in the winter if—” 

“No thanks,” Andrew interrupted. “I do not have a family.”

“Your cousin begs to differ,” Bee told him. “I’d be nice to him if I were you. Since his Games, he’s done a pretty good job at charming the Capitol. They didn’t like him at first. Now they tolerate him. You could learn something from that.” 

“I quit learning two years ago,” Andrew said. “They made me leave school, you know how it is.”

“Liar,” Bee rightfully accused him. “But you’re entitled to lie to me. I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest up.” 

Bee returned the next morning with a man that Andrew recognized as a Gamemaker who’d had a hand in scoring him a one. 

“Good morning, Andrew,” Bee said. Andrew did not return her greeting in mixed company. 

“Congratulations on your win,” The Gamemaker said. Andrew stared at the wall behind both of them.

“I wanted to have a word with you, if that’s alright,” The Gamemaker continued as if Andrew had responded to him in the first place. 

“This is David Wymack,” Bee told him. “A… friend of mine, you could say.” Bee hadn’t told Andrew that she made a habit of befriending Gamemakers. 

“I was only able to disable the room’s cameras for a few minutes, so we really don’t have much time here, kid,” David Wymack said. Andrew stared, uninterested in anyone who referred to him as “kid.” 

“I’m not sure what Bee has told you, but your personal history is all over Capitol news. The Gamemakers had to do some digging into your past to make you likable, seeing as no one here or anywhere wanted you to win,” Wymack told him. 

“I have no history,” Andrew said, voice hoarse from misuse. He hadn’t spoken since Bee had left his room the previous day.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I want you to know what you’re walking out to, you deserve at least that. Right now, everyone knows more about you than you do,” Wymack said. 

Andrew hated being in the dark more than he hated conversing with Gamemakers. He reluctantly gestured for Wymack to continue speaking.

“Seems like you’ve got some family you didn’t know about. A mother and a brother in District 8. They live with your aunt and uncle and their child, your cousin.” 

“Nicky Hemmick,” Andrew said, wondering why Bee hadn’t told Wymack about their conversation yesterday. Wymack gave him a look that told Andrew that he was surprised Andrew knew that. Andrew did not give him the details on his informant.

“I do not have a brother,” Andrew said instead.

“Andrew, really, you—” 

“I have a twin,” Andrew said, throat closing up around the word. Wymack again did not ask how Andrew learned this information.

“Is that all?” Andrew asked. 

"Press went to District 8 as soon as they found out. Practically swarmed your mother’s place. She hasn’t said why she gave you up. Hasn’t talked about the father. Your brother, his name is Aaron, if you didn’t already know, won’t speak to a camera,” Wymack said haltingly, as if the truth burned his tongue.

Smart one, Andrew thinks.

“The Capitol may offer to let you live in the Victor’s Village in 8, with your family,” Bee said. 

“I do not have a family,” Andrew asserted once again. Bee sent Wymack a look that plainly said I told you. Wymack shrugged. 

“I also want to offer you some advice,” Wymack told him. 

“Don’t need it,” Andrew replied. 

“Too bad,” Wymack said. “I don’t give a fuck what you do in your free time. But when you’re here, in the Capitol, you need to step it up. Play nice during your stay. Play nice on your Victory Tour. Play nice every goddamn year that you have to come back here. Be a good mentor to next year’s tributes, and the ones after that. Smile, if you can,” He must have known that Andrew would not listen to that advice, but continued speaking anyway. 

“You can sit there and glare at me all you want, kid, but you haven’t even begun to imagine what the Capitol is capable of. You think The Hunger Games is bad? Ask Dan Wilds what they did to her after she won her Games. And people liked her. They don’t like you. Try to play nice, that’s all I’m saying,” Wyack continued, and at this point, he almost sounded like he was begging. 

Andrew hadn’t known why Wymack would care, so he instead believed that Wymack was lying. When he left the room, Andrew told Bee not to bring him back. 

On his last day in the infirmary, Nicky Hemmick showed up in his room. He had a bright smile on his face. Andrew was not fooled by such a smile. It did not reach Nicky’s caramel eyes. 

“Hey Andrew, how are you feeling?” Nicky asked. Andrew hadn’t replied. 

“We should talk before they let you out of here,” Nicky said. “There’s a lot that’s come out about our family since you won the Games.” Andrew cringed at the word our. Nothing that belonged to Nicky belonged to him. As far as Andrew knew, he’d never even been to District 8. He had no connection to the people who called themselves his relatives. He had no connection to anybody. He continued to say nothing. 

“Look, I get that you don’t want to talk to me. I know this must be a lot, and I’m not trying to force you to like me or get to know me or anything. I mean, it would be cool if you wanted to, but I’m not expecting it. I’m just trying to keep us all safe.” 

“And I am a threat to your safety?” Andrew asked.

Nicky shrugged, and seemed unwilling to admit that, yes, that was what he had been getting to. 

“I will not bother you,” Andrew said, if only to get Nicky to leave the room. 

“Again, I’d love it if you did. But just because you want nothing to do with us, doesn’t mean that the Capitol doesn’t.”

“So I’ve heard,” Andrew said. “I will play nice.” 

Nicky looked skeptical, so Andrew gave him a wide, unnatural smile in return. It stretched the muscles in his cheeks in a wildly uncomfortable way. Andrew wondered if this was the first time he had ever smiled. His brain couldn’t conjure up a memory of smiling before, so he figured it must have been. A shame, to waste it on someone as inconsequential as Nicky Hemmick. 

“I’m smarter than I look,” Nicky said, as if he could read the thoughts in Andrew’s head. “Really, I am. And I have people that I care about. Your brother is one of them.” 

Andrew said nothing. Nicky looked resigned to the fated end of the conversation. He’d begun to leave the room, but turned around at the last second, his hand hovering just above the doorknob.  

“You might even like him, you know. Aaron, I mean. You guys are a lot alike,” he said.

“Do not pretend to know me,” Andrew said. 

“That’s what he would tell me, too,” Nicky said before walking out. 

Andrew had never lived with regrets before, a fact that didn’t change that day. There was a piece of him, though, that thought that maybe Nicky wasn’t lying. Maybe there was someone out there, in District 8, who thought like him. Andrew had never met anyone before who was similar to him in any way. Did Aaron have a perfect memory, too? Did he also learn the hard way about their shared strawberry allergy? Did he also have a mole on his left elbow? How long had Aaron been allowed to stay in school? Was he still there? Andrew felt a stab of jealousy just thinking about it. 

Andrew didn’t let himself ponder Aaron for too long. He and his twin would never meet; Andrew would see to it that they didn’t. If there was any chance that Wymack and Nicky were right, that the Capitol might punish those close to Andrew due to his unfavorable behaviors and unpopular win in the Games, he simply would not let anyone get close to him. Not now, not ever. 

If Andrew had learned anything in his 12 short years of life, it was that people did not like him and things did not tend to change. Winner of the Hunger Games or not, he would still live and die alone.            

Chapter Text

Renee

The people of District 5 had always avoided Natalie Shields. Her mother lived on the wrong side of the city, where smugglers and thieves ran rampant, trying to outsmart the Capitol. Her mother, Rebecca Shields, wasn’t above that lifestyle herself. She was infamous for being able to procure any variant of alcohol one could imagine. Of course, the people Natalie knew always went for the cheap shit, but there had been plenty of inhabitants on the wealthier side of town who would go for the more expensive bottles. Natalie made her first five dollars selling a bottle of cheaply made beer to a classmate when she was eight. 

Her mom started dating a man named Travis when Natalie was 10. Travis knew how to brew his own booze. He made really good money doing it. Natalie’s 11th birthday was the first year she had ever tasted real, store-bought cake. 

Natalie’s jobs with Travis and her mother were to steal or smuggle in the ingredients that he needed to brew the liquor. She was excellent at smuggling, but Travis was not. He was big and loud and mean, and he got caught before Natalie’s 12th birthday. He was arrested and summarily hanged. 

Around Travis’s arrest was when Rebecca Shields convinced her daughter to join in on the “family trade” in a more serious manner. Rebecca inherited a high demand from Travis and very few hands.

Natalie never worked in a power plant like the other children her age, and she rarely went to school. Her mother kept her enrolled, of course, otherwise the Peacekeepers would assign her to a power plant to work at, but she never went. The teachers in District 5 were so inundated with students that no one ever noticed Natalie’s absence.

After Travis was hanged, Rebecca had to join in on someone else’s operation. She learned quickly that she didn’t have the skills to go into the trade on her own. She attached herself to another man, Ivan, and he was awful. He skimmed so much of the profits they were making that Natalie had to take out tesserae and enter into the Hunger Games at every available opportunity so that she could eat. 

When Ivan beat her mother, Rebecca would turn around and beat Natalie. If Ivan skipped the middleman and beat Natalie, Rebecca turned a blind eye. It might have been the most miserable of existences, if Natalie didn’t love what she did. 

Natalie Shields was a great smuggler, and an even better thief. She knew it, too. She was not to be messed with. She met with dealers at the borders of District 5, dealers who had traveled for hours and hours, usually by foot, to get to where they needed to be to sell illegal alcohol. These dealers were rarely in a good mood, and Ivan always instructed Natalie not to pay the full price for the goods. 

She had a target on every surface of her body, and she knew how to defend it. She knew how to be quiet when she needed to be, loud when she had to be, and violent. Always violent. Natalie grew accustomed to carrying around the butcher knives that Rebecca stole from some man she had been sleeping with in town. 

By the time she turned 14, Natalie had smuggled over 600 liters of illegal booze into District 5. At 15, she finally got caught by Peacekeepers and spent three months in the District’s lockup, getting beaten and starved. What they didn’t know was that Natalie had always been beaten, had always been hungry. When she was let out, she went right back to smuggling. 

By 17, she was reaped into the Hunger Games. She figured it was on purpose. The Capitol couldn’t stop her from smuggling, and after a first offense, they hanged you in the middle of town. Getting reaped must have been easier for them. A televised, public execution was more entertaining than a private, district-only one.  

Her mother came to say her goodbyes at the Justice Building. They were lackluster, just like Natalie’s relationship with her mother always had been. 

“Want any booze for the road, Nat?” Her mother asked. “I have a flask on me.” 

“I have two,” Natalie replied, and patted her thigh where her full flasks of grain alcohol were strapped to her like hidden weapons. 

“Don’t drink it all at once,” Her mother said. 

“I suppose this is goodbye,” Natalie told her mother, forcing her throat not to close up around the words. 

“Nah, not today, it’s not. You’re a pest. Pests always come back,” Her mom said. It wasn’t the first time she’d called Natalie that. It was not a term of endearment. 

“Should I just try to die, then? Make things easier for you?” Natalie asked, if only to see the look on her mother’s face. 

“With Jana locked up again, you’re the fastest runner I’ve got. Ivan won’t take it easy on me just because you’re dead. Try not to be,” Rebecca said. Natalie figured those would be her mother’s last words to her. She thought them fitting.    

Natalie’s mentor was a woman named Stephanie Walker. Natalie hated looking at her. She was beautiful, with sandy hair, dark green eyes, perfect posture, and long legs. She dressed well. She didn’t look like the sort of person who would buy alcohol from Ivan’s team.

“It’s nice to meet you, Natalie and Owen. I’m sorry it’s under such circumstances.”

“Which one of us are you taking, and which one of us is stuck with him?” The boy, Owen, asks, looking over at their other mentor, a 25-year-old Victor from years ago, who was already passed out from the amount of booze he had already guzzled on the train. 

“Neither of you will likely have the opportunity to be graced with Liam’s… conscious presence, so I’ll just be splitting my time equally between both of you,” Stephanie said. 

“Nuh uh,” Owen whined. “It never actually goes that way; mentors always choose a tribute they like best.” 

Owen was younger than Natalie, 14 maybe. His voice still hadn’t dropped. He was dressed better than she was, so his parents had more money than her mother did, which wasn’t saying much. She hadn’t known him before the Reaping; there were a lot of kids in District 5. Even if Natalie had sold anything to Owen, she wouldn’t have remembered his face. 

“Stephanie, you have my permission to like Owen best,” Natalie said, and left the train car. She didn’t want to speak to Stephanie again until after the Opening Ceremonies. 

~~~

Natalie’s prep team asked her if they could dye her hair.

“You would look so good as a blonde!” One of them chirped. 

“What?” Natalie said. 

“Oh, please, please, Natalie, would you let us? Pleasepleaseplease,” The other one begged. 

Natalie thought, she had never cared about her looks before. Why start now, just because she’s dying? Shouldn’t she embrace some change, as one of the last things she can say she was able to experience in life?

“Sure,” She told the prep team. They screamed like hyenas and patted her in thanks for an excruciatingly long time. Natalie felt like a zoo animal, but when she looked in a mirror and didn’t see her old reflection, she was grateful. 

The Games felt, in a strange way, like a fresh start. The beginning of her new life, even if it was for the shortest amount of time ever. For once in her life, she could be proud to be Natalie, whoever Natalie was. 

“I want to play these Games as myself,” Natalie told Stephanie during their first one-on-one strategy meeting.

“What does that mean to you?” Stephanie asked. 

“I don’t really know,” Natalie admitted. “I don’t think I know who I am.” 

“Are you asking that, for our strategy sessions, you and I work on discovering who you are?” Stephanie asked, voice raised in pitch. 

“Is that inadvisable?” Natalie asked. 

“You tell me,” Stephanie said. Natalie smiled, then hated herself for it. Natalie claimed not to know when she began liking Stephanie Walker, but knew it was right then, when Stephanie put Natalie’s fate back in her own hands.

Natalie and Stephanie spent their strategy and training time together talking about anything but the Games. Natalie told Stephanie everything about herself. Stephanie listened to every word and asked questions. Stephanie laughed when Natalie was hoping she would and kept quiet while listening to stories that a weaker person might pity. 

Natalie learned about Stephanie, too. She had never learned things about other people. She had never been afforded the opportunity to make any friends. It felt incredible, to ask after someone else. To be curious, to be kind. Natalie realized she wanted to be a kind person. She hoped that she would live long enough to have the opportunity to be. 

Natalie knew how to play a good Hunger Games. She knew what it took to be a winner. She promised herself a lifetime of kindness, if she could just get through her time in the Games.

“I want to be different, if I make it out,” Natalie told Stephanie. “Totally different. Like this person that I am right now never existed.”

“You know, I did something similar after my Games,” Stephanie said. “I even changed my name.”

“You did?” Natalie asked. 

“Sort of. Stephanie is my middle name. I started going by it after I won. I wanted to separate myself from the person I had to become to win,” Stephanie said. 

“I don’t have a middle name,” Natalie said. 

“Not yet, anyway,” Stephanie told her with a twinkle in her eyes.

~~~

Natalie entered the arena with one ally: a young, tiny girl from District 7. Her name was Rain, and she made Natalie laugh during training sessions. Rain could make everybody laugh, it seemed. Tributes didn’t often sit together during meals, preferring to mostly keep to their alliances or themselves, but Rain hopped from table to table during lunch. She made up songs about all the other tributes and performed them for the room to hear.  

She was too likable, too innocent, and too small to stand much of a chance in the Games. She didn’t seem to care. Natalie liked that about her very much. Natalie wanted to have the opportunity to help Rain win these games, give her a leg up. Provide her with the muscle that she could not provide herself. Both of their district partners wanted nothing to do with them, and Rain agreed easily to being Natalie’s ally.

Their strategy for the arena was simple: stay together and never keep still. Natalie wanted them moving at all times. She was hoping to skirt around other tributes mostly unnoticed, but Rain, as small as she was, had the subtlety of a bull. She also had a large target on her back. 

Rain had done her job of charming the Capitol and securing sponsors. Ceasar Flickerman had believably cried when Rain sang a jaunty little song that she wrote for her appearance on his show, and early projections showed that she was a favorite of sponsors willing to spend their cash on the year’s “underdog.” 

Natalie was certainly not getting any sponsors. The most exciting thing she’d had to talk about on Flickerman was the fact that she was not a natural blonde. The Gamemakers had scored her a seven. Not terrible, not like last year’s winner, who had scored a one before his Games, but not too great either.  

Before heading back to her quarters on the last night before the Games began, Natalie was approached by Rain’s mentors, recent winners named Danielle and Matthew. They were a couple, Natalie remembered, who were victorious in back-to-back years. Mentors were not supposed to speak with tributes from other districts. It was extremely taboo and often fueled the fire of collusion rumors that could get mentors punished. Natalie didn’t like the look in Danielle’s eyes as she pulled her into an empty corridor to “talk.” 

“I have to get back to my room,” Natalie told them before they could say anything. “Early morning, you know.” 

“This will only take a minute,” Matthew said. “I’m Matt, by the way. And this is my girlfriend, Dan.”

“Why should I waste the last few minutes of life that I have left listening to you two?” Natalie asked. 

“Rain let us know that she’s allied herself with you,” Dan said. “We just wanted to let you know that if you have her back, we have yours.” 

“Is that so?” Natalie asked, not believing it for a second.

“Absolutely,” Matt said, nodding emphatically. “Rain went to school with Dan’s cousins. We know her from growing up, and we care about her. If you do, too, then we also care about you.”

“I might betray her,” Natalie said. 

“You could,” Dan said in a measured tone. “She’s naive. She thinks she can trust you. You could manipulate her and stab her in the back. Please don’t.” 

The two of them had walked away after that. Natalie thought about how odd it was, to have spoken with two “superiors” who were both younger than Natalie herself. If her memory was right, they were each only 16 years old. Matt’s voice had cracked twice during the brief conversation. Most male Victors of the Hunger Games were hardened killers before their voices even dropped. 

Natalie was an older tribute, the only other advantage she possessed going into the Games, outside of her alliance with Rain. Her scrappiness and violent nature wouldn’t win her a Games. Everyone could do what Natalie could do, if their life was on the line. Natalie's extra practice wouldn't be much of a boost for her. She'd have to rely equally on her body, her brain, and her ally.  

~~~

Natalie didn't have a view of Rain when the platforms rose up into the Arena. She was stationed somewhere on the other side of the Cornocopia. They had planned for that, and Natalie knew which direction to run to meet up with her young companion. 

When strategizing the merits of the Bloodbath, Natalie was emphatic about going full force into it. She figured, there was no use fighting in the Games if you had nothing to fight with. Her plan was for Rain to head in whatever direction the tail of the Cornocopia was pointing towards, and to keep running until she could find a place to hide. Natalie would catch up with her once she’d gathered some supplies. 

Natalie fought hard in the Bloodbath, and fought harder to get out of it. She acquired three backpacks and a javelin. She repeated to herself in her mind, over and over, if I make it out, I get to be different. She’d trade a Hunger Games full of violence for a lifetime of kindness afterwards. Or, she’d trade her life for Rain’s, if they were the final two left. 

Natalie might have killed two tributes in the violent Bloodbath, maybe one more; she hadn’t been sure. She had always been good with weapons. 

Catching up with Rain had felt more relieving than anything else had. Their arena was a beachy setting, with burning sand and tidal waves crashing at random intervals, likely drowning out tributes that could not swim. There were not many places to successfully keep oneself hidden. Tributes had scattered to hide behind dunes and search for food, while Rain had buried herself in the sand. She popped out when she heard Natalie whispering for her and nearly startled Natalie into accidentally stabbing her with her javelin. 

The backpacks that Natalie had grabbed proved to be very useful. There was enough food for both of them, fire-starting materials, blankets, water, and several sheaths of knives that Rain was immediately enamoured with. 

Rain wanted to build a fire when the sun set, the climate getting colder and colder, but Natalie hadn't let her. Lighting a fire would be a homing signal to other tributes, letting them know exactly where they were. They had it easy for the first day, listening to cannons go off without encountering any conflict themselves. 

Natalie felt, in a sick sense, cheated. Counting cannons wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to see other tributes fall; she wanted to watch her odds go up with each death. She didn’t trust the cannons. She worried that it was yet another trick from the Capitol, making other tributes think that the playing field was narrowing when in fact they were all in the same danger they had been since the beginning. 

It felt too easy. And when things are easy, people get sloppy. Natalie’s first mistake was falling asleep. Rain promised her that she could handle taking watch, something Natalie hadn’t let her do the first night. 

Natalie had knocked out quickly, and was awoken even faster some hours later by a scream. 

Rain had gotten cold, apparently too cold for blankets, and had started a fire; something that she was good at, being from District 7. The fire burned brighter than Rain had intended, and sent a blazing signal to other tributes about their whereabouts.

They were quickly surrounded. Natalie could find no feasible escape routes. While Natalie was happy to stand her ground in a fight, Rain needed an escape route, and the lack of one was concerning. Because Rain was useless in a fight, and Natalie knew she would surely perish in hand-to-hand. 

She tried her best, but she was just one person. One person up against four Careers, two from District 3, and one from 12. When they all charged her, Natalie stabbed out with her javelin, trying to hit as many as she could, as fast as she could. Rain held three knives in each hand and swung wildly. Natalie saw that her eyes were fully shut.

It was a second Bloodbath. Rare for most Games, but not unheard of. Natalie and Rain were completely outnumbered, had nowhere to go, and were getting tired. 

When Rain fell, clutching her bloodied stomach and trembling, Natalie saw Red. She’d never be able to describe how it felt, where her brain went, how her body even moved. All she knew was to kill every last person among her so that Natalie could attend to Rain. She gathered three of Rain’s six knives in one hand, her javelin in the other, and something Else took over her. Six tributes were dead in under 10 minutes. A rampage of such proportions was almost unheard of. 

It hadn’t mattered; Natalie was too late. Rain died in her arms, singing her own name softly into Natalie’s neck. 

Rain-y, rain-y, rainnnnn. Rain-y, rain, rain, rainnnnnnn.

Natalie swallowed fat tears and choked on them. She stroked Rain’s hair and hummed along to her tune until Rain didn’t have the vocal strength any longer. She retched when it sank in that she was holding Rain’s lifeless body. She lifted Rain into the Capitol crane coming to collect her, closed her eyes, and gave her forehead a kiss before letting her go. One tear slipped down her cheek, and that is the last thing that Natalie Shields remembers from her Hunger Games.

~~~

Natalie was told that she was a killing machine. A powerhouse that ended the Games in an explosion of fury. She was told that in total, she was responsible for over 50% of the deaths in the arena. She was told that she’s a vicious person. A supernova. A villain. A star. A million different things that Natalie didn’t ever want to be again. 

After she was shown a taping of her own Games when she came to in the infirmary, Natalie confirmed that she didn’t remember a bit of it. She suffered a major concussion in the final showdown, apparently. She was told that maybe her memories would come back, but it was likely they would not. She’d hoped for the latter. 

“I can’t be Natalie Shields for one more day,” Natalie told Stephanie the night after watching herself kill 14 children. 

“What do you want to do about it?” Stephanie asked. 

“I want to go by my middle name, like you,” Natalie said. 

“And what might that name be?” Stephanie asked. 

Natalie thought about Rain. About her last song. Rain-y, rain-y, rainnnn. 

“Renee,” she said. “My name is Renee.” 

~~~

She had unexpected guests throughout her stay in the Capitol’s infirmary. First to arrive after Stephanie were Matt and Dan. Rain’s mentors. Definitely not supposed to be there, speaking with her. Dan’s shoulders were hardened and squared like steel. Matt wore his grief all over his face. Renee couldn’t bear to look at either of them.

“I wanted to save her,” Renee said to the wall, unsure why she even bothered admitting that. Rain was dead, it didn’t matter what her intentions had been. 

“We know that you tried,” Dan said. “This is how the Games go.” 

“We figured she wouldn’t— well, we knew it was a long shot, but—”

“Part of being a mentor is watching children you care about die,” Dan interrupted Matt, rather bluntly. “You can’t go on a killing spree like that next year when one or both of your tributes kick the bucket.” 

“Why do you care what I do?” Renee asked. She would have been offended by the accusation, but she had watched her own Games. She knew what she was capable of. 

“Your actions affect all of us,” Dan said. “Every mentor, every tribute, every district citizen is affected by the choices that we Victors make. The Capitol hates us. They look for any reason to punish us at all times, not just in the Hunger Games.” 

Renee knew all of this. She wasn’t sure why she was being lectured on it by a girl who was younger than she was. A girl who likely hadn’t ever been to jail the way Renee had been. Her reaping was probably an accident. Renee’s was not. Renee knew about what the Capitol was capable of. 

“I keep my head down just fine,” Renee said. “You don’t need to worry about me.” 

“Good,” Dan said. “Because we might need you.” 

Renee shot her a curious look. 

“We have a… well, I guess you could call him a friend. On the inside,” Matt explained. “He’s a Gamemaker. He wanted us to come talk to you. He thinks he might have a way to end the Games for good, in a few years. He’s recruiting people to help him out. Dan and I agreed last year, and I know he has a few other former Victors working with him.” 

That was a lot of information to take in. 

“So, a Gamemaker wants to recruit me to, what, start a war? No thanks, I’m done being a pawn in any Capitol citizen’s Games.”   

“You might change your mind when you meet him,” Dan said. 

“And when might that be?” Renee asked. Dan and Matt shrugged. 

“Probably during your Victory Tour in the winter. It’s hard to shut off the cameras in here, and we only have a few moments left. We offered to talk to you in his stead. We wanted to thank you in person, for Rain,” Dan said, the crack in her voice betraying the neutrality she was so obviously going for. 

“Wyma— he won’t pressure you or anything, but you should seriously consider joining us. I think we might really be able to make a difference, someday,” Matt said. Renee pitied his optimism, but said nothing.

“We should get going,” Dan said. Renee nodded. 

“Thank you again, Natalie, really. Rain really needed someone to look out for her in there, and you—”

“It’s Renee, actually,” Renee said. “Not Natalie. Not anymore.” Dan nodded and stuck out her hand. 

“Thank you, Renee. I hope we see more of each other next year,” she said as Renee shook it.

Matt knocked the breath out of her when he gave Renee a firm, unexpected, and powerful squeeze. She wasn’t able to remember the last time she had been hugged. She didn’t hug him back, but appreciated the gesture all the same, even if it made her concussed brain pound inside her skull afterwards. 

~~~

The minute she was out of the infirmary, they stuck Renee on Ceasar Flickerman. Stephanie told her it was the perfect opportunity to introduce her new name to the Capitol. Renee fumbled her way through the pleasantries before carefully introducing her agenda. 

“You know Caesar, there’s something I didn’t get to tell you before I went into the Games…” She said, trying to sound coy.

Caesar reacted appropriately by looking shocked and excited. He leaned too far forward in his chair.

“Do tell!” He said.

“At home, I actually go by my middle name. Nobody even calls me Natalie.” 

Caesar fell for it immediately and got the crowd all riled up. It was that easy. Natalie was now Renee. Renee on newscasts, in interviews, all over newspapers, andon  postcards. Renee Walker, the girl she would discover, the woman she would grow to be. 

Dropping her last name and picking up Stephanie’s was a last-minute decision. She had no public explanation for it, and when asked for one, she politely deflected the question. 

Stephanie had been the only one Renee had talked to before announcing it, and her permission was all Renee had cared about. She knew it was the right choice. Renee was about to start her new life, about to live as a new person who had a real heart and led with love. None of that had anything to do with Rebecca Shields. Renee couldn’t go back to a life of crime. She hoped never to be forced to see her mother again. 

~~~

On her final night in the Capitol, right before she was able to finally leave this hell and go home, Renee attended a celebration at the President’s Mansion. She was swarmed by Capitol worms trying their best to garner her favor. She was handed food she could not stomach on trays that probably cost more than her home. Her prep team, escort, and Stephanie were the only people she knew at all. Her other mentor, Renee couldn’t even remember his name, had immediately passed out drunk in a fountain. 

It was there that the ceremonial passing of the Victory Crown took place. All the other former tributes and mentors had already gone back to their districts, usually being forced to do so within 48 hours of the Games ending. All but one. Last year’s Victor, a young boy named Andrew, stood on a big stage, silent as he always was, wearing a large crown that had been placed on his head by Matt the previous year. 

He was short. Shorter than Renee. He had to reach up to place the crown on Renee’s head, and while she hadn’t looked down to check, she was pretty sure he might have been on his tiptoes as well. He stared at her with slitted eyes but said nothing. 

Whatever he found in Renee’s eyes, he seemed to approve of. When a photographer asked them to put their arms around each other for a photo, they both said “no” at the same time. Andrew’s posture had relaxed ever so slightly when he stepped away from her. It was the best part of Renee’s night.

~~~  

Renee forfeited her right to a home in the Victor’s Village, choosing instead to move in with Stephanie and her husband. The two of them had no children, and were happy to welcome one more person into their home. Rules of non-family members not being allowed to live in the Victor’s Village were moot when the non-family member was also a Victor.   

Renee’s violence in the Games had transformed her into a very popular winner within the Capitol, a fact that made her stomach churn and her brain foggy. She didn’t think she would ever get used to it. 

The day she got back to District 5, she spent the first legally earned money that she’d ever had on bleaching her hair. She mixed together 14 different shades of dye. She dyed the ends of her hair in each shade, turning the lower half of her short cut into a kaleidoscope of color, each one representing a tribute that Renee murdered. 

Rainbows after Rain, Renee told herself every morning when she awoke from nightmares where she saw herself going on a murdering spree over and over. She was different now. She would be a kinder person with every passing day. She would help other children from her district survive the Hunger Games, if she could. 

Maybe she’d even try her luck with the Gamemaker that Dan and Matt seemed to be working with. If she could have a hand in making the world a place free of the torment of the Hunger Games, she would take any risk.