Chapter Text
Annabeth hated District Five.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t hate the place itself. In fact, for a district, she thought that things could be a lot worse. She’d heard horror stories from the outer districts: of men being crushed to death in the mines of District Twelve and of factory workers being killed after getting caught in the machinery used to slaughter cattle in Ten. Granted, people often died horrific deaths in three too. Electric shock, mostly. It was rare to see an inhabitant of her district whose hands weren’t littered with small electric burns. They started working young, when their hands were still clumsy, bound to let a raw wire slip and fizz against their skin. It was a lesson Annabeth had learned at seven years old, and her palms still wore the lesson proudly, with two long, shiny pink scars. If she held her hands together, they ran together like a string laid across her hands, forever linking them to each other. Morbidly, she liked them. She lived, and she learned, and she had proof of that.
She was fifteen, and an inch or two shorter than her classmates, likely from her hungry childhood. She made top marks in her classes, even though she spent the majority of her childhood there only two days out of the week, working at the power plant on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She’s been lucky, really. A lot of her former classmates didn’t get to go to school at all. Luke and Thalia, who’d become her pseudo-parents, insisted that she stay in for as long as she could. They were certain, with unwavering sincerity, that out of the three of them, she could be something. She thought it was bull. As much as she would’ve loved to have brought all of them out of poverty, it was nearly impossible with the Capitol’s thumb on them, limiting rations and firing more workers than were hired every year. She didn’t tell them that, though. She thought they all could use the hope.
When her brother Jason had been reaped the year before and subsequently won his games, they’d become rich enough that she could go to school. She didn’t think it was worth it, though. Jason wasn’t the same after what he’d been forced to do. He walked around their home in Victor's Village like a ghost, bumping around at night when he should’ve been sleeping, and crying when he thought none of them were watching.
“I was terrified.” He told her once, in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I didn’t want to die there. I thought–I worried that they’d never take my body home. They’ve done that before, y’know? I know you think I’m crazy, but they have. They turn them inside out and make their bodies into mutts. They don’t want to show us that, but I know that they have.”
Annabeth didn’t want to believe him, but she comforted him regardless, rubbing his back soothingly, “I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m glad you came home.”
“Thanks,” He’d muttered.
She steeled herself for her next question. “Are you glad?”
“What?”
“Are you glad you came home?”
He bit his lip, eyes anywhere that she wasn’t. “I think–” he shook his head. “I’m trying to be. I’m really, really trying to be.” That night, it was enough. It had to be.
Luke and Thalia were both above reaping age, which meant that they were above tessera age, too. They hadn’t let her take one until the year before, when Thalia, Luke, and Jason had gotten so sick in the winter that they couldn’t work. It was some horrible fever going around. There wasn’t enough medicine for everyone, and Annabeth had walked to work past the slumped bodies of those who’d succumbed to the fever. It had terrified her, the idea that she could be left alone again.
Annabeth’s three-day pay wasn’t enough to feed them, and she’d marched down to the clerk's office herself and hauled home the year's worth of grain and barley. Luke was so mad that if he weren’t so sick, she thought he might’ve marched down and returned it all, demanding that the clerk take her name out. As it was, he could hardly walk, and she still believed that it’d been the grain that’d saved them. She wouldn’t change it. Those extra slips with her name stamped onto them had saved her family’s life.
This reaping would be the same as always, save for the fact that Jason would be gone with the tributes as the sole mentor of District Five. He was unhappy with the entire arrangement and had been swept off by a prep team before breakfast. To the Capitol, Jason was a shiny new toy to be chewed up and spit out. Finnick Odair had begun the new “golden era” of victors; all young and attractive, and Jason had added to the numbers. He spun stories about the Capitol like it was a fairytale, so much food that you couldn’t eat it if you lived five lifetimes. Endless parties, and pretty girls, and servants at your beck and call. Annabeth saw through it. If the Capitol was so great, he wouldn’t be so upset to have to go back.
Jason hadn’t been a liar before. She guessed a lot more of him had changed in that arena than she could see.
Luke and Thalia hugged her goodbye by the gate, worry making both of their shoulders slump. Before Jason, they hadn’t been so nervous. It seemed impossible, until his name was called. Annabeth would guess that none of them had slept the night before, in anticipation of the event. She was herded along with the other girls her age, all dressed in their best, which for most was still hardly stitched together.
She stood in the square, like cattle in a cage. It was burning hot, and she could feel a bead of sweat trickle down her back. She couldn’t find Luke and Thalia in the crowd, but she knew they were watching. She wondered, in the back of her mind, if her father was watching too. She thought he must be. Her brothers would’ve finally been of reaping age that year, and she was sure he’d care about that. The girl in front of her swayed a bit on her feet, and Annabeth worried that she was going to pass out. She moves to tap the girl on her shoulder and reminds her to bend her knees, but before she can, a young woman clomped out onto the stage.
It wasn’t their usual escort.
The woman who had been doing the honors all the years that Annabeth was alive, Misty Feathers–or Flockers–or something of the sort, had been absolutely ridiculous looking. She and her siblings took yearly bets on what color she would’ve colored her face for the year; Annabeth won last year when she’d painted it in varying shades of blue, and Thalia the year before when it was royal purple. This new girl looked almost normal, by Capitol standards. She was very young, probably around Annabeth’s age. Her hair was a natural shade of brown, twisted into an intricate updo. Her eyeshadow is tasteful and sparkling, and though her eyelashes are very long, they don’t look bad on her. She was clearly unpracticed, long nails tapping nervously on her leg as she followed the same script as the woman before her, about loyalty to Panem, and the war, and dead children. She doesn’t seem happy about it, though. At least not in the way that her predecessor had been.
“Ehm, ladies first,” Piper said, stepping towards the large glass bowl. Annabeth’s name is in four times. The odds are in her favour. Luke’s had been in twenty-three times by the time he aged out, and he hadn’t been reaped. Then again, Jason’s name had only been in three times. Maybe the odds were just that–odds.
Unlike Misty, Piper doesn’t have a flair for the dramatics. She picks the first name off the top, shuddering a deep breath as she opens it. The rush of air that she exhales catches in the microphone, making the sound echo like the wind around the square. “The female victor is Annabeth Chase.”
Piper looks up, eyes searching the crowd. Annabeth looked around, too, waiting for someone to step forward. It didn't hit her at first that it was her name that had been read.
“Annabeth?” Piper asks again. The square begins to murmur. Annabeth continued to look around. The girl in front of her, who’d been swaying, turned around. Her face was pale, but her grip was firm as she grabbed Annabeth by the wrist. She doesn’t know where she knows her from, as she drags her forward.
“You have to go, Annabeth,” the girl whispered harshly, “They’ll punish you if you don’t?”
“W-what?” She stammered.
“Your name was called.” The girl said, continuing to pull her forward. The crowd parts around them. The girl was talking closely, her breath hot in Annabeth’s ear. “You need to get up there. Don’t cry.”
She was still numb to what was going on while she walked up the stairs. Desperately, she searched the crowd for Luke and Thalia, but couldn’t see them. Many times, she’d seen mothers and Fathers scream for their children when they were reaped. They’d fight against peacekeepers and threaten the Capitol and fruitlessly exhaust themselves over something that couldn’t be changed. She knew that Luke and Thalia were too smart for that. Those children always wound up looking weak and coddled. She was neither.
“Annabeth,” Piper greeted with a forced smile, taking her hand and helping her up the final step.
Warily, her eyes meet Jason's. He’s standing onstage, eyes forward and unblinking. His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles bony and white under his skin.
She doesn’t say anything. She couldn’t if she wanted to. She was worried that if she opened her mouth, she’d puke. She doesn’t hear the other boy’s name. Really, she doesn’t even notice that there’s a boy at all until he’s standing across from her. His hands were shaking, but he was doing a good job of hiding it.
“Well, if you two will please shake hands…” Piper said awkwardly. It isn’t a spectacle in District Three, despite being surrounded by career districts.
The boy took her hand and offered what she guessed was his best bet at an encouraging smile. It only reminded her that in a week, she and this boy would be hunting each other. She took his hand anyway and did her best to return the smile.
“Amazing!” Piper clapped, falling back into character. “Well, that concludes our reaping for the year. As always, happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour.”
***
Annabeth wished that Luke and Thalia wouldn’t visit.
Jason wouldn’t, she knew. He’d be with her on the train, forced to work as a mentor for her and her district partner.
She didn’t want to see the others. She was scared shitless and had broken down the second the door to the visitation room had been shut behind her. She didn’t want them to see her like this. She remembered seeing Jason off and how the look on his face had plagued her night after night while he fought for his life. It hadn’t mattered how many gap-toothed smiles they’d shared as children or the good memories they had together. She wouldn’t remember him like that, even when she tried to force herself to. If he’d died in that area, she would’ve remembered him as terrified, looking small against the tall grey walls of the room.
Still, when Luke and Thalia pushed through the door, she wasn’t surprised. She knew that they wouldn’t miss a chance to say goodbye, no matter the taste that it would undoubtedly leave in their mouths. They both looked like they’d been crying, eyes rimmed red and cheeks flushed.
“Annabeth,” Thalia breathed, instantly crossing the room and binding her in her arms, strong and comforting.
“I’m okay,” She tried to say, but her voice was shaking.
“You aren’t,” Thalia said, not unkindly. “You aren’t, but that’s okay. I’m not okay either. But we’re going to be. All of us.”
“I–I don’t know,” Annabeth said, shaking her head. “Listen, Jason is going to blame himself when something happens to me, and–”
“No,” Thalia pulled back, holding her face in her hands, sharp gaze boring into her. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Jason made it out, against the odds, and you will too. You’re smart, and strong, and a hell of a lot more resourceful than those people.” She nodded towards the door like she was addressing the entire Capitol. “You’re coming home. Jason’s on your side. You know he’ll do what he can to get you out, and so will we. We can try to get donations and send you something. Just know that we’re trying, okay? Even if we can’t, though, you’ll be fine. You’re going to win.”
Annabeth’s mouth was dry. Not for the first time in her life, she set herself aside and decided that it would be merciful to give them what she couldn’t have: hope. “Okay.” She nodded with faux confidence. “Okay. You’re right.”
“Yeah,” Thalia muttered, looking at nothing in particular, like she was strategizing ways out of the situation. “Yeah, I am. You’re good. You’re so good.”
“I am.” Annabeth agreed.
Luke, who’d been standing stoically in the corner, stepped around Thalia, taking his turn to pull Annabeth against his chest. “You got this, kiddo. I believe in you.” Was all he said. It was all she needed to hear.
“Okay.” Thalia wiped away a stray tear that’d fallen down her cheek. “Okay, you’re okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“We love you, Annabeth,” Luke said sadly. She knew he was probably angry more than anything, but he was selfless enough not to show it to her. She thought he might want her to remember him well, too. “Don’t forget that. No matter what they show you in there. Do what you have to. We don’t care; we’ll worry about it when you’re home.” They’d told Jason the same thing and stood by their word. He’d been brutal at times; he’d been forced to be, and they hadn’t so much as spoken about it. That was a tribute, Jason. Regular Jason was different, and the sacrifices he’d made in the arena had brought him home.
“I love you too.” She replied, just as peacekeepers marched into the room, letting them know that time was up. They left hesitantly, both looking back at her one more time.
She didn’t expect any more visitors. She didn’t have any friends outside of her family, so she jumped when the door creaked open, thinking that it was time to board the train.
She would’ve rather it had been time.
Instead, a thin man entered the room, wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew on his face. Worry lines creased his face, and his face was drawn up into a deep frown as he nervously entered the room, shifting from foot to foot while his eyes flicked around the walls, as if he would rather study the walls than look at her.
“Dad?” She asked in disbelief.
“Hello, Annabeth.”
“What are you doing here?” She snapped. She hadn’t seen her dad in years. He’d been horrible to live with, neglectful all of the time and sometimes abusive. She left home when she was seven years old, and he’d never so much as lifted a finger to search for her. Eventually, she’d moved on from the hurt, but now, it sliced her open like a fresh wound, like the pain of raw charged wires.
“I thought–” He removed his glasses and ran a hand down his face. “I know you don’t want to see me, and that I’m being selfish, but I wanted to see you before…” He trailed off.
“Before what?” She asked coolly. She knew what, but she wanted ot hear him say it.
“Before the games.”
“Before I’m killed on live TV, you mean.”
“Annabeth–”
“Stop.” She snapped. “Say what you wanted to say.”
He sucked on his teeth, thoughtfully picking his words. “I wish things would’ve gone differently for us.” He finally settled on.
He seemed genuinely regretful, but it didn’t change the fact that when times were tight, Annabeth had been the one to go without dinner, and when she’d complained about her empty stomach cramping, she’d been locked in the cupboard under the sink, cobwebs sticking in her hair, and spiders biting her exposed skin. It didn’t stop her nightmares or the fact that she’d lived on the streets in Five for most of her childhood.
He’d seen her once, a year after she left. She’d stolen from the market and had fallen running from the shopowner. She’d been there on the ground, tears in her eyes as the shopkeeper shouted at her, knees bleeding, and he’d met her eyes. He’d seen his daughter–his only daughter–hurt and afraid, and had chosen to turn away. Luke had come to her rescue that time. Thalia the next, and Jason the next time. Never her Father.
“Me too.” She finally choked out. “But they didn’t. When I die, they’re going to bring you my body.” She tried not to think of what Jason had said, about the bodies not coming home, “Because on paper, you’re my family. I want you to give it to Luke and Thalia. They can decide what to do with me.”
“Annabeth–”
“Please,” she begged. “If you really want any sort of forgiveness from me, do this one thing. Please. Promise me you won’t take my burial away from them.”
He was clearly unhappy with it, but nodded anyway, “I–Okay, Annabeth.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to hug her. Instead, he turned on his heel, just like the day in the square, and marched out the door. Her father didn’t look back.