Chapter Text
It has been a week since the hovercraft had delivered her to district twelve, a week after Katniss’s trial.
How can she live here without Prim? She’s gone, and being in this house is a constant reminder of that. Just the thought of going into her room results in a visceral reaction. So she avoids it, but the ghost of her lurks in the hallways.
Missing Prim hurt; she will never come back. Come back to dry Katniss’s tears, or end her nightmare.
And Peeta, he would never come back. Sometimes she wishes she could split herself to go to the past, and spend more time with him. While the other part takes care of him.
Katniss saw them both in her dreams last night. The lively Peeta braiding prim hair into two small pigtails. But when she walked in closer and closer they warmly welcomed her, only to dissolve in the bright white light.
Katniss woke up with a start and a thought, she wanted a second chance, a second opportunity that was hardest to find.
When did her heart become so fragile? Was it like a hard coal that when broken it became powder-like. Maybe she put too much pressure on it, now instead of being a ‘pearl’ like Effie once said she became a bunch of coal powder scattered all around. She used to let them both anchor her to the world now she has nothing left. Nothing left to live for. Maybe now she finally understands a fraction why Haymitch drank so much.
Katniss stumbles out of bed and walks by the bathroom mirror. She didn’t recognize the gaunt figure staring back at her, with hollow eyes, covered in burns and scars- a fire mutt. She hasn't attempted to do anything with herself; she’s still wearing the same clothes she left the Capitol in. Her legs shake a little, but she forces herself to walk down the stairs and out the front door. The sun is out, but there is still a chill in the air that bites her cheeks. The dead grass crunches as it digs into her bare feet, but each step gives her more motivation; she’s suddenly on a mission. Katniss crosses the lawn and marches up Haymitch’s porch, planting herself in front of his door. He never visits and he's supposed to be the one looking after her, to make sure she’s doing okay.
But to be honest she understands him, more than she could ever ask for.
She knocked, and knocked
“Haymitch,” she said.
“Haymitch!” She shouted.
Katniss knocks so hard that it hurts her knuckles. She was debating if she should climb into his window when she heard a crash, the sound of glass shattering, and a series of grumbles as he came toward the door. When it opened, she smelled the reek of alcohol, and she started to regret her decision to come here.
"You look like hell, Katniss," Haymitch said, not even bothering to look up from the bottle he was unclorking.
"And you smell like it," she shot back, choking on the sour reek of stale liquor and garbage as she stepped into his kitchen.
He finally glanced at her, eye-tracking the dark circles under her eyes. "If you came here looking for a drinking buddy, you're out of luck. I don't share."
"I didn't come to drink," she said, her voice cracking slightly. She hated how weak it sounded. She hated that she had nowhere else to go. "I just... everyone is gone, Haymitch. Prim is gone. And Peeta... that boy in the hospital isn't him. I don't know who that is."
Haymitch set the bottle down with a heavy thud. The sarcasm drained right out of him. "He's alive. That's more than most of us got."
"Is he?" Katniss demanded, a hot tear finally slipping down her cheek. "Because it feels like we all died in that arena, and nobody told our bodies."
He didn't offer a hug—they weren't that kind of people. Instead, he just pushed a chair out with his boot. "Sit down, Sweetheart. Let's be dead together for a while."
She couldn't do it. The invitation to just give up was too heavy. Without another word, she turned on her heel and bolted, letting the door slam behind her as she crossed the empty square back to her own quiet house.
She slammed it shut, hard enough to stir the dust. The particles swirled in the sharp shafts of afternoon sunlight cutting through the windows. It felt too bright. Too loud. Dragging her feet up the stairs, she crawled into bed and pulled the blankets over her face, trying to swallow down the air. Her body ached, begging for any sensation that wasn't this crushing weight.
A heavy, orange weight dropped onto the mattress. Buttercup. The cat crept closer, his mangy fur pressing against her side. A year ago, she would have kicked him off, but today she let him stay. He was a flea-ridden menace, but he was a witness to everything. That was the problem, though. Just looking at him brought her back, and the jagged shards of Prim's memory dug deeper into her chest, drawing fresh blood.
The dark pulled her under, but it wasn't an escape.
Suddenly, she was walking the muddy tracks of District 12 again. The Seam. Before the firestorms, before the Capitol erased it from the map. She could feel the familiar weight of her father’s leather jacket on her shoulders, the canvas game bag slapping against her hip. Ahead, the bakery stood intact, the rich, warm scent of baking bread heavy in the air. It was cruel, how real it felt. In the dream, she went straight to the back door, knocking while she fished two squirrels out of her bag.
The door swung open.
It was Peeta. Not the hijacked boy with the hollow eyes and the lethal hands, but her Peeta. The baker's son. His blue eyes caught hers, wide and bright, pulling her in until she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move. He began to smile, his lips parting to say something,
Then the world fractured into blinding white.
Katniss bolted upright, gasping for air that wouldn't come. Her hand flew to her chest, her fingers clawing at the fabric over her heart, half-convinced it was about to burst right through her ribs. She sat there in the dark, shivering, her throat raw.
Nightmares about the arena she could handle. She was used to the blood, the mutts, the screaming. But these dreams, these agonizing glimpses of the ghosts she’d lost, were a completely different kind of torture.
A sharp, rhythmic banging rattled the front door downstairs, echoing up the empty stairwell. Katniss didn't move. She just stared at the ceiling, her body heavy as lead, completely shut down. She couldn't seem to recover from seeing his perfect blue eyes in the dream, so clear, so full of life.
The knocking got louder, demanding an answer, but she treated it like a ringing phone and ignored it, sinking deeper into the mattress. Then, the sound of the front door clicking open echoed through the quiet house.
"Sweetheart! I need to talk to you!"
Haymitch’s voice carried up the stairs, raw and shouting. He was yelling because he knew exactly what state she was in, but there was something different about his tone this time. Something urgent and vibrating with tension that instantly alarmed her.
Frustrated, she threw the blankets off and stomped down the stairs, glaring at him the whole way down. But when she reached the bottom, she froze. He was smiling. Excited, even. It was completely wrong.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
"Well, well, don’t get all bent out of shape on me now," Haymitch said, his voice rough but lighter than usual. "I have some news that might be worth your time."
He didn’t smile like this, not ever. She figured he must be completely wasted. She just stared at him, imploring him with her eyes to just spit out whatever was bringing him so much joy. He stood there like an idiot with that grin plastered on his face, and for a second, she envisioned herself walking over and smacking it right off of him. But he was all she had left.
She gave in with a harsh sigh. "What is it?" She kept her glare fixed on him, wanting to get this over with so she could retreat to her room and try to fall back into that dream, back to those blue eyes.
"I just got off the phone with Beetee," Haymitch said, his eyes lighting up. "Seems he’s discovered something in the Capitol that might give you exactly what you want."
A bitter wave of anger crashed through her. "Oh? So he can bring my sister back from the dead and unscramble Peeta’s brain? Because I can't have what I want, Haymitch!"
She yelled the words until her throat burned, her body instantly deflating afterward. She was so tired. Exhausted to her bones. She turned around, ready to run back to the safety of her room, when he dropped a sentence that her brain couldn't even begin to fathom.
"You can go back in time." He sounded so giddy he was practically laughing.
Katniss stopped dead in her tracks. "Huh?" she stammered. She felt completely paralyzed. Was this a joke? A cruel trick?
"You can go back in time," he repeated. This time, he flashed a massive grin and waved his hands in front of him like he’d just solved the greatest puzzle in the universe and deserved a special prize for it.
"What?" she asked, completely dumbfounded. She must have dozed off again. This had to be another dream.
Haymitch’s smile instantly dropped, his patience evaporating. "You can go back, Katniss!" He was shouting now, the sudden volume causing her to take a sharp step back. He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed her by the arms, his face turning deadly serious. "You can get them back! Beetee and the capitol found some quantum technology, doohickey, whateverforever. Don’t ask me to explain it, I couldn’t if I tried. He said if you want, he can send you back in time! It’s dangerous, of course, but it might be worth a shot."
The passion in his voice slowly dissipated as he stopped talking, trying to gauge her reaction. "If you're up to it," he breathed out.
He shrugged his shoulders, but Katniss could only stare at him blankly. The words bounced around her head, a violent shock running through her veins as she tried to process the impossible information.
And suddenly, her mind flashed back to the agonizing thoughts she'd been drowning in just that morning. And Peeta, he would never come back. Sometimes she wishes she could split herself to go to the past, and spend more time with him. While the other part take care of him.
It was exactly what she had desperately craved. A chance to divide her fractured soul, to send one half back to the days before the hunger games, before the hijacking, just to hold onto the boy with the bread when he was still whole. While the other half stayed right here in the ashes, taking care of the broken Peeta who was currently trying to find his way back to reality.
As her silence stretched on, she could see Haymitch's annoyance growing, but her heart was hammering against her ribs so loud she could barely hear anything else.
"Are you serious?" The whisper scraped past her lips, raw and barely audible.
Haymitch didn't blink. The annoyance faded from his face, replaced by a heavy, grounding sobriety. He didn't drop his grip on her arms. "Dead serious, sweetheart."
He looked at her, seeing right through the armor she'd tried to pull over herself. "Beetee explained the catch. It’s a split, Katniss. The part of you that goes back... she never comes back here. She stays in that timeline, living out whatever changes you make. But there will still be a part of you that stays right here, in this universe. In this house."
The words hit her like a physical blow, locking perfectly into the desperate thoughts she’d harbored only hours ago. It was the exact, impossible bargain she had craved. One half of her soul could slip into the past, shielding the baker's son before the Capitol could ever touch him, spending the lifetime with him they had been robbed of. Meanwhile, the other half would remain grounded right here in the ashes of the present, waiting for the day they finally released him from that Capitol institution, ready to take care of the broken, hijacked Peeta whenever they finally sent him home.
She stood frozen in the quiet kitchen, the dust motes still dancing in the sharp afternoon light. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick with the weight of two lifetimes.
After a long while, Katniss let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding since the first arena. She looked Haymitch square in the eye.
"I’ll do it."
Katniss stand there. Like a statue, trying to let this sink in. She could go back. She could see Prim again. She could have another chance to show Peeta how she feels. She could save the lives of so many people. She could fix things. She would be an idiot not to try. Here, it feels like she’s dying a slow death. Katniss tried to end it, but failed at my attempts. The thought that has plagued me, over and over comes back to the front of my mind.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. Why am I not dead? I should be dead. It would be best for everyone if I were dead.
And she wouldn't mind being dead; the pain would stop. But what if she could change things? She could save Prim and protect Peeta. It would be worth a shot, right?
Haymitch nodded, that jarring smile spreading across his face once more. “I knew you would. I’ll tell Beetee. Be ready tomorrow, he said he can be here first thing in the morning.”
Without another word, he turned and headed for the door.
Her heart hammered violently against her ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm as she crawled back up the stairs. Below her, the heavy click of the front door shutting echoed through the empty house. With every step she climbed, the crushing weight in her chest lifted just a fraction. It felt dangerously close to hope. Was it actually possible? Could she really go back to the younger versions of them? Could she rewrite the script before the Capitol tore their lives apart?
Passing the bathroom mirror, she froze. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the hollow-eyed ghost in the reflection showed the faint, ghostly shadow of what could be a smile.
A sudden impulse took over. She needed to clean herself up. She didn't know the logistics of how Beetee's time-travel worked, but she refused to show up in the past looking like a decaying corpse. Peeling off the filthy, stained clothes she’d been wearing since she fled the Capitol, she shoved them straight into the trash can.
She stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water blast over her skin, grabbing the soap and scrubbing until her flesh was raw and stinging. It was like she was trying to wash away the ash of District 12, the blood of the arena, the very scent of President Snow. It wasn't until she finally shut off the water and stepped onto the cold floor that she realized she was crying. The hot tears just kept streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the droplets of water.
If this turned out to be some sick, twisted joke just to coax her out of bed, she would kill Haymitch. She’d do it slowly, too.
It took an eternity to get the knots out of her hair, her hands shaking as she worked. She managed to weave it into her trademark braid, the familiar weight of it against her shoulder offering a tiny shred of comfort. Heading downstairs, she forced herself to choke down the cold food Greasy Sae had left out for her. She needed the strength.
By the time she crawled back under her blankets, her mind was a roaring storm, swarming with memories of the past and terrifying possibilities for the future. She stared out into the dark room, the silence no longer feeling like a graveyard.
Tomorrow, everything is going to change, and she will make sure of it.