Chapter Text
A hand grasped his sleeve, the screech of an approaching train drowned out his own scream and her cerulean eyes locked with violet before he felt herself be thrown before the oncoming train.
The early morning summer sun bore down on Tommy, cooled by the harsh wind that promised an oncoming storm, brewing dark and angry on the horizon. For now though, Tommy remained in the near empty paddock, laid back in the dry grass that tickled at the exposed skin on his arms and legs, itching subtly. Henry's big, heavy head lay in her lap, the dark brown and white patched cows eyes closed and his large body shielding Tommy from the worst of the wind.
Tommy's hand ran smoothly over the white on his nose, sending the gathering flies zipping away before they returned to rest near the young bull's nose and mouth again.
It was peaceful here. At least during the time being, even if the looming threat hung heavy in the air.
Five hours left. Five hours before Tommy and hundreds of other children would leave their homes and make their way to a stage and podium and two glass bowls that held the fate of two unlucky children.
"Tommy!" Her oldest brother's voice echoed over the field, coming from the shack that sat huddled between a barn and a stable, which was small yet held thousands of memories. Henry mooed softly against Tommy's skirt before raising his large head, allowing the boy to wriggle out from beneath the cow.
Tommy bent down again once he was up, smoothing out her ruffled brown skirt, patched with rainbow pieces of cloth to repair the wear-and-tear from years of use. It had been his mother's, when she had been alive and well, but when she had passed, he'd taken it for herself.
She spun on her heel to face the shack again, bringing his hands to his mouth to shout back at her brother.
"Fuck you!" She yelled, loud enough for the sound to carry over the incoming wind to grace his brothers ears. Tommy could vaguely make out the movement of Wilbur flipping her off.
He took off running, bare feet pounding against the soil as he approached his older brother and once close enough, threw himself into his arms. Wilbur stumbled back with an oof! in surprise until his arms wound around Tommy, holding her close for a moment before drawing away.
"Time to get ready, gremlin," Wilbur teased, ruffling Tommy's hair and making him squawk in protest, earning a cerulean glare as the older man laughed. His hand rested between Tommy's curled pale red horns, careful not to prick himself on the sharp points.
Tommy muttered swears under his breath, tail with the pale red spade at the end, like a devil's because it was, flicking back and forth beneath his skirt with irritation at his annoyance of a brother.
Ducking from beneath his hand, he followed him inside, occasionally kicking the back of Wilbur's ankles and dodging whenever he'd try and smack Tommy with his large, dark brown wings. In their small kitchen stood their middle brother and Wilbur's twin, Technoblade, he was already prepared, well besides his long and pink and unbraided hair, for heading off to mentor the new tributes from District 10.
He wore a loose white dress shirt, the collar and sleeves frilly and a deep maroon red vest over that, not yet buttoned up. Gold jewlery hung from his ears, neck and wrists, rings adorning his fingers. They'd been brought with the money he'd earnt from winning his Hunger Games and despite having a perfectly good mansion to live in, he spent most of his days in the shack the three of them had grown up in. Techno also wore dark brown leggings, a matching pair of leather boots on his feet that went up to the middle of his calves.
Quite snazzy, if Tommy did say so himself, but it was not her you heard it from, even if you say otherwise.
Despite that amusing comment, Tommy couldn't help the fear that leapt into his throat as those eerie maroon eyes came to rest on her. After Techno's Games, he'd changed. Tommy had only been six when Techno had competed and won, but he remembered clear as day when he'd come home.
Angry. Violent. Broken.
Mourning.
Something malevolent simmered in his eyes and he'd often found himself back in the arena, facing against whoever and sometimes when the faces would get twisted, when Tommy would be playing dolls with Techno under Wilbur and Phil's watchful eyes, his hands would curl into fists, maroon fixed on a golden haired child moments before Tommy would be rushed to his room by Phils sharp words.
Inside, the sound of yelling, screaming and things breaking. Sometimes Tommy would cower beneath his bed and cry for the brother he missed, the one before the Hunger Games had fed on his mind and body, or he'd sit with her ear pressed to the door, sometimes for hours before the yelling quietened and he'd creep out of his hole.
Occasionally, Techno alone would be gone, a black bruise blooming across Wilbur's eye and feathers scattered across the room, a mix of brown and black. Others, Techno and either Phil or Wilbur would be gone, for days or hours, it didn't matter because each and every time Techno would return. With a new toy, usually freshly carved from wood for Tommy and he'd draw her close into his arms and bury his face into the child's hair and promise to never, ever hurt him.
He'd kept that promise, at least for the time being, though the same couldn't be said for the rest of their family. Tommy missed his mum. She'd know what to do about Techno. About Phil too, once he hadn't been able to handle them anymore and the main duty had fallen on a traumatised, mentally unstable man and an exhausted, out of his depth adult who both had no time or energy to raise a growing, hyperactive child when they were practically children themselves.
"Your bath's ready," Techno grunted at Tommy, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve before turning away, staring out the window at the near empty paddock. Jerking from her mind, Tommy bit his tounge, not feeling in the mood to mess with another brother at the times being before shuffling her way towards the families shared bathroom, where the wooden basin sat steaming with hot water, a towel and whatever clothes Techno had selected for her to wear folded neatly on a nearby rickety table.
Before he entered, a hand fell to the collar of his shirt, tugging her back against a warm chest and Tommy allowed himself to be swallowed in the warmth of Wilbur's embrace.
Like clockwork, every year since Tommy was twelve years old, on July fourth, Wilbur would draw Tommy into a tight, crushing hug, deeper than any else throughout the year and she knew, from the very bottom of her heart, it was because Wilbur feared it may be their last. Whether Wilbur said it out loud or not Tommy would know.
"I've still got a few hours, dumbass," Tommy muttered against where he had buried his face in Wilbur's shoulder. "And its not like I'm gonna get Reaped. No way it happens to a family twice in a whatever it's called."
"Generation," Wilbur corrected, soft as a whisper against where his face was turned into her golden curls. His hands were trembling where they curled tight into the back of his tunic, white knuckled with fear.
Wilbur had been Reaped; at only fourteen years old and had Techno not been there to volunteer in his sickly twin's place, dying from the same thing that had killed their mother a few days prior and both grief and illness leaving Wilbur barely able to stand, they'd all know Wilbur would've been the first to die in that arena.
It was luck, pure, unbridled, merciful, luck that Phil hadn't lost either of his sons to such unlikely odds. Tommy prayed each night to both Prime above and Death below that the luck would carry over to him and she'd scream it to the earth if He and She were to give up on her now, lest Her angel came to collect him.
Tommy felt her heart clench and he forced herself to pull away, blinking harshly with a turn of her face away from him. "Alright, alright, that's enough. I'm a big man." Tommy muttered, stomping dramatically into the bathroom and closing the door in Wilbur's face. She just caught his sigh through the door.
The worn brush ran through Tommy's damp curls, her chin resting where his knees were drawn to his chest. She was sat on the floor in front of the couch, Techno sat on the couch behind him as he brushed the knots and mats from his little sibling's hair. Tommy's eyes flicked across the flickery TV screen, set to a low quality cartoon that usually played at this time of day.
Occasionally Tommy would wince when Techno accidentally tugged too hard, jabbing with belevolent words at the older before her attention was once again snatched away by the cartoon. There was a reason why Techno always brushed Tommy's hair with the TV playing.
Wilbur was curled at the opposite end of the couch, frowning at whatever newspaper he was reading and winding a lock of brown curls around his pointer finger before unwinding and repeating.
Rather than being with his heavily pregnant girlfriend, Sally, a beautiful red haired woman with green eyes and a bubbly laugh, Wilbur had instead chosen to be with Tommy on what had the slim chance of being her last day. Sally had her own little sister, just twelve years old, to be with, afterall. His deep brown eyes momentarily went to Tommy before they returned to the newspaper, the younger sticking his tounge out at him in response.
"Phil should be home soon to take you to the Reaping." Wilbur muttered in return, not looking up again.
The anthem of the Capital ensnared Tommy's attention rather than the cartoon this time, head whipping back to the TV in surprise at the previously unannounced broadcast. President Schlatt's face filled the screen.
"Good evening Districts!" Schlatt's laugh rang from the speakers. "Apologies for the interruption but this years Quarter Quell twist has been announced!"
There was a brief pause, as if for anticipation before he started to speak again.
"This year's twist has been changed! Rather than the previous thirteen to fifteen year olds only being selected, now the family of previous victors in the twelve to eighteen years old age range will have an increased nintey percent chance of being selected as this year's tributes! May the odds be ever in your favour!" Once again the anthem rang out before the TV changed back to the cartoon.
The brush stilled in her hair and it felt as if his heart had stopped with it. Bitter anger flooded Tommy, burning hot as fire and it sparked on her tongue as he leapt to his feet. The brush was tugged roughly from Tommy's hair but he couldn't find herself caring, instead he spun to face Techno who had slowly risen to his own feet.
"Did you know, dickhead?" Tommy hissed through his teeth, eyes narrowed as rage sparked along them. Techno met her gaze, stone cold and narrowed in the same way Tommy's did.
"No." Techno replied monotounously.
With that, Techno strode to the front door, boots already on, grabbing his coat from the hook and without a single glance back, left with the slam of the front door that shook the room.
Tommy sank to her knees, dread and despair replacing the bitter anger as tears forced their way through the dam of his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Wilbur dropping to his knees before him and for once, allowed the other to draw her into his arms without protest. She buried her face in his shoulder, arms wrapping tight around him and Wilbur's wound just as tight, hugging him close like if he were to let go, she would be lost forever. Perhaps she would be.
Rain soaked into Tommy’s long golden curls, which were tied in a half up half down style with a red ribbon, cold as stone and he forced herself not to flinch as the drops made their way down the back of his neck. His father's hand gripped tightly onto her bicep and Tommy forced himself to not turn towards Philza as he was guided towards where the Peacekeepers awaited the check in to the Reaping.
The patched skirt had been traded out for one made of soft red fabric, flowy and brushing close to her ankles with a red cloth tied tightly around his waist and the simple white dress shirt Tommy wore itched uncomfortably against her skin; a hand-me-down from Wilbur from his own Reaping days. The very one he had worn when the brown curled man got reaped himself and his twin, Technoblade, had taken his place as Tribute.
She remembered when Techno had returned home, his once sarcastic, funny, wise brother complaining of voices and a haunted look that would shadow him wherever he went, even now, nine years later.
"Dad?" Tommy's voice shook and he noticed the way the kind faced man's shoulders tensed before turning to look directly into his child's eyes.
"What is it, Tommy?" He sighed, sounding as if he'd already lived through a million millenia.
For once, it took a moment before Tommy could find her words, tears stinging the back of his cerulean eyes that he frantically blinked away, a shaky exhale escaping her.
"I'm getting Reaped, aren't I?" He breathed and staring into her reflection in her father's eyes, he could see her own fear reflected back. No longer the loud, energetic fifteen year old that was well renowned for her boisterous activities and sneaking into the cow paddocks, but a reflection of what he was now.
A child sent to die for the entertainment of the people who were supposed to protect them.
The silence, or what would've been silence if it wasnt for the hundreds of other children streaming in, hung in the air like smoke, burning Tommy's throat.
"No, Tommy," Philza sighed but Tommy knew he doubted himself. He could see the way his father's wings ruffled, the way the same cerulean eyes Tommy had inherited darted around, never meeting hers.
"Dad. You heard what they said, this morning. This Quarter Quell drastically increases the chance of a victor's family being chosen," Tommy swallowed, bottom lip quivering. "Its between me and Jack, isn't it? There's no point of the others being here, besides to watch."
Once again Phil didn't respond, but his eyes did glaze with sorrow.
"There's a chance…" He whispered and Tommy wanted to scream. Why would that chance matter when either way, somebody would be lost? If not Tommy, it would be Jack Manifold, who was the son of one of the victors and the only other victor's child to still be eligible for the boy Tribute this Quarter Quell. It was almost cemented in certainy that Jack's twin sister would be the female tribute chosen.
Tommy had grown up beside them and now he may die beside them. It felt like mockery.
His lips parted, inhaling sharply for words of protest but before she could find them, a hand, tight and gloved, fell on her arm and dragged him away from his surprised father.
"What the fuck?! HEY!" Tommy snarled, her tail giving a harsh lash as he spun, slapping at the hand to no avail and it was pure luck that he hadn't sunk in her nails when he came face to white mask with a Peacekeeper.
"You're going to be late." The Peacekeeper's voice sounded amused, like he knew something Tommy didn't and he didn't spare at glance at Phil before he turned on his heel, pulling Tommy along roughly behind him and towards where only a few remaining teenagers trickled through the gate.
Tommy's lips curled somehow further into a frown, teeth and sharp fangs bared slightly as he let the Peacekeeper tug her towards the gate. He cast one last glance back at his father, who stood huddled and unbelievably small looking in the place he was left in, his large black wings pressed tight to his back.
Tommy couldn't find himself pitying him. Why should he pity a man who's practically a ghost in day to day life towards his own children?
The Peacemaker didn't let go of Tommy, not until he was in line besides two other boys his age. The shorter of the two others cast him a pitying look and though a name wouldn't come to mind, she recognised him as an old classmate from a previous year, he didn't look away until he earnt a withering glare. The other didn't spare Tommy a glance.
A breath brushed his ear and her shoulders flew up, tense yet forced herself to not turn away as the Peacekeeper whispered into his ear. "May the odds be ever in your favour, Tommy Innes."
Tommy snarled again, elbow jamming back and almost connecting with white armour before the Peacekeeper stepped back. Her eyes caught on his chestplate and didn't miss the the small smiley face carved into it, placed above his right breast and hard to catch at first glance.
The Peacekeeper was gone in moments and the echoing song of the Hunger Games' anthem snagged Tommy's attention like a branch caught on clothing, her head whipping to the podium where a man with short brown hair, blue eyes and a green suit lined with gold stood. The name crossed her mind, Freddie, and Tommy glared harshly at the stage.
What a shittily named person that could potentially be reading out his own name.
As much as Tommy tried to prevent it, his thoughts were picked up and thrown to the wind, aka the distractions of his mind as the Reaping's opening droned on.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Tommy bit down harshly on her lip, eyes squeezing closed as he fought back tears for the nth time today.
She could die a week from now.
She could kill a week from now.
He could feel blood, red and thick and heavy soak into his skin and clothes, dyeing them deep red and drip across her ledger like a merciless disease a week from now. Either her own, another person's or a mix of both a week from now.
She forced his head back up to the large screens in the courtyard before the stage, giving the usual speech and clips of the Hunger Games except this time, new clips had been added. One in particular caught her attention.
One against five. Five careers trained since they were young for this very situation against a young fourteen year old boy pinned against a tree.
A step closer by the closest career and smoke and fire filled the camera, the boom so loud it shuddered the speakers, almost drowning out the five near consecutive cannon shots overtaking the arena until the dust settled and the winner would finally be revealed.
A boy remained motionless and slumped against a tree. So unbelievably still with deep burns warping half his face and body that when Tommy had first watched it, two weeks off a year from now, she'd feared he'd already been gone. That one of those cannon shots as a last ditch effort from a scared, traumatised, alone child against other scared, traumatised but not as alone children had been all for nothing.
But alas, the boys remaining eye had opened and the anthem had played and for the second time in years Tommy had believed the games could be merciful.
That hope was gone. Only a year later and with Tommy praying that she'd somehow have the same luck the boy she couldn't remember the name of had on his side.
The video faded and the voice began. Freddie continued on with the usual introductions until finally he got to the part Tommy had been both anticipating and dreading.
Anybody but her. The plea of his mind was desperate and he was sure that if it escaped her it was be heart wrenching.
"Shall we start with the ladies, like usual?" Freddie's smile overtook the screen, too wide to be anything but practiced. Her teeth ground together as anger burned like a furnace in his chest and it took everything in him to prevent herself from storming up there and punch the stupid smirk off his stupid face.
If Tommy had paid enough attention in class he'd probably be able to work out the number of times the girls name, the girl who he wished would not be named as Tribute, would be in there but alas he had preferred to make jokes and talk back to the teacher instead. One thing he did know was that both bowls were increasingly larger and fuller than previous years.
Tommy knew why. So did everybody else watching and so do you.
Freddie's hand hovered over the bowl, as if in anticipation for a moment as a practiced smirk was shot at the crowd. Not a single laugh or giggle returned. Slowly, his hand lowered into the bowl and her eyes tracked it, swishing the folded paper slips around before finally selecting one. He drew it out and held it up at eye level, slowly unfolding the paper and reading out the unlucky girls name.
"Niki Nihachu."
No.
Hushed whispers spread across the crowd, louder where the older girls stood and after a moment a head of pale pink hair moved from the line. Outstepped the seventeen year old girl Tommy longed to have not seen there. The only female relative of a District 10 victor eligible for the Hunger Games.
Tommy could tell even from over here she was crying, face red and tear tracks and rain glistening across her face. Despite that, her head was held high as she made her way towards the stage. Not a single person spoke up to volunteer in her place. Who would? An insane person? You didn't find many of those in District 10.
Silence fell again as Niki finally made it to the stage and Tommy bit down so hard on his lip blood flooded across her tongue. Niki was Techno's best friend and just to put it out there, fucking hated Wilbur. Six years younger than Techno but they'd met in one of the only libraries in the district when Tommy was four, bonding over books and when Tommy had finally met his brother's best friend, he was just as eager.
Niki had been there from as early as he could remember. Reading him stories, playing games and when Techno had been Reaped, had held him as they'd watched the games play out. Every time Techno would stumble, would miss or block an enemy's blow, when he'd collapsed in the snow and was rescued by two people from two different districts, just for his allies to be slaughtered a week later and trigger the last act of the arena.
Six other people died that day, all by the same hands, sometimes armed and sometimes bare and Technoblade had been hailed victor. Techno had been nicknamed the Blood God after his ferocity and the Arctic snow that had been painted red by a mourning teenager.
Niki had comforted Tommy through it all and he wished he were able to turn back time to before everything got so severely fucked.
Once Niki stood up on stage before the crowd, Freddie's hand hovered over the second bowl, the one that bore thousands of other names and Tommy’s Prime knows how many times.
His hand didn't linger this time, just dipped into the paper filled bowl and drew out a second slip. Unfolded it. Held it up to eye-level. An action repeated for almost a century now by countless other people and probably almost thousands of names read out. Less than a hundred of those returned alive.
"Jack Manifold." A different last name to Niki's but despite that Tommy and hundreds of others knew they were twins. Twins from unmarried parents.
Oh fuck no. Tommy was NOT going to lose two people to these dreadful games.
Till Tommy's last days alive you could ask whether it was impulsive, Technoblade's heroism (as much as Techno would deny anything heroic) overcoming her or Tommy's own stubborn, stupid, selfless-for-those-she-cares-about nature that had over come him that forced the words from her mouth, whether he were laying in a spring field at eighty-three years old or choking on her own blood, she would not be able to answer why he'd blurted it out. The words he had no clue if he dreaded.
"I volunteer!" It shocked Tommy himself but the moment it was out she didn't stop. It was for Niki and not dying alone, alongside, for or watching her brother instead. For Jack. For every single other child that could've been in that place instead. "I volunteer as Tribute in Jack's place!"
Tommy tried his hardest to ignore the wail of despair from where the adults stood beyond the barbed wire fence.