Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lance was very familiar with the feeling of fear. Growing up, he had to be. Fear stemmed from his Grandfather ranting angrily, fear that somebody might hear. Fear everyday when somebody left; when he didn’t have them in his immediate sight because they just might never come back. If he couldn’t see them he may never see them again. He couldn’t go through that twice, not after what happened with his father.

He had fear that he’d be hurt, or even worse, somebody else might be. He feared the Capitol. He feared the faceless people in his nightmares.

Naturally, Lance was afraid. His sisters tried to calm him down, but his attention was always everywhere. He couldn’t focus for very long on anything, which made him a bit useless when the rest of the family was trying to work. Lance just didn’t understand the technology everyone else was working on. His District advanced Panem the most, plunging them all forward into new ages with new gadgets and gizmos, but Lance didn’t get it.

It scared him that he was useless.

His cousins needed watching over, of course. He was good with kids. He could play babysitter. But not when he was older. It wasn’t a real job.

The best he could do for everyone else was take up less space and eat less food. So they could have more. They deserved it more. They needed it more.

Lance wasn’t okay, he could barely make it from day to day (only his sisters, cradling him when he got nightmares and speaking softly when he couldn’t breathe and the world was tilting, talking with him all day and giggling and smiling like the Sun and convincing him that maybe he wasn’t a waste of space kept him going). Lance wasn’t okay, but he was leaving well enough alone.

--

Lance was tired. He’d had another nightmare last night, and had trouble getting back to sleep because he didn’t want to wake his sisters to help him calm down. They needed sleep. He’d laid on his back, looking at the ceiling through the night and imagined he was looking at stars with his sisters, but they had fallen asleep. He imagined that he was left to his wishes on the sky.

He was confused when his sisters woke him up, though. They never dress up, but they were wearing blue and red and yellow dresses, bows and tied up hair, and were cleaner than he’d seen them in a while. They didn’t look beautiful, though, as much as it pained him to say it, because they all looked upset. Scared.

Lance didn’t know what to do. Usually he was the scared one. What was going on? Was everyone okay? All at once, Lance realized how many people weren’t in the room right then and how many family members he could lose if he didn’t look for them and what was going on -

“Lance, today’s the day. You gotta get ready or Pops will get upset,” his sister said softly. She probably saw the panic in his eyes. He calmed down by the sound of her voice. Today’s the day? Today’s what day? What’s toda-

Oh.

Lance was struck by a wave of fear so strong he couldn’t breathe. Today was the day of the Reaping. Any one of them could be Reaped. Any one of them could be killed. He may never see his sisters again after today unless it was on TV, watching them being cut down an- nope nope not going there. Think about something else Lance.

Lance struggled with his thoughts for a moment, forcing them back onto a one-line path. Like a circut, his cousin would say. Follow the current of the electricity. Point A to Point B .

Today was the day of the Reaping. He had to get ready and look at least presentable. None of them will be Reaped. None of them will die. Nothing to fear, Lance. Nothing to fear.

With that, he took a deep breath and pushed himself out of bed to rummage for some clothes without holes.

--

He and his sisters hesitated at the same moment when they were made to split up and join their designated groups. He’d leave them. He may never again feel their arms around him or hear their voices talking him down or see them smile at him in a way that filled him with warmth and-

No, Lance. You’re going to see them again. It’s okay. None of you will be Reaped. Nothing to fear. Yeah, nothing to fear. Lance could work with that (there was still a knot of fear in his stomach that was so tight he felt like he needed to throw up but he could pretend, right?).

He smiled at his sisters, and hesitated a moment before saying “I’ll make dinner tonight and we can dance around the living room, all right? See if we can’t get Pops to join.” His sisters visibly relaxed (though not much) (shut up, Anxious Lance). They smiled at him.

“We all know you can’t cook for your life, Lancey. Tell you what, leave dinner to us and you dig out the record player so we have something to dance to,” his sister said. The others smiled more and nodded.

They were going to be okay.

They all held eye contact with each other, then turned, and got to their places in the crowd. Girls on the right, boys on the left.

Lance felt shrunken and intimidated. One kid with long black hair and a red jacket glared at him. His eyes were dark, and Lance was scared. The kid’s brother elbowed him. His older brother was wearing a light red color, and had metal in his face. Was that a piercing? How did he get a piercing? Did he do it himself with a needle and a piece of scrap metal? His hair was shorter than his younger brother’s, who, by the way, was still glaring at him.

Lance moved away from the strange, confusing people, and towards the front of the crowd. His hands were twitching, so he started tapping them nervously against his legs. His entire body tensed up when a lady stepped up onto the stage.

The blood pounding in his ears blocked out whatever she was saying. His brain was running a mile a minute. He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe -

She reached her hand in the bowl.

Everything stopped. His thoughts. His breathing. His heart. Everything except her hand. She dug around, finally grasping a slip of paper. She drew it up slowly, slowly- and opened it. Her eyes read the name. Her mouth turned up in a smile. Lance could hear over the rushing in his ears for one name-

“Keith Kogane.”

He was okay he was okay .

The kid who was glaring at him earlier stalked up to the stage, folding in on himself and hiding behind a curtain of his hair. Lance looked over at Keith’s brother and saw him standing stock still, open mouthed. His hands were reaching out slightly. Lance saw despair in his eyes. And fear. Lance felt bad for him.

But next thing he knew, the lady’s hand was in the bowl again. All at once, the anguish and fear hit him and he didn’t even attempt to hold it back. It drowned him in waves and his vision was going out around the edges and he couldn’t feel his limbs.

The lady called his sister’s name.

She was walking up to the stage.

Suddenly, a new emotion crashed through the fear. It boiled through him, giving him energy he didn’t know was physically possible. His vision snapped back, crystal clear and sharp. He saw his sister’s face. She looked like she was about to cry. She looked like she was trying to stay strong. She looked like she was trying to fix everything in her memory in case she never came back.

And Lance lost it.

They will not take his sister, not over his dead body.

He rushed forward then, darting and ducking his way through the crowd. Everyone looked after him with wide eyes. The guards ran to subdue him. He got to his sister and felt a flash of victory, a second of relief. Nothing to fear nothing to fear nothing to fear . The guards tried to pull him away from his sister. He fought them. His other sisters were there. They were all being held by guards. His Reaped sister was looking at all of them in awe and despair, brief flickers of hope, terror, sadness. Lance would not let them take her.

“I volunteer!” The McClain siblings shouted. All of them. There was a deafening silence. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. It was as if the world stood still.

“Well well,” the lady said, “Whatever shall we do here? While I’m glad to see that we have multiple volunteers and that you’re all so enthusiastic to fight in the Games, only one can go up. I believe there are rules for this... Yes! The Capitol states that when there is more than one volunteer, the accepted offer is that of the youngest child.”

The McClain siblings looked at Lance. Lance was shaking. They were all shaking. In that moment, they were afraid. But they were fire. They were burning. They were bright. You could not stop them, in that second. You could not stop them, not if you tried.

“Oh, wait! My apologies children but there simply must be a boy and a girl, so your, erm,   brother will have to step dow-”

“No!” Lance shouted desperately. It echoed through the plaza. Lance held eye contact with the lady. She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I will not . The Capitol has had two boys before when the female population was dwindling and the patriarchy had to be sure that they had full harems, the Capitol can do it again, or add me to the harems and suck my di -”

“ Young man! ” The lady said, affronted. Lance could see his sisters out of the corner of his eye. They looked like they would be laughing if they weren’t so scared. They looked at him and he saw fear in their eyes. He wanted to comfort them. They were afraid for him. They didn’t want to lose him. But this? This is what he could do for them. He could take the blow.

The lady continued to stare at him. Tight lipped. Tense. The entire plaza was tense. Nobody moved, nobody talked. The birds had stopped singing, the clouds had stopped rolling. They watched with bated breath at the stare down between Lance and the Capitol lady.

“Come up here, young man.”

Lance walked up to the stage, calmly. He didn’t shake. He didn’t waver. He stepped up the stairs, strolled to stand next to the lady. He saw his sisters, looking at him, horrified. He smiled at them reassuringly. The sister he volunteered for was crying. He saw his mother at the edge of the crowd, sobbing. The lady grabbed his wrist, and lifted his hand above his head, Keith’s on the other side.

“May the odds be ever in your favour. ”

Her grip on his wrist cut off his bloodflow.

--

Lance was caught in a net of arms from his sisters. He was sitting in the room where they allowed him to say his final goodbyes to his family. The fear was twisting in his stomach, but so was his anger. It was enough to keep him going. His sisters were hugging him, and none of them were talking. He knew they were crying. He was glad. They needed to let it out.

“We’ll never get the old record player working without you. How are we gonna dance the night away in the living room?” His sister’s voice was strained. Her throat was filled with tears and her arms were shaking as he hugged him. There was a collective lapse in breathing as they all mourned the reality of the situation.

“Remember the time we got everyone going? Even Pops and his bad back, even our grouchy cousin who never wanted anything to do with anything. We even got him to laugh,” Lance said. He wanted this moment, to think back. His last moment with them, because even if he was coming back, he was coming back a changed person. This was it, and he wanted to spend it not grieving, but happily bonding with his sisters. He wanted to be with them, one last time.

“I remember how when we were all upset after… father… you managed pull us up and away. I remember, we could look at you and see the stars, fly with the clouds,” Lance’s sister said. She was starting to cry, sobbing into his shoulder. Lance was shocked. To his surprise, though, his sisters were nodding. He thought back to when their father had died. They had all been a mess. They all felt six feet underground. He had no idea he had done anything then, he had only thought he was pulling them down, as usual.

“Yeah, I could always look over at you and see your face, light from all the times you’ve smiled, eyes bright with all the stars you stare at, and think, ‘Hey, maybe we can keep going. For him if nothing else.’ And you know, it worked.” Lance’s sister smiled at him. Lance felt his body flushing with happiness, burning through his bloodstream and pulsing with his heart. He smiled back at his sister, then all his sisters. Then they were all smiling at each other, and laughing, and Lance thought, I get this. I’ll have this. Forever, until the end, I’ll have this, at least. There’s nothing to fear, because I’ll have this.  

He sat with his sisters, laughing and chatting and just being together until their time was up. And when the guards walked through the door to collect him, the mood in the room instantly fell. He felt the now-familiar wave of despair and fear. It was so strong it left his limbs shaking. It was possible there were tears in his eyes. Possibly.

His sisters looked at him and he almost couldn’t bear to look in their eyes. They were crying again.

They all took a breath. At the same time. The McClain siblings were about to be split apart. And they were never going to be the same again. It was the end.

Lance went with the guards. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look back. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t cry.

--

Once Lance was on the train bound for the Capitol (bound for his death) ( shut up , Anxious Lance ), his fear was enough to cripple him and leave him sobbing on the ground. He was tempted to just stop , but he couldn’t. He had to see his sisters again, his mother, good old Pops. He had to.

In summary, he had an upset stomach.

It was made all the worse by this Keith kid. He wouldn’t stop glaring at Lance, as if he’d done something wrong. Lance was offended. What had he ever done to Broody McEdgelord over here? (That’s right Lance, joke all you can, distract yourself from the world falling down around you) Lance decided the best thing he could do was glare back, because if this kid wanted to compete, Lance would compete.

“Hello Tributes! Welcome to the train that’ll be taking you to the very heart of Panem; the Capitol! You will meet your Mentor for the Games, she’ll be joining us for dinner tonight, her name is Abra. Right now she’s most likely asleep, but she’ll with us at our meals and be helping you along with your training so that you don’t end up, well, skewered with a spear.” She looked at Lance when she said that last part. He had a bit of a reckoning she didn’t like him very much.

“Please show her proper respect as she is a well-known winner and a revered Mentor. If you pay attention, you might even learn one or two things. You will now be shown to your rooms. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

With that, the lady walked away without a second glance, probably mentally wiping herself free of responsibility for them. She left a cloud of overly sweet perfume in her wake.

-Keith-

Keith was doing pushups in his room. It was the best way that he could work off the stress. He liked to think that the anxiety washed out with his sweat. He made himself focus on counting, and absolutely nothing else.

It wasn’t going well, his thought process was somewhere along the lines of:

108, I’m going to be slaughtered, I’m not going to let myself be slaughtered, 111, Kevin looked so distraught, 113, He’s going to lose the only family he had left, And that’s my fault, 116, The lady’s grip on my wrist felt like a shackle, 118, Why don’t I just jump out the train window, 120, at least the Volunteer kid has a nice face, I won’t have to be stuck with somebody completely awful, 123, Stop thinking about the Volunteer kid Keith, 125, 126, 127, He has blue eyes, 129, He has stars in his eyes, 131, He cares so obviously about his siblings, 133, 134, 135, I am going to die.

Keith hoped the Mentor had some good workouts he could use. He seemed to need something more than pushups.

He stopped at 150 and resigned himself to sitting on the (extremely uncomfortable) bed and watching the world go by outside his window. He allowed his mind to go back to the gadget he was working on back before the Reaping. District 3 was known for technology and their advancements in it, but Keith always liked to make things that were simple. Do this to make this happen. Do that to make that happen. Not complicated, like people or politics. Gadgets didn’t ridicule him. The didn’t make excessive noise that hurt his brain. It was blessed, peaceful, simple silence. Just working and logic.

He let himself get lost in mental blueprints until the summons came for dinner.

Honestly, the train was overdone. The constant clacking of metal on metal was enough to drive him insane, but there was also the rustle of footsteps on carpet and people talking in hushed whispers. It was all loud enough to be a gunshot. The carpets were thick and hard to walk on, and a bright garish shade of red. The walls were covered in ugly paintings that probably had some sort of symbolism he didn’t care to know, and the view outside the window was gone too fast to appreciate.

The Dining Car was especially bad, with candles everywhere and excessive drapes and even more paintings and an extravagant wooden table covered in massive amounts of food. There was a musk in the air that overwhelmed him the moment he stepped in the room, and it made his eyes water. The lady from the Reaping was there, and so was another lady who must be the Mentor.

She looked up and gave him a crooked smile, but it nowhere near reached her eyes. Her eyes looked blank.

He sat down as far from everyone else as he could get, and immediately started stabbing at his food with one of the forks provided. He didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge their presence, because if he didn’t, they weren’t real, right? This wasn’t real, right?

He knew when the Volunteer walked into the room that it couldn’t be real. This kid walked past all the seats at the table to sit directly next to Keith .

The kid was joking, right? He turned to look at Keith, eyes starry (ugh, that sounded bad even in his head) and smile light, and said, “Hey, I’m Lance.”

Keith looked at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and going back to stabbing his food. He ignored whatever the crap it was his gut was doing and persistently ignored everyone at the table, and his own thoughts ( he’s so thin did he even eat back home? ). Somebody cleared their throat.

“This is Abra, and, as I said earlier, she will be your Mentor, hopefully she’ll be teaching you enough to get you through the Games. I’m going to give her the opportunity to speak, but you two may start eating as long as you make sure to still pay attention.” Keith heard the train door close with a sound that reverberated in the room, and with that, the Mentor started talking.

“Two boys this year? That’s a shame, we can’t have the greatest love affair of the century, the press loves that.” Her remark was met with silence. Keith’s food was ripped to shreds. He kept stabbing at it.

“I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say none of us want to be here. Too diddly-darn bad for us, cause we’re stuck on this God-forsaken train until we reach the Capitol, which is even worse. So I’m going to cut to the chase. I know both of you low-key want to die, but fundamentally want to survive. I’m your best bet at that, as well as your instincts. Your lives are in my hands, and if you want to make it, I suggest you listen to me as best you can. If we play our cards right, one of you will get out of this.”

Keith looked up at her. Her eyes weren’t so blank anymore. He felt a spark in his gut.

—

They arranged for training to start the next day, so Keith finished dinner quickly and got out of the Dining Car before he could be intercepted by the Volunt- by Lance, again. He could only assume from the twist in his gut that his instincts were saying not to talk to him.

Once he was in his room, Keith tried to read a book, but it didn’t help much. His attention kept wandering off the pages and back to his brother. With you to the end, he had said. We’ll make it, you and I, he had said. Where are you, Kevin? Where are you. Why are we apart.

Keith didn’t hear the knocks at his door. He didn’t hear the soft “Keith, are you okay? You seemed kind of out of it at dinner.” However, it did suddenly occur to him that there was somebody else in his room with him. “Get out ,” he growled, he didn’t care who it was. He heard the door shut and it was so loud he felt like he’d gone deaf.

He didn’t notice when the ringing stopped. He didn’t notice when the lights turned off. He didn’t notice when he fell asleep.

—

Kevin was gliding around the house, wiping things with a cloth and humming under his breath, swinging his hips to the tune.

“Kevin, what are you doing?”

Kevin whipped around, his face alight. “Baby Brother! ” Kevin picked Keith up and swung him around a few times, smiling and whistling his tune. Keith was confused.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m singing and dancing, Keith, it makes cleaning the house bearable.” Keith thought about this.

“Okay, well how? Can you show me?”

Kevin laughed again. He seemed so happy. That made Keith happy. Kevin should laugh more. It made him warm.

Kevin showed him how to dance like he was, how to whistle. Keith spent the rest of the day strolling around the house with him, humming and whistling and dancing with his brother.

Kevin smiled and didn’t critique when his baby brother was a bit off key, when his dancing was choppy and off-kilter. He laughed and sang with him. He liked seeing his brother’s eyes light up, so alive.

Kevin would make sure he stayed that way.

—

Keith dreamed of when he was younger. He reveled in the memory in the moment between wakefulness and sleep, but forgot it the second he opened his eyes.

All for the better, really. He didn’t need to remember what he was leaving behind.

-Shiro-

Shiro was surprised when his name was called at the Reaping, but he didn’t panic. He wasn’t leaving behind anything. He’d been trained to fight all his life. He was only worried that he’d have to look somebody in the eye and kill them. He truly would rather die himself.

He knew the moment his name left the mouth of the caller that he wasn’t going to win. He’d rather die than kill.

He knew he wasn’t coming back, and he was okay with that. Living in District 1 all your life keeps you privileged, but you’re also close to the Capitol. The politicians and patriarchy of Panem, also known as the Galra, were evil, evil people. What they’d done to him as a child…  He stepped on the train without complaint.

His partner, Allura, was nice. He knew the moment he saw her she could bring him to his knees, as well as the entire arena. She stood tall, proud. And, surprisingly enough, she smiled at him when he made eye contact. Her smile reminded him of the Sun. Her eyes reminded him of the crystals their District sold to the Capitol. Her hair looked like starlight cascading down her shoulders.

He smiled back at her.

They talked with each other at dinner, after their Mentor was done schooling them. She had a crisp sort of accent, and she turned, well, the only word for it was bright , when she excited. It was refreshing. Shiro decided that in a world full of shallow people and two-dimensional emotions, she was an outlier of the greatest fashion.

When he went to sleep that night it felt like he had fallen into water, and waking up it felt like he’d broken the surface, taking a breath of fresh air and time coming back from it’s slow-down.

Because these were his last days he wanted to spend them in comfort. That’s why he put on the most comfortable looking clothes he could find in the closet and didn’t brush his hair or take a cold shower, like usual. He was giving himself a break, not like anybody cared anyway.

When he got to the Dining Car, he padded to a chair and starting loading on the food. No diets, no cares. If he wanted potatoes, he would have potatoes, okay? He was a dying man, at least let him have his potatoes in peace.

When his Mentor came into the room, he knew peace was out the window. His Mentor looked around sharply, before his gaze landed on Shiro eating his potatoes.

“Where is the second Tribute? She needs to be here for us to start, and we need to start. There’s no time to waste.”

Shiro just shrugged, and hoped Allura would take her time. Not only to spite their Mentor, but also because he wanted to finish his potatoes (don’t judge him, they were really good potatoes). His Mentor grumbled, whether at Shiro’s lack of response or Allura lack of punctuality he didn’t know.

When Allura finally swept into the room with twirling skirts and a fierce look on her face, Shiro’s mood picked up a little, even if it meant that he was now running on limited time for his meal. Because Allura was shining, her smile was both wicked and soft at the same time, she moved with a deadly grace. Shiro couldn’t help but love being in her presence, she calmed him down while exuberating him. He hadn’t felt anything close to this in years. It was honestly pretty liberating. Shiro appreciated it, whatever it was,

Allura promptly sat down without so much as looking at their Mentor or addressing her lateness, only shooting a smile at Shiro before loading her plate with strange looking green goo and some salad (Shiro was confused, but to each his own?).

Near the end of breakfast Allura still hadn’t addressed anything, and the Mentor was practically fuming. Shiro had to suppress a laugh. Allura kept grabbing seconds so the meal didn’t have to end, and Shiro figured- why not ? And joined her. She gave an amused glance to him when he reached for seconds, and they shared a conspirative look before piling loads of food onto their plates. Shiro could see Allura’s shoulder shaking in silent laughter, and it made him smile. They each ate slowly and watched the progression of their Mentor’s anger, going from fuming to volcanic.

He finally lost his patience.

“Tributes! Are you going to take this seriously? This is your lives on the line!”

Shiro had to laugh. “Really? Cause I don’t think we’re in all that much danger.” Allura snickered through her food.

Their Mentor was red in the face. “It’s an attitude like that that’s going to get you killed! I’m trying to help you! You should be thanking me!”

Shiro looked him in the eye. He could tell he was freaking out their Mentor a little. So he smiled. “What would you have us do to prepare us for the games that we can’t do already? Cause I’ll do it right here, right now so you will finally give me peace to eat my potatoes.” Allura was cackling.

Their Mentor spluttered. Shiro didn’t break eye contact. “That’s what I thought.” And then he shoveled a few bites of potato in his mouth, because he deserved it. Allura hadn’t stopped laughing, and Shiro’s heart was singing from the fact that he’d made her smile.

He knew his last days might not be too bad.

-Hunk-

Hunk didn’t know what to do when he was Reaped. When he heard his name called, he just froze like a deer. He had no siblings who would volunteer for him, not that he’d want them to. He was stuck in this situation. It was slightly surreal. He thought to himself, surely this isn’t happening. But the guards grabbed his arms and tugged him down the pathway and he felt the bite of metal and his muscles moving and thought, it can’t be anything BUT real. With that realization, the breath left his lungs.

He’d skipped out on Career training his whole life, instead opting to help his family with the masonry business. If he ever expressed any anxiety about the Games, his aunt would just pat him on the head (even when he grew taller than her) and tell him “You’re a strong, brave boy. They’ll never take you down. Besides, you won’t be Reaped. Now get back to work on that granite or we’ll be eating dinner late.”  

His aunt was right, he was strong, but strength wasn’t enough to make it in the Games. He couldn’t pin his survival on the strength he’d gotten from working with stone all these years. He knew that. His vision was going out as the guards dragged him up the stairs.

The worst thing? He couldn’t kill. Hunk knew one thing for absolute sure, and it was that he loved his family. Also that he wasn’t a killer. Because he wasn’t. He couldn’t end somebody’s life. As he stood on that stage overlooking a solemn crowd, with his hand raised in the air above his head and his family crying at the fringes of the plaza, breath short and eyes unseeing, he realized he would have to become a murderer. Kill or be killed.

He felt a wave of disgust.

If it was kill or be killed, then he’d have to grit his teeth and face the latter.

--

Hunk still felt somewhat detached from what was going on around him. At least the food’s good, he thought to himself at dinner. He could appreciate good food, until he barfed it up, that is.

He could also appreciate the train’s design. It was fast and aerodynamic, but quiet. How did the tracks and train meet in order for that combination? Not to mention, it must be heavy with such big cars and all the furniture and people, so how did it propel itself so quickly? How much waste was being produced by the train?

Quite simply, he was fascinated by the design and it got him through the day to think about how it might work. The distraction stopped working when he figured it all out. It really was obvious in the end. He resigned himself to sleep.

His bed was extremely comfortable, but that was the problem. There was no support. The Capitol people were so impractical, Hunk had to laugh. Hunk had to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Maybe if he kept laughing he’d be happy again. He missed his family. He wanted to hug them, and work all day with them. He wanted to be back by their sides, not caught in a metal box speeding towards his inevitable death with a bunch of strangers.

Hunk laughed, not because his situation was funny, but because his situation was hopeless, and laughing was all he could do to keep his head above the water.

--

His laughter had died out by the time they were forced to go to dinner. Hunk was in awe of all the food on the table, there were so many choices and they all looked so lavish and delicious. Hunk wanted to eat all of it.

Then he saw the green goo and some mushy brown stuff.

Hunk wanted to eat most of it.

He situated himself in a chair and started serving himself some of the food that looked the most appetizing, all while wondering why the man from the Reaping hadn’t said anything, why he was just sitting there.

“The other Tribute’s a bit… young, don’t you think?” The man spoke up, quietly. Hunk almost didn’t hear him. When he realized he had, he spit out his food.

“A bit young? Are you kidding me? We’re all ‘a bit young’! We’re children for God’s sake! Literally none of us should be here, and you have the gall to sit there and ponder about some kid cause they’re short ? Or was it the big eyes that got you? Hey, maybe it was the glasses, or the unruly head of hair? Is that all it takes to give you people souls again, cause if so, stop murdering the population of children , and look at their heartwarming , starved , suffering faces instead! Hey, maybe you’ll get something out of it!”

Hunk didn’t know when he had stood up. Hunk didn’t know when he had left the room. Hunk found himself back in a too-comfortable bed that he couldn’t sleep in, looking at the ceiling of the train and wondering how he got here, of all places. Why wasn’t he working in the shop with his Dad, or cooking with Mom and Auntie May? Why wasn’t he out in the world he knew existed, somewhere, why wasn’t he there, with friends and something to live for? An easy smile and a happy laugh?

He heard light footsteps passing outside his door.

There was literally only one person on the train that it could be.

He pushed himself out of the bed and went to go follow his fellow Tribute, but not before slipping on a yellow hoodie. The train felt dark and cold and lonesome, he needed something.

He padded out into the hallway and down the corridors. He had a pretty solid idea on where the Tribute was headed. Going through one more train door confirmed his suspicions.

The Dining Car had a big table, and the single figure sitting at it looked particularly dwarfed. Hunk noticed they also were reaching for some of the cold leftovers from dinner. Hunk was already exasperated by them.

He moved to the wall and ordered some more food from the panel that the cooks left open at all times in case somebody needed a “healthy” snack. He got some semblance of a good meal for the kid (oh who was he kidding, he got a masterpiece of a dish and could only hope his efforts would be appreciated) and brought it over to the table, dropping it in front of the Tribute’s face.

They looked up at Hunk and seemed confused. Mostly tired.

“Why’d you make me a dish…?”

“Why are you awake at this hour of the morning is the more appropriate question here,” Hunk said, yawning widely. The Tribute grinned, and it looked downright wicked.

“Sleep is for the weak. I’m Pidge, since we ought to know each other’s names and all,” Pidge stated, digging into the meal with a gusto Hunk supposed only short, sleep deprived people could.

“I’m Hunk, and I refuse to make any sort of accomplice out of you until you develop a regular sleep schedule. ”

“You were up too,” Pidge pointed out, gesturing with their fork.

“You’ve got me there. These beds are just too comfortable.” Pidge laughed at Hunk’s comment.

“I know what you mean. None of this is practical. It would be of much better use if they just added some support to the bedframe, and like six more springs in the mattress. They could even use shaped aluminum, so no level of comfort would be lost , only gained by the added structure.” Pidge said it all through a mouthful of food, and their face started to look sheepish once they were done. They were embarrassed for the tangent. Hunk decided against letting them get away with that.

“Right dude? And I was thinking roughly the same sort of thing for these chairs, they’re made so much more for lounging and comfort and not at all for eating. They need to be straight backed, and maybe instead of leather and feathers they could’ve used, like, vinyl over a padded base, so much more for the structure side of things.” By the end Pidge had turned their head to look at Hunk, astonished.

But not by the fact that he was smart, no, from what Hunk could tell, Pidge was surprised because he was smart.

Hunk felt bad for the kid. Not many people could probably keep up with them in conversation through the years.

Guess he’d have to change that.

Pidge’s wicked grin slowly grew back on their face, a glint developed in their eye.

The two talked the night away.

-Pidge-

Pidge was used to the gender-normativity found in Panem. They honestly didn’t know whether they’d be in the boy’s or girl’s Reaping bowl, or if they should be on the boy’s or girl’s side of the plaza. Heck, Pidge didn’t even know if they were a girl or a boy. It was best when they were neither, it was safer to be neither. Pidge felt best when they were just neither.  Hearing “He” or “She” just stressed them out. Them. Easy. Simple. Vague. Safe. Familiar. Somewhere deep down: Right.

Pidge stuck to the edges of the girl’s side of the plaza, just in case they were in the Reaping bowls as a boy. Not that they’d be picked, no, that’s a ridiculous assumption. There were easily thousands of slips of paper in the Reaping bowls, and the thought that Pidge would be picked was simply absurd.

Pidge prepared themself to space out as the ceremony began, already thinking about another gadget they could make out of scrap metal to help them and their mom get by without doing much masonry. That’s how Pidge helped the house. Their mother was sick and tired couldn’t really work, so it was up to Pidge to do what they could.

When their name was suddenly proclaimed to the entire square, Pidge froze. All their thought processes froze. It felt like everything froze. WhatdoyoumeanIhavetogototheGameswhataboutmomshecan’tprovideforherselfandhowamIgonnasurviveI’msmallandcan’tstandtemperaturesbeneath60degreesFarenheitwhatwhatwhatwaitno.

Pidge was dragged by guards up to the stage. They immediately searched for their mother on the sides of the plaza. She looked more pale than usual. She looked tense. Her hands were raised slightly, as if she wanted to take hold of Pidge and keep them close to her forever. Pidge could only think about how she would have no one to take care of her. Pidge remembered something that she said about Pidge having a father and brother that worked on building trains and were shipped off to another District… Lot of good their family is doing them now. They should be here, for mom, for Pidge.

Pidge’s arm was raised in the air and Pidge’s mom was crying and Pidge could only look at the distant forest landscapes and imagine freedom. Imagining themself as a lion, running through the trees, far, far away from everything.

“May the odds be ever in your favour!”

--

When Pidge got on the train they went directly to their room (of course they knew where to find their room, they weren’t an idiot) and fell down on the bed. The pillows floofed around them and they just rolled themself up in a blanket, closed their eyes, and breathed evenly. In, out. In, out. In, out.

Pidge imagined themself as a lion running through the forest, and didn’t open their eyes. Pidge didn’t belong in this world. This world was ones and twos. This world was civilians and government. This world was black and white. This world was people and gods. But Pidge? Pidge was a decimal, Pidge was a vigilante, Pidge was green, Pidge was a lion .

Pidge didn’t fit where they were put. They imagined themself in a place where they belonged until they were forced out to dinner by their growling stomach.

They put on a neon green shirt before leaving the room.

-Lance-

The train finally arrived at the Capitol, and they were about to meet the other Tributes. Not that he’d really met any yet, Keith still refused to so much as make eye contact with him. Frankly, it was disquieting. He still didn’t understand what he’d done to upset the guy, but the only thing he could do from there was try to get him to like him, or compete with him until the bitter end because Lance had to beat him if it’s the last thing he di - or maybe no thoughts about death.

His thought pattern had been running wild the past couple of days. The steady clacking of train on track was enough to keep him sane, he could focus on it, but he really needed more than just a little bit of white noise to completely focus.

Lance wasn’t sure he’d ever completely focused in his life, but still.

So he was excited to meet other Tributes (he’d also be excited to not die, thanks ) (oh great, Anxious Lance is sarcastic now that’s just wonderful -) and see what their personalities were like. Maybe he could form alliances? He began to think about the strategic advantages of that but he didn’t get very far. Forward thinking wasn’t exactly his strong point. He could hardly stay on one line of thought for 10 seconds anymore, his anxiety and stress were spiking and he couldn’t think clearly at all. Maybe if he had friends or somebody to talk to (like his sisters) (nope nopenopenopenopenope Lance do not think about them ) then he’d be able to calm down, but since Keithy Buddy over here seemed to think Lance was a vampire or some other crap, that was out of the books.

Except for right now. Because they were going to meet the other Tributes and Lance might have a chance among these kids. He was practically buzzing as the Mentors explained the training room to them, he couldn’t sit still.

Once the Tributes were finally ( finally ) excused to go train, Lance lept up and looked around for somebody he wanted to talk to first. He needed potential allies who were skilled, but also good people. He needed capable, he needed kind.

The first pair that really caught his eye were two tall, gangly kids wearing loose clothing who had an obvious color tint to their skin. Just what had the Capitol fed these people? Lance walked up to them to say hi, ask what district, make conversation. They just stared at him. Lance tried a smile. Their eyes made him feel uneasy. He could see they were from District 10, and tried bringing that up. Neither of them spoke to him, their mouths were twisted strangely and they seemed confused and calculating at the same time. Lance didn’t know how they pulled that off, but they did . They didn’t seem too keen on talking any time soon. He turned on his heel and walked away, feeling a bit dejected. This might be harder than he thought. In a couple days he’d be fighting to the death with these people, what was he even doing he should be-

“Bro, you trying to talk to Pitt and Xan? They speak a different language you know, so does Swanky- Mr.Sharp over there. They’re learning English I think, but for now conversing with them is kind of a dead end.”

Lance turned around to see who was informing him of this inconvenient language barrier, because surely they had to be nice if they caught on to him feeling poorly and came over to help. The sight Lance was granted with as he turned around was an amazing one.

He saw a large Tribute who seemed to be from District 2, wearing mostly yellow clothes and had dark brown skin, black hair, and a smile on his face. Lance would swear he was seeing the Sun itself, he was so bright and happy and warm. Lance had the strong instinct to hug him, but felt that would be crossing a line.

But maybe later.

The Tribute stuck his hand out, “I’m Hunk, District 2, Masonry.” His smile didn’t waver. Lance was in awe.

“I’m L-Lance, District 3, uh, babysitting mostly?” Hunk chuckled at Lance’s response. Lance felt honest-to-goodnessly starstruck by this Tribute.

“You look sorta lost right now, buddy, wanna come train with me and Pidge?”

Lance just nodded and followed Hunk toward a section of the training room that was working on plant identification and specification. Lance felt a little lost looking up at the screen, but quickly realized he knew a lot of the healing plants. He’d needed to for when one of his little cousins got hurt. He felt less lost the more he looked at the screen, with his brain finally starting to concentrate a little, now that he was around busy people in a room and Hunk had a hand on his shoulder and his stress levels were lowering.

“Lance, this is Pidge, the other Tribute from District 2. Pidge, Lance,” Hunk introduced them. Lance pulled his eyes away from the screen to see a short kid staring at it hypnotically. He could see the lights reflecting off his glasses. “A lot of the districts have two boys this year… I don’t know why I had to fight to get in,” Lance muttered. Apparently not quietly enough. Pidge stiffened significantly and Hunk turned to him quickly, making a confused and surprised sound. Lance took note of Pidge’s uncomfort and filed it away to think about when Hunk wasn’t asking questions.

“What do you mean ‘fight to get in’? Do you want to be here?” Hunk looked slightly disgusted.

The thought of Hunk being disgusted by him sent a shot of ice to his core. Lance never really had friends besides his sisters, and he’d gone so long without human connection… not to mention Hunk seemed to be a legitimate angel sent from Heaven and a blessing to all those he gazed upon. Lance also felt unsettled by the fact that anyone could want to be in the Games, let alone that he would.

“No no no no no no, I volunteered to take the place of my sister, but my other sisters were also volunteering and I couldn’t let them suffer the Games so I had to be sure I was the one that got picked and I ended up telling the Capitol lady that the government officials could suck my di-”

He was cut off by Hunk’s laugh. A wave of comfort and happiness shot through him at the sound; it was so calming, and he felt proud that he’d gotten Hunk to laugh, and relieved he hadn’t managed to mess up his first friendship already. Hunk clapped him on the shoulder again.

“Respect, man. Both for the brave move of volunteering for your siblings, and for telling the government to suck your d-”

“Can we stop talking about sex, please and thank you,” Came a sudden voice. Lance turned to see Pidge, mildly irritated and standing ramrod straight. His movements were jerky as he manipulated the screen, his face was twisted. Lance thought for a moment about how he could’ve made Pidge upset; it couldn’t be the ‘fight to get in part’ because he just explained himself for that. It had to have been the ‘Two boys’ comment. Which meant-

Oh.

Oh.

One of Lance’s sister’s friends acted like this once when Lance called him a her. He’d since learned a lesson or two about gender. He’d questioned his own for a while. Pidge… was he a she? Lance thought back to what his sisters had told him to do in such a situation. He hesitated a moment before addressing Pidge, thinking about the best way to go about this.

“Hey Pidge, can I, uh, talk to you in private, for a minute?”

Pidge turned... his? Her? Their. Pidge turned their head to look at Lance, and there seemed to be a bit of fire behind hi- their gaze.

“Sure.”

They walked over to a part of the room where nobody would hear them talk. Pidge’s body language was guarded and he- they were obviously feeling uncomfortable and threatened, but also mad. Lance sighed. He’d already dug his grave, now he needed to try and make his bed, or something like that.

“Look, I erm, agh.” He scratched the back of his head. He didn’t know how to go about this. Pidge was smirking evilly. He couldn’t see past their glasses lenses. “Pidge I just- uhm.” He dropped his face into his hands and told his mind to go on a one track path. Nothing to fear, nothing to fear, take the plunge. He only had to ask, to try and get rid of the animosity. Making people uncomfortable was one of the things Lance felt the worst about. In a world where the only thing he could do was validate other people’s existence, doing the opposite put him out of place and made him feel like he was falling and falling. He didn’t want to do anything to anyone that made them feel bad. Not to mention, from what he’d heard from his sister’s friend, people with gender issues already have it really hard. He wanted to do what he could to make sure Pidge felt comfortable, at least around him, because what else could he do in this world? Because what else had Pidge been denied in this world?

He could do this. He had to do this. For Pidge, if nothing else.

He looked up at Pidge. “What are your pronouns?” He asked, quietly, hesitantly.

Pidge looked genuinely shocked. Their glasses were starting to reflect less light and Lance could see hi- their. Their their their. Their eyes were brown They looked honestly shaken, and their eyes were going glossy. Lance was starting to panic, worried he’d made a mistake and made Pidge feel worse.

“Hey look, buddy- sorry I presumed things can we ju-”

“Nobody’s ever asked me that before,” Pidge said, voice filled with wonder. Huh. Huh? That was just outrageous. People should respect other people, and it’s easy to tell when somebody isn’t comfortable and everyone in this society is just as real and valid as the other and presuming such big things about them is poisonous to everyone and really it isn’t that hard to just be nice to other people, and somebody with gender crap going down in their heads should be just as loved and respected as everyone else and since when have I been talking out loud.

Lance really needed to get over his habit of rambling when gets nervous. Pidge just looked at him, and there was such a big smile on their face, Lance was afraid it would split in half. Pidge looked- happy.

“I feel so… free. They/them, Lance. I go by they/them and that feels so good to say. ” And then Pidge was laughing (because they felt such strong emotions inside they needed a way to get them out) and Lance was starting to laugh with them because it’s so good when people are happy and it’s so good when people are laughing and it’s so good when Lance makes people happy and laugh and honestly, laughing is infectious, and he was gonna die in a couple of days, so why not?

So, Lance and Pidge stood there and laughed with each other, feeling real and free and alive. There is good somewhere in the world and I feel a lot of it resides in this child’s laugh, Lance thought merrily. He and Pidge couldn’t stop laughing. It was relieving.

-Keith-

The training center they threw all the Tributes in was a big and dark room, filled wall to wall with equipment to prepare them for the Games. Keith was a bit overwhelmed by the complexity of it all, with so many people in the big room at the same time and so many things going on at once and constant chatter and echoes and bangs and just-

He avoided looking at anyone and went to the quietest training site he could find in the room. He scanned the screen and the rules before tugging a sword off the wall and walking into the simulator.

He could lose himself in the steady motion of taking down the drones one by one. He could clench his fists and sweat out the stress.

He slowly let his brain slide into training mode, his last conscious thought was “ Finally, no more thinking. ” After that, everything was action and reaction, the pull of his muscles and the slash of the sword, the glowing eyes of the drones and the metal of their bodies being cut in half before rebuilding back into a fighter-bot.

When he came out of the simulation, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, the cacophony of noises in the room was easier to deal with. His brain had calmed down.

He had no idea how long he’d been in there with the drones. When he heard someone approaching him, he sporadically figured he could go train longer, and promptly turned to reenter the simulation.

A hand on his arm stopped him, and he tensed up under the touch. He whipped around, batting the hand away and bringing his sword up in one motion. He was breathing heavily again, and was ready to-

“Hey, Baby Brother.”

Keith froze.

“Figured you’d be happier to see me,” Kevin smirked. Keith was still frozen.

Kevin?

How did Kevin get here? He was wearing a Tribute’s uniform, did that mean he was going to participate in the Games? How did he even get Reaped from District, uh, 12? Why did he have a District 12 Tribute uniform?

Keith hadn’t stopped staring at Kevin, feeling conflicted between awe, horror, and relief. Kevin was here with him! But Kevin was here with him. How did Kevin get here with him?

Kevin smirked more, struck a cocky pose and said, “You’re probably wondering how I got here.” Keith nodded mutely at his brother. His brain couldn’t keep up with the situation. What was going on? Why was Kevin here? He didn’t want Kevin to be here, as much as we wanted to be around Kevin, because if Kevin was here then Kevin would be playing in the Games and if Kevin was playing in the Games he might die. He really didn’t want Kevin to die.

Keith realized Kevin was looking at him now with a look he had learned was concern.

“I know you want to talk, because you always do, you’re such a chatterbox, but we’ve gotta talk to my partner from the coal-mining-hell we call a District before going any further with this conversation.”

Keith took a deep breath and nodded. He shoved his sword back on the wall and followed his brother across the room. He was careful to keep his eyes directly ahead and pointedly did not think about anything .

Kevin stopped before somebody wearing the District 12 Tribute uniform, but Keith wasn’t convinced he was a Tribute, let alone from District 12. He was tall enough to tower over everyone, and looked slightly blue in the lighting. It was almost like his brain was playing tricks on him, but every feature of him was sharp, even his smile. It made him look wicked.

He spoke in harsh sounds with Kevin, and Keith could only assume it was a language. It was strange, because as rough as it sounded, the letters rolled together in a lilting pattern that felt like you were in the ocean during a thunderstorm.

Keith was so caught up in his imaginings he didn’t notice when both his brother and the tall Tribute had stopped talking to look at him.

“Keith,” his brother’s voice was hushed, “Swanky here has a language translator so that you can understand what we’re saying. It connects to your ear and intercepts brainwaves, and has a mic so you can speak, too. Would you be okay if I hooked you up?” Keith was quiet, considering.

“Sure, okay.”

The conversation they were about to have was probably going to be intense, if it had to be communicated in a different language.

Once he was hooked up with the technological translator, Shark Boy turned to fully face him. This close, Keith could tell this kid was tall . Sharky glowered at him, and even though Keith probably should have been intimidated, his gut was telling him there was really no threat here.

“You’re shorter than most of these gnomes,” Sharky said. Keith wanted to laugh.

“You’re taller than most of us gnomes,” He responded.

Sharky smirked, and held out a hand, saying “I’m Swanky, District 12, revolution planner and all around genius.”

Keith didn’t shake Swanky’s hand, but understood, abruptly, why Kevin was here (though he was still unsure as to how he got here).

It occurred to Keith that possibly all of them would get out of this. It occurred to Keith that if they successfully pulled off this “revolution”, this could be the end of an era, and not everyone would have to die. Not him and Kevin. Not Lance- Lance could go back to his family. They could all go back to their families. He felt the spark from before rising up in him again, this time burning differently, brighter, into a fire .

He wanted to pull this off, not only for him and Kevin, but for everyone else in this room. He looked at Swanky, who was standing with his hands on his hips and a confident grin (Kevin was mirroring him). He looked at them and asked, “So, what do we do?

-Haxus-

Haxus wasn’t worried about the Games. He was naturally strong, and fearless, and the rest of the Tributes looked like legless whelps. His best friend, Sendak, had been Reaped for the Games, and as an unspoken rule between the two, Haxus had volunteered. The Reaper almost turned him down for his gender, but one look at him and Sendak and they were off to the Capitol on a train.

He and Sendak had been secretly training for the games their whole lives. Working in the lumber industry in District 7 leaves you good with an axe, at least. Sendak excelled at fistfights, though, having trained on the kids around the forest.

“I’m the artist,” he always said, “They are the canvas, and I color them purple and black.”

Haxus couldn’t help but look up to him, he had brute force and surprising cunning behind him. Back when they were kids, there had been an incident regarding cut down trees, loose topsoil, and unsteady rock mountains. Sendak had lost his right eye. Even being in one of the poorer Districts, he didn’t let that stop him. He bullied some wimpy, nerd-type kids into getting him fixed up with a replacement. Sendak let nothing stop him or derail him from his goal, and Haxus admired that about him. Haxus admired everything about him.

Theirs was a terse friendship, mostly nods and glares and glances and orders, but Sendak couldn’t deny that they made a good team. Sendak was unbeatable without Haxus, but unstoppable with him.

So when they got Reaped, it was no question really that they’d end up together and win the Games. Three step plan:

1. Get in the Games
2. Win the Games
3. Profit

Because they would profit. Spend the rest of their lives living luxuriously in the Capitol. What more could a person want? They’d have glory, they’d have money, respect, power. The list goes on. Haxus knew they had nothing to worry about really, not against this bunch of Tributes.

Except for District 5. They might run into a problem from those two. Why, you ask? Well, you see, growing up, it hadn’t always been just him and Sendak. There had also been Zarkon and Haggar. Those two were best friends and the undoubted leaders of the group. They’d been transferred to District 5 when they showed prevailing skills in the electricity market instead of lounging in the forest all day. They’d never really seen each other again.

But here they were, Zarkon and Haggar, Tributes in the Games, just the same and Sendak and Haxus. Haxus was worried about the problem they presented. He knew that beating them separately would be possible, but not if those two stayed together.

The moment the Mentors allowed them to go off on their own to train, Sendak got up without a word and stalked over to Zarkon and Haggar. Haxus followed him without hesitation. No words were exchanged between the four as they all set off for the same training center. This was why they worked so well; there was no question as to who was in charge, they were all so like minded, and where one lacked, even a little, somebody else picked up.

They broke the record for the highest score in the training room.

-Matt-

The worst day of Matt’s life was when he was spirited away from his home and his family to go work in District 8 because the workforce was weak and he and his father fit the description of eligible laborers. They had been shipped off, away from his sickly mother and younger sister. Matt thought he’d never see them again, and despaired every day afterwards.

The second worst day of Matt’s life was the day he was called for Reaping, because he knew he was going to die. He’d always held some hope that hey, maybe someday he’d see his family again. But now, it would be the other way around. His family would see him. Being slaughtered. Maybe not the most pleasant thought.

He’d walked proudly up the stage when he heard his name called, and his only calming thought had been that his father was retiring soon and would be sent home to Mother. They could comfort each other over his death. His father could talk to Pidge all day and read her stories at night. Knowing his family was going to be happy and was going to survive had kept him on the train. Shay, his fellow Tribute, had similar familial problems. Shay was a girl who’d stepped in for her sister, saying family was the most important thing and she couldn’t let her little sister suffer the Games. The Reaper didn’t dare defy Shay’s death stare.

Shay and Matt comforted each other on the train by telling one another stories. Of family, of friends, of hope, of faraway lands and knights in shining armour. In the end, it was, of course, ridiculously childish, but they both needed it. People in Panem grew up too fast.

His Worst Days list (and his mental health) had been fairly sound, until the very moment Matt stepped into the training room. His eyes had instantly scanned to see who he would be facing, who his opponents were, and he felt any confidence he held dwindling by the minute.

And then he saw her.

His sister . It had to be her, it had to be, the two of them looked exactly alike, and he could see the birthmark on her cheek. Reality hit him like 4 tons of steel; His sister was there , and she might probably die .

Matt’s hands started twitching. He wanted to go up to her, say hi, hug her. He wanted to catch up. He wanted to wrap her in a blanket and take her away from the ugly bloodbath of the Arena. He could do none of these things. It was likely she didn’t even remember him.

The Mentors released them to their own devices. Matt kept an eye on his sister even as he went to a different part of the room for training. He picked a semi-mundane skill to train, one he’d learned long ago. He needed a task he only had to use half a brain for so he could keep an eye on Pidge. She was right now the #1 priority, but he still needed to keep up appearances of trying so the Mentors wouldn’t hound him.

He watched like a hawk as a lanky stranger with a jittery attitude and an easy smile approached the station Pidge was at. The large yellow Tribute that Pidge had been spending time with was leading the stranger. He watched Pidge stiffen at something the stranger said. His hands were now shaking too much to be doing anything productive, and his blood ran hot.

Matt dropped the project he was working on and started to get up so he could run over there and bring this stranger down. He didn’t trust him, so yeah, call Matt overprotective, but Pidge was his little sister and he would ensure her safety. No matter what.

He stood up like he’d been electrified when Pidge walked into a secluded corner with the stranger- what was she doing? Matt made his way over towards the corner, steps determined and face fierce, ready to put an immediate stop to anything the stranger tried to pull on her.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Pidge start to laugh. And laugh. The stranger was laughing too. They both looked like they were drowning in complete happiness. Pidge was holding her stomach and the stranger was doubled over, they were both laughing so hard. It was the most weighted sound in the world, these laughs. His blood cooled down at the sight of a smile on his sister’s face, so big it looked like she might never stop smiling.

Matt stood where he was, letting his heart beat calm itself from the race it’d started the moment he saw his sister. A hand on his shoulder was enough to make it spike right back up there, though.

Matt felt adrenaline shoot through his body as he jumped roughly 6 feet in the air. His glasses were askew. He couldn’t see the stranger that had just so violently attacked him , he could only a yellow form of something. The tribute was laughing, and it was a warm, jolly sound. Matt adjusted his glasses so he could actually see what was going on.

His sister and the stranger had come up to stand with the yellow Tribute, who was from District 2, it looked like. And the stranger was from District 3. 2 was looking at him strange, and almost seemed confused by his presence.

“Did you want the plant study center? Because if so we can leave and you can set up here…” 2 let the sentence drag off. Matt didn’t know how to explain what he was doing without revealing the fact that Pidge was his sister. And he didn’t want to   drop a bomb like that in a group of people she’d only known for a few days.

Matt just mumbled out an excuse like, “I couldn’t read the sign from over where I was,” and stumbled back to his previous section of the room, made specifically for doing completely mundane tasks while questioning your life’s choices.

-Shiro-

After the first day of getting used to the training room and its facilities (as well as its other occupants), Shiro felt a bit more at ease where he was. Sure, he realized the seconds were counting down to the moment he’d step into the Arena, but he also knew he could handle anything thrown at him by the Galra at this point.

He’d stuck with Allura the first day, going between exercising and fight simulations and trivia. General preparation. Shiro knew how to tie 15 more knots than he did yesterday. Allura had laughed and her eyes had dazzled. The light bounced off her dark skin, making her look both perfectly at home where she was and completely out of place in the sense of otherworldliness.

When he’d said he felt he had no motivation for training all day, she’d made a competition out of it.

“So, that means I can do more pushups than you.”

“That’s not what I said, Allu-”

“But it’s what I heard,” She flashed a wicked smile.

Shiro had learned that day never to go head to head against Allura, and he also learned that Allura could beat him at nearly anything, even arm wrestling. She had faster reaction times and made better decisions, she handled a blade expertly and could knock you out with close to no effort. Shiro found it exciting to compete against her, trying his best to match her pushup for pushup, even just to see that challenging, yet impressed look on Allura’s face when he managed to keep up.

Near the end of the day, they’d approached a simulator at the same time as a different pair of Tributes, who looked moderately apprehensive. One was tall, with styled red hair and bright eyes, and the other had multicolored hair, pastel shades of red, yellow, blue and green, and were short but lithe. They seemed to be from District 4.

Shiro noticed the subtle change in Allura’s demeanor, and was downright shocked when she asked if they wanted to go into the simulator as a group. The other Tributes looked surprised, but the redhead warily accepted the offer.

By the time the four of them had exited the simulator, they were laughing together with an easy sense of camaraderie. Coran and Mice were good fighters and hard workers. Coran had cracked jokes that made Shiro laugh on more than one occasion. Mice had a strong arm despite their small body.

He and Allura were in agreement that they would be good training partners at least, if not good allies in the end when they were together in the Arena. Although Coran reminded him of a strawberry and Mice was, well, mousy, Shiro could tell they had potential, and Allura had come to the same conclusion.

Shiro asked her that night how she knew they would be good to have around when she invited them into the simulator. She only smiled and said, “With hair like that? We couldn’t go wrong with those two.” At that, she spun and walked down the hallway towards her room, and Shiro wondered whether he had seen her clench her fists at her sides, or if his brain had created an image of having her do so.

Shiro thought, at first, that he couldn’t have seen what he thought. Allura was always, well, strong and unbreakable. She had composure. She wouldn’t let her fists clench. So did that mean it was involuntary?

Shiro knew it was insensitive, but he thought there was no way that Allura would be shaken by anything, let alone some training partners that they had picked up out of nowhere, or her reasons for doing so.

He almost followed her to her room to see if she was all right, but it was possible he was overthinking a hand gesture. Of course Allura was stressed. They were all stressed. The situation they were in was cause for some bad mental problems , the fact that Allura had any composure at all was a wonder in and of itself, and told you just how strong she was.

Shiro knew he would be there for her when she needed help. Shiro knew when to stay away even if she did need help, because even though she needed it, it would only make it worse if he gave it.

Crying out in a room over the fact that they were all being sent to a gladiator-style doomsday was bad, but having somebody you were either going to have watch die or kill by your own hand would only make it worse. Shiro didn’t want to do that to her.

Sometimes you just need to cry. Sometimes you just need peace. Shiro could give her that, and nothing else. As of now, they were stripped of anything else. Until they won the Games, that is. But at that point, they’d be stripped of their humanity, and what’s the point of having anything without having that?

You don’t come out of the Games alive, and you don’t go into the Games functional. In Panem, you’re Reaped, and then you’re down and out. It was a black hole of laughing Galra and steel rooms and sharp edges and harsh breathing and bark beating your skin and the whole time an underlying current of hopelessness and despair because there’s nothing you can do.

It was funny. Shiro had given up hope for anything long ago, had kept any emotion he could at bay so he wouldn’t be flooded over. They were coming back. It was freeing. But it was also the worst possible thing that could have happened to him.

Shiro felt worn out and worse for wear at the brunt of it.

-Allura-

Allura couldn’t breathe when she got Reaped. She thought for a moment that maybe they’d sniffed her out, maybe they’d found her.

But then she realized that if the Galra had really found her out, she’d be suffering worse than the Games. No, it wasn’t deliberate, her luck was just that bad.

As a kid, things had been relatively simple. They’d been nice, even. She’s lived with her family, happy in her house and happy with her life. She’d shrieked with joy and shouted for glory and cried from laughing. She’d loved with a fire so strong it consumed her and fell so bad she broke bones, but she always got back up again.

She’d run down hallways and drink concoctions on dares. She’d resewed her clothing and made it actually look good, she’d cooked dinner for her family and made it actually taste good. She’d slid down staircases, rolled in snow. She’d looked at stars and wondered who was on the other side, of times long passed. She’d read books of miracles, had climbed trees and looked at the world below her.

Then she’d been taught of the world.

Of the Galra, the oppression, the murder and the lies and the deceit. With every syllable formed from the speaker’s mouth, Allura’s world became darker around the edges, her soul tinged with red. Anger.

Allura’s eyes lost their sparkle and were replaced with fire. She’d begun running for stamina, training for fights. She’d climbed trees to spy for Galra planes, she’d rolled in snow to duck and cover, disguise herself. She’d changed, nearly everything had.

But she still carried around the same old books she’d stolen from the library. The ones that had made her world so much bigger, that made her heart sing and her brain move from the barracks to hills and skies and waters in a vibrant, lovely world.

One day her alarm was replaced by a sound that haunted her nightmares. It was the bomb bells ringing.

They were being bombed by the Galra.

She sprinted through the hallways against the flow of the crowd to get to her father. She knew he would be near the control room, he wouldn’t go to the shelters. I won’t let my father die, she vowed to herself then and there, not if it’s the last thing I do.

The control room was practically empty, and the video feed showed Galra airships descending upon the District. Allura felt panic shoot through her limbs with the adrenaline. She’d grabbed her father’s arm, pulled desperately. He hadn’t followed, no matter how she pleaded or threatened. She’d cried, and he only held her face in his hands and wiped the tears away.

The airships were getting closer, and she couldn’t breathe. She begged for her father to go with her to the shelters. She cursed the Galra for doing these things. She cursed the earth and the sky for harbouring them. She cursed the tears running down her face and the books she’d read as a child.

In that moment, Allura felt her heart break like a blow to her chest. Those books had only given her false hope and petty daydreams. Her childhood of light slipped through her fingertips in that moment, with her father smiling tenderly at her and red alarm beacons flashing the world into a dark color. The sirens were blaring, the airships were roaring, and Allura heard her father’s final words to her.

She didn’t remember what they were.

He pushed her into a Preservation Pod. It was new technology they’d just developed, and nobody had any real reason to use one yet. She understood with painful clarity what her father was doing, and she screamed, raw and deep and real and so full of every feeling she’d undergone through the years.

The loss of innocence.

The pain of empathy.

The snap of bones.

The sting of blood.

The despair of sirens.

In that moment, everything was too real to be surreal, but too surreal to be real.

She pounded on the door of the Pod as it slid shut, still screaming. Tears ran down her cheeks and into her mouth, along with sweat. She couldn’t feel any of her limbs and breathing was getting harder by the second. Her father never looked away from her, never stopped smiling fondly. Reassuringly. The screen on the Pod was slowly falling shut, her body was slowly shutting down, but none of it fast enough to spare her the sights.

She saw the Galra finally reach her District.

She watched the bombs fall.

She saw the fire burst through the walls, almost in slow motion.

The Pod finished its shutdown and Allura couldn’t breathe.

--

When she took her first breath after waking up, it was followed by a sob. She didn’t know why. It was the first thing her body did. She looked around, collected her bearings. Memories were slipping back into her brain, and her limbs were growing heavier by the second. Tears from long ago left her eyes as the final moments came back, and she mourned.

But she’d walked again. She got herself through the forest to District 1, somehow. It was all blurred. Everything. She grieved that she didn’t have many memories of her past. She knew she was from the 13th District. She knew she’d had a good childhood, that she tried to save her father. She remembered fire.

In District 1, she learned what had happened in full, how much time had passed. It was beginning to jog her memory. She also came to know that the hollow look in her eyes scared people. She gritted her teeth and forced a smile. It hurt. She couldn’t breathe through the grin. She ate more, now missing the disgusting food from her home District. She trained again, falling into familiar motions as a therapeutic method for dealing with herself.

She’d immersed herself in the society presented to her and let herself drop back into place, somewhat. She still felt off, but she could go through the motions of working in a common laborer's life and feel a semblance of normalcy. She suppressed her past and worked to get a sparkle back in her eye.

She couldn’t feel the light, but she could pretend she did, and that was good enough.

Until the Reaping, that is.

Really, she thought in a panic, after all I’ve been through, I’ve got to deal with this now. The Universe really wants me dead. And I’m not so sure I want to fight it anymore.

She laughed drily at her own thoughts, because surely this was a joke. Right? Right?

She asked anything and everything to please oh please let it be joke. Let her wake up and walk to the cafeteria and eat gross green goo and make her father laugh and hide in the library with her books.

She felt phantom tears, but she didn’t cry. She didn’t let herself cry anymore. It choked her up. The smile she forced broke her, any sense of humanity or reality that was left in her. It made her crack. She couldn’t breathe. She wondered if she ever would.

She lost herself in her anguish for a moment. She drowned. She fell. She didn’t think she could get back up again.

But then the stranger stepped on stage, and she could see so many things in him. Fear, strength, resolve, but an underlayer of kindness and tenderness and worry. He made eye contact with her. She smiled, out of habit. He smiled back, and it was a bit reassuring. They were both stuck in the same boat, and the bond between two people who were going to die at each other’s sides was a special one.

She wasn’t fixed or patched in that moment. She was just as broken as before, cut deep. But she felt herself stop cracking as long as she smiled at him. Because she could tell he was just as broken as her. But she could tell he was still picking himself back up.

It was something she’d forgotten how to do.

They both needed fixing. They both needed solace. They both needed room to breathe. Allura couldn’t help but hope they could push each other above water.

Her beliefs and hopes were only improved on the train, poking fun with him and laughing about the dumbest things, because when you’ve lost everything anything can be funny. He supported her at least a little bit, there to smile when she’d forgotten how, there to put duct tape on the cracks that surfaced, at least for a moment.

Shiro was slowly but surely pumping air into her lungs with his broken smiles and his comforting presence. Nobody had really understood anything about her before, or cared. They took her at surface level and took anything they needed from her, then tossed her aside and forgot her within the hour. She’d always found it a bit calming, the constant change and nothing being held to her, but this?

This was what she had truly craved. Somebody who cared, who had a wisp of smoke like her own, a dead fire trying to rise. The only thing was; he had a repressed spark. If they played their cards right, it would set them both aflame.

Allura had forgotten fire.

She really liked spending her time with Shiro, his small, hesitant grins and responsible personality. The jokes he made easily, the things he communicated silently. He a kindred soul to her own. He was slowly giving her breaths of air. It made her smiles a little more real.

But when she saw Coran, something shattered all over again.

She recognized him, in some strange part of her brain. From the shards of her childhood. He was like a brother to her. He practically raised her, along with her dad, though he was only a few years older than she. His quirky personality had lit up her childhood. She’d mourned his loss many a time in the darkness of her room. Now she could only think that he’d stumbled into a Pod too, though how was a mystery to her. Her father probably pushed him in too, seeing as Coran was like a son to him.

She fell apart when she realized he didn’t recognize her in the slightest.

He looked at her, and his eyes slid right on over to Shiro, no change in expression, no nothing. He had Mice with him, which pained her as well, because they had been Allura’s childhood play buddy. They had been so close. They probably fell into the Pod with Coran, which was why the two were together now.

She understood why they didn’t recognize her. She’d spent many sleepless nights restless in her bed, struggling to regain every memory she could. She’d grasped at strings and pulled, she’d followed broken paths to fallen buildings and danced through ghostly ruins to posses what parts of her past she did now.

She didn’t blame them for not knowing her.

It hurt nonetheless.

She made it through the day with her old fake smiles and “sparkle” in her eyes. She’d made it with phantom tears and barely suppressed shuddering in her limbs. She’d gone back to the train. Shiro was concerned, of course he was, he could probably read her like a book, if she could read the fact that he was worried out of the few glances he gave.

He knew it was something to do with Coran and Mice, but he didn’t want to ask. He did end up questioning, in his own way, and she answered in her own way. Fakely cheerful. A lie. A skip in her step on the way back to her room. Every time a deeper crack. Every time more air sucked out of her like she was facing an endless vacuum of space and the stars were just fire.

When stars were only fire, the Universe was only void, and people were only dirt.

When stars were only fire, the fire ate the oxygen out of the air and left none for her.

Allura cried tears that were only water, tears that were finally water. Water should put out fire. But who was Allura to cry away the shallow stars?

-Hunk-

Once Lance and Pidge got over whatever had gone down between them (Hunk noticed Lance had started calling Pidge by they/them pronouns but didn’t make any remarks) the trio had spent the rest of the day training and working together. Hunk was grateful for their stabilizing presence, for their smiles and support. He felt actually safe around them.

Needless to say, the pair of them were growing on him fast.

But he was still discouraged when he saw a lot of the other Tributes were getting into groups.

A bunch of tall people with heads held high from Districts 5 and 7 got together. From the looks of them, Hunk could tell they would be trouble, especially the self-appointed leader (his name started with a Z…? Zachariah?). They seemed to have their order together and worked well with one another, and each of them looked like they could pack a punch to take you to next Tuesday.

But they also looked like they all held barely-contained disdain for one another, which could be a major disadvantage in the Games.

The short multicolored hair kid and the tall redhead (Calvin or something) from District 4 were working seamlessly with one another, playing off the strengths of the other and showed signs of a friendship that had been brewing for years. They were also both obviously good with a weapon. Hunk sensed that there was something to fear about the pair of them (maybe it was the weird haired kid), and silently made the promise to keep away from them in the Arena.

The Tributes from District 1 (Shiro and Allura, Hunk remembered their names) weren’t the typical Careers, to Hunk’s relief. They still looked deadly and good in a fight (and from Hunk had seen, they were good in a fight, like, extremely good) but they seemed a lot kinder and more open, sharing small smiles and tenderness exuberating from their presence. They had nearly seamless teamwork (couldn’t seem to take their eyes off each other, not that he’d make any remarks) and he could see their hands hesitate before they took weapons. Not killers, then.

The kid who had come over and started acting weirdly when Hunk asked what he needed (and also who looked a lot like Pidge but Hunk didn’t let himself think about that too much) was a bit of a loner, yet he tended to hover close to Shay, the other Tribute from his District.

Shay had bright eyes like fire, and that was the first thing Hunk noticed about her. He looked in them and felt like he was drowning. He also noticed how nice she was, she laughed easily and tried her best to help others, or get them to smile. Hunk didn’t know where it stemmed from, but she had an energy, and seemed like the dreamer type.

He stared at her too long and Lance and Pidge made fun of him (they are ruthless ).

Pitt and Xan seemed to be doing their best, seeing as you didn’t really need English to swing a sword or fire a bow, but did seem to be lacking in the communication department, for obvious reasons. He felt bad for them, he wanted to go up and try to help them with translations, or at least make an effort with those two like Lance had, but he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help them in the long run. They were fitting in just fine with one another, and obviously had a friendship backed by years (Hunk noticed lingering glances and open body language, dilated pupils and hesitations, not that he’d make any remarks). He figured they would be fine and would learn the language soon. Hunk hoped so.

Then there were the two Tributes from 9. Thace and Pawn. Hunk knew their names because there was good and specific reason to. District 2 was close to the Capitol, close enough to get news from it and be considered one of the higher and more privileged Districts, which Hunk knew it was. It was also the District that the military centers were in.  You get many Galra and people from the Capitol walking through District 2. You hear a lot of gossip from them. These are common occurrences.

So Hunk knew all about the ex-soldier Thace who had gone rogue, who deliberately murdered the pilot of a Galran airship to spare some wrath on the people. He’d also messed with the Games behind the scenes, and covered his tracks well enough that nobody could prove it was him, but everybody knew it was him. He was an ex-Galra. He had used his power to rebel against the Capitol. Whatever resistance movement there was used him as an inspiration, whatever Capitol person there was told horror stories increasing in improbability about him.

The Galra must have put him here to make an example out of him after they’d caught him, because they couldn’t torture him with any solid ground and wouldn’t do it without. Not to say the Games weren’t torture.

And Pawn? Despite being nearly rejected and ignored by his family, he’d been raised and weaned to be a part of the Galra. As he grew older, his position in the patriarchy had more and more authority, until he was overseeing the Games one year. As the clocks were counting down for the Tributes to be released into the Bloodbath, he suddenly shut down all the systems and hosted a high-scale evacuation and escape for the Tributes, all while fighting off the Galra soldiers and enforcers barging the door of his office, in under 10 minutes. He ended up getting all of the Tributes out of there, and was about to pull an escape himself when one of the Galra soldiers just shot his arm off.

He’d still managed to escape, though Hunk could only imagine how, and get all the Tributes to safety. The Games had been a mess that year, not that anyone was really complaining. Pawn must’ve since changed his name, but it couldn’t be anyone else. Hunk had seen that face in the news a thousand times, and the missing limb was a dead giveaway.

He wondered how the Galra had managed to get Pawn. He’d gone into hiding after the Event, nobody had seen or heard from him since. Hunk hated that the Galra had gotten a hold of him. He also felt bad for Pawn, and couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

Thace and Pawn seemed to be mostly sticking together, neutrally going through the motions and training along with the rest of the Tributes. But Hunk still noticed shared looks and subtle shifting of the hands and feet that weren’t natural human behaviours. From what he could tell, the two were communicating (not that he’d make any remarks).

He also noticed Thace kept throwing glances at a Tribute from 12 and Lance’s fellow Tribute from 3 (whom Lance had already complained about extensively). 12 and 3 looked like they were related, and could have easily been brothers, which didn’t make much sense considering the District difference (Hunk hoped it wasn’t the case, having a sibling in the Games with you would be heartbreaking). They spent most of their time together, along with the other Tribute from 12, who was a tall kid with sharp features and even sharper fighting skills. Hunk would be afraid to even be near him, so he made sure to direct his group any place but wherever 12 and 3 were hanging out (he also didn’t need to hear Lance rant about his partner again, even though he was picking up some interesting undertones from those two, not that he’d make any remarks).

The Tributes from 11 were interesting, both sticking to their own thing and neither really teaming up with anyone, not even the other. Hunk didn’t know their names whatsoever, because they were staying pretty quiet and concentrated on their tasks.

The first Tribute always got a slightly sour look on their face whenever somebody called them by female pronouns. It was little enough that you would only notice if you were looking. From what else he could see from them, they were deadly. Plain and simple. They left nothing up to chance and cut down everything in their way, with zero hesitation and zero mistakes. Going head to head against them in any sort of battle would be easy suicide. They walked and carried themselves like a Galra soldier (Hunk had seen enough of those to know) and it was entirely possible they were a spy from the Galra to make sure there wasn’t any sort of revolution planning going down in this odd group of misfits (namely: Thace and Pawn). Hunk put forth his best effort to stay away from them.

The boy from 11 was short, and seemed to have an intense temper. He used it to his advantage in fights, and it seemed to work for him. He had a constant aggressive pose, but also defensive. Quite simply, this kid was always ready to fight. Otherwise, the boy was a mystery, closed off and not talking to any of the other Tributes.

Then of course there was District 6. The Tributes definitely worked well together, the boy being on the tougher side (his name started with an R, Roth or something) who seemed to like to punch things out, and the girl being on the conniving side, Hunk didn’t trust her the moment he saw her (her name was Nyma, which Hunk remembered because her very aura was very intimidating). The two of them excelled in simulations and in robotics and electricity, and also seemed the type with fingers that were quick to steal (not that he’d make any remarks).

So when Hunk saw his other Tributes, he saw average and he saw superior, he saw threats and he saw safety. Mostly he was afraid. There were too many variables for him to be comfortable, but he supposed there wasn’t much else he could expect.

His little squad of Tributes wasn’t half bad, in his own opinion. Pidge was an obvious genius, quick to learn (and quick to snark). Their perception was incredible, and so was their agility. They were skilled with a dagger and had a glint in their eye which left Hunk glad they were on his side. They also had a smile that filled you with joy when you looked at it and a laugh that started off as a snort until they were flat out howling. The glint in their eyes could just as easily be a spark, and Hunk felt like he wanted to protect them from any sort of evil the Games tried to impose on them.

Lance was good with ranged weapons, slingshots and bows (though it took him a bit to get used to using a bow), and even throwing knives. He had a quick and focussed eye, and made snap decisions that almost always turned out to be the right choice. Not to mention, he was always making them laugh with a joke, and had an easy smile that lit up his entire face. He had an openly caring personality and loving nature like Hunk, but would throw sarcastic comments right back in Pidge’s face without any hesitation (his lack of filter was infuriating and hilarious). He still acted a bit like a fish out of water with them.

It was funny, he was pretty awkward at first, but by the end of the first day he was coming out of his shell and was acting under an arrogant guise that left Hunk and Pidge laughing till their guts were busted. He had crashed and failed on more than one simulation, and would come out, pop his collar, brush invisible dust off his shoulders and go, “So how in awe of me are you right now? Basking in the light of my talent?” And Hunk could see the hesitation behind his pose, through the light of his smile, and Hunk laughed, not only because Lance you screwed that up so bad I’m surprised you didn’t set the place on fire what the crap but also because it was obvious Lance needed something. He gave laughter to Lance willingly. It was worth it to see the way his eyes lit up (and also at some points he couldn’t help it, as much as he pretended the pompous act was unamusing).

And Pidge was coming out of their cage too, confident now that they had things like gender out of the air and no static holding them back. They didn’t even try to stop the sarcasm, let out any witty retort that came through their head (Lance got roasted and dragged through the mud multiple times and it was the most entertaining thing Hunk had seen to date). Hunk joined in every so often, taking one side or another, and every time he did Lance and Pidge’s eyes would spark with a new determination and they shared a glance (he’ll be on my side this time, you’ll see) (innocent puppy eyes beg to differ, Lance) (shut up, you’re like, 12) (if I’m 12 then what are you?) before breaking into their full-fledged fight once more, this time, with Hunk!

He liked the friends he had made, and spending time with them was enough to distract him from the stress of everything else going on right now. He just let it happen, the friendship flowed naturally between the three, even when Pidge was lecturing Lance about how robotics worked and Lance just made a show of yawning.

He felt a different kind of fondness rise for them, and was glad that he’d run into them in this maelstrom of his life at the moment.

Their smiles were enough to keep him going.

-Keith-

Training started to blur together after he’d tagged along with Kevin and Swanky. He’d been doing enough “stress workouts” through the years to be able to do the exercise with little effort and pay more attention to what Kevin and Swanky were going on about.

Keith payed as much attention to what they were discussing as he could. He wanted to be a part of this revolution, and if that was the case, he needed to know as much as he could about it. He needed to know his way around the plan, the rhyme, the rhythm. He needed to know who else was joining them. If he just listened, he could learn everything he needed to know, without speaking.

But he couldn’t help but ask who Thace was.

Swanky lifted an arm to gesture vaguely in the direction of a big, muscled guy with a slightly familiar face. Probably from the news. Keith thought he looked rather average for a guy that was organizing a high-scale revolution in Panem while simultaneously facing the Games. But then again, he was never the best at reading people, and wouldn’t you want the person leading a revolution to be a calm one who could look average?

“Kevin, you haven’t made a sarcastic comment in two minutes and I’m worried about your health, talk to me buddy,” Swanky quipped.

Keith looked to his brother. Kevin had stopped with his weights and was just staring at the floor between his feet. Keith felt concern churn in his stomach. What was wrong with his brother? Was there something he could do about it? Was Kevin okay and how could he make him okay?

“Did the 10 pounders become too heavy for you out of the blue?” Swanky asked.

Kevin smiled, and it was small, but it was there. He didn’t look up from his feet though. It was strange. Usually his head was held high.

“I just can’t lift the weight of the past on my shoulders, feel me? Maybe we should upgrade me to 20 pounds so I can condition for it.”

Kevin’s attempt to hide the profound significance of the statement behind a joke was so poorly done that Keith was concerned. Usually he was at least a little smoother than that. Usually he never let out that much information at once, about himself, or anything. Ever. Usually he was more… closed off.

Whatever it was that had happened (so suddenly Keith was feeling whiplash) to Kevin  was obviously worse than usual. Keith didn’t know what to do, let alone what had come over Kevin. He felt lost.

Kevin got up and stretched his back before turning to look at Swanky.

“Mind if this kid and I go talk for a minute?” Kevin asked. Swanky nodded.

Kevin gestured for Keith to follow him, then started across the room to a secluded spot.

-Kevin-

He’d waited too long to tell Keith. He’d promised his Ma he’d never tell Keith, but to hell with that, the kid deserved to know. Kevin knew he’d break the promise even as he was vowing it. The lying words stung his tongue, but watching his little brother grow up in a house built with secrets was even worse. He did his best to make it bearable.

One day he’d been a bit overwhelmed by it all, because as awesome as he was, people crack. And he did. Crack. It was ugly, hideous, all at once like an explosion. He’d thrown things, broken things. He’d hit the wall till his fists bled and bit his lips till they were raw and shredded.

He went so far as to burn his hand on the wick of a candle, relishing in the feeling of tears down his cheeks and the burning on his skin, reminding him of who he was, that he was still alive.

He was a being of fire, who was built with mud and lived off water.

His little brother had come home to a broken house, windows shattered and walls chipped, wood boards splintered and the table on the front lawn. He didn’t say a word as he moved the table back to the kitchen and picked up the broken glass. Then he got a tub of water and brought it to Kevin, who was still crying on the floor, and dumped it over his head.

Kevin shot up, confused and surprised, and looked to his brother accusingly. Keith only shrugged, though his eyes were filled with laughter. His pose was only slightly guarded.

“You get this way sometimes, shivering even though it isn’t cold and bleeding even though there’s nothing to bleed for. There’s fire in your eyes and it looks like you’re falling into it. I doused the fire.”

Kevin barked out a guffaw and pulled his brother in for a hug. Keith stiffened, but didn’t make any protest. Nonetheless, Kevin let go quickly. Keith shook himself out and turned to go to his room.

Kevin felt a little better after that, but the problem hadn’t been solved. He honestly felt like it never would be.

He and Keith ate breakfast the next day on a lopsided table. Kevin noticed bandages on Keith’s hands. He felt himself going numb as he realized Keith must’ve cut himself when he was picking up all the shattered glass the day before.

Keith had said Kevin would always bleed for no reason. But Keith didn’t need to bleed either. So why was he? Why why why was his little brother bleeding?

Kevin also used to obsessively clean the house.

He wanted to scrape the secrets off the counter, dig the deceit from the ground. He couldn’t stand living in lies, so he took a cleaning rag to the walls. He whistled the tune his Ma had taught him, quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Keith.

Keith found him out anyway, of course, so they ended up whistling around the house together. Keith was having the time of his life. He was alive and happy. Kevin thought so many things in that moment, felt so many things in that moment.

He couldn’t bear to know that he and Keith were trying to clean the house of its ruses. He couldn’t bear Keith knowing. He couldn’t bear Keith not knowing. He hated that the only thing between Keith and a wall of calamity was a thin cleaning rag.

But Keith kept whistling and singing and swinging his hips, so Kevin supposed everything was okay.

He had kept the secret for too long, though, which Kevin knew as he marched through the training room to the most private place he could find. Too long. Despite wanting Keith to retain his innocence, despite wanting to keep his promise to his mother, he needed to know.

Thace had reminded him. He’d been avoiding thinking too deeply about him all day, but he knew that the breakdown was inevitable, really. Look at the situation and tell him to keep a cool head, honestly .

He could hardly face Keith at this point. Hardly look him in the eye and feel anything but too many feelings. He wanted to be anywhere but here. But all roads lead to Rome, and Vesuvius had a thing or two to say.

Kevin took a moment. A breath. This was it.

“You okay?”

Keith’s voice spurred him to say it, in the end. It was always Keith. Sorry, Ma, but everything is about to change. Everything has to change. Without change, there is no going forward. And if you aren’t going forward, then what are you doing?

“Keith, I have something to say to you, I have so many things to say to you . I will say none of them if you give me the chance to. Let me talk until I’m done, otherwise I’ll never say it.” Kevin waited for Keith to nod before continuing.

“Our Ma... was a wonderful woman. She was kind, respectful, strong, simply hilarious, patient, loving, and I could go on and on about her for days, and days, and days . But our father was the worst man I’ve ever met in the long, long years of my life. He was a brute. He was short tempered and demanding, he cared for nobody but himself, and reveled in in seeing other people’s suffering. He laughed at their screams, he drunk their tears in lavish cups emblazoned with the symbol of the Capitol. Because Keith, our… our father was a Galra . He had high standing, one of the President's advisors. He got what he wanted.” Keith masked a gasp. Kevin continued, keeping hold of his mental state with a clenched fist.

“And he wanted Ma. Or at least, some parts of her. She was living well in District 3, but he came along and, well, things changed for her.

“He didn’t replace the house. He only burst in through the door and didn’t take no for an answer. He never cared enough to use any sort of... protection . He was enraged when he found out about me. So enraged… he did things to her that she refused to tell me about. I’m grateful. I can only guess.

“I grew up in the same house with Ma, did chores and worked with the District, and hid whenever he came within a 20 foot radius of the house. Things weren’t bad, but I couldn’t stand seeing the look in Ma’s eyes. I learned how to put up with it. She learned how to pretend she was okay. We made do.

“And you know, one would think that after the first time he would learn his lesson, that I would grow up an only child, trying to uphold my mother’s mental health and work for the house as a whole all by myself, nobody to love or care for at my side. But no, Keith, because you made it. Look at you. You’re here. I was overjoyed the second I learned. I wouldn’t be alone. I had someone to love. Someone who would love me. Someone besides steadily dwindling Ma, someone. Just someone .” Kevin couldn’t keep going. He kept going.

“He had to leave for a while on Galra duties. We would have a time of repose. Eight months at least. Ma hoped she would be able to hide you. She hoped against hope, did everything she could to speed the pregnancy along. I helped to the best of my ability.

“But luck is seldom that good, and when associating with him ? Nothing good could happen. He was an aura, a wave, he would crash and leave destruction in his wake. He… he came in on the night of your birth. The midwife was scared away from the pounding at the door, and I was left with Ma in the room. She kept pushing and crying even though he was right there, didn’t stop or give up on you for a minute .” Kevin’s voice was so choked it didn’t sound like his own. The words didn’t feel like his own. Nothing felt like his anymore, he was falling apart.

“He was in a rage . I tried my best to stop him. He literally threw me across the room. I hit the wall hard. I blacked out.

“When I woke up there was a crying newborn baby on the floor, and next to the baby… Ma… Ma was bleeding out .” The picture haunted his subconscious, taunted his nightmares. It froze in time. The door hung off it’s hinges. The baby in misery. His Ma dying, slowly, every breath closer to her last.

“I scrambled to Ma, of course. She looked at me, and I could see the light draining from her eyes. She told me your name. She told me she loved me. She wiped my tears and… and…” Kevin couldn’t continue. At this point he could barely breathe. He needed to cry, he felt like crying. Keith looked no better. But Keith looked back at him.

“Tell me the rest.” Kevin was shocked. He could barely function after having said that, but having this dumped on him just like that ? Kevin didn’t know how Keith could still speak. But he needed to tell Keith the rest. Keith needed to know. All or nothing.

“I hid. I hired some ladies I came upon to help me raise you when it came to parts I… couldn’t do. I cleaned up the bedroom. Fixed up the house. I… buried her. Things were going well, somewhat. You were starting to learn how to speak. You were the cutest kid, you know that? You’d always wobble when you walked, and whenever you fell you got a sour look on your face and got back up again. Whenever I fed you something sweet your face would scrunch up, and you’d throw a tantrum if I came anywhere near your hair with scissors. But yeah. Things were going well. But one day, the Galra just… stormed our house. We hid together in a closet, but we got found. I’d never been so scared in my life.

“It turns out father dearest sold us out to the Galra. Two children without parents and reason for spite towards the Capitol. He was probably worried we’d expose him for what he did dishonestly. In any case, we were literally property to them. I don’t know what they had planned for us, and quite frankly I don’t want to know. The Galra are disgusting enough that it could have been anything.

“We were shipped to who knows where. We were wrestled, manhandled. You cried, but you’ve never been a loud crier. A few times you were louder than average, and they threatened to shut you up themselves if I didn’t. It was the worst couple of hours I’d ever lived through.

“When we showed up at our destination, it turned out we now… belonged to this Galra dude. Tall. Firm. Intimidating. I had no idea what was in store. But as soon as the Galra soldiers left, it all fell away like washed out water, and he became a concerned, slightly gruff civilian type. I had no idea the Galra had any civilian side to them. This one did. He took care of us, took possession of our house and shipped us back there. He supplied us with monthly rations, enough for us and even our neighbors.

“With his help, I managed to get you grown up to a healthy kid and our household to a stable enough standing point. We never talked. I don’t know the sound of this Galra’s voice. But I know his name. His name was… his name was Thace .”

Throughout the whole spiel, Keith had kept his face carefully closed off, but with the revelation that the Galra was Thace, he let out a small gasp and looked openly surprised, casting a quick glance around the room.

“From there, I got us through childhood. We’d been doing well. So well.” Kevin’s voice choked up at the last part. He’d labored and worked for years for Keith, to keep him safe and happy and protected. He’d worked tirelessly, loved him endlessly, and the Capitol still managed to rip it away from him with their scythes. He’d tried so hard.

But all roads lead to Rome.

And Rome was nothing without its gladiators.