Part I - "The Tributes" Chapter 1

I awake to the sound of screaming. It's high and shrill and the kind of desperate crying only a mother should here. I swear I am anything but weak. I have lived my life with a shortage of food, a scarcity of luxury items, and a fear that is ever present. I have faced much worse days, but hearing Milagro wail like that makes something inside of me crack.

Fear clutches at my throat, working it's way from my heart to my chest, and I'll admit, okay, waking up to such anguished howling is rather… unnerving. Though not entirely unexpected.

Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I amble into the quaint living room where my sister is cocooned against mi mamá's body. She traces soothing circles along Milagro's back, and their matching heads of ebony hair are inky black like the sky at night. Now, however, the sky is a myriad of oranges, pinks, yellows, and the slightest tinge of red. A deep red, as if to symbolize the innocent blood that is soon to be spilled.

I clear my throat, knowing that if I speak and my voice cracks, then tears will threaten too. But I can't afford such a display of weakness. Not today. Not on the day.

Mamá's eyes snap open. "Jaime!" she exclaims warmly, as if my presence is a surprise. "How did you sleep?"

Mamá is so kind. I can hear it in her voice, see it in her smooth chocolate eyes. People in the Seam, the poorer division of District 12, often say Milagro resembles her, but they have no idea how truly aggravating she can be as a sister. Still, I wish they'd say I was like Bianca Reyes too.

'How did you sleep?' I repeat silently in my head. "Like always," I reply finally, my voice coming out a tad harsher than I intended. Over time, I have learned to muffle my screams at night, have gotten used to finding my pillow damp with tears. 'How did you sleep?' The question echoes again, my mind twisting the gentle question into a cruel taunt. Really, how did she think I slept?

The nightmares started when I was very young; too young to pinpoint exactly when. They always start the same way. A pair of unfeeling amber eyes lock on mine and I am frozen. Then the man possessing those empty eyes steps forwards. His armored hands begin to clench around my spine, metal fingertips digging through my skin as though it were putty. He knows who I am, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, he is after me.

"Where are you going mi hijo?"

Upon hearing her voice, I instantly slip out of my reverie. When I look down, I realize that I had slipped into my hunting boots, supple, worn leather, and had pulled on my jacket while lost in thought. This I had done subconsciously; and out of habit.

"Um," I pause, "I'm meeting Tye."

"Don't go too—"

The slam of the door behind me drowns out the rest of her sentence, and then I am weaving my way towards the fence and into the woods surrounding District 12 on all sides.

I finally come to a stop on the crest of a hill nestled within the forest and overlooking a plethora of cliffs and craggy valleys. "Hey." I am greeted by a husky voice.

"Hey," I respond. All of our conversations start like this, whether they're casual chats or angry tirades.

"How's Milagro?"

"Fine." It's a lie and we both know it. But really, who, besides the citizens of the Capitol eager for our deaths, and the heartless gamblers betting on who will be reaped and who will survive to be victor, are at all okay on Reaping day?

There's a lull in the discussion, and I quickly pick things up by asking, "How's your… family?" I have trouble working my tongue around the word 'family', because Shelly Longshadow and her step-husband Maurice are about as much a family to Tye as the dead rabbit draped on the grass beside him.

Tye shoots me a look. "I'm going to do it this time."

"Sure," I say. There was a time when Tye's empty threats of running away used to scare me, not only because he'd undoubtedly wind up dead, but because I'd lose the only friend I'd every really had. Now though, I don't even raise an eyebrow.

"I'm serious, Jaime! I'm done with Maurice always pushing me around. There's two other guys I talked to, Ed and Virgil, and we've planned it out. The four of us are leaving tonight, after the Reaping."

"Whoa, slow down, hermano. What makes you think I'm coming?"

"Dude, I never said—"

"You said 'the four of us'."

"Oh, right." Tye ducks his head, and I can see a faint blush creep up his neck. "Asami, she's this Oriental girl , she, uh, she's coming too."

"You favor her?" She must be really something if Tye's this flustered.

"Please. And what about you and Cassie?"

Cassie Sandsmark is a tall, bubbly blonde girl in our class. There's no denying that she's pretty, but we've had little interaction, and she doesn't strike me as the kind of person I could really open up to. Don't get me wrong, but somehow I just can't envisage us ever having a real, meaningful discussion.

For example, when I confided in Tye about the nightmares I get, he helped me research dreams in our school's sorely lacking library. We ended up chalking my recurring dreams up to a fear of becoming a puppet of the Capitol. Cassie lives in the wealthier part of town, and while her name is entered annually as well, she's never needed to enter her name additional times for tesserae. Tessera are tokens worth a meager year's supply of grain and oil. For us living in the Seam, tessera helps with the struggle for food. It's hard relating to someone whose always had just enough food to get by, and has significantly slimmer chances of getting Reaped.

Tye and I hunt to help support our families, but more often than not we still go to bed with growling stomachs. Tessera will at least help to fill those mouths always hungry for more. No, I decide, there is nothing between Cassie and I.

I whip my head to the side. "No there isn't," I hiss firmly. This is another thing a girl like Cassie will never understand. The voice I hear in my head sometimes. An almost mechanical, disembodied voice for my ears only. Tye understands though, or at least accepts it.

I shake my head, scattering thoughts of Cassie aside, and focus back on the 'running away' thing. So Tye was referring to this 'Sami' girl, and not assuming I would be joining him.

"Wow. You and the runaways." I try to keep my voice nonchalant, but Tye must notice that I'm a bit miffed.

"You could come with us," he offered. "You and I, and the runaways. We could make it."

We probably could, but for how long? I humour myself for a moment, and try to imagine a life untouched by the Capitol's sadistic ways. The thing is, I can't even begin to picture what it would be like.

"It would never work, I have Milagro and my parents to look after. And Shelly would never get by without you."

Tye scowls, but we both know, deep down, that even though his mom is passive when her abusive step-husband 'deals' with Tye, he still cares about her. I find it hard to believe he'd really go far before turning back.

"Fine, don't come. But remember today's my last Reaping, while you'll still have two more, not to mention watching Milagro's name go in the Reaping pool every year until she's eighteen."

The tension growing between us is palpable, and I feel like a single wrong word will set me off, so I change the subject. "Should we divide the game then?"

Tye and I gather a bushel of strawberries and some greens to go with the rabbit caught by one of our snares, and we meander back to the other side of the fence. It's not quite noon when we cross back into the "safety" of our District, and the streets are still deserted.

Shutters are drawn tight and doors are locked as family's wait for the Reaping to commence. Tears to be shed, blood to be spilled, just another average day in Panem.

Tye and I knock on the back door of the butchery, where Bibbo exchanges several coins for the rabbit. He throws in a drumstick, too. Maybe he's feeling extra generous, since both Tye and I are potential tributes and no one likes to see children sent off to the Capitol.

We trade the greens at the Hob, which serves as a black market, until there's nothing left to do but to get ready for the Reaping. Tye walks with me back to my house. If he is serious about running away, which I highly doubt, but for argument's sake let's say he is, then this could be one of the last times we see each other for a while.

"Tell your folks I said hello," Tye mumbles as we reach the front steps to the tiny house.

"Thanks." As Tye turns to go, I call back, "Oh, and may the odds—"

"Shut it, Jaime," he grumbles, clearly not in the mood to mock the Capitol's ridiculous accent. There's a faint trace of a laugh in his voice, though, so I know he's not really annoyed.

I loiter in the doorframe to watch him leave, before finishing quietly, "be ever in your favour." It is a silent prayer for the both of us.

When I traipse inside, I find Milagro curled up on the rug, her head in between her knees. She's quieted down, and her chest rises and falls in an even manner. I fold myself into a sitting position beside her, and pull her head to my chest.

We sit like that for a good hour, until Mamá tells us it's time to get ready.

"I'm scared Jaime," she says plaintively.

I brush a fat tear off of her cheek, and fix her lopsided pigtails. "It's your first Reaping. They're not going to pick you."

She manages the ghost of a smile, and shortly after that, we head out to the Reaping as a family. My parents walk hand-in-hand, and that's when I noticed that Papá left his walking cane at home. Without it, you can clearly see that he walks with a limping gait, a reminder of the mining accident that left him damaged.

But today is the day. Reaping Day. We are all damaged in some way.

Milagro and I head to our designated sections facing the the Reaping stage. Queen Bee, the escort of the District 12 tributes, sits elegant and poised as everyone aged twelve to eighteen is ushered to roped off areas.

I bite my cheek as I wait for the Reaping to start. There are mandatory speeches we must hear before the male and female tribute is selected, but I tune them out.

Queen Bee strides calmly to the Reaping balls. Sunlight glints off her golden diadem, illuminating her dark-skinned face. "Ladies first," she announces in her sickly sweet voice. It flows like honey, but the sound of it makes my lips pucker as if I've tasted something sour.

I have already started the silent chant in my head. 'Please don't let it be me.' After the girl tribute is chosen, the male name will be drawn. 'Please don't let it be me. Please don't let it…'

For the first time, the chant I have maintained during my past four Reapings comes to an abrupt halt. Suddenly, I don't care if it's me.

Queen Bee has called the female tribute's name. It's Milagro Reyes.

I instinctively begin to move forward, but the crowd is thick and they seem to be surging against me. Why are they making it so difficult for me? Everyone is moving. I want to scream at them to stand still so I can move forward. But no one is. They're all spinning in place. Spinning so fast.

[You are dizzy, Jaime Reyes.] The voice in my head pulls me back to attention. I feel numb and breathless, but not in the satisfied way you feel after an adrenaline rush from running.

Milagro's face is unreadable, but her hands are balled into tiny fists at her sides, knuckles gone pale.

The crowd is muttering the way they do whenever a twelve year-old is Reaped. They have almost no chance in the arena, where they could possibly have to take on hulking eighteen year-olds easily one to two hundred pounds heavier.

The thought of Milagro, irksome yet sweet Milagro, being murdered is too much to bear. The cameras are trained on her face, on her reaction, and surprisingly, Milagro is keeping her composure.

That's what sets me over the edge.

"Now, for the boys."

I don't even hear who is called before I'm screaming, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute."

An audible gasp sweeps through the crowd. Volunteers are practically unheard of in District 12. In some Districts, where it is an honour to be tribute, volunteers are common. But in the poorest of the Districts, this is newsworthy, this is shocking.

"I volunteer," I repeat uncertainly. Do I step forward? Everyone is staring at me.

"Go on Jaime," I hear someone, Tye maybe, say.

I slowly make my way to the podium, where Queen Bee is grinning at me in a haunting flash of unnaturally bright teeth. Her blue eyes looks so odd paired with her raven black hair and dark skin, but despite hints of gold and her stinger-shaped earrings, she is somewhat normal for a Capitol citizen.

But while most citizens of the plutocratic Capitol are blithering, fashion-crazed fools, Queen Bee has an almost vindictive air about her.

"What's your name?" There it is, that falsely charming voice that is too sweet to stomach.

"Jaime Reyes."

"Hi-may," she tests the word, but with her Capitol accent it sounds wrong. "I'll bet my crown that that's your sister," the cameras turn momentarily back to Milagro, before refocusing on my face.

I nod once, twice, fighting the rising lump in my throat.

"Don't want her to steal all the family glory do we?"

No, I don't want her to die. What I do want is for Queen Bee to fall off the stage and drown in her honey-like voice until she stops breathing, or to at least change from her strapless grey dress into something more modest.

The cameras are trained on my face, anticipating a response. Like I will give them the satisfaction.

"Do we?" she repeats, in a hushed voice just loud enough for me to hear. Something in her gaze gardens, and I stutter dumbly, "Something like that."

I blink and step back. Did she do something to make me speak? The procession is already continuing on, but there's a grim satisfaction painted on her lips that makes me wonder.

It is customary for each District's former victors to attend the annual Reaping, but we haven't had a victor in years, and our last one died in an accident before Milagro was born.

Milagro and I shake hands, as is tradition, and while I'm not trembling like she is, the palm of my hand is slick with sweat. I wait for her to wipe her palm on her clothes, or to comment on what a sweaty mess I am, but there is only silence.

We are then escorted to two separate, private rooms where our parents and family friends are permitted to bid us good bye. I collapse onto a cushioned chair and swivel to take in the room. A painting framed in plaited gold, a crystalline chandelier, a velvet rug. If I sold even the vase centerpiece on the marble table my family would be set for months.

I wipe my clammy hands on my pants and wait. My parents walk in about a minute later and the atmosphere in the room shifts. They are crying. If my parents, two of the strongest people I have ever know are already in tears, how can I expect to keep it together?

"Don't worry. I'll look after her."

Mamá sobs louder, burying her face in Papá's shirt. And then it occurs to me. Only one of us can be crowned victor. What if Milagro and I are are the last two tributes. Then what?

I banish the thought to the periphery of my mind. The chances of even one of us making it to the final few is so remote, that there isn't any use worrying about it yet.

"Jaime," Mamá gasps, "look after yourself too. If anything happens… you fight. You're strong. I can't lose both of you."

"You won't."

She nods and wraps her arms around me. I feel safe here. Here it's safe and warm. But the embrace is over too soon.

"Bianca," Papá murmurs. "I want a word with Jaime alone."

She nods, and exits, her back hunched over as if her body is collapsing against its self. "I'll check on Mila again."

I turn back to mi padre. "You're just like your mother."

I flinch in surprise. Surely he doesn't mean that. In looks and stature I take after him. I am proud to take after him, even though it is nice being called 'kind' and 'strong-hearted' rather than simply 'strong' and 'dependable'.

"Is it selfish to wish you were more like me?" he wonders aloud. "I wouldn't have volunteered at the Reaping, Jaime. I wish you hadn't. But you are your mother's child. Kind and selfless."

A warm glow seeps through my chest, but I'm not really sure where he's going with this. Papá has always been the kind of person who speaks through actions.

"Jaime, I want you to listen to me. In the arena, your first instinct is going to be to keep your sister out of harms way, but you won't be doing anyone favours taking a knife through the heart for her. She's twelve. She has no chance of outmatching or outsmarting the other tributes. She's clever, but not enough to outwit tributes half a decade older. Jaime, you on the other hand, can hunt. You're smart and people are easily drawn to you; you'll have no trouble forming an alliance with the other tributes. Take care of yourself and District 12 might finally have a victor."

I want to lash out at him for his words, but this is not the case of a parent playing favorites; it is an unbiased man stating the cold hard truth for what it is.

I nod slowly. In a matter of minutes Alberto Reyes, my father, has become a stranger to me. With nothing more to say, he leans in to hug me goodbye, but pulls out at the last second, and instead clasps my hand between his own. "I'll be praying for you. Both of you." ,

With that, I am once again alone. No more visitors, I think. And not long before we depart for the Capitol.

I'm wrong, though. I do get one last visitor.

"Tye!" My face breaks into a smile. I don't have to pretend to be strong around him.

His voice is solemn, his eyes teary. "Jaime," his already husky voice sounds rougher than usual.

I am so happy to see him. I am smiling. I am grinning. I am crying, crying, crying.

He doesn't offer me words of consolation; doesn't try to comfort me. But his presence alone is sturdy and for that I am grateful for forging this friendship.

Years ago, not long after the mining accident, I saw Tye sneaking through the fence and into the off-limits area that we now hunt in daily. I had followed him, and when he realized he was being tailed, I was faced with a cruel looking knife. "Where are you going?" I'd asked, wide-eyed.

"Running away."

"Why?"

After he'd realized I was in no way a threat, a lanky teenager who'd headed into the forest completely unarmed, he sheathed his knife, and we began talking. Something had kind of clicked, I guess. A mutual need for survival that grew into something bordering trust. And an eventual, unintended friendship.

"Jaime," he says again. "Get your hands on a weapon. You're handy with knives and long-range weapons. And you know how to hunt."

"Animals."

"How different can it be?"

I can't stand talking about this. "Tye whatever you do, don't let them starve." Them. Bianca and Alberto Reyes.

"I won't. And I won't run-off either."

Right. The runaway thing. With the Reaping and upcoming Hunger Games I'd completely forgotten.

The padding of footsteps echoes down the hall and it hits Tye and I at the same time that the Peacekeeper's are here and time's up.

"Jaime, remember—" But I don't know what I'm supposed to remember because they've pulled Tye out of the room, and are directing me towards the train to the Capitol.

I find Milagro outside, and see her downcast eyes are red and swollen. As we board the train we are silent. She is glaring at her shoes, or possibly the ground, and I want her to lecture her about frown-lines, but it would somehow seem inappropriate considering we're headed to our deaths.

The train, which I'm told travels at 200 mph, is even more opulent than the sitting room I was in, yet I suspect that it is only a reflection of the grandeur of the shining Capitol.

We are escorted by Queen Bee to the dining car. She is still smiling that falsely sweet smile. Last year District 12 had a different escort, whose enthusiasm seemed genuine. I wonder why the District 12 escort position became vacant, and why someone as regal as Queen Bee would bother with such a lowly position. I can't shake the feeling that something is going to be different about these Games, and not just because I'm now a contender.

"Your mentor will be along promptly."

"Mentor?" I ask.

The victors of each Games are required to mentor and train the new pair of tributes each year, but since our last victor passed, I can't imagine who the Capitol has scrounged up.

"Yes," Queen Bee smirks as if we're in for a real surprise, before leaving the compartment.

Milagro and I sit, and this is not a calm silence, it is an anxious one that gnaws on my flesh. Just when I'm starting to get perturbed by her lack of words, she squeaks out an "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Getting chosen."

"Like that was your fault. Your name was only entered once. The odds just weren't—"

"—No. I-I entered my name in extra times for tessera. I wanted to help."

The look I give her is unforgiving. I specifically instructed her not to opt for tesserae. We were scraping by just fine with the food I procured daily in the woods. Sure, sometimes it had to be traded in exchange for other necessities, but I had us covered.

"I never meant for you to volunteer too. Now you're going to die because of me!"

I sigh in exasperation. Why is my first instinct to comfort her even when I'm furious at her?

My anger ebbs away and is replaced by curiosity when the shuffling of footsteps resounds.

"Hey, so you two are this year's tributes." The voice is so light and casual, as if he's just commented on the weather, that I don't even take it seriously. "Yep, this looks like an exciting year."

"You're our mentor?" Milagro's disbelieving voice conveys what I'm thinking.

"In the flesh." He nods his head and strands of blonde hair fall into his eyes. He has a cleft in his chin, a brilliant smile and the demeanour of a movie star.

"What, exactly, is your name?" Oh sure, I think. Milagro's practically speechless until given the opportunity to same something rude.

"Booster Gold."

District 1, I think with a sneer. There's no doubt about it. The people of District 1, which makes luxury items for the Capitol, always have the most ridiculous names.

"So," Milagro says distastefully, "what did you do to get stuck as our mentor? Betray the Capitol?"

Booster laughs airily. "You kidding? Look at these refreshments!" He pours himself a glass of amber liquid and pops a truffle with some sort of dark chocolate drizzled over it in his mouth. I recognize chocolate because they sell it in the tiny sweet shop in District 12, but I have no idea what it tastes like.

I reach over to try one, and see a flash of colour from the corner of my eye. When I turn back, my hand still hovering over the tray of assorted chocolates, I see Milagro is pinning something to her blouse.

"That's Mamá's brooch!" I exclaim in an accusatory voice.

"She gave it to me." Milagro lowers her eyes. "My district token."

"Token?" I echo. Every year tributes are allowed to bring a token with them into the arena. More often than not, tokens are confiscated because they can be used as potential weapons. Still, it stings that our parent's gave Milagro a token, but not me.

Booster laughs the growing tension between us away. "Neat-o. Do you have a token, Jaime?" He mispronounces my name as "Jay-mee", and I decide that I do not like him at all.

I shake my head in response.

"Hmm," Booster murmurs, more to himself than to us. He exits the dining car and returns moments later, his fist closed tight around something. Before I can process what's happening, he's pulled me to my feet, his hand clenching around the fabric of my shirt.

"Hey!" I protest, but by the time the word has left my mouth, he's already stepped back.

"Your token."

I finger the circular pin fastened to my shirt. It is a deep midnight blue, and has some sort of beetle affixed to its center. It takes me a moment to recognize it, but we learned about Scarabs in school . They are genomorphs: genetically engineered mutations bred by the Capitol in a branch of labs called CADMUS. These particular genomorphs, or genos for short, acted as parasites and were meant to take control of the rebels during the uprising that lead to the formation of the Hunger Games.

The thing about the Scarabs, though, is that most of them were faulty. Rebels pretended that they were being controlled by the Scarabs, but really, they were in full control of their person, and used the opportunity to feed the Capitol endless lies. Since then, Scarabs have been a symbol of rebellion.

Why someone like Booster, who thus far not shown even a hint of bitterness towards the Capitol, is giving me a Scarab pin… I do not know.

"It's a Blue Beetle," Booster explains. "This pin was the token of District 12's last victor, Ted Kord."

"And he gave it to you?" I ask, incredulously. Just when I think I've figured out who Booster Gold is, he reveals this whole new layer to himself. "You two must have been close."

"Close. Yeah… we were…" his voice trails off, and he turns back to his drink.

I force myself to look back at Milagro. "It looks good on you," I say softly, eyes trained on the brooch.

She smooths her shirt self consciously and nods. "Thank you." After that, there's not much more to do than taste the refreshments.

Once night has fallen, and I am ensconced in my private quarters, I strip out of my clothes. I discard my shirt, pants and undergarments on the floor, and rummage through the wardrobe where clean clothes have been laid out for me.

I slip into bed and pull the covers up to my chin. The mattress is luxuriously soft, unlike the rough canvas I sleep on at home. Home. What are my parents doing now?

Did they spend supper in quiet prayer? Are they headed for bed, or will they even try to get sleep tonight?

I close my eyes, but I know right away that sleep is not coming. Sighing, I wrap the sheets tighter around me, and turn on the television.

They are broadcasting the Reapings for each District again. Somehow, I manage to make it through them all.

The tributes from District 1 are both volunteers, and not only that, but they're fraternal twins. Looks like Milagro and I aren't the only brother-sister team headed for the arena.

A few other tributes stand out in my mind; the male tribute from District 2, Cameron Mahkent, is rumored to have volunteered simply to gain attention; another from District 4, Fishing, with almond shaped eyes and black hair is somehow familiar to me. But most hauntingly of all, an auburn haired boy from District 5, power, is called.

At age thirteen the male from District 5 is the second youngest tribute to be entering the arena for this year's Games, after Milagro, of course. I replay his Reaping and watch him climb the podium. He does not look afraid. His chin is jutted out defiantly, and he stands tall, proud. When I mounted the stage, I was just barely holding my fear back.

Swallowing, I replay his Reaping for a third time. "Bart Allen," their escort announces. A shiver runs down my spine, but I am not entirely sure why. It's because he is so young, I decide. Yet I don't feel the need to replay our Reaping to watch Milagro get called.

"Bart Allen," I whisper, the name rolling comfortably on my tongue. His floppy brownish-red hair and piercing green eyes are the last thing I see before I drift off to sleep.


A/N: Young Justice Hunger Games AU, mainly focusing on Jaime Reyes. Bluepulse later on. I'm not sure yet if I should continue this or just scrap it? Anyways, constructive criticism & reviews are greatly appreciated.