Maybe it's just a short story with a few chapters to curb this appetite for a look inside Haymitch's head, maybe it'll be something longer. I don't know yet. Until about two hours ago I'd never considered writing a Hunger Games fic especially since The Walking Dead is more of my forte on this site, but I'll just see where this takes me. Haymitch is a bit of an unsung hero in my opinion and an underappreciated one too. Plus, I love Woody Harrelson. Thanks for reading and review if you like.
"Welcome, welcome as we celebrate the 75th anniversary and third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games." A brief pause. "As always, ladies first."
One folded slip inside the glass bowl. Just one damn name and they all had to go through this humiliating display for it. She knew it was her name on the slip; who else's name could it possibly be? Insult to injury and what a subtly induced injury it was. He did not dare to glance sideways at her, but for the first in the nine years she had been happily announcing the names of tributes, Effie Trinket faltered before speaking into the microphone.
"The female tribute for District 12: Katniss Everdeen."
Now he looked, leaning ever so slightly forward so that they could make eye contact as Katniss took her spot on Effie's left, her face passive but he knew better. She had to be boiling inside and in danger of bursting with anger at the injustice of it all. Still, she turned her head in his direction as Effie spoke out.
"Wonderful. And now for the men…"
He bit the skin inside of his jaw and gave her a brief, almost nonexistent nod. Thinking back to it, he wished that he had died the first time in the arena rather than face this decision now. Was it worth it to live in this drunken form, watching these two young people face certain death once again? Had winning really paid off if it meant his mother, his brother, his lover, and now his two surrogate children had to die? He had promised the boy that he would do everything in his power to get her out alive the first time. He made the same promise the second time except this time she pleaded the same for the boy. What would he do? What could he do? If Effie called his name, there was no stopping the boy volunteering to enter the arena with her because no matter if she was indifferent to his affections, he sincerely loved her. But what if the boy's name came out of the bowl? Could he really bring himself to volunteer in the boy's place? Which promise was more important to keep?
"The male tribute for District 12…"
Come on, just get it over with, woman.
"…is Peeta Mellark."
His body reacted before his mind had time to process the name. His arm blocked the boy from advancing towards Effie and the words spilled out of his mouth without him being in full awareness of speaking them.
"I volunteer as tribute."
There it was: the relief, the gratitude on Katniss's face, on Effie's, on half the crowd's. If they couldn't keep both of their lover tributes, at least they could keep one. No one would care about him once he was shipped back to District 12 in a wooden coffin to be buried alongside his house in a virtually empty Victor's Village.
"You can't—" the boy tried to argue.
"Watch me."
Effie could not conceal the same relief in her voice that Katniss's voice had displayed as she spoke the closing words of the reaping.
"Very well. The tributes for District 12: Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy."
God, what the hell am I getting myself into?
The salute came first from Mrs. Everdeen and the girl, then like a rippling wave, spread throughout the crowd until every man, woman, and child stood defiantly abreast to send off Katniss Everdeen, their symbol of freedom—and the town drunkard.
Two pairs of gloved hands closed around his upper arms, steering him backwards into the Justice Building.
"Hey, let go. I can walk on my own—"
"Move," snapped the Peacekeeper to his right.
"I could move just fine if you'd get your damn hands off of me!"
Not for the first time in his life his rebellious attitude and running mouth earned him a smack to the back of the head. He had suffered numerous worse knocks to the head, but most recently he had been drunk and so the effects did not set in until a day or so later when he had sobered up. Now he felt the sting in full and it stunned him to the point of making him lose his balance. The Peacekeepers dragged him on so that he was half stumbling, half being carried to the train station with Katniss in tow and Effie and the boy supposedly somewhere behind them. Up the steps they went until his hostile escort dropped him unceremoniously on the floor in the dining cart. Almost at once he was up in fury, rushing back at the guards in stark white with visors to protect their foul faces, but the boy stopped him, if only briefly. He tried to get around, clawing at the Peacekeepers and shouting obscenities but now Katniss had a hold on him too and to his surprise, Effie had taken a fistful of his shirt in her polished nails until the train took off from the station with a jolt and the four of them tumbled over one another onto the carpet.
"Gerroff," he spat, struggling to disentangle himself from the knot of limbs surrounding him.
"I don't know what you were trying to accomplish back there by fighting Peacekeepers, but it was a pretty dumb move for a mentor who's been in the system for twenty-five years," said the boy spitefully, standing up and brushing himself off with a scowl.
He scrambled to his feet, leaving the women to gather themselves up behind him as he frog-marched the boy out of the room to the cart at the back of the train. Once he was certain that they were alone he locked the door as a precaution and then rounded on the boy.
"Don't gimme that look. If I could have volunteered for her I would have but it doesn't work like that."
"So you think you'll do her better good by going into the arena with her instead of getting her sponsors?"
"You're the one with the golden tongue, kid, you can get just as many sponsors for her if not more than I ever could. I know the techniques and tactics of the other tributes and I can help her avoid them. I'll do you both more good being in the arena than on the sidelines."
"Snow won't let her live," said the boy desperately. "He'll do everything he can to make sure she dies out there. It's not just a coincidence that the card made the reaping include previous tributes and you know it. He rigged the system specifically to put her back in the arena and dispose of her."
"Which is why it'll be a smack in the face when she comes out victor again. Trust me."
"Haymitch—"
He took the boy's face in his hands. "Look at me, kid. Normally she's the one I've got to calm down, so don't go to pieces on me now. I know what I'm doing, okay? If you play your cards right and let me play mine, she'll come out of this alive."
"But you won't. I can't let you do that for us. I was prepared to die for her once before, why couldn't you let me do it again?"
"No one should have to prepare to die for someone else twice, especially not someone who has their whole life ahead of them. I've had this coming, Peeta. I can do it without regrets. You two—"
He couldn't make the words come, couldn't even vomit them out with the small bit of white liquor he had chugged that morning. Neither of the kids knew how very glad he was to have coached them, how very thankful he was for their company in his last days. He had never said anything so sentimental before and he wasn't about to start now.
He clapped Peeta on the shoulder and exited the cart, heading for his room where he knew he wouldn't be tempted to reach for a bottle. From here on out he had to keep his wits about him, but that meant facing the possibility of withdrawals which always brought nightmares. Still, they couldn't be any worse than what awaited him at the end of the train line.