A/N: This is a fill that I did on Glee Kink Meme. It's different from most Hunger Games fic because it talks about the aftermath and it features one of the characters as someone who was from the Capitol. Please note that there's a brief mentioning of character death in this chapter, but it's not explicit. If you like this fic, please rec and review it. Also, I have a Tumblr and I'd be honored if you can follow me at "rykerstrom . tumblr . com". Thank you and enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

Blaine had not expected that he would live through it. Nobody had expected to live through it. In fact, if there was one that was certain, it was most assuredly that the odds were not expected to be ever in his favor. At the end of the day, Blaine Anderson was dispensable.

He was dispensable even in the eyes of his family.

"It's your brother's last year," his father said, his eyes hopeful about his son's future. "He's getting married in a few months and then he'll be starting a family."

The unspoken words and their implications hung in the air. Cooper was important. Cooper would bring pride to the family name. Cooper was loved. Cooper was straight.

Cooper was everything that Blaine was not.

Of course, the likelihood of Cooper actually being chosen was very slim; due to their family being more well off than others in the district Cooper's name had only been entered the minimum of seven times, but they discussed it nonetheless. They discussed it every year, but this year was especially important because it was Cooper's final Reaping, and everyone had such great plans for Cooper Anderson.

But The Capital had its own.

When his brother's name had rang out into the air, Blaine had felt as if his Earth had stuttered to a stop. He watched, sweat breaking out across his brow, as his brother's face had filled the screen. Terror and shock blending into one and almost rendering his brother unrecognisable.

Blaine didn't have to search for his parents to know that somewhere their hearts were breaking. That his mother would have all but collapsed into his father's arms as she heard her nightmare confirmed. No, he didn't have to crane his neck to know that his father's jaw was tense and that the hands that held his wife shook with fear and barely contained fury. He didn't have to meet their eyes to know what it was they wanted. Needed.

Blaine loved his brother. His brother was his ally, his best friend, his confidant. Cooper had always been there for him when no one else would stand up for him. Cooper could not die, not when he was so close to being free from all this. Cooper deserved a chance at happiness.

On the screen he watched his brother gave a small brave smile and started forward as the crowd parted, as if a mere brush of his shoulder would contaminate them to the same fate. As the escort called Cooper's name with excitement and encouragement, Blaine watched his beloved brother, his charismatic, graceful and confident brother, stumble over his own feet, catching himself before he fell to the ground.

Blaine knew then, without a doubt, what he had to do.

Blaine had received one of the lowest scores out of all the Tributes. That was to be expected. He didn't train for this. The most he could do was boxing, but boxing was really of no use when you were up against all types of weapons. In spite of coming from District 7, Blaine hardly had many opportunities to handle an axe. As his father put it, he was too accident-prone to handle sharp objects. Therefore, the most that he could rely on, was to make allies, use his wits, and hope that by being nice and evading people, he would get lucky. After all, it had worked for others in the past.

At the beginning, Blaine was sure that he would die on Day 1, especially considering that year's Hunger Game environment was that of a desert, the polar opposite of Blaine's hometown. For one brief moment he had thought of jumping from his podium and ending it all right there. But something had held him back. He honestly didn't know if it had been hope, or stupidity.

He remembered having wasted most of his energy running from other Tributes and trying to hide. By the end of the Day 4, he had no water, no food, and no shelter. As the cold night wore on, Blaine realized to his dismay that he might have contracted the early stage of hypothermia.

However, it seemed that not everyone had betted on Blaine getting killed. Day 4, as it turned out, was the turning point for Blaine. As he felt himself inching toward the blink of death, supplies and care packages started coming in. It started out rather ordinarily. Blaine would receive care packages with food and vitamin supplements to tide him over and help him keep his strengths.

And then, the care packages became increasingly extravagant over time. Even in the state he was in, he was confused. He lacked the popularity of the other Tributes. He wasn't an obvious contender, he wasn't the most handsome, he wasn't the most memorable. He was just Blaine Anderson of District 7. Just plain old dispensable Blaine Anderson.

By Day 7, Blaine realized that the one thing keeping him alive was that someone was betting on him. That someone actually cared whether he lived or died. Hope ignited in him and he began to play the game. He wouldn't kill. Not for them. But he got smarter. Got quicker. And by Day 9, when only five remained, he realized that he may actually get a chance to go home.

It was this day that the knife arrived. It was beautiful, exquisite even. Even novice that he was, he knew that it was of finest grade materials and craftsmanship of the highest quality available. Taking it from the leather-wrapped sheath, he had turned it over and over in his hands, letting fingers graze the sharp steel, not even flinching as it nicked at the skin.

Across the belly of the blade, it was simply engraved.

Blaine Anderson. Victor.

From the moment that Blaine's had called out in his brother's stead, he had told himself that he would not kill anyone. He would not let The Capital use his hand to create their havoc. He would go in as himself, and he would leave as himself.

At night he watched as the faces would show in the sky, and grip that knife tighter and tell himself that it wasn't a weapon. It was a symbol. A symbol of faith. He would never be the one to put an image above him. Not even when Kurt of District 11 had appeared. Kurt of District 11, with the cerulean eyes and the kind smile. Kurt of District 11, whose eyes were now dull and whose smile was gone forever, leaving the tributes down to two. Not even then did he consider dirtying that beautiful blade with the blood of another.

Until Day 14. Until David Karofsky, a Career from District 2, had come at him with that machete and everything Blaine had ever whispered urgently to himself fled in one last effort to keep going, to keep breathing, to keep being. Until that moment.

Blaine Anderson. Victor.

Blaine shook his head to clear his thoughts from replaying David's final moments. It was not something he wanted to recall, ever again.

Winning, as it turned out, was a gift and a curse.

Blaine had exposed his weakness the moment he had taken his brother's place. His love for his family. And The Capital had used that against him. They had came to him during the victory tour, their smiles wide and their eyes empty, and had told him that he was important. They had told him that he was needed, that he was desired. And it was such a small thing, wasn't it? And worth it in the end. His family would thank him, and didn't Blaine love his family? He had already came this far, what was a few steps more.

"You have to be strong," his mentor, Mercedes, had told him. "I know that it's- I know that you thought it would be over by now, we iall/i thought it would be over," her eyes had darted around as if President Snow's hand could clamp down on her shoulder any moment. "But you have to be strong. For the ones you love." Her head had bowed then and her fingers touched at the gold band around her finger. "For the ones you love, Blaine."

Blaine took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. He had been sitting in this extravagant room for the past half an hour as he waited for what would be his- customer.

First customer. He thought bitterly. This was it. This was going to be the rest of Blaine's life. To be someone's toy until he became too old to hold anyone's interests. Winning in the Hunger Game was no victory, it was a different kind of death sentence altogether. Blaine Anderson was no victor.

Blaine heard the heavy wooden doors opening but remained where he was. He really did not want to know or meet the person who was about to buy him. Blaine saw a pair of feet before him, dressed in what he could perceive as very expensive pair of shoes.

Finally, Blaine looked up and was greeted by the most radiant pair of sea-green eyes he had ever seen.

"I'm Sebastian Smythe," Sebastian extended out a hand. "And you're Blaine Anderson. Victor."

(TBC)

Addendum: The fic is still work in progress, but I do intend on finishing this as I already have the entire story plotted out. If you like this fic, please rec and review it. Also, I have a Tumblr and I'd be honored if you can follow me at "rykerstrom . tumblr . com". Thank you!