Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the plot and any original ideas. It's a bit OC of Katniss and Haymitch but that goes without saying anyway. If you don't like it, don't read it. If you do like it though, feel free to read and review!

Summary: Taken place when Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta are all back in District 12 but Katniss and Peeta don't have kids yet, they're both unmarried and they're both seventeen. With Prim dead and Katniss and Peeta still both having flashbacks, can they stick together through thick and thin or will they fall apart? And who will be there for her when she needs help the most?

Rating: M for language, violence, and other bad stuff

Chapter One: Home Again

. . . .

I wake up to screaming but not sure if it's Peeta's or my own. Either way, it doesn't really matter because neither of us has gotten much sleep since we came back. Every night for the past two weeks since we've come home to whatever sad fragment of a house that was left, one of us has woken up screaming our head off in the middle of the night. The flashbacks of everything since the first Hunger Games we were thrown in have tortured our minds and have left traces in our nightmares. It's even gotten so bad to the point where we've unintentionally taken turns clawing each other in panic and terror during these nightmares.

With a tightness in my chest and my hair matted to my head with sweat, I instantly know that it had been me screaming. I feel cold hands on my shoulders and back and recognize them as his. I take gasping breaths and then realize to my embarrassment and frustration that I'm also crying.

"Hey… hey, it's okay, Katniss. I-It was just a bad dream…"

His voice should be soothing to me but his hesitation halfway through gives me doubts. Nothing that happened was okay. Rue shouldn't have been killed at all. Little Rue, who reminded me so much of Prim, and Prim… she definitely shouldn't have been killed. Finnick should have gone back to his wife Annie, and my mother shouldn't have abandoned me for a second time. None of this was okay. It all seemed like a bad dream.

I feel Peeta's fingers gently caress my dark hair in a weak attempt to calm me and I feel guilty for not being able to let him help me. I try and take several slow breaths, just like Haymitch had taught me when my panic attacks and night terrors were at an all time high. He had taken over for my mother in taking care of me and Peeta as well between his sober times and casual drunkenness. I never thought I'd ever say this but I don't know where we would be now if it hadn't been for him; Actually, I do know but I try not to let my mind wander into those dark places.

"I-I'm okay," I assure both of us even though I'm not a hundred percent sure. "I'm a-alright…"

I know he's not convinced by my assurance because he's silent for several moments, letting out a soft sigh. Finally, I feel his gentle touch leave me and the bed shift slightly as he stands up but I don't want him to leave quite yet. I am ashamed to admit how much more selfish and dependent on him I've become since we came back.

"What t-time is it?" I somehow manage to ask in the dim light of the rising sun.

I'm not looking at him but I know he's looking at the sad excuse for a wall clock behind him. "Almost five. I'll go make some tea for us. Do you feel up to taking a bath?"

The way he asks this makes me even more embarrassed but I know he means it sincerely and not sarcastically. The truth is, I really don't feel up to taking one but I know I need one. I nod weakly and then wrap my arms around my small, fragile body and walk into the small bathroom. I only half-heartedly close the door and begin to undress as the floorboards indicate to me that he's left the room and walked out into our tiny kitchen that we now share. I ignore the dusty, old mirror as I fill the cramped barrel up with lukewarm water and easily fit my limbs and emaciated torso inside it before I begin to scrub the dirt and grime off my skin.

I'm almost grateful Prim can't see me right now. She'd force feed me and spread guilt trips on how I need to eat for Peeta and take care of him better. I don't need her to tell me that though. I know deep down that he's suffering as much as me, if not more right now. Since we came back, his PTSD rages from being hijacked at the Capitol still haven't let up very much but I'm patient as I can be with him. I know the real Peeta is still in there deep down.

I must have been in here awhile because the next thing I hear is Peeta's voice calling down the hallway and asking if I'm okay, but there's something in the tone that suggests fear of me having done something to myself as well. I nod stupidly but then realize he can't see me nod.

"I'm f-fine!" I call out weakly back, my voice being underused since I haven't said much to anyone.

I hear his footsteps hesitate on the floor again but then hear Peeta walk back into the kitchen. It figures; he's afraid I'm going to kill myself. I admit that the thought's crossed my mind more than a few times since I've come back but I selfishly know if Peeta ever found me bleeding out or strung up, he wouldn't want to live anymore. I'm pretty much the only thing he has left besides his mother and the bakery but he hasn't been able to work there properly because of his nightmares and the spiders crawling in his head, corrupting any decent memories he might have of me. I also can't stand thinking of the look on Haymitch's face if he ever found out I offed myself. I don't want to give him any more reasons to drink himself into oblivion than he already has.

I rinse myself of the sweet vanilla and honey grass smelling soap and then force myself out and dry my body off. I fight the urge to crawl back into the long shirt I had been in last night so I pull on my hunting pants and a long sleeved shirt that almost hangs off my body because no one's forced me to eat when I don't feel like it. I lazily braid my hair down my back and then walk down the hall into the small kitchen where Peeta is standing by the window looking out. I already know what he's thinking of but I'm afraid he's going to fly into one of his spells.

"The Capitol burned the District to the ground, killing everyone we loved. Real or not real?" I ask weakly, softly in an attempt to try and keep him in reality and his feet on the ground.

He's quiet for a few moments before he finally answers. "Real. Except the bakery, r-right? And my mother? They're still alive, real or not real?"

I take the fact that he considers the bakery alive in and I feel an ache in my chest again. "Real."

I watch him nod in understanding and then sit down at the table. I also sit down and begin hold the mug of hot tea in my hands to try and warm them up from the chill outside that creeps in through the nooks and crannies of the house. We're both silent for what seems like ages until we both jump sky high when there's a knock at the door. We both look at each other with equally curious expressions. We both know it can only be one person. I don't have the energy to get up again so Peeta takes my stillness as cue to get up and go answer the door.

I look down at my tea as I hear Haymitch's voice after Peeta opens it.

"Good morning, lovebirds! How are the victors doing this morning?"

From the false happiness in his voice I can tell that he's already cracked open a bottle, or probably never stopped drinking since we came home. A part of me doesn't want him here but the other part of me feels bad for the very opposite. His drunken appearance is acknowledgement that we're all in this suffering together and he's doing just as bad as we are; his being here in this awful state makes me feel better in knowing that the events that happened has messed with all of us and gave us more baggage we didn't already need.

There seems to be a blank look of shock on Peeta's face and I can just tell it's going to be a rough day for him, which goes without saying it'll be a rough day for me too. Haymitch recognizes this look instantly and a flash of sympathy comes across his face.

"I was your mentor in the first Hunger Games you were in, real or not real?" Haymitch asks as he looks down at Peeta with bloodshot eyes.

There's a long pause and my stomach twists uncomfortably until Peeta finally answers him. "R-Real…?"

A small smile appears on Haymitch's face now and he gently pats Peeta on the shoulder before looking sympathetic again. "That's right, kiddo."

I take a long sip of my now lukewarm tea as I watch Haymitch sit down at our table with his tired and identical Seam eyes and see him look at me with them. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"Better than you, by the looks of it," I answer almost bitterly before I can bite my tongue. I don't know where this is coming from but I can't help being resentful of our ex-mentor. He was the only one who was able to keep me alive not only during both Hunger Games but even after we came back to our broken and burned District, but he wasn't able to quit drinking the whole time.

He gives me a drunken smirk and shakes his head in what I can only fathom must be disbelief for him. "Just because you're not drunk doesn't mean you're doing better than I am, Katniss. Don't fool yourself, sweetheart," he almost taunts me.

I see Peeta look at Haymitch with a disapproving and almost angry fire in his own eyes and for a split second I can't tell if he's going to hurt him or myself but then he sits down by where his own tea is and I relax slightly. Normally I can ignore Haymitch's habit of calling me by the passive-aggressive pet name but for some reason today, it's already getting to me.

"Take another look at yourself, Haymitch. It's not even seven in the morning and you're already plastered. You can't go an hour a day without being totally shitfaced! Who's fooling who around here?" I exclaim, shooting him the darkest glare I can muster.

I'm purposely trying to get him riled up but I know I failed when he just chuckles and smiles at me. I don't know where my sudden tears are coming from but I know they're out of anger and spite and bitterness of a pill that I still haven't been able to totally swallow yet.

"That's right, Haymitch! Laugh and smile that shit eating grin you always give me because you haven't lost anything! You don't have anything to be angry for or anything to fight for anymore!" I jump up and yell at him as hot tears run down my face.

I see him jump up now and I can see that I've finally hit a nerve with him and he leans over but doesn't touch me. I can feel the remnants of my heart beating fast in my hollow chest as I smell the familiar sickly smell of stale alcohol on his breath, almost making me feel nauseous.

"I haven't lost anything? I've lost kids that I've mentored and dared to give a shit about in the past Hunger Games! I've lost my dignity and friends! I've lost my mother, brother, and the only woman I've ever truly loved! I've lost a hell of a lot more than you could ever imagine so don't even play that game with me, sweetheart. You are right about one thing though, Girl on Fire… I don't have anything to fight for anymore, which is why I drown myself in alcohol and drink myself into a coma! You can say a lot of things to me, Katniss, but never tell me that I haven't lost anything!"

I want to tear his face off when I hear him call me 'sweetheart' again but I hear him slam his fist on the table and walk out of the small, sad excuse for a house before I can even say another word to him. I'm in temporary shock but it quickly wears off and I sit back down in my seat, silent and regretting Haymitch ever coming over here this morning.

"Don't listen to him, Katniss. He's just drunk and doesn't know what he's saying…"

I finish off my tea and look over at Peeta. "He's right though. I shouldn't have said that he hasn't lost anything. We knew he lost those kids he mentored before, and he lost his family…"

"But we lost our families too, and people we care about. He should've understood," Peeta chimed in, trying to make excuses for me like he always does.

I'm quiet again, unsure what to say. I'm not going to agree with Peeta because I was the one who had pushed Haymitch and I should've remembered about his losses. I try and not to let the guilt and self pity take over me too much but I can't help it, not when I know about the day ahead for us today.

The day goes on for us without further confrontation from Haymitch but when the evening hits, I begin to get tired and my eyelids close as I lay on the floor in our tiny living area. I dream I'm back in the forest where the first Hunger Games took place and I'm watching Rue die, but instead of Rue, it's Prim I'm holding as she fades away in my arms. I'm screaming and crying but I feel hands around my neck cutting off my oxygen and she slips out of my strong arms. I wake up gasping for air and see Peeta hovering over me, his fingers pressing down hard against my throat and the oxygen is sucked out of me. I fight against him like we're still in the Hunger Games but my muscle mass has long since deteriorated from not hunting and I feel faint as my vision blurs.

"Peeta!" I faintly hear a voice yell and then suddenly my lungs fill up with air once again but not before I cough violently to try and regain what I had lost. I roll over onto my hands and knees and look up at my savior that managed to pull Peeta off of me but still is struggling to calm him down.

"YOU TRIED TO KILL ME! YOU KILLED MY FAMILY! THE CAPITOL WANTS YOU!"

"Stop it, Peeta! That's not true, remember?! The Capitol killed your family! And mine, And Katniss' sister!" I hear Haymitch's voice try to force Peeta to remember.

"I HAVE TO FINISH IT! I HAVE TO KILL YOU OR YOU'LL KILL ME!"

When I finally stand up, I see Haymitch holding Peeta almost easily against the wall to try to restrain him while he's looking at me with wide eyes. "Katniss, get the morphling!"

I hurry into my room where I keep the syringe of morphling on the bedside table, just in case Peeta attacks me during the night and he needs to be calmed down. I grab it and hurriedly walk back to where Peeta is still yelling and I jab the syringe into Peeta's forearm forcefully before quickly pushing down the plunger part and watch as he slips into a whole other world. His body weakens and begins to fall to the ground as he slips into oblivion but Haymitch gently picks his body up and carries him into the living area where the couch is and sets Peeta's limp body onto it.

I watch his chest move up and down peacefully before covering him up with a blanket and turning to Haymitch. "T-Thank you," I practically whisper to him, still feeling a bit lightheaded.

His hand finds my cheek and for a moment I'm scared he's going to hit me or something so I instinctively flinch. "You really think I'd do that, Katniss?"

I force myself to meet his eyes and for the first time in I don't know how long, I see genuine hurt and pain in them. I shake my head no because I don't want him to think that I think he would purposely hit me because of harsh words but the damage has already been done.

"I-I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Haymitch. I-I didn't think when I said those things…" I stutter out before he can say anything else.

He gently tugs on my braid and takes my face gently in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye. Our eyes connect and are swallowed in a storm of grey. "Let's go to my place. I think you could use a drink."

I'm too tired and too embarrassed to object so I just nod hesitantly before I force myself to follow him out the door and outside. The air is cold and the wind stings my face but there's no snow on the ground yet. Maybe it's too cold too snow or maybe District 12 has been wiped from the map and none of us exist anymore. I pull my sleeves over my hands, very much aware I'm under dressed until I feel Haymitch place his jacket over my shoulders.

"Wait, no… you need it," I weakly object but he gives me a knowing look so I don't fight with him. We're both quiet for several moments and it feels like we'll never get to his house soon enough when I hear his voice speak to me again.

"I know you're suffering too, Katniss. I know you've experienced loss and… loss is loss, no matter how many people you lose."

This catches me off guard. I don't know what I had expected him to say but this wasn't it. Suddenly it feels like the air just dropped twenty more degrees but I feel better knowing that he isn't angry at me or I haven't disappointed him. This new feeling worries me but I try to push it back down inside me.

We were quiet for awhile longer until we finally entered his just as poor excuse for a house except it felt a lot warmer than my own. Looking around, I noticed a small furnace in the corner and I could smell something amazing on the stove in the kitchen. I never thought of him as someone who actually cooked anything and seeing a pot on the stovetop brought reality to the surface. He was just as human as me. The three of us really were in this whole thing together.

"Peeta really should be taking better care of you. You're wasting away on us…"

It sounded like something my father would've said to me if he had lived long enough to see me and Peeta together. I sat down at the kitchen table as Haymitch lazily grabbed a bowl and poured some stew in it before placing it in front of me. He sat down next to me but didn't eat, making me unsettled.

"Peeta's going through his own problems right now. It's not his responsibility to make sure I eat. I haven't been hungry anyway," I try to reason out with him. I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes tiredly and watch him look at me suspiciously.

"You need to eat or the Girl on Fire is going to be ashes soon enough. Now eat," he ordered, getting up and pouring himself a glass of clear alcohol.

"Look around you, Haymitch, that's all District 12 is now. Ashes, and we're living in the ashes."

He chuckled mockingly and sat down again before he took a long drink, finishing off the glass quickly before he poured himself another. "Well then, we need to rise up from the ashes like a phoenix, don't we, sweetheart?"

I let myself smile weakly and forced myself to eat a small spoonful of the stew and felt my body react to the hot liquids, instantly making me feel the urge to eat more. I eat another spoonful and another until I finish the bowl and Haymitch is looking satisfied with himself. My tiredness is beginning to take over again and I stand up, starting towards the door.

"Thank you for the stew but… I need to go check on Peeta."

I hear a resigned sigh from behind me and a chair pull out. "Yes, you need to check on your psychotic baker lover. Be careful; The Hunger Games may be over but he's still playing, whether he knows it or not."

I can tell that for once in his life, he's being serious and genuinely concerned for my safety. A small part of me is appreciative but another part is offended, and this part unfortunately rises to the surface, making me defensive of the boy with the bread.

"He can't help the rages… he didn't get hijacked willingly, Haymitch. That's why it's called hijacking. I still… I still love him," I say more weakly than I want to. "I need to watch over him!"

I look into Haymitch's eyes and see the smirk that I've grown so much to despise from him. "Need to or want to? They're both totally different things and it's yourself that you need to protect, not him, sweetheart."

"He can't help being like this!"

Haymitch shakes his head and pours himself another drink before he looks at me exasperatedly. "He can, he just doesn't want to! He knows the exercises to try and keep his feet on the ground, Katniss. He's just ignoring them because he knows he can get sympathy from you!"

I somehow manage to bite my tongue this time before I throw his jacket on the floor and storm out of his house, making sure to slam the door in an attempt to aggravate the hangover I know he already has today. As storm back to my house, I internally scold myself for letting him take me back to his house without even knowing what his intentions had been. If I had known he was going to give me warnings about Peeta and taunt him for something he couldn't control, then I never would've gone with him.

I don't let myself relax until I'm back at my own cold house and see Peeta still sleeping on the couch. I grab our tea cups from this morning and begin to wash them out in the sink but Haymitch's words still are replaying in my head. Why would Peeta keep trying to kill me if he was faking it? He wouldn't risk my trust and love for him like that. If he really was trying to play on my sympathy and taking me for granted, wouldn't I know it?

My thoughts wander off about the possibilities until I feel a sharp pain in my hand and realize that I had washed too hard and broke part of the mug I been washing, causing it to cut my finger. Damn Haymitch for getting in my head and damn myself for letting him.