Something to Avenge

by Mad Scientist Sidekick

The 74th annual Hunger Games are about to begin, and this year promises plenty of drama, with District 12's first volunteer, Katniss Everdeen, victor and tech mogul Howard Stark's son, Anthony, the little brother of the deadliest tribute ever, Clint Barton, the enigmatic Drusa Romanov, and the defiant Thresh all going head to head. What chance does shy village healer Spruce stand?

1. Chapter 1 Reaping Day (Spruce)

Something to Avenge

Chapter 1

Reaping Day

I knew perfectly well what day it was. My next to last reaping – well, hopefully, anyway. I knew I was risking a treason charge if I stayed, but I did anyway.

But severed veins didn't care what day it was – they could be inconsiderate that way.

They put the man, Elmer West, on my table, dripping blood everywhere. That's how I know it's a vein – an artery would be spurting, assuming of course the workmen could even make it to my house if an artery had been severed. Everyone leaves but his foreman – they're going to watch the reaping.

The first thing I do is cut the heavy flannel away to expose the wound. Two centimeters more, and it would have been an artery – the brachial artery. Thankfully, the vein isn't completely severed – there's no need to clamp it off and risk the arm. I apply pressure to staunch the bleeding. It was close but not in the end dangerous. "What happened Elmer?" I ask the bleeding man. He's a heavy lumberjack … like everyone in District 7. My answer is a profanity-filled rant against lazy newbies failing to call timber with enough warning for the others to get out of the way in an orderly manner. As it is, he was injured because he and the others on his crew took off in a panic to avoid the falling tree, and Elmer got knicked by someone's saw … frankly I'm just glad none of them got crushed. When someone's under a tree, there's usually nothing I can do for them besides dull the pain unless they were extremely fortunate. Maybe if I were a real doctor, I could do more than stitch and set bones, but that's a pipe dream and always will be. "I'll stitch it up … it's gonna be swollen and sensitive to pressure for a while. I'll give you something for the pain. Watch it close – this kind of thing tends to get infected." We lose more men to lockjaw fever* and other infections than actual wounds. And of course the hunger.

"Thanks Doctor," Elmer tells me genuinely despite the pain I know he's still in. No matter how many times I hear it, I get a little embarrassed to hear the respectful address from men twice my age. Ever since my mother died, I'm the only healer in this part of the district – and I was trained by the best. The merchants and officials pay me in real money or valuables like books, but most of my patients are lumberjacks and carpenters. They pay me in food or clothing – I always feel guilty taking it because I know they don't have any to spare. But they don't want me in the forests or even the lumberyards, unless I've run there to tend someone. They don't want me in the arena either – they made sure I haven't had to take a tessara since my mother died. But my name is still in twelve times – thirteen times next year.

"Connie – will you hold this towel while I go to the back?" I ask the burly woman who could easily be mistaken for a man if you didn't know her who had helped carry him in and stayed by her man. She nods and takes the towel, pressing exactly the way I tell her too, and I head to the back room, hoping I won't wake him up.

I walk past my father, curled up asleep on his bed, to the shelves full of medicines I mix myself. Most of my time goes not to seeing patients but to finding the herbs I need and preparing them properly. I would keep them out front where I see patients but there's no room and I can't risk someone knocking them over and costing precious time. Dad stirs but doesn't wake as I stand on tip toes to reach the top shelf. He smells – I haven't had time to make the meager effort I usually do to get him cleaned up in days because of the influenza outbreak. I promise him I'll get to it today even though he doesn't hear me, and I hear the Other Guy growling in the back of my mind like he does every time I'm around him. I pull three jars from the shelves.

I pour the medicines into little oil ration jars for Elmer. Patients almost always bring the jars back to me, and enough folks give me theirs when they're done to more than replace the ones that don't make it back. In addition to the painkillers, I'll give Elmer medicine for the potential infection too … but I'll tell him it's for the pain too. He won't take it otherwise.

I step past my father once again, trying not to shudder at the sight and smell of him on my way back to the living room. "You'd better hurry," Connie says worriedly, looking at the clock on the living room wall – the most valuable thing I own, a present from one of the merchants after I helped his son survive the whooping cough.

"I have time," I insist, and retrieve my good stitching needle and thread from a drawer in the table. "I won't have time to clean up though … it's going to be a nightmare cleaning up after."

"I'll clean it for ya Sprucey," she says affectionately. "Just try not to get drawn again." Some of the parents with sick children acted like the world had ended when my name came up in the preliminary drawing.

"I'll try," I say with a smile as I go to work. I work as quickly as I can and still do a good job – it's not Elmer's fault he almost got killed by a tree on Reaping Day. All though his crew did cut it close – they were working rather late for everyone's "favorite holiday."

"You don't really have to clean up if …"
"Oh shut up and stitch."

"Thanks. My cleaning supplies are right here," I say, and point with my foot to the spot under the table where I stow such things. "Think of it as advance pay next time Willow gets sick." Connie has a little girl with bad lungs – I sit up with her several nights a month, especially in the autumn, doing what little I can and wishing I could convince Blight Turner to buy her one of the nebulizers I've read about with his victor money. I've tried several times.

"Not on your life," she protests. She always gives me bread – good bakery bread. I guess I can expect more the next time Willow starts wheezing.

While I finish stitching up Elmer's arm, I explain to him how much of each medicine to take and at what time of day, and how long he should be off work. I tell him to drink plenty of fluids (not alcohol) and eat hearty if he can to replace what's been lost from his blood – and finding water is easy enough but the food, less so. He's already pale from the blood loss but pales even more when I tell him how long he'll be off work – his family can't afford it. I worry about it too – most people manage to squirrel away emergency rations for a few days, so he's not worried about the short term so much as the fact his entire safety net will be gone. Hopefully he'll have time to rebuild it before he has need of it again.

"Spruce, go – you're going to miss the train," Connie says pointedly as I sew the last stitch. I look at the time, hoping I have at least long enough to wash the blood from my skin and put on the suit I laid out – no such luck. I curse under my breath as I nod my thanks to her and run out the door of the cabin.

Thankfully the Reaping is being held close this year and so the train hasn't left yet. Even so, I just barely caught it – it's started moving and I have to take a flying leap onto one of the open trailers full of kids going to the Reaping or else risk being charged with treason. Most of them are strangers to me, and of course they have no idea who I am and understandably look terrified as I hop on board, soaked in blood. There's two or three other kids from surrounding villages, however, and they immediately worry about who got hurt and how bad it was. I am immediately besieged by questions. "Elmer West – it wasn't bad. He just needed a lot of stitches and he's going to take some time to heal up," I explain quickly. I see the kids from other villages immediately relax – they know I'm not an axe murderer.

There are one hundred of us all told. Two of us will hear their names for a second time today.

I realize I'm going to be on TV covered in blood. Maybe I'll be one of the "interesting sights" they talk about on the recaps – I can imagine Caesar Flickerman and other commentators pointing me out in a crowd and wondering what the hell happened that day. I wonder how far off the speculation will be – I'm sure none of them will guess I'm a healer, though some may guess I rendered aid, considering it's mostly on my arms. And even though they'll know better, they'll probably pretend they think I'm a murderer or there was a fight (probably for ridiculously romanticized reasons) before the Reaping, because it'll make a better story.

I try to sleep on the way to the Reaping – I catch sleep where I can. Just as torn veins don't care that it's Reaping Day, the whooping cough and measles can be very inconsiderate about normal working hours. I'm not too worried anything will happen while I'm gone – even the ones without kids stop to watch the Reaping, either in person or on television.

I can't quite sleep – the blood is sticky and uncomfortable and the ride is not exactly smooth – so instead I wonder if I can get hold of Johanna Mason after the ceremony. She doesn't live in the mostly empty victors' village, but rather in a cabin all by herself off in the forests – I'm not sure if she hates Blight, Marty, and Axel or people in general. I've heard the latter, but I've also heard that unlike Blight she can be badgered into making necessary purchases for those in District 7 who can't afford it in the right circumstances. I wonder if the blood will be a help or a hindrance in that regard.

We make it into Cloudcroft village high in the mountains, and there's an inordinate amount of fanfare. They announce our arrival over loud outdoor speakers, even though the grim-faced locals already know we're here – they look at us with a mix of pity, resignation, and relief it's not their kids.

We file out of the flat bed and to the square with as much dignity as possible considering most of us are shaking with fear. Even the older ones – only the small districts like 12 have a drawing for everyone at once. Most of us have never had our names called in the preliminaries before – we're closer to the Arena than we've ever been. We give them a drop of blood so they can confirm we were here – I wonder if anyone's ever actually tried to run. Probably.

They separate the boys and girls for some arbitrary reason I don't understand, and put the younger ones out front. I hate it when it's one of them – a couple of years ago I made the mistake of mentioning I might volunteer if it's a twelve-year-old who gets called in a bar full of lumberjacks who depend on me if they get hurt or their kids get sick. Needless to say, it was not a mistake I repeated. Since I'm seventeen, I stand almost in the back, looking at rows and rows of younger kids whose lives are on the line. They've set up a stage for the event, and even though it was probably made in just a couple of days, it looks professional and beautiful. The lumber district wouldn't have anything less.

One of the television men from the Capitol spots me and motions to the camera operator – I can practically feel it zooming in on me. I fight the urge to run and hide – even if not for the blood I'm underdressed and I hate being the center of attention – and instead make the most of my fifteen minutes of fame. I muster my most mischievous smile and wave at the camera. The operator grins in response – I wonder if the citizens of the Capitol are watching live.

The mayor of Cloudcroft gets up to speak, and, thankfully, the cameraman turns the camera to face him. He seems excited – the Reaping is held in a different village each year and this is probably his only chance to shine on national television. We all stand in our neat little rows, trying to feign interest but desperately wanting to get the ceremony over with. Johanna Mason is sitting on stage, looking as bitter as she always does, along with Blight, Marty, and Axel. Axel was the previous victor before Blight, and he's severely addicted to morphling. He never looks like he's all there – I never asked him for anything for my patients. Marty's getting on in years, but that didn't stop him from running me off his property swinging a ballpeen hammer the one and only time I tried to ask him for donations. Blight sees me and rolls his eyes – he was rather aggressive the last time he told me no, though I suppose no one will ever top Marty in that regard, and I'm now apparently banned from the victors' village. I try to get Johanna's attention subtly – but she's deliberately avoiding looking at us and I'm not going to be the idiot who can't be still during the Reaping.

The speeches seem to drag on forever, but the next part is easy to listen to. Our very own Capitol representative, Cassius Finkelman, steps up to the cages that hold our names, all smiles and unnecessary flourishes of the hands. His hair and skin are purple this year. "Before we begin, do we have any volunteers?" No one answers. After a very long, awkward silence, he sticks a perfectly manicured hand into the girls' cage first and I hold my breath, selfishly hoping it's not a girl I know. "Let's have a nice round of applause for our lady tribute, Juniper New!" Finkelman says all too enthusiastically, and we clap because he told us to do so even though we're all looking to Juniper in pity. She's not anyone I know, but I feel bad anyway. She's not one of the littlest ones, but she's not very old either – I'd guess she's fourteen or fifteen. She puts on a brave face and steps forward, and no one calls to take her place. I hear a young girl in the crowd burst into tears – doubtless a niece or a little sister, and I clench my fists in my pockets while the Other Guy murmurs in nonsensical rage. I shudder with the simple act of keeping myself in place and my face as blank as I can keep it.

With Juniper on stage, Finkelman reaches into the boys' cage. I brace myself, telling myself there's only a one in fifty chance I'll hear my name again.** Finkelman takes entirely too long to find a name and pull it out. He reads it slowly, and it takes me a minute to comprehend the significance.

"Spruce Banner," he repeats, because he got no response.

I feel blood rush to my face and extremities – my body's telling me to run. I force myself to stay in place while I catch my breath. The kids who know me turn to face me, and the others' eyes follow theirs. I force my feet to move in the direction of the stage. I'm hyper aware of everything around me – the looks on the faces of the other kids, the sound of the wind rustling the pine needles and the loose clothes of the gathered crowd, the ruckus from the crowd as some of the folks from my village and those around it try to explain that I'm needed here and convince Finkelman to draw again, the expressions on the faces of the important people on stage. Johanna bites her lip, studying me, while Marty looks at me as though I'm already dead (and he's not sad about it), Blight actually looks a little concerned – he knows I'm a healer, not a killer – and Axel looks as far gone as ever. The mayor gives me an encouraging nod – as though he understands – and Finkelman still has that damn smirk. I want to wipe it off his face – the Other Guy is growling at me to do so but I ignore him. Finkelman ignores the crowd's pleading for me, of course. I manage a feeble smile as I climb on stage beside Juniper and shake hands with Finkelman. "Ladies and gentleman, the tributes of District 7!" he announces loudly, and the gathered lumberjacks and carpenters manage surprisingly genuine applause for us as the national anthem starts. I know they're desperately hoping one of us will come back to them – I know because that's what I always hoped. It came true three years ago – Johanna came back to us. I look at Juniper, and I hope she'll be as lucky.

It's only when the Peacekeepers escort us offstage that I let the fear sink in. I start to shake all over and I'm sick to my stomach. They take us into the Hall of Justice and separate us – they're going to give us time to say goodbye. Of course Dad's still at home, and even if they could wake him it's going to take at least an hour to get here, and by that time I'll be on a train to the Capitol. But that doesn't mean I'm alone in the little room where they put me – about half a dozen of my patients and their parents are outside the door, waiting. I motion them in, and they all come in at once. They ignore the dried blood and hug me – I haven't had this many arms around me since my mother's funeral. Lucy Foreman, a motherly carpenter, laments that she doesn't have time to bring me a change of clothes, and several of them second that. They suggest someone runs to a merchant to try to grab me some, but no one wants to leave, and they know the Capitol will give me new clothes anyway. They promise me I'm coming back, they tell me to be brave, they tell me how much I'm needed. I don't answer them – I can't. I know that this is the last time I'll ever see them. I didn't even tell Dad good bye … and in spite of everything I wish I had, and I worry about who's going to take care of him. I voice this last concern, and several men and women promise at once to take care of him "until I come home." Some of them offer more specific advice. Get an axe, if I can. Make sure I have food. Stay out of the fighting if I can, but don't be afraid to fight if I have to. I'm short but broad shouldered and strong – I can use that. Eat as much as I can stand before the games begin. I nod and try to take all of it in, but all the while I'm screaming inside because I know I've seen my last summer, and I'm already worried about who's going to take my place as healer, if anyone. They see how afraid I am and they try to be brave for me, but there's a heaviness in the air in this room, and I know they know it too. Finally, as the Peacekeepers tell me it's time to go, I manage a weak smile and an even weaker promise. "If I win … I'll get to be a real doctor. But I'll still charge the same." I hear murmurs of agreement as they practically pull me away.

The train goes through town, and since it's within walking distance, even by Capitol standards, they march us out through the square. Juniper and I climb onto the train, along with Marty (I hope I'm not stuck with him just because I'm a boy), Johanna, and Finkelman. We all force smiles and wave goodbye to the cameras. As soon as the compartment door closes, Juniper bursts into tears and Finkelman loses his smile. "Whose blood is on your shirt?"
"Elmer West," I answer instinctively, and then remember that Finkelman probably has no idea who any of us are. "There was an accident this morning – he needed compression and thirty-two stitches …"
"What's that got to do with you?" he demands impatiently, and that Capitol accent is already wearing on my nerves. Maybe by the end I'll be so sick of it I'll go gallantly to my death just for the sweet escape.

"He's the only healer in his village – the only one for half a dozen villages around in fact," Johanna says from behind him. I'm surprised she knows who I am. Finkelman breaks out in a grin.

"Well, I never would have guessed. That might be useful in the Arena, huh?" he says cheerfully. I give another involuntary shudder, but he doesn't notice. "Well, I guess you'll want to get changed," he says, and points me to my cart.

My train cart is nicer than my cabin … yet I already miss home. I feel lost in the huge bedroom with a mahogany dresser and the enormous bed covered in sheets made from nicer material than anything I've ever worn, and a huge screen on one side of the room. I turn the enormous television on – I want to see the last of the Reapings. Showering and changing can wait.

I turn it on just in time to catch the end of District 10. Their tributes are a tall, brown-headed boy with blue eyes who looks about seventeen and a tiny girl who probably just barely turned twelve with long jet black hair and fairly dark skin and big brown eyes. There's some drama because a slightly older dark headed boy – he looks about fourteen – demands to know if there's an official rule against sending two boys as tributes, but declines to take the older boy's place. I don't blame him – if I had a sister, I wouldn't want to risk having to kill her or let her kill me either.

District 11 is next. It's another large district, and more densely populated than 7. I hear they have not just a preliminary drawing, but several rounds of them. I can't imagine what a nightmare it is to hear your name called five or six times. The chosen tributes are a tiny girl with enormous brown eyes and a huge boy of about seventeen or even eighteen. I think of myself and Juniper, and decide that fate seems to be favoring that pairing of tributes this year. I wonder if the other boys are like me – already deciding they'd rather die than have to kill the little girl they're paired with. If it comes down to that, I'll let Juniper kill me. It'll be easier for me to make it look like an accident than it will be for Thresh, the big dark boy from 11. The girl steps on stage, brave and stoic despite her tender age. The boy looks at her gravely as he takes his place beside her. As the anthem plays, he takes her hand, provoking tears from the audience, both at the Capitol and at home.

District 12 is always sad to watch, no matter the outcome. The whole district piles into the square, so the crowd there is larger. I watch in horror as another twelve-year-old girl is called. I dread watching the recaps – I'm half afraid that when I see the other districts I'll learn Juniper's the oldest girl in the games this year. But then, something remarkable happens.

An older girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, runs forward, shouting that she volunteers. I know a long time before District Twelve's Capitol liaison announces her name that she's the little girl's older sister or aunt – they look alike, and a saint or a suicide might volunteer for a stranger but the desperation says they're related. The little girl, understandably, sobs as her sister climbs on stage until an older boy, a brother or uncle or maybe a brother-in-law, comes and retrieves her, trying to calm her. The 12 liaison calls the boy's name and, thankfully, he isn't twelve.

I stand there a while longer, watching the mindless drivel from the commentators, before I realize that I need to hurry and clean up and change – they'll start the recaps soon. I open the huge chest of drawers and find none of the clothes to my liking at first. I open another drawer and find a flannel shirt and dark denim pants – someone from 7 picked these out for us. I don't expect them to fit well, but it'll be better than the torn, bloodstained shirt and pants I'm wearing now.

I step into the bathroom and find a shower. I understand the concept – some cabins in 7 have showers, but the water's usually out and I've never actually used one. I usually wash myself in a metal tub, or more often just run a wet washcloth over my skin. Thankfully the shower's easy enough to figure out – I'd rather wear blood all the way to the Capitol than ask anyone on this train for help with it.

The feeling of the hot water running over my skin is literally the best feeling I've ever had in my life. I find soap – wonderful smelling, soft, actual soap – and proceed to get cleaner than I have ever been in my life. Maybe it's worth it to die just to get a shower for a couple of weeks of training and pageantry.

As soon as I have the thought, I know it's not.

I step out of the shower and dry myself on the soft, fluffy towels – I didn't realize towels could be this fluffy – and step back into my bedroom to get the clothes I picked. I find Johanna sitting on the bed. "Hi," I say awkwardly as I reach for the underpants first. She looks me up and down and I feel blood rush to my cheeks as I throw the underwear on. I see other people naked all the time … I'm not sure I like other people seeing me naked.

"You clean up nicely," she says flatly as I hop into pants as fast as humanly possible.

"Thanks," I mumble as I pull the shirt on as fast as I can and start buttoning it. She chuckles.

"For your sake, I hope you don't end up naked or nearly naked at the opening ceremonies."

"I'll get a leaf at least," I say with a shrug, trying to brush off the awkwardness. I notice she has food, and I'm suddenly aware of how hungry I am.

"I brought it to you because Cassius will just yell at you for your 'deplorable' table manners. Marty's eating with the girl." I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not that Johanna's my mentor. I take a seat next to Johanna and pick up the tray of food. I bite into it, trying to be as polite as I can since apparently that's an issue.

"What makes you think I'd get yelled at?" I ask between bites of the best meat I've ever had. She chuckles again.

"In the Capitol they have four different kinds of every utensil." I'm eating with just one fork, using it both to cut and pick up pieces of food, like I always have. When I have a fork, anyway. So is she, so I guess she never cared to learn. I don't think I would either. "Maybe he's softened though … he had to hear 'horror' stories from Effie Trinket about the kids from 12 eating with their hands." Considering how starved we are in the outlying districts, they should be glad we don't eat like dogs. Capitol people have strange values.

"So … what do you want me to do?" I ask, going straight for the topic at hand.

"Not die," she says. No, orders. At that moment, I want to survive no matter what it takes – mostly because I'm afraid Johanna will find me in whatever afterlife exists (if any) if I don't. I'm about to ask for more detailed instructions when the recap starts.

District 1 gives us the usual beautiful Careers. I wonder if they disqualify the plain or homely ones from volunteering. District 2 gives us a massive, vicious looking boy and a beautiful redheaded girl, surprisingly young for a District 2 tribute. Or, I assume – she looks younger than most of the tributes from that district, yet older than all the sixteen-year-old girls I know. I've long figured out that the kids from the Capitol and 1, 2, and 4 look about two years older than the kids from any other district. Between the beauties from 1 and 2 and the girl from 12, the chances we're not all going to be naked at opening ceremonies are rapidly diminishing. The girl from District 3 is thankfully older than the girls from 10 and 11, but not by much. They move on to the boy's drawing, and the nation gets a surprise. Before the Capitol liaison can draw a boy's name, a handsome, obviously well fed boy steps forward to volunteer. He could easily be mistaken for a tribute from 1 or 2. When they call his name, I know exactly who he is. Anthony Stark, the son of one of the most famous victors in Panem. I'm so busy being bewildered about his motives that I almost don't notice the way Johanna tenses up beside me. I realize she probably knows him – the victors all know each other. But she doesn't say anything so I don't comment either. I shudder to see another twelve-year-old – this one a boy – from District 5. It's sad that you can spot the District 6 morphling addicts even on TV – but it's certainly a much more serene crowd than any other district. The boy and girl from District 6 are both tiny, but there's no stir of outrage or fear for them. I hope they have mentors who aren't addicts or at least aren't so far gone they can't help them.

And then, of course, we get to District 7. Seeing it on TV, I realize exactly how bad the blood looked. Sure enough, the speculation is intense. "Do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone the true story about the blood. You understand?" Johanna asks.

"Of course," I answer quickly.

"But don't act like you killed someone either. Just make it something mysterious everyone wants to know about."

"Right. Keep them interested." By now they're on to 8. They're both older – the boy's probably seventeen or eighteen and the girl's about sixteen.

"Did you ever work on trees or were you just trained as a healer all your life?"
"I cut trees until my mother died. I was fifteen."

"Good. There's always axes in the arena. They won't be like the ones you've used – these are made to kill and no other reason. But the general principal's the same once you get used to the different balance." I nod, but shudder at the thought of intentionally using an axe on a person. She notices and slaps the back of my head. "You can't afford to be squeamish, if you want to survive. They need you at home – think about that." I nod obediently, and force myself to keep eating even though I'm suddenly not hungry any more.

"Do you know how to swim?"
"No." She sighs.

"Just hope it's not an ocean then."

"If I do die …" She smacks me again. "I just want to get this out there. In case it's an ocean," I say quickly.

"What?"
"Will you get a nebulizer for Willow Lawson from Muleshoe Village?" I quickly shut up because she looks at me like she wants to kill me.

"Survive, and you can get it for her yourself." I nod.

"When they interview me should I mention …"
"How much you're needed at home? Don't. The people in the Capitol could not care less about a bunch of smelly lumberjacks and carpenters who are short a healer. The only people who care already know – and there's not much they're going to be able to do. Even if they collect every coin in the district, once you factor in the gift tax, they won't be able to send you anything more than some bread after a few days."

"So how do I make them like me?"

"Say the nebulizer's for your cousin. Make it personal. And yes, if you die, which you'd better not, I'll get one for her. Whatever the hell it is."

"It's a machine that …" I shut up because I can tell she really doesn't care at the moment.

And now they're showing the highlights from 10 – the little girl, Brandy, closes her eyes for a bit and takes a deep breath, then walks to the stage on shaky legs while her brother watches in horror. She stands on stage while they call the boy – Clint Barton. Clint looks at the little girl next to him and bites his lip but doesn't acknowledge her. Then the drama starts and I'm back to where I began, but I'm quiet because I know Johanna's watching all this for the first time. "They've got a lot of little ones this year," she comments softly. She's only nineteen – she was a year younger than me in the arena.

"Just wait," I say. She hasn't seen Rue or the little girl who was almost the tribute from 12. Her reaction as she sees these things unfold is mostly cold, but she bites her lip and I know she doesn't like it.

"I know … I know you want me to win. But I don't think I can kill any of these little kids …"

"You say that now," she snaps. "When it's either you or them … that'll change." I think to myself I don't want it to, and that's possibly the only thing I'm more afraid of than dying. But I don't say this out loud because I'm beginning to understand why people find Johanna intimidating. "So you can swing an axe, and you've got a better chance of sewing yourself up than anyone else if you're hurt. Anything else we can work with?"
"Well I … I think I can live off the land pretty well, if the plants are anything I'm familiar with."

"It might be the arctic, or an ocean, or a desert. Don't bank on that."

"I've read about some other places in …" She gives me the meanest glare yet, and I think mentioning reading was a huge mistake.

"You've read about it," she repeats in a low, dangerous voice.

"Okay that was stupid, I'm sorry. I know reading about it in a book won't help much. But it's all I've got. I … I got paid in books, sometimes."

"Can you actually build stuff, the way Anthony can?" I didn't know Anthony made stuff, so I don't know what to say. "If it's not something you can apply directly, it doesn't count."

"I can probably trade fixing other people up for food or to make alliances," I suggest feebly, expecting to get glared at more. Instead she nods. And then I see her get a look of recognition.

"Actually – you're going to tell all of Panem exactly how you got the blood on your shirt." I'm really confused now.

"But you said …"
"I know what I said. That's because I was thinking you could convince the others you're dangerous. I realize now that's about as likely as getting it to rain gold." I'm only a little insulted. I know what she did at her games – she acted like a dumb, scared little girl … and the Careers ignored her while they went after other, "stronger" targets first. And when it was down to just her and them, she was able to ambush several Careers one by one and take them down. I know that she wants me to do something along those lines … and maybe I can. I think it'll be easier to sink an axe into the huge boy from 2 after watching him kill several others than it would be to kill Juniper or the little kids from other districts, or even the girl who volunteered for her sister.

For the first time, I have a little hope. It worked for Johanna.

I find myself out of steak and mashed potatoes. "We've got two weeks to figure out more. There's more in the kitchen cart – three carts that way – if you're still hungry." I am. "There'll be sugary stuff too – don't eat too much of that unless you really enjoy throwing up." I nod as I get up to go in search of the sugary things I shouldn't eat too much of.

I make my way to the kitchen car. Like every other car, it's got beautiful, thick carpeting. It also has several large, mahogany tables. I recognize my district's work when I see it. Juniper's already there, eating a huge plateful of the aforementioned sugary things. She sees me and her eyes widen. She picks up her plate and leaves. I watch her leave, wondering what I said or did to offend her. "I told her not to get too attached. One or both of you will be dead in three weeks. One of you may be responsible for the death of the other. It's best to accept that now," Marty says from his table, where he's sipping wine. I assume by now Cassius has gone to his own cart. I nod, not knowing what else I can do.

"Do you mind if I stay?" I ask timidly. I'm having flashbacks to the time he chased me off his property.

"You never minded what I mind before," Marty snaps. I take that as a yes.

A server quickly emerges from somewhere in the next cart – the actual kitchen, I assume, and asks if I want anything, saving me from having to talk to Marty for a little bit. "I … Another steak, I guess, and some more of the potatoes. And … Johanna said there were sweet things, but I've never really …"
"I'll let you try several things. How do you want the steak?"

"Um … I'm sorry but what does that mean?"
"Do you want it cooked all the way through or a little red?" I've dealt with enough intestinal worms to say,

"Not red at all," very adamantly. Marty chuckles – I'm surprised he has a sense of humor. Apparently he sympathizes – I imagine everyone from the Districts, or at least the outliers, would always choose to have theirs well done.

"Would you like anything to drink?"
"Um … whatever kind of wine he's having," I say quickly.

"I'll have that right out," the server tells me politely.

I take a seat at a table far away from Marty and look out the window. I see the countryside unrolling before me … and I wish I could enjoy it more, without the fear of impending death.

"Something wrong with your eyes, boy?" Marty asks loudly, and I almost jump out of my skin.

"I'm nearsighted …" I admit, realizing I was probably squinting to see more detail on the distant hills and such.

"Well … better tell Johanna so she can badger Finkelman into getting you some glasses before the Games."

"They would do that?"
"They do – my district partner got fitted for some," he says, and his mind is clearly wondering back to his Games.

"It's really not a big deal, I can see fine without them," I insist, knowing Marty gets even meaner than usual when someone asks about his Games.

"I'd be perfectly happy to let you die under that assumption … but I imagine Johanna will feel differently," he says sharply, and I don't know what to say.

Thankfully I don't have to say anything – the server brings me some bread and a plate of vegetables to hold me over until the steak is ready. "Thanks," I say and dig into it hungrily despite the meal I've already had – I haven't had anything to eat in almost two days. I'll probably make myself sick but I remember what the folks at home told me before I left. If nothing else, I want to taste everything I can before I die. I taste the wine he brought me and it's sour and I don't like it much – but I keep drinking anyway. It feels odd on my throat – and before long it makes my tongue, throat, and stomach tingle and I can feel the muscles in my shoulders relaxing. I've never had alcohol before – I've grown up seeing my dad turn into even more of a monster than usual whenever he drinks, and I've always been afraid to. But that doesn't matter any more.

By the time I finish the second steak, I've also had several glasses of wine and I'm very, very drunk. The server brings me the plate of sweets he promised, and they're all the best things I've ever had in my life. Somehow I manage not to ask for any more, even though I'm sure my judgment is somewhere in District 11 at this point. Marty drinks with me and we talk about nothing and laugh – he's really not such a bad guy when I'm drunk. The room spins and I don't think about anything bad. Marty practically carries me to my room – my arm's around his shoulder and I stumble and laugh every time I do. I fall asleep on my soft, soft bed and I don't have a problem in the world. I don't hurt. I'm not hungry. Life is good.

This train of thought does not continue when I wake up the next morning.

---

Cover Image

(Amazing) cover image created for this story by Peter Grønbech. You can find him in deviantart under the name Billebryn.

Author's Note

*Tetanus (usually associated with infected wounds, particularly from rusted metal). He knows the scientific term but he's still think of it as the colloquial term.

** Since this wasn't covered in the books I'm making this up. If you're drawn in the preliminaries, you're only entered in the finals once. So a kid like Gale who has their name in forty-two times is much more likely to get chosen in the preliminaries, but once they get to the final round they're not any more likely than any of the kids around them.

Yes I know in the books the older kids are up front. The younger kids in front made more sense to me – from the point-of-view of someone from the Capitol taping, you can get the older kids' faces over the younger kids' much easier than the reverse, and since the older kids are statistically more likely to be drawn, you want to give them as long and dramatic a walk to the stage as possible. It looked good in the film.

So about the names. I was able to justify keeping the name Anthony because it is a Roman name and I figured some of the victors might give their kids Capitol-esque names. My justification for Clint is pretty paper thin – but there are a handful of normal names throughout the book, which indicates they do have some cultural memory. I have to believe the livestock district has some vague cultural memory of western movies. I'm fully aware I should be shot for the Bruce/Spruce pun.

I know it's probably bad form to write the numbers of the district instead of writing out the word, but for some reason I felt that worked stylistically.