Haymitch Abernathy. District 12 victor, winner of the 50th Hunger Games, the Third Quarter Quell. Alcoholic. Rebel. Mentor to the star-crossed lovers? But what was life really like for Haymitch Abernathy? One-shot.
xXx-X-xXx
This year, the twice as many tributes shall be reaped for the Games. The scraps of paper were pulled from the reaping balls. Jayde Keltern. Maysilee Donner. Fedro Ashton. Haymitch Abernathy.
The names rang in Haymitch's ears. For a moment it didn't even register. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Everyone was staring straight at him. Haymitch tried to hold back the feelings of rage and fear. He schooled his expression into a determined face. He could do this. He was the best tribute. He wouldn't die. He would not die, Haymitch thought to himself as he forced himself to the podium.
He could see his family looking up at him longingly and shut his eyes for a moment. After all this was over, they would probably hate him.
xXx-X-xXx
Those are the careers. They train for this for their whole lives. Sorry to break it to you kids, but you have no chance. Just accept your deaths.
Haymitch was shaking with anger at the words of his mentor. He had won, yet this piece of filth thought it impossible for Haymitch or one of the other District 12 tributes to win? Great logic there.
Yes, Haymitch accepted that this was the Hunger Games. Yes, he knew that the career tributes had every advantage over him. But he wouldn't take this lying down. He wouldn't just accept his death.
No, Haymitch was going to win. No matter what it took.
xXx-X-xXx
It doesn't really matter. They're all going to be 100% stupid as usual.
Haymitch gave a cocky grin to go with his overconfident answer. What did he think of there being 100% more tributes than usual? He felt what any other sane person would feel: fear and sadness. But the Capitolites didn't fall over tributes who answered honestly to that type of question. So he lied.
Haymitch had progressed so much in the past few days. He had a weapon now: the axe. He had only used an axe to chop up firewood back in District 12, but now the axe had a different purpose. Now he was using it to chop up dummies in the training room, a trick that earned him a score of 9.
Soon he would be using it to chop up tributes.
xXx-X-xXx
The gong echoed through the arena. The beautiful arena, flowers and meadows and a mountain filled his vision. It was the most amazing thing that any of them had ever seen.
The sound of the gong jolted Haymitch back to reality. He leapt off the pedestal and ran straight to the centre of the cornucopia. He slung a backpack across his back and grabbed an axe. It was time to go.
His way was blocked though. Three careers stood in his path. The words of his mentor flashed back to him and anger and adrenaline flowed through his body. Instinctively, Haymitch pushed through the careers, swinging his axe.
It beheaded the middle one. A girl with pale skin and blonde hair. District One. It was only fitting that his first kill should be from the first District. Haymitch ran, fleeing the scene. The once-beautiful arena was marred with the bodies of twenty five tributes.
One, his kill.
xXx-X-xXx
Maysilee stood over the corpse of the career boy, her hand held out to him. The unasked question hung between them. Alliance?
Haymitch nodded and grasped the hand. The blood on both of their hands felt sticky and unpleasant, but they ignored it. Maysilee was resourceful, Haymitch knew that. She had her poisonous darts. He had a knife, the axe lost long ago. This alliance could be his only chance of winning.
They made a good team. They even killed some other tributes while making their way to the edge of the arena. There was a grain of truth to the saying that the first kill was the hardest and the others were easy. The first kill was the hardest, that much was true.
Didn't make the other kills easy.
xXx-X-xXx
They were at the edge. Together. They had made it this far. But Maysilee wanted to turn back. Haymitch let her. At this stage, killing Maysilee would be harder than all of the other kills put together. It would be like killing a part of himself.
Maysilee's screams echoed across the arena. Haymitch could recognise her voice anywhere now. He ran. He didn't think of where he was going, he just ran to the source of the screaming. Brambles tore at his face as he burst through the bush.
Haymitch started to hyperventilate. "No.." he whispered. "Maysilee no. You can't die on me now." But it is too late. The pink birds that surround them have gored through her neck, leaving spots of blood in the clearing.
Haymitch holds her hand. The words "I love you," were not said. But both of them knew in those last few moments.
xXx-X-xXx
You are the last one left. You killed my District partner. I'm going to kill you now. You never even had a chance. Sweet dreams, loser. The swing of the axe, then the pain set in.
The sensation of the axe in Haymitch's stomach was weird. It was the most pain he had ever felt in his life, a sort of cold burning that was more intense than any other. But at the same time it seemed distant, like it wasn't has body that had the intestines leaking from it. Haymitch wondered if this was what it felt like to die.
But her words brought him sharply back to reality. Loser. He had sworn to himself at the beginning of the Games that he would not lose. That he would survive. His mind flashed back to a few days ago. Angrily kicking stones over into the chasm. The stones soaring back up, as if deflected by something. A force field.
The axe was spinning towards him and Haymitch looked death in the face for what seemed like an eternity. Then with the last of his strength, he moved his head out of the way. The axe was coming back up again. Hit, splitting his opponent's face in two. Haymitch smiled.
"I won," he whispered.
xXx-X-xXx
Well done Haymitch Abernathy. The second victor from District 12, and a Quarter Quell to. You must be proud and I'm sure your family is proud of you too.
Haymitch tried to work out what President Snow meant by this. The snake-like eyes revealed nothing though and Haymitch wondered whether he should just take it at face value. But there was something off about the man. Perhaps it was that he reeked of blood, literally. Perhaps it was that he condoned the Hunger Games. Haymitch hated him.
Haymitch knew that his family wouldn't be proud of him. They would hate him for this and he wouldn't blame them. He hated his kills as well. Maybe he even hated himself. Once the initial euphoria of victory wore off, it seemed horrific. The best murderer. Now he just wanted to forget.
Forget the Games, forget everything. His hands closed around the wine glass. Nothing mattered anymore. He had won and he didn't have anything left to live for anymore. After fighting so hard for his life, it seemed cruel irony that he should not see use for it anymore.
The alcohol burned down his throat.
xXx-X-xXx
It was horrible Haymitch. While you were celebrating in the Capitol, your father died in a mine collapse. Your mother was so distraught that she committed suicide. She had forgotten all about you. I'm sorry.
The rage burns through him as he steps into his new house in Victors Village. On the doorstep is a single white rose. The smell is strong, almost overpowering. Genetically engineered. The could have come from only one place. The Capitol.
His mind flashed back to President Snow. The smell of blood and the scent of a rose, almost covering it up but not quite. The white rose pinned to his suit. The rose here. They matched. This wasn't just one of the mine accidents that happened so often in Twelve. This was Snow.
Haymitch stamped on the rose, shaking with anger.
xXx-X-xXx
We have a proposition for you. We dislike certain ways that the president is running things and would like to make a change. You seem like the sort who would be sympathetic to our cause, yes?
Yes, he was sympathetic to their cause. Definitely, no doubts in his mind about that. The way that Snow was running things needed to be changed. And besides, he had nothing to live for anymore. Even if he died in an uprising it wouldn't matter that much.
It was these people that he wasn't sure if he trusted. Just because Snow was bad, didn't mean that these people weren't just a lesser evil. Not as bad as Snow, but still bad. What did it matter though?
These people were not as bad as Snow, he was sure of that. And he had no other offers. With these people, he could get his revenge. Haymitch smiled and shook the messengers hand. "Yes."
xXx-X-xXx
Accept the probability of your imminent death.
The same words that he said to every tribute on the train. Almost the exact same as what his own mentor said to him. The words that had saved his life, that had given him the extra determination to stay alive. He had been hoping that one year some tributes would show the same determination, the same fire. So far not though. So far they had just accepted their deaths.
The liquor glass was slammed out of his hand. There was a sharp crack as it broke on the floor. Haymitch looked up to see the blonde boy. Peter, was it? He would have expected the other one, the girl. Katniss? Yes, that was right.
As he got up, Katniss stabbed a table knife between his fingers. So he was right. She was the more fiery one.
"So I've finally got a pair of fighters this year?"
xXx-X-xXx
Katniss and Peeta brought the berries towards their mouths. Closer and closer until.. Wait stop! Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, victors of the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games.
Victors by rebellion. Just like he was to a certain extent. But they took it much further. There was no rule against using the force field as a weapon, but Katniss and Peeta had smashed through the only rule that the Hunger Games had.
And if he had his family killed, what would happen to them? Their punishment from Snow would be so much bigger. And he could see it in everything that Katniss did. She didn't truly love Peeta. She cared about him, but she didn't love him enough to sacrifice her life for him.
So she had done it just for rebellion. Idiot.
xXx-X-xXx
The force field exploded. It could be seen clearly from his vantage point in a District 13 helicopter. Katniss was nearby. The rebellion was taking off.
A few hours later found Katniss stumbling into the room where he and Plutarch were discussing Peeta. He knew that it was a bad idea to leave him behind. The connection between them might not have been love, but it was definitely strong. To strong for her to just take this lying down.
He wondered how she would feel about District 12. He didn't feel much for it to be honest. There were a few things that he missed though. Buying liquor from the Hob, his first house which he sometimes went back to. But most of the important people had escaped.
As Haymitch held off Katniss as she jabbed the syringe at him, he was internally smiling. This was the fire that was now blazing through Panem. This was the fire that would burn Snow and the Capitol to the ground.
xXx-X-xXx
You will be calling the last shot in this war Katniss.
Snow is there, within sight. Held by District 13 guards. Ready to pay for all of the death and destruction that he has caused over the past few months. All of the rebels that died in the war, all of the children that died in the Hunger Games. His family.
An arrow to the heart seems too quick a way for him to go. If Haymitch had his way, he would torture Snow. Show him hologram images of his daughter and granddaughter being killed before his eyes. And once the rebels have had their fill of torturing him, had their true revenge, they could burn him. Burn him alive.
But Katniss aims off. The arrow impales President Coin, not President Snow. And Haymitch smiles. Katniss has outsmarted everyone, including himself. President Coin is almost as bad as Snow is and they have Snow. He could be killed easily, Coin was the real threat. Well done Mockingjay.
There is panic and confusion all around as people run around blindly, but Haymitch's eyes are fixated on Snow. He is laughing at them, but his laugh turns to a choking noise. Blood dribbles from his mouth and Haymitch realises that he is choking on his own blood. Snow's past actions have come back to haunt him, when he killed his competitors for power and drank the poison himself.
Finally, Haymitch has his vengeance.
xXx-X-xXx
If you got this far, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. If you have any comments or criticism, please leave me a review. This is written in a similar style to one of my other fanfictions, Bloodshot (about Finnick) so if you enjoyed this please check that one out. Thanks.
-MoonOfPluto