Poseidon had three sons; Finnick, Percy and Tyson. All of them had been dealt with the cruel hand of fate of having to live in Panem. His eldest son, Finnick, had already been a tribute in The Hunger Games. He was fourteen and he was the youngest victor there ever was. His combat was best in the water. Well, Daddy had something to do with that.

Percy had his hands clasped together against his mouth, pleading, praying, begging his father to not let his brother be reaped again for the third Quarter Quell. Tyson had his head on Percy's shoulder, willing himself not to look.

Finnick, however, stood tall and look somewhat confident. Percy had a universe of faith in Finnick but he just didn't want to have to be the oldest again. He didn't want to have to keep it together for him and Tyson while their older brother had to fight for his life. Finnick was the oldest for a reason; he took care of his younger brothers and made sure they went to bed each night smiling at the thought of tomorrow.

When Finnick was in the arena, Percy was eight. And he dreaded going to bed each night, pondering whether he'd wake up to the news of his brother's premature death.

Ten years later, Percy still felt the butterflies of anxiety take hold of his stomach. New tears sprung to his eyes as Finnick's name was called. At first his brother seemed content with his fate but after taking a look at his younger brothers, the young victor's face dropped. Finnick's face became a painting of upset as he realised how hurt Percy and Tyson were. Eighteen year old proud Percy, one who never makes a big deal of anything, was crying in public for him. Finnick gulped.

"Dad," He mouthed slowly and inaudibly, looking up at the sky as he walked over to hug his partner, Mags. "Help me. Help me come back to them. They need me. Please." He kissed Mags' head lightly, she was a grandmother to all three boys. And with the look that she gave him, he knew that she was concerned about his younger brothers.

While Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were deprived of the privilege of saying goodbye to their families, for not causing any uprisings and for being obedient hounds, Finnick and Mags were granted a goodbye.

Finnick sat on a chair in the finely decorated room. He was bent over as he played with his fingers, thinking about what he would say to his baby brothers. He hated the fact that he'd give calming and soothing words to Tyson but would have to instruct Percy. The middle son needed him the most right now.

The door burst open and Finnick's younger brother wrapped his arms around his neck. Finnick held Tyson tightly, for dear life and tried to suppress the tears that came to his eyes. Tyson rubbed his back quickly, it wasn't soothing but it was casual, something that the eldest boy craved. When Tyson let go, he tried his best at a smile but couldn't maintain it and ended up just nodding. Percy stood behind the three of them; the tears had made his face all red and sore. Finnick could sense his fear. It was even more prominent than his own. Fearing for your own life was better than to fear for someone else's.

Finnick held his arms out slightly and Percy ran into them. He sobbed loudly into Finnick's shoulder. Percy was going to do it. Percy was going to be the one who made him cry. He tried to make soothing sounds to calm his brother but they didn't work and soon tears trickled down the tribute's face.

"I don't get it. You were supposed to become a tribute, then a victor, not the other way around!" Percy almost yelled, still hysterical from his brother's predicament.

Finnick held him closer, pecking the younger boy's temple. "I know."

"You have already looked death in the face, it's unfair." Percy continued.

Finnick didn't have his usual, charming, witty reply. His energy had been drained from him. All he could say was "I know."

"And what happens to us? We have to just give you up to them? I don't want to!" Percy pulled back to look at Finnick expecting some sort of fight, some angst, some anger.

Finnick stared at his little brother before saying: "I know."

"Why aren't you infuriated by this?!" Percy was shouting now. "Why doesn't this make you mad?!"

Tyson tried to step in the middle, to warn Percy off. The youngest of the brothers knew that Finnick could not be any more frustrated by this. There were detectable infra-red waves of heated anger emitting from him. But Tyson knew that Finnick couldn't make it obvious, with all the uprisings and riots, if he were to show his true anger then he would probably be punished or tortured or worse yet killed when he got to the Capitol. Percy blinded too much by hurt to notice.

"You know that guy in Eleven, Percy? The one on the Victory tour with the delightful Miss Everdeen and Mr Mellark? The one that was killed? He made a scene. He showed up the Capitol. The damned place that supposedly loves us. If I were to show how angry this really makes me, I would be just like that. Brought down to my knees by an idiotic peacekeeper to have my insides decorate the ground of Four. Would you prefer that to letting me accept my fate and have a fighting chance of coming back to protect you two?" Finnick's speech was calm and silky. It tore Percy up on the inside. His brother held in so many thoughts, so much knowledge and logic. He was doing everything he could to be there for him and Tyson and Percy had thrown it in his face.

Percy had stood, stunned as his brother had his arm behind his back waiting for his reaction. Tyson stood awkwardly at an angle towards Finnick, also eager.

"I'm sorry." Percy mumbled.

"I just needed you to understand." Finnick sighed.

"Time to go." A peacekeeper appeared in the door frame, looking at Finnick harshly as though he was a piece of meat. Finnick quickly grabbed his brothers into one final hug before leaving to go with the peacekeeper.

"Finnick," Percy's voice cracked in his upset. The elder boy turned to face him, regardless. "Talk to dad and find a trident."

At this, Finnick grinned genuinely. "I know."