I was overwhelmed by Haymitch feels and there were a lot of things about Haymitch I wanted to know. His life before the Games. His relationship to Katniss' parents, to Hazelle Hawthorne, and if they were friends/classmates, and if they are, how he ended by alone with only alcohol for company. I wondered about his relationship with his brother and his family, and what went through his mind when he saw Maysilee's pin on Katniss. And since Lionsgate forgot he exist, I'll just sit here and write fanfiction about it.
You can leave me prompts on here or tumblr! Hayffie prompts will be posted in the Ballad, this is for Haymitch :))
The Beginning of an End
(16 years old)
The stars were always bright in District Twelve. As he lay in his cot, staring out of the open window with its parted curtains, he wonder if it was just as bright everywhere else, especially in the Capitol. He tried to banish this line of thought but it was always the same, year after year, the night before the Reaping. The same thoughts swirled in his mind; this could be his last night in Twelve; last night in the Seam; last night on his small, hard bed; the last night he would be spending in his house.
"Haymitch?" a soft voice whispered in the dark.
He turned his head slightly to the left to see a pair of bright gray eyes staring at him shining with anxiety and fear.
"C'mere, then," he pulled the ends of his thin blanket and invited his brother in bed, not for the first time.
His brother had a habit of crawling into bed with him since he was a toddler, a fact that both filled with him pride that he was chosen over his mother and one that puzzled him that his brother would take comfort from him.
"I'm scared."
Haymitch chuckled, putting up a front. He was scared, too, tonight more than all the other four nights before a Reaping. An ominous cloud had hung over his head since morning and he couldn't shake it off this time. Perhaps his end was near. He had been lucky before, but luck was never anyone's friend here in Twelve.
"Why's that? Your name's not in that bowl yet. You've got five more years to go."
"Not for me." Lief replied, adjusting his head until he found a comfortable spot on Haymitch's shoulder. "I'm scared for you."
"Don't."
"It's twice the number of tributes this year, Mitchie. I know 'cause mama told me. She's scared too, I think. I see the way she looks at you when you ain't looking."
Anyone else, he would have punched them in the face for that nickname, but with Lief, he let it slipped. His brother didn't use it to ridicule or to make fun of him. He used it with adoration.
"Maybe I'll be lucky. Been lucky for four times, haven't I?" he shrugged. "Go to sleep, Lief. Mama won't be happy if she knows you stayed up too late. It'll show. You'll have bags under your eyes."
Morning dawned bright and early, and with it a somber mood descended upon the district. The people had barely roused from bed but everyone acted as if a funeral was underway. He supposed that was true, in a sense.
At the train station, Twelve's escort, Amara Varvari, stepped off the train and sniffed the coal dusted air disdainfully, finding such offense with the polluted air. She marched towards the Justice Building, finding it necessary to ensure that everything would be in order for the later.
In the Seam, in every household, worried parents fretted over their children, each thinking that they could lose a child that day.
"Eat your bread, Haymitch."
"I'm not hungry," he mumbled. "Have it, Lief."
His mother sighed but said little else. She hovered near him, today more so than usual, an unconscious act as if she was unwilling to let him go. Her eyes flicked to the wall clock ever so often, counting down to the inevitable hour. They only had minutes to spare, having spent more than hour in bed together that morning; him, his brother and his mother. Mama had pillowed his head and stroked his hair, running her fingers through the messy knot as she smiled down at him indulgently while he told his brother a joke.
"Is it time?" asked Lief.
"Yeah," he sighed heavily and pushed his chair back.
Haymitch stood in front of the mirror as his mother attacked his hair, forcefully combing it and trying to flatten the mess of curls with water, hoping that wet hair would be easier to tame. He frowned but allowed his mother to fuss over him. It could very well be the last time.
Haymitch pushed that thought away.
"Button your shirt."
"No one will notice, Mama."
"I will, now do as I ask."
With a grunt, he complied. When he was done and raised his head, his mother was looking at him through the mirror. Their gaze caught. He took the sight of the crow's feet, the slight wrinkle on her forehead and the greys on his mother temple. She was growing old and the harsh living condition in the Seam was doing her no favours.
He smiled and she returned it.
"Mama," he turned to face her. "If they call my name – "
That possibility proved too much for his mother who broke her gaze briefly, swallowing, but to her credit, she did not try to mollify him by telling him that he would be safe, for which he was glad. He wasn't a child anymore, forced to grow up by his circumstances.
"- don't you let Lief take any tesserae. You promise me."
"Haymitch…"
"No, mama. You don't. You can mend clothes, do laundry for the neighbours or clean their house. If they call my name, you've only got yourself and him to feed. You can manage. You teach him to survive like you did with me; teach him to paint or to mend broken things. He can be a fixer. People will pay him for it. Don't let him take any tesserae."
His mother said nothing but pulled him close and wrapped her arms tight around her eldest son. He had grown so much taller than her and he had to stoop down a little to return her embrace. He buried his face on her shoulder, clinging to her as he would as a little boy.
"Don't say goodbye," his voice rough. "Not now. Not yet."
She nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't you talk as if you're not coming back with us today, boy."
Haymitch stepped back, a wry smile on his lips. "It could happen, you must be prepared for it. Four names this year, mama," he said but he kissed his mother's cheek and grabbed Lief's hand.
The three of them walked in silent towards the Square.
"Hey," Myra smiled, waving her hand at him when she saw them approached. "Hello, Mrs. Abernathy, hello Lief."
"Hey," he winked as he usually would when they met each other before going to school together.
"Ready?" she asked once his family and Myra's own had gone off to wait at the cordoned area meant for families.
He shrugged nonchalantly and reached for her hand. He held his head high with every step he took into the Square. They joined the queue, waiting for their fingers to be pricked and their names registered.
"You're awfully quiet," Myra commented.
"I've got a bad feeling," he admitted after a while.
She squeezed his hand, opened her mouth to say something but was promptly distracted when Hazelle Miller joined them in line.
"Hello, Hazelle," Myra greeted their schoolmate.
Haymitch nodded politely at Hazelle. There wasn't much time for a proper conversation because he was up next. He offered his index finger with bored indifference and watched as Myra did the same.
"I'll see you later," Myra whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips. Hazelle averted her gaze, giving them some privacy.
The two girls went to the right to join the others in their district. He went to the left with the other boys waiting in their pen.
On his way over, he heard raised voices and saw the Dorner twins, gold hair shining bright under the sun in a heated conversation with their best friend Iris, another merchant girl. He lifted his head to glance at them briefly, nodded at them by way of greeting and hurried over to stand next to Aspen Everdeen who had raised his hand to wave at Iris, grinning sheepishly.
"What are the odds you think?"
Haymitch pinched his lips and did not answer. Something unsettling was swirling in the pit of his stomach and a conversation about their odds was the last thing he wanted partake in.
"Welcome, welcome, to the 50th Annual Hunger Games!" Amara Varvari's voice boomed throughout the Square and a hush silence fell over everyone in attendance. "This year is a very special year, oh an extremely special year indeed! It's the Second Quarter Quell and four of you lucky boys and girls will be chosen to represent your district for the honour and the glory."
Haymitch snorted.
"Let's begin, shall we?" the woman squinted. She was in a hurry, Haymitch knew, before all her make-up melted under the harsh District Twelve heat. "Ladies first."
He turned his head to the right, his eyes scanning the crowd of girls, looking for the familiar dark hair tied into a ponytail. Myra was looking for him too and when they saw each other, Haymitch smirked. She grinned.
"Aster Thomson!"
A shriek could be heard in the back, a desperate wailing. A girl, fourteen years of age, walked slowly to the front. Haymitch had seen her around. Everyone had seen everyone around at some point in this small district.
He was glad it was not Myra.
"Now, for the boys."
His heart was hammering in his chest. Don't call my name. Don't call my name, he chanted the mantra silently in his head like he had all those previous years as if it would form a shield between him and the escort. Don't call –
"Allan Carter!"
He breathed a sigh of relief. He could not even summon it within himself to ashamed or to feel bad for Allan who left behind a mother, an older brother whom Haymitch noticed had not volunteered, and two younger sisters.
"Maysilee Donner!"
Next to him, Aspen sucked in a breath.
"No!" a cried rose above the din. That was Iris followed by a loud thud; Maysilee's twin sister had fainted. Aspen Everdeen shifted, torn between going to his girl, Iris and staying put.
Like Aspen, Haymitch was staring at the commotion so much so that he completely failed to register his name until he saw Aspen staring at him, mouth agape.
"She called your name."
His head snapped towards the escort standing at the stage, scanning the crowd. She read from the piece of paper again.
"Haymitch Abernathy."
He stared and he stared, his ears buzzing. The boys were looking at him and by now, so was Amara.
"Well, come up here now," she waggled her fingers, beckoning him over, a horrid smile on her face.
Haymitch stayed rooted to the spot, his feet unwilling to walk him to his death.
"Haymitch," Aspen jostled him. "You got to go. They'll drag you otherwise, don't let them humiliate you that way."
"My brother…" he croaked.
"I'll look out for him," Aspen promised. "I'm sorry, Haymitch, I'm sorry."
He was. Aspen was sorry, but there was no denying the relieved in his voice knowing he was not one of the two boys called up this year.
Haymitch gave him a curt nod and stepped out of the crowd. He could hear Myra pushing the crowd trying to get to him. He could hear Lief calling his name, heard the Peacekeepers moved to block his way.
He refused to look back to where he knew his mother and brother would be, their faces most likely shrouded with despair and helplessness. He was the head of their family, he fed them and clothed them, and now he would be gone.
He had to walk or he would lose heart. There would be time for goodbyes.
In the Capitol, he learnt the stars bright glow died against the city's illuminating, ever present florescent light. Fitting, he thought. Everything died here in the city.
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