Summary: What if the Hunger Games had happened different? Peeta is no longer the Baker's son, but the son of a widowed Seamtress with his only reason for living being to feed and protect his younger sister, Prim. Katniss is no longer a cold, lonely huntress from the Seam - but rather a kind guardian angel from Uptown and the Baker's Daughter. What happens when Peeta and Prim, both, are reaped? Will they be forced to kill one another, or will a certain angel be watching out for Peeta like always?

The sun's just peeking up now, casting long shadows on my face and giving the world that hopeful, dreamy quality that only appears on mornings like these. It's that rusty shade of orange – the one that makes me want to run towards it, away from here in promise of a better tomorrow.

As if it had been coordinated, the clouds start rolling in, soaking up most of the precious sunlight along with them as if to answer the silent question of, "Will the light ever beat the darkness?"

The grey world whispers, "No."

I don't say these things to sound pitiful or pathetic. I don't want anyone's sympathy.

It's just that life – our life – really doesn't get better than this. The practical painting of a good life around The Seam is me, standing here, illegally poaching at ungodly hours in the morning so that my reason for existence has a lump in her tummy.

And if I was being honest, there is only one reason that I bother getting up in the morning.

My younger and only sister, Primrose, always comes first. She's the only thing that really matters now. There had been once been a time when that wasn't the case. I had felt for more than one person, but it was so long ago that now it just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and queasy hole in my stomach.

And with that thought, I reach down and pluck a few pale roses from the ground, a few measly inches from being crushed by a sopping log from last night's rain.

Prim would like them. She'd smile sweetly like always, thank me, and proceed to wear it in her gold hair until it started to wither away.

I hated that she was always so strong. To the naked eye, she appeared as innocent and pure as any other eight year old, but when you live with her, you realize how much she struggles – trying to smile. She shouldn't have to do that – plaster a beautiful, fake smile on her face.

She should be laughing in the sunshine like the Merchants do.

She did sometimes, I mean. She had many friends – it wasn't hard for her. You couldn't not like her.

I, on the other hand, was abrasive and very un-Primly.

I'd had one friend – if you even call her that. Maybe even an older sister.

Her name was Madge, a Seam kid like myself, quite a bit older, that'd use to hunt with me. Unfortunately, she had an early birthday and was forced into work the day she turned eighteen.

I used to drop off food every now and then – I assumed without Madge's winnings that they'd be picked off within weeks.

But I was wrong.

Madge's family thrived.

I didn't understand how that was even possible. Everyone knew that was true about Healers like Madge – they didn't make much.

So when I saw Madge weeks later after her birthday, filled with enough food to where I could no longer see her ribs through her shirts – I was relieved.

It would be rude to ask where she got the food, so I never did.

Today was one of those days that I wished Madge was with me. She had well trained eyes and a keen nose – she taught me as much as she could, but I wasn't a good as her.

I was just a scrawny, twelve year old boy that could barely out weigh a sack of flour.

I was smart – I'd been told that a number of times – and I was fast. When we were together, we conquered the woods.

But today, the odds aren't in my favor.

I'm so tired, and I'm so hungry.

With winter crawling nearer, the animals have started packing away for sleep. Game is becoming scarce, and most days I come home empty handed.

It seems like today is going to be one of those days.

I hate complaining, but the constant groaning of my stomach makes me flinch awake in the middle of the night while I'd been dreaming of hot bread.

And then to see Prim crying from hunger pains is like a whole new wave of agony.

Some days I hate Madge for leaving me.

The flash of emotion makes my empty body woozy for a moment, and I have to sit down.

It's been four days.

Four days and not a scrap of food I'd manage to bring home. It was shameful and embarrassing. Prim would smile and pat my back saying she wasn't hungry, only to hear the sounds of her stifled whimpers in the middle of the night.

I had to get something.

I stumbled my way into town in the freezing rain, clutching onto buildings and fences as I passed by, looking for trash cans. I really didn't need any Peacekeepers coming by and scraping my unconscious body off the sidewalk in front of any Merchants.

Luckily, it was early enough that most sane people would still be asleep. The only business I knew to open at this time was the bakery.

The thought alone of something associated with bread made my entire body quiver.

I mean, they had to have thrown away something, right? I mean, possibly even tesserae bread.

It'd be enough. It'd be enough.

I wasn't super familiar with this part of town except for the few trades I'd made at the bakery with Mr. Everdeen in exchange for squirrels. He was a kind man with a vicious wife and a daughter, Katniss, whom I'd never met and a son who'd died two winters ago – some illness that even the best of Healers couldn't cure.

My mom had sent him free fabrics from her shop and Prim attempted her hand at cookies. They were little, fluffy but flavorful raisin balls that made him smile.

I'd even dropped off a couple free squirrels weekly – I knew what it was like to lose family, and I knew that those months to follow would be the worst of their lives.

But if I didn't recognize the sight, the fresh yeasty smell guided me. The orangey lights coming from the ovens were like a glowing sun rising. I didn't even bother to wipe off the drool that'd collected on my lips.

I went around to the back of the alley where the trash cans hid. I tore lids off quietly as I could, but the eagerness of my hunger made the task much harder.

As if the day could get any better, I realized there were several windows facing the alley way.

And a pair of hard, narrowed eyes pointed at me through the blinds before vanishing. It was Mrs. Everdeen, no doubt.

She threw open the heavy bakery side door, slamming and screaming about how disgusting I was and how I should be ashamed.

None of those things mattered to me. I'd heard worse, but her promise of summoning the Peacekeepers got me moving.

When I'd stepped away from the trash cans, she gave a satisfied harrumph before moving back inside to the warmth of her bakery.

I'd gotten the attention of more than one person from the looks of it – a dark pair of grey eyes stared at me from inside – there was no coldness, not even pity. They were determined, but very sad.

And as I crawled over to the tree across the street from the business and slumped against it, I couldn't help but get lost in my thoughts.

That this is the end.

Prim's going to die.

I'm going to die.

It'll be my fault.

It's all my fault.

"KATNISS!"

The name was followed by a sharp, air-cutting slap – skin on skin if I had to guess, and then a series of clangs and metal clattering.

The muscles in my body tensed, ready to spring into the bakery and beat the life out of the mad woman if she'd harmed a hair on the girl's head – I may not have known her, but she'd already suffered enough.

And then the tiniest girl I'd ever seen was thrown onto her knees on the pavement in front of the side door – two loaves of blacked bread following after her. She swiftly caught both, clutching them to her chest like they were precious gold – edible blacked gold.

"YOU PIECE OF TRASH! FEED THEM TO THE PIGS!"

The door slammed then, and the sharp clicking of locks ended the brawl – leaving her outside in the rain.

The girl used the over-sized sleeve over blouse to wipe away a few tears that escaped down her cheeks, and I felt horrible. You could see the red welt appearing under her eyes, and she hissed at the contact.

She looked around as if searching for something – the pigs were in front of her.

But then she caught my eyes.

Those sad, grey eyes seeming to fill with hope. She stood up and rushed over to me – I couldn't help but notice her slight limp.

She stopped in front of me, barely towering over me - even in my sitting position.

Her cheeks were tear stained and her nose was a cold pink, but even with these in addition to the angry mark under her eye, I couldn't help but think of a small fairy or angel even – burned loaves of bread in her arms that now were extended towards me.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she whispered in a small voice. I reached out for them and took them in my hands. I wasn't sure what she was apologizing for – that I was starving? That I'd been caught trying to eat out of the trash? That I should be humiliated? "I tried not to burn them too much, but –," she trailed off and stared at her feet.

And then in a split, I felt like I completely understood who Katniss Everdeen was.

"Could – Could you give something to Prim for me?" she pleaded hopefully. She reached into the pocket of her huge apron and pulled out a small cookie – a single, beautifully-detailed, yellow primrose painted onto it. "It's a bit stale now, but I thought she might like it."

I nodded – the words that I so desperately wanted to scream like "Thank you" or even "Yes" couldn't seem to find their way to her. She smiled – a beautiful sight that could easily rival with Prim's.

She extended her small, boney hand out to mine for me to take, and I did with little hesitancy. The contact felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around our hands, and I really argued with myself to let go.

"Take care, Peeta," she said before giving my hand a final squeeze.

I looked after her as she ran back to the bakery, carefully picking the lock of the side-door with a bobby pin she had stashed in her hair, letting herself back in.

She'd been prepared – I could only assume it wasn't the first time it'd happened.

And just as quickly as she'd came, she was gone – I hadn't even muttered a thank you. I wanted to slap myself, maybe even scream.

But the smell of the bread in my arms seemed to control my feet as I sprinted with a new found energy all the way home.

Prim was still asleep when I found her – dried streams of tears glistening on her face in the pale morning light.

I shook her gently, her bright blue eyes fluttering open and meeting mine with a breath-taking hopefulness.

"Hey, little duck," I whispered. "I brought you something."

She sat up, wiping the tear residue out of her eyes before focusing in on the two loaves of bread I had tucked under my arms. Her jaw comically dropped and her eyes widened in surprise before filling with tears again.

"Breakfast?" she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yeah!" I tore off the end and pressed it into her small palm. She didn't scarf it down like I had imagined, but stared at it like it had done something to offend her. "What is it?"

The first tear escaped before a torrent of them followed quickly. I caught as many as I could and wiped them away for her.

"Is this real?" she whispered hoarsely. "Am I still asleep?" She fumbled on the last word as a heart-breaking hiccup cut her off.

"No, Prim. You're awake. It's real," I laughed at the absurdity of this situation before wrapping my arms around her and rocking her.

Most girls cry about something 'not being real' on Christmas morning, when they got the doll they wanted, or they cry when the boy they like asks them to Homecoming.

My little girl was crying about eating breakfast.

I woke my mom up to join us – I even poured her coffee and got out some of our old honey and jams to celebrate.

Or maybe it was just me who was celebrating – celebrating that we were living to see another day. That maybe we'd be okay.

So I made us say grace before we dug in. Prim lead us in thanking God for the bread.

But really, I thanked God for the beautiful, crying angel that he'd put on the Earth. And I prayed that he always protect her and watch over her the way she had watched over me.