A/N: Hi! So a fic is born! This is going to be a multichapter fic, I have a lot of it planned out already. I think I will be keeping the chapters around this size as I find it a nice size for updating.

So a little summary: This is a fanfiction based around the characters Kurt and Blaine from Glee (but many others from glee too), but written into The Hunger Games world so AU. This is set before the time of our friends from the books, those of you who have read the entire trilogy will see my logic in this. This year's games will be the 59th.

Also IMPORTANT!: Right, in my story I have changed the 50th Quarter Quell to suit my needs. I know that in 'Catching Fire' the 2nd Quarter Quell varies from what I use in my story, but I needed to change that for an element of my story to work. I was skeptical about it, but I found no better way, so this is how it is!

Warnings!: This story is naturally quite dark due to it being set in the Hunger Games world. If you've read the books, you shouldn't find this any worse than that.

-Death of children/young people (ages 12-18) but not over graphic.
-You may find this story upsetting, it's not fluffy bunnies and unicorns that's for sure!

Also, Major Character death, but will be tasteful. If you can't handle this, then I don't mind if you move on to some fluff instead :) But I WILL be warning you again on the chapter where this happens, so you can stick around until then if you like.

There won't be any spoilers for Catching Fire or Mockingjay in this story, however it obviously uses many themes and ideas from The Hunger Games itself.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Jenna Linda :D

Here we go!

Come Away To The Water
Chapter One
Drowning

My head is spinning as I stand in form with the others. My jaw clenched and fists balled so tight that my fingernails dig into my sweaty palms; desperately trying to get a grip on reality. This isn't my first reaping, but my last. You would think that going through the motions six times already would make me prepared for this very moment - that it should be easy. Untrue. This year is the hardest. At eighteen the odds are the least in my favour than they ever have been.

I glance over at the large glass bowls in front of the Justice Building and swallow thickly. Two of them. One for the boys and one for the girls. But of course, it's always ladies first. The bowl for the boys stands upon a stone podium. The stand is sea green, and just like the Justice Building itself; the mineral has been carved into carefully, leaving pretty aquatic shapes of shells, fish and swirls like water. The thousands of slips of paper in the glass form sea white foam on the podiums. I've always admired the beauty and intricate design, but today the podiums seem less of a wonder and more of a curse.

My name, Kurt Hummel, is printed delicately onto seven of the folded slips. Seven chances of being chosen as the male 'tribute' from District 4 for the 59th Annual Hunger Games. Sure this isn't even close to how bad it could be. For those who need to take out tesserae the odds are even steeper.

I scan around the lines of children crowding the square until my eyes find Sam Evans; he catches my glance and smiles weakly. I know the sandy haired boy from school. He's a nice guy, but unlucky. Sam has had to take out a tessera for each member of his family every year since the age of twelve. With the cumulative entries, that leaves him with thirty-six slips at seventeen years old. I force a sorry excuse for a smile back at him which casts his sea green eyes down; looking sadder than ever. I look back to the stage, I seem to find it hard to care too much about anyone other than myself at this moment in time. But, given the circumstances, I don't feel it's too selfish.

Children are still filling in and I still feel positively ill. I have an awful feeling that I may vomit on my dress shirt. Fear that the stench of bile will never really wash out of the beautiful thing makes me breathe deeply as I try to get a hold on myself. After all, it wasn't every day that you managed to afford clothes that were actually fitted in District 4.

I spot my father in the crowd. The dark circles under his eyes are evidence of years of restless nights due to dreams filled with worry, loss and heartbreak. He's already lost so much to The Games. The 2nd Quarter Quell took my mother as victim. This 'special' 50th year celebration was a rule changer; rather than twelve to eighteen year olds competing, anyone of any age could be reaped. The female tribute from 4 just so happened to be my mother.

When my father's tired eyes meet mine, I readjust my thoughts; feeling guilt with a side of grief for something that wasn't in my control.

Time moves so slowly. I look down to my feet and wriggle my toes in my dress shoes. It seems like a lifetime ago rather than this morning that I was sitting on soft, sun-baked sand with the warm ocean licking at the ten digits. I close my eyes and imagine myself back on the beach where I belong. I picture it like this morning. The sea is washing up and down my bare legs in a soothing rhythm and the morning sun glows hot through closed eyelids. The breeze ruffles my hair playfully. The saltiness of green flecked, fresh bread melts on my tongue; nothing quite beats homemade goodies. I think I can hear the gentle whoosh of the ocean in my ears, but something isn't quite right when the sound only gets closer rather than coming and going softly. My sun fades as a shadow casts over me; I open my eyes and am brought back to harsh reality by the sight of the gigantic aircraft overhead. The Capitol's logo, huge and gold on the craft, catching the light like a spark of lightning as it lowers into the space mapped out in the Justice Building's square.

The aircraft lands with a gust of air that makes me sway back a little. It rattles the large temporary screens, put up solely for displaying the Capitol's sick show to the whole of District 4. The hatch to the craft is released and stairs come cascading out shortly after. A pair of glittered heels begin down the steps followed by the clunking boots of two Peacekeepers. Add them to the other Peacekeepers already stationed at various positions around the square, on the roofs, on the reaping stage then there are only a few hundred of them…

Attached to the sparkling feet are almost florescent tights and a simply hideous frock. I can hear her before I see her face, screeching welcomes at us because she clearly cannot wait until she has reached the microphone. Rachel Berry toddles onto the stage, straightens out her dress and coughs into the microphone, "Hello everybody!" she shouts, forgetting that her already loud voice is being amplified. I can't help but screw up my face at the sight of her ghastly alterations, they're worse than last year. Her hair cropped to her jaw line (completely unflattering to her face shape in my opinion) and coloured gold. Her arms hold trails of golden tattoos, all in the shape of stars. They carry on up her neck and onto her face. I wouldn't be surprised if they were dotted over her entire body.

"Okay guys and girls, it's movie time!" She beams as she does an excited little shimmy.

The Capitol anthem blasts across the square as images flash across the large screens. This is new. Up until this year they have always read us the history of Panem from a worn little book. It seems that they've upgraded to a film instead. Lucky us.

Staged clips of rebellion and terror fade over each other on the screen as the president's cold tone narrates the visuals. I switch off as he begins talking of how Panem rose out of the ashes and how despite how we districts treated them, The Capitol 'forgave' us out of the 'kindness of their hearts'. The bile is threatening to make an appearance more than ever now at The Capitol's propaganda.

I turn my attention to District 4's remaining victors. They sit beside one another on the stage, their faces hold a look of attempted indifference. These two will mentor our district's tributes this year. I look to the female victor, Sue Sylvester; she sits tall and with the most believable look of not caring. If I didn't know better I would say she looked hard and cold, yet however I do know better. Her hair is cropped short and a sandy blonde colour; like so many in District 4. I glance over to the other victor, the younger of the two, William Schuester. I see straight through his charade, he looks tired and broken. The far-off look and the dampness in the corner of his eyes tell me that he's trying hard not to cry.

I notice the music come to an end and I am shaken back by Rachel's loud voice over the microphone.

"Brilliant!" She exclaims. "Now, ladies first!" It only irritates me further how her Capitol accent seems to require her voice go up at the end of each line as if everything is a question.

Ms Berry patters over to the reaping podium on the left. My heart pumps harder in my chest as her manicured fingers swoop down into the sea of paper. I don't have many friends in the district, but there are those from school I'd rather not see get picked.

"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel reads clearly. I gasp and turn my head along with everyone else towards the girl. Fear registers on her face before it is veiled with a brave scowl.

She makes her way towards the stage.

Quinn Fabray. I know this girl alright, from school. At first I am surprised that no one steps up to volunteer for her, as everyone knows that 4 have been known for careering tributes. My guess is that the lack of egotistical neanderthals must be due to the recent crackdown on producing careers. It's illegal anyway, but I almost wish that the tradition had carried through.

My eyes flit to Sam, Quinn's boyfriend; now utter terror consumes his form. I start to feel some empathy for the guy. Odds are, he'll have to watch his girlfriend die on national television; just like my father did his wife.

I feel my throat closing a little as swallowing becomes harder, as my eyes sting a little and I think I almost cry. All that dissolves instantly though as Rachel speaks again into the microphone,

"And now for the boys!"

I can't help but think of no one but myself from here. If I thought that my heart was racing before, then I was wrong. I close my eyes as things begin to sway again and I feel my stomach trying to force my breakfast back up; more determined than ever.

I want to keep my eyes closed until it's over. Why is this taking so long? If she would just read out the name already-

"Kurt Hummel!" Her voice spreads across the sea of bodies like a huge wave, crashing and breaking as it hits me. I open my eyes to see them all looking at me, but I can't move; I'm drowning in her words. Me. It's me. I'm the one going into that arena to die.