Damon had no desire to wake up, of all days, especially not today. It was his last reaping, and while that meant it was the last year he would be eligible to be shipped off to the Capitol for a fight to the death, it also meant his name was entered over 40 times. Granted, there were thousands of entries, but he was still very aware of the chances he had of going into the arena.
It was a sacrifice he had to make, though. In order to keep his family fed, Damon had to sign up for tesserae, where he would have his name entered into the reaping more times in exchange for food. Each year, he had to do this for himself, his brother Stefan, and their parents. It was the only thing he could do to help his family, so he did it.
"Damon, c'mon, you have to get up," Stefan said, poking his head into Damon's room. "We have to get ready." Damon sighed and rolled out of bed. Everyone had to look their best on Reaping Day, as the event was broadcast nationwide. Those whose names were entered into the reaping had to look especially nice, as the two chosen tributes would be immediately shipped off to the Capitol. It was all really disgusting, actually, but Damon would never risk saying so out loud. Both he and Stefan got dressed in their nicest clothes, and headed to the square with all the other kids entered into the reaping. Since Damon was 18, it was his last year. Stefan was only 16, and had two years left. His name was only entered in five times, though, because Damon always took the hit and signed up for tesserae.
"Good luck," Stefan said somberly before giving his brother a hug and joining the other 16 year olds. Damon then made his way over to the crowd of 18 year old boys near the back of square. The whole place was crawling with Peacekeepers, and Damon tried to avoid them. He hated Peacekeepers, almost as much as he hated the Hunger Games.
Suddenly, the entire square grew silent as Carol Lockwood walked onstage. Damon couldn't help but cringe at her obnoxious and repugnant pink hair. He never understood Capitol fashion, nor did he think he ever would.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome," Carol spoke into the microphone with the annoying, superior Capitol accent, just as she did every year. "Happy Hunger Games!" her enthusiasm was met with dead silence. "Ah, so let's get right to it then, and may the odds be ever in your favor," she added. "Ladies first!" Carol walked over to a large glass bowl on the far left side of the stage, the sound of her heels resonating in the silence. She stopped behind the bowl, and reached inside. She pulled a slip out and walked back to the microphone. Time slowed to a near halt as Carol unfolded the slip of paper and read it aloud.
"Elena Gilbert!" Carol announced. There was a uniform sigh of relief from most of the girls, but the camera found Elena, stoically walking towards the stage. Damon didn't know her that well, apart from brief interactions over the years at school, but he did know one thing: she was a fighter. Both her parents had died in a mining explosion, and she'd been caring for herself ever since. "Congratulations, Elena!" Carol cheered, and Elena responded with the same stone faced expression. She seemed determined not to show any emotion. "And now the boys," Carol said, making her way over to another large bowl on the far right. Damon, and just about every one of the boys around him, held their breath. Carol reached in, took a slip out, and walked back to the microphone.
"Stefan Salvatore!" she said clearly. Damon's heart stopped. Stefan. It was Stefan. On screen, Damon could see his brother being escorted on stage by Peacekeepers. He had no idea what overtook him in that moment, but the next thing he knew, he was running towards the stage, fighting to get past two Peacekeepers.
"Wait!" he yelled out, and the Peacekeepers let go. "I volunteer!"
"And we have a volunteer…" Carol said, sounding impressed. Stefan froze on the stage as Damon walked forward. "What is your name, young man?"
"D- Damon Salvatore." Damon said numbly. He had no idea what had just happened, but it was slowly registering that he had just condemned himself to death to save his brother's life. He knew, however, that if the situation was reversed, Stefan would have done the same.
"Well, there we have it, this year's District Twelve tributes for the Seventy Fourth annual Hunger Games!" Carol's applause was again met by silence, and instead of clapping, every one if the kids in the square placed their three middle fingers to their lips, and then held the sign in the air. It was a sign of respect in the district, and Damon and Elena both knew deep down this was District 12's way of saying goodbye to them. "Well, go on, shake hands," Carol said, clearly trying to hurry through the rest of the ceremony. Damon and Elena shook hands, and then were ushered off stage. They were led into separate rooms, where their family could say goodbye.
Damon was still having trouble breathing; at the time, he had only been concerned with saving Stefan, but now he was coming to terms with the consequences of what he had done. He was probably going to die, but he would rather Stefan live. Of course, he was going to fight as hard as he could to win, but he knew that when it really came down to it, he probably wasn't going to get out of the arena alive.
After a few minutes of silence, the door in Damon's waiting room opened, and Stefan walked in.
"Why would you do that?" Stefan asked.
"If either of us is going to die in that arena, it's going to be me," Damon said. "It's my job to look out for you."
"But you were never supposed to die for me!" Stefan said.
"Tell me you wouldn't do the same if my name was called." Damon said. Stefan didn't say anything; they both knew it was true. "Listen, you have to take care of mom and dad. Everything is going to be fine." Damon was trying to be strong. He knew Stefan looked up to him. "Tell them I love them," he added. Stefan nodded, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Damon was also fighting back tears. He knew his time in District 12 was coming to an end. A Peacekeeper knocked on the door and escorted Stefan out. A few minutes later, Carol came in to lead Damon out to the train with Elena.
"You two are in for quite the treat!" Carol cheered. "Crystal chandeliers, mahogany tables, fine china… Oh it's just wonderful! Nothing like you'd ever see out here." There was a slight tone of disgust in her voice, and Damon and Elena tried to ignore her as they boarded the train. "Ah, I'll go find Alaric," Carol said once everyone was settled in. "He's probably passed out drunk in his room." She impatiently scuttled out of the main car of the train, leaving Damon and Elena alone.
"Hi, I'm Damon," Damon said, trying to alleviate some of the obvious tension hanging in the air.
"I know who you are," Elena said coldly, fixing her gaze out the window. Although he wasn't sure, Damon thought her face was tearstained. Just then, Damon heard footsteps behind him.
"Well, who have we got this year?" a drunken voice asked from behind him. It was Alaric Saltzman, District 12's only surviving victor. He wasn't exactly the ideal mentor- he had turned to alcohol as a way to cope with the trauma from his Hunger Games- but he was Damon and Elena's only source of insight into what they could possibly be facing. After getting a good look at Elena and Damon, Alaric simply smiled. "Congratulations," he said sarcastically before sitting down across from them.
"Alaric is here to offer you any advice that might aide in your survival in the arena." Carol said, although she didn't sound so confident about it.
"But my best advice for you is this: Accept the fact that your death is imminent, and get over that fact now. There's no time for crying once you get into the Capitol." Alaric said.
"That's it?" Elena asked angrily. "The best advice you have for us is 'You're gonna die, get over it,'? How about you put the scotch down for five minutes and try to give us some actual advice. Because I don't know about you, Damon, but I intend to try and stay alive for as long as I can." She was enraged at this point, and simply got up and headed to her room.