Summary: In the ruins of North America lies the nation of Hydra. Natasha is ripped from her family and thrown into the Hunger Games with her best friend Clint. She promises to get him out of there alive, but what happens if he makes a similar promise? And how is she supposed to roll with the punches and fake being in love with him with the other twenty-two tributes trying to kill the them? And don't even start on the Gamemakers.

Author's Note: I've been wanting to do a Hunger Games AU for a while. This has the Avengers - or, really only Clint and Natasha, and a few other recognizable characters - and Agents of SHIELD characters - but no spoilers for either since it's an AU. Enjoy.


"No, c'mon, stay with me! Hey, hey, it's going to be all right. I promise. Please, just stay with me. It's okay..." Her voice drops, and she cup the other's face in their hands. "It's okay."


The rabbit hops closer. It eyes the berries, its nose twitching as it crept closer. The girl dares not move, dares not breathe too loud. She is positioned in a tree just above the snare, eyes squinted in the morning sun. She hadn't had good meat in days, so, yes, she thought that cute, adorable bunny would make a great stew. The rabbit was just about the trip wire -

"Hey, 'Tasha!"

Natasha's head whips around to see Clint a few yards away, crashing through the underbrush with an idiotic grin spreading on his idiotic face. She turns and glares at the empty trap, the rabbit nowhere to be found.

She shakes her head, and begins climbing down. She jumps from the lowest branch, still a couple of yards from the ground, and lands in a crouch. She looks back at the boy, who was now leaning on a tree near hers, and pretending he wasn't laughing, his things thrown haphazardly down by his feet.

"Damn it, Clint!" Natasha hisses. She picks up a rocked and hurled it at him, hitting him in his arm.

"Woah, hey, ow. That hurt!" Clint says, pouting and rubbing his arm. His eyes betray him though, amusement shining in his baby blues clear as day.

"You couldn't have waited two seconds? How did you even find me?" Natasha asks, frustrated, crossing her arms and walking towards him, ready to smack him but holding herself back.

"Your hair," he answers, tugging on one of the red curls and smirking. Natasha slaps his hand away.

"That's the first rabbit I've seen all morning."

"Want something better?" Clint asks, picking up his wooden bow and slinging his make-shift quiver over his shoulder.

"What?" she asks warily, watching as he walked past her. He only gives a smug grin over his shoulder before ducking under some tangled scrubs.

Natasha hesitates, considering just leaving him and going on her way to catch other game. But, as always, she follows him.

Clint doesn't say another word, just walks along as quiet as possible, and Natasha was thankful for his silence. She was hoping he had found tracks and was leading her to some good game, but instead she caught side of their hidden place, a ledge on the edge of a rocky cliff, safe from prying eyes by the bushes of berries finding refuge there.

"This is better than a rabbit?" Natasha asks. "The rock we go to nearly everyday?"

"No, but I thought we should eat the bread while it's still hot," Clint said. "Besides, the sun's hardly up. We've got plenty of time until two." He pulls out a loaf of bread from his bag. Warm, bakery bread, not the kind the poor families of the Seam make themselves. Natasha's mouth watered.

"Where did you even get that?" she inquired, eyeing it hungrily. She didn't eat anything before leaving the house, though that wasn't exactly out of the ordinary.

"Caught the baker as he was throwing out the trash earlier. Promised him a squirrel for it," Clint said, sitting on the ledge and nodding his head to the space next to him. Natasha sits and the boy tears the bread into two pieces, giving his friend the bigger half. She takes a bite and moans, giving Clint a small smile.

"Does it make up for the rabbit?" he asked, ripping of a bite with his teeth. Natasha nodded, and the two sat in silence, and occasionally they picked a tart berry or two off the bushes. Finally, Clint spoke.

"How many times his your name in?" Natasha had been dreading this conversation. He already knew, of course, but each year, the morning before the Reaping, he always insisted on asking. It was a tad weird, but Clint liked numbers. He counted out his arrows and throwing knives, he knew how many tesserae entries they both had, and he always knew the number of hours before school, before Barney came home from the mines, before May would start worrying a bit about Natasha when she and Clint went on these hunting trips. It gave him a sort of comfort, so Natasha didn't have anything against it. Better the numbers than focusing on the hell hole the lived in.

"Twenty-two," she says, looking over the tree tops in the distance to the rolling hills far beyond.

"Twenty-two out of eight thousand," Clint said.

"I like those odds." He nods. It is obvious that he doesn't.

"What about you?"

"Twenty-five." Natasha grimaces and opens her mouth to speak. He gives her a sidelong glance and stops her, muttering, "Don't."

"But-"

"We've had this conversation before. The way I see it, I've still been in the games longer than you. This is my last year, and in the next you'll get more tesserae count than I have now. Besides, I don't care about that. I care about you and your family, so, yeah."

Natasha sighs. Only a year after they had met, had become friends, Clint started getting tesserae for the younger kids. An act that she would be forever grateful for, but still hated. Grant had wanted to start, especially now that he was fourteen, but she and May refused. And there was no way that she would let Jemma or Leo even think about it.

They are silent, Clint chewing slowly on a handful of berries and Natasha tearing her last small chunk bread into tiny pieces. She gathers them and pops them in her mouth.

"We could do it, y'know." Clint's gaze is far away. "We could run away."

"What would Melinda do? She has three kids to look after, only one of which can hunt - maybe. Grant's still not that good," Natasha said, pointedly not looking at Clint.

"We can bring them with us. Barney, Melinda, the kids."

"Really? Leo and Jemma in the woods?" Natasha scoffs, shaking her head. Clint shuts up and leans back.

"Happy Hunger Games," the redhead says, hoping to lighten the mood by throwing a berry at Clint's head.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," he says in the somewhat silly Capitol accent, pushing her playfully. "Now, c'mon. I'm going to pay you back for that rabbit." He hops of the ledge, and was off before Natasha could say a thing.

She can't see him in the thick green underbrush, but she can hear him walking and was able to follow. They worked so much together in the years, Clint knew exactly how much noise to make to lead her. Finally she finds him crouching in some shrubs near a small opening in the thick trees.

She slowly approaches him, sits on her knees next to him, and waits. As the minutes ticked by, the two never speak, neither even moving. Natasha finally sighs, only to have Clint shush her with his hand. She is about to fight back with some angry response when she finally sees something worth bringing home. Two wild turkeys came into the clearing. Natasha readies a throwing knife and Clint raises his bow. He drew the arrow back, and Natasha heard him draw in a breath before letting it go. The small, sharp, deadly knife leaves her hand a second after the arrow did the bow. The first turkey takes an arrow to the eye, and the second a knife to the throat. Both fall to the ground, silent after a moment.

"Nice throw," Clint says, breaking into a grin as he stood and offered Natasha a hand. They inspect their kills, and decide they should head back to the Seam. Clint carries both their kills, waiting as Natasha picks a gallon of strawberries from a patch they stumbled upon. Jemma loved strawberries.

They make it under the supposedly electrified fence that wasn't on - shocker - and hurry through the Meadow to Clint's house on the edge. As it was only nearing eleven, the streets in the Seam were nearly abandoned. Barney, having the day off from the mines to watch the reaping, greets them at the door and takes the kills from Clint. As Natasha follows the younger of the brothers through the door, Clint's stupid yellow cat hisses and swipes at her from a shelf on top of the door.

"Be nice, Buttercup!" Clint scolds the cat, as if it makes a difference to the mangy animal.

"I still don't know why you didn't kill that thing the first time you saw it," Natasha comments, sitting at the old dinner table in a rickety chair.

"I ask myself that everyday, Natasha," Barney says from across the room, already preparing the turkeys.

"Aw, c'mon, 'Tasha! He's kind of cute in a weird, ugly way!" Clint picks up the cat with little protest from the feline and hugged it to his chest. Natasha had to admit, the thing loved Clint as much as it hated her. "Maybe it's your hair," she remembered him saying when they were younger.

"No, he's ugly in an ugly way," she responds.

"Wow, nice comeback." Clint set the cat down, and Buttercup almost looked offended. For something in such horrible condition when Clint found it and pitied it, Buttercup sure got used to being coddled.

"Hey, Clint. Why don't you two go trade whatever else you have? You can't go out with this meat later today, not with all those idiot Peacekeepers running around." Barney looks over at them, gesturing towards to strawberries. Natasha nods and stands, grabbing them and Clint before walking out of the door.

Walking through District Twelve, it was easy to see it was a Reaping day. Everyone working in the coal mines had the day off, and most businesses in the town are closed. Natasha and Clint make their way through the streets, passing by the Hob on their way, though they didn't have anything of worth to trade on the black market at that moment, so most of the booth owners ignore them. Arriving at the mayor's house, Natasha knocks on the door while Clint, who was made a pack mule, shifts the bucket of strawberries in his arms.

Antoine Triplett, the mayor's son, opens the door. He was in Grant's grade, and was the closest that boy had to a friend beside his siblings. Antoine was close to Jemma, too. He always treated Natasha with respect, and like her sister, he had a taste for strawberries. Today he was wearing a nice black button shirt with black pants and shoes. The dark outfit drew attention to the pin stuck in his shirt. It was a pretty gold thing, looked like a bird. A hawk, maybe.

"Hello Natasha, Clint," Antoine says, nodding at them. Natasha handed the strawberries to him, and he took them with a small smile. "Thanks."

"That's a - um - interesting get-up, there," Clint says, gesturing at him with his now frees hands.

"He means you look nice," Natasha responds, giving Clint a look. "I like the pin."

"Don't tell my mom that," Antoine replies, giving them a lopsided smile. "She acted like Hell would break loose if I didn't wear it, even when I was dead-set against it."

The three share a short laugh before Natasha and Clint say goodbye to the younger boy and start heading home.

"Twelve thirty-five," Clint reads from a clock in one of the shops windows.

"I should head home," Natasha said.

He nodded. "I'll see you at two."

"See you at two." The two parted ways, and Natasha hurried home.

It's one by the time she arrives. Grant opens the door and immediately went to talking about any kills that she got and did she get any and how big were the turkeys? Leo and Jemma run over, and she notices that all three kids were already dressed up. Grant and Leo wore the same outfit, a white button-up shirt and nice, brown pants. Jemma has her hair pulled back away from her face, and wears one of Natasha old dresses. It's a pretty thing, the prettiest thing Natasha ever owned, dark blue with flowing sleeves just above the wrist and a skirt that ends just below Jemma's knees. It looks beautiful on the girl, whom of which was picking at the basket of strawberries in Natasha's hands.

"These are for after dinner," the oldest sibling says, but she can't ignore the pout of Jemma's face, so she gives them each a few berries before shooing them away so she could get ready herself. May greets her in the kitchen and takes the basket with a grateful glance.

"It's nice to have something to look forward to," Melinda says, gesturing towards the kids chatting loudly in the front room.

"Besides the reaping?" Natasha comments sarcastically, about to go off on a tangent, but the woman's look silences her.

"There's hot water for you in the back," Melinda says finally. Natasha's surprised, a hot bath is hard to come by considering boiling the water on the stove takes up so much time.

"Thanks." Melinda only nods in response, focusing on cleaning the shabby kitchen.

Natasha leaves her and goes to wash up. As she rings her hair out, she sees what May has put out for her on a chair just out of reach of the tub. She dries off and she eyes the clothing, recognizing it as some of Melinda's old clothing. A pure white shirt with ruffles down the middle and a sleek, long black skirt that went up to her midriff and down to a few inches above her knees. Looking in the cracked mirror in the corner, Natasha can she why the women picked it out for her. She was petite, but the clothes brought out her more... womanly features, and Natasha actually finds herself taking longer looking in the mirror than she ever did. She combs her curls with her fingers and walks back to the front room, hunting for her good shoes.

Grant, Leo, and Jemma are huddled together, standing in the middle of the front room. Natasha slips on her shoes, then notices Leo's shirt is untucked in the back. Smiling she walks over the trio and ruffles Leo's hair.

"Tuck in your tail, little duck," she says.

Leo grins and does so with a, "Quack."

Jemma giggles and quacks back, and even though Grant rolls his eyes there's a smile there too. May walks over and smiles - a rarity in itself, before frowning and trying to smooth back Grant's hair.

"Argh. Melinda..." he whines.

"You want to look good. We may be the poorest district, but that doesn't mean you have to look scruffy on national television." The dark-haired woman looks at the clock. "We should go." It's one thirty. Natasha feels the anxiety begin to build up but she pushes it back down.

The kids nod solemnly, because suddenly the Reaping is here, and it's Jemma and Leo's first year. Thank god it's only their first year. Clint may not like twenty-two out if eight thousand, but he can't argue the one of out eight thousand isn't much better.

The family leaves the house and begins walking to the town square. Other families walk, parents with a hand on their children's shoulders or an arm slung around them. Some have already lost theirs on a day like today. Natasha's eyes dart over the sullen faces, taking in the trembling first years and the other children's nervously hopeful expressions.

Grant, Leo, and Jemma walk ahead of her and May, Leo babbling about some book he'd read and how he was sure he could make a more efficient alarm for the coal mine, and the other two nod along. Natasha looks at Melinda, and Melinda give her a look of her own.

"Something on your mind?"

How can you always read it? Natasha's red curls bounced as she shook her head. "Happy Hunger Games."

Melinda scoffs. "Yeah."

They make it to the square a few minutes before two. Natasha sees the Barton brothers and waves them over. Barney pats his brother on the back, and Melinda presses a kiss to the temple of each of her wards, even Natasha, and the two adults join the main crowd. Clint puts his arms around Leo and Grant, a goofy smile on his face as he leads them to sign in on the boys' side. Jemma clings to Natasha's skirt, nervousness now apparent on her face.

Natasha smooths the other girl's hair, and walks her to the section filled with other twelves. She places a kiss on the other girl's forehead and stands with the other female seventeens. She settles in next to another girl, one that may actually be considered a friend, Bobbi Morse. They nod at each other, before turning their attention toward the stage before the Justice Building. Three chairs are set up to Natasha's right. The podium is in the middle, and on either side the glass balls filled with every eligible child's names at least once, on for boys, one for girls.

On one chair sits Antoine's father, Mayor Triplett. Next to him sits Maria Hill, District 12's escort from the Capitol, who's dark hair is done up in a bun. She's wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, seemingly supposed to resemble a coal miners outfit for the occasion. It, and Maria's face, is accented with a light, rosy pink - heavily. Maria looks to be trying to keep a cheery demeanor, but both she and the Mayor keep glancing at the third, uninhabited chair.

The town clock town strikes two, though, so the Mayor stands, and with one last questioning and concerned look at the empty chair, begins his speech about the history of Hydra, of the wars between the districts and Capitol, and of the Hunger Games. Natasha zones out - everyone's already heard it before - and instead finds Clint in the boys' pen to her left. He's closer to the stage, but has managed to angle his body to face the stage but enable him to make that stupid, ridiculous face at Natasha, who tries not to laugh in spite of everything.

"It is both a time of repentance and a time of thanks," the mayor intones. Mayor Triplett begins to read the list of victors of District 12. It doesn't take him very long as they only have two. One is dead, and one is still alive. Nick Fury, a man before Natasha's time, and the living victor, Phil Coulson. Phil Coulson is a middle-aged man, who at that very moment stumbles on stage in a specially tailored wrinkled suit, and who is very, very drunk.

He falls onto his chair and proceeds to grope a very uncomfortable Maria in means of a hello. The crowd applauds the lone victor's entrance, and there's jeering from some adults in the back. Phil stands, waving with an extremely inebriated grin before swaying a little to far to the right. He tries to catch himself but ends up falling off the stage. Natasha closes her eyes as she tries not to roll them. The mayor in his increasing distress of District 12 being, yet again, the laughing-stock of the Games, relinquishes the podium to Maria.

Maria smiles and strides forward, though its clear she's a bit shaken and her bun is in disarray. "Happy Hunger Games," she says in a bright, clear tone. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her smiles says she's happy to celebrate another games, but her eyes say she'd be in the games herself to get bumped up to a better district.

Natasha's eyes, however, find Clint. This times she lets herself roll her eyes as Clint makes an inappropriate face at her. She can see, thought, the tightness in his shoulders. It's only twenty-five, she mouths. He shakes his head.

Not the numbers I'm worried about, he mouths back.

It's time for the drawing. Maria Hills says, "Ladies first!" in the cheering tone that makes Natasha want to smack her, and reaches into the glass bowl. A pit of anxiety forms in the redhead's stomach, and her hands ball into fists of their own accord. She squeezes her eyes shut and prays. Please, not Jemma. It's irrational, Jemma's name is only in there once, she knows, but when have the odds ever been in her favor? Please, please, please. Not Jemma.

The odds aren't in her favor. They never are. But as Maria Hill calls out the female tribute and Natasha's green eyes open and she finds everyone else's trained on her, her first thought is to be more specific next time she prayed.

"Natasha Romanoff!"