Stiles Stilinski wasn't planning on having a good day. From the moment he woke up, he knew nothing even bordering on happy would occur until the following morning. So he made his father and himself a meager breakfast without talking much and his father didn't comment like he normally would because he knew what the answer would be. It was Reaping Day in District 10. Everybody was in a bad mood.

"It's your last," his father reminded as he began eating.

Yes. And somehow that made it worse. He's gotten through six reapings so far, though, and hopefully his record would hold. He nodded, putting on a fake grin.

"Next year I get to just watch," he said.

"Stiles," John responded, that saddened look so very evident on his face.

"Sorry, it's just not much of a comfort, okay?" he replied.

His dad nodded, and their conversation ended there. This was basically the way their relationship went after Mrs. Stilinski passed away. John drifted within himself and Stiles kept things going. He learned how to cook and milk the cows, anything necessary. His father had gotten better over the years, but now he simply seemed obsessed with his job instead of his self-pity.

"I think my old suit should finally fit you this year," John said as Stiles started washing the dishes.

"Awesome," he let out, not even bothering to turn around.

John sighed and left the kitchen, a common occurrence. A few minutes later, Stiles entered his bedroom to find his dad's old suit lying on his bed. He was expecting it, but he didn't want to wear it. This was the suit he had married his mother in, and quite frankly, he didn't like the significance. But John would be disappointed if he didn't wear it, so wear it he did.

Stiles left the house with a quick goodbye to his dad. As he closed the door, he could hear his dad trying to initiate a proper farewell, but Stiles just wanted to pretend it was a normal day. It was a normal day. He had gotten up to help milk the cows in the morning and then sold it at the market, just like always. John would be leaving their house a bit closer to the Reaping, but Stiles had to get there early to sign in. As he neared the town square, he spotted his best friend coming down another side street and raised an arm to alert him.

Scott McCall rushed forward in that excited, nervous way that he did, and in fact he looked less put-together than normal. This was okay though, because only the people who might be reaped traditionally dressed up. After all, Scott was nineteen.

"This is worse than being in the Reaping," Scott said as a greeting.

"Now you know how I felt when you were twelve and I was eleven," Stiles replied nonchalantly, "And that was much worse because I was eleven. You know, you don't even have to be here."

"Yes, I do, it'd be worse watching it on TV," he said, "I have to be here for you and Allison."

Stiles smirked as they continued walking towards the square. Scott and Allison had started dating several months before, and they were about in love as you could be. The two were always hanging on each other, always touching in some way, and Stiles would find it revolting were it not for the fact that Scott had fawned over her since the moment he saw her. He couldn't bring himself to be anything but proud, to be honest, and happy for him. There was that too.

But right now, Scott was a nervous wreck. Much more anxious than Stiles was, at least on the outside. His buddy had a habit of displaying every emotion on his sleeve.

"How many times is your name in the bowl?" he asked.

"Just a couple," he replied casually.

That was an understatement.

"Stiles," Scott practically growled.

"It'll be fine," Stiles said with a wave of his hand, "It's always just fine."

"Yeah, I guess," Scott mumbled.

Soon after, he spotted Allison and left to talk to her while Stiles waited in line for his finger to be pricked. He drummed his fingers against his thighs absentmindedly, trying to think of anything but the moment. After that ordeal was over, he had to stand in a large group of all District 10 boys from twelve to eighteen. As a member of the oldest age group and having a last name near the end of the alphabet, he was positioned in the second to last row. Luck would have it that he had a clear view of his dad where he stood with Scott and Mrs. McCall. Melissa looked just as worried as the other two, and Stiles felt a pang from the reminder that she thought of him as a second son. The feeling was mutual.

Soon after that, their escort began the event. Marin Morell spoke evenly and elegantly in such a way that you felt as though every word was of utmost importance, which Stiles supposed was her job. For Capital people, she was fairly simple looking with dark straight hair and a pantsuit. Though her outfit was brightly colored red, she could almost pass for a District member if it wasn't for her accent. She told the same story that she did every year, the one that Stiles knew was worded to put the Districts in the wrong. Everybody knew who really was, but it didn't matter. After President Gerard's short remarks, the Reaping truly began. Morell picked a paper from the girls' glass bowl, as was tradition, and announced the female tribute.

"Erica Reyes,"

There was the sound of a gasp from the other side of the square before the blonde girl was pushed forward. She was holding her head high despite her audible reaction and the tears in her eyes. Stiles knew he should've felt sorry for her, but all he could feel was relief that it wasn't Allison. He locked gazes with his friend and smiled reassuringly to show this, and she nodded sadly in response. Obviously she felt what he could not. Guilt, he supposed.

Erica stood stiffly on the stage as Morell approached the other glass bowl. She fished around this time, perhaps trying to make it more dramatic, and a familiar buzzing began to fill his hearing. He picked a spot on a random building and stared at it, swallowing nervously as he tried to quell his anxiety. So caught up in his loud thoughts of "CALM DOWN, CALM DOWN," that he only caught the tail end of the announcement.

"- Stilinski,"

He snapped his head to look at the stage in disbelief. Only two people in District 10 had that last name, and one of them was his father. Before he could react, someone was pushing him towards the empty middle space. He was breathing erratically, still trying to process what was happening. Catching Allison's gaze again, he saw her horror as tears began trailing down her face.

"Stiles!" a scream came from the opposite direction.

He knew it was Scott without a doubt. Looking over, he saw his best friend throwing himself against the barrier of Peacekeepers as Melissa tried to pull him back. They were both full-out sobbing while his father stood shaking, just as much in shock as Stiles was. A second later, he was torn away from the sight as two Peacekeepers dragged him into the aisle. He pulled his arms roughly from their grasp and convinced his body to walk forward, still trying desperately to control his breathing. His movements were stiff and shaking, but they were movements nonetheless. The journey to the stage seemed long and agonizing, but in reality didn't last longer than a minute. Morell directed him to the microphone with an unemotional smile.

"So-,"

"It's Stiles," he interrupted without thinking, "Call me Stiles."

Somewhere in his subconscious, he was still worried about all of Panem hearing his horribly unpronounceable name for a second time.

"Okay, Stiles, how do you feel to be in the Hunger Games?" she asked as if it was the most exciting thing in existence.

He gritted his teeth.

"How do I feel about it," he repeated quietly, feeling a snarky retort coming on, "I-,"

He stopped abruptly as he spotted Allison shaking her head ever so slightly. You'll make it worse, her expression said, Please don't. He stared at her, knowing she was right, but he was still shaking.

"Yes?" Morell prompted.

Stiles tore his gaze away.

"I feel pretty numb about the whole thing," he answered, telling the truth while slipping a casual tone into it.

"Well, I'm sure the excitement will set in soon," she told him, corner of her mouth up a bit, "May I present, the District 10 tributes of the 63rd annual Hunger Games, Erica Reyes and Stiles Stilinski!"

The crowd clapped mutely for as short a time as possible, just like always, and before he knew it, he was being dragged into the large building behind them. The peacekeepers led him into a room and instructed him on what happened next. He'd receive some visitors and then Stiles would be off to the Capital. They locked him inside and almost instantly after the door clicked, he released a shuddering breath.

His eyes started watering for the first time as he paced back and forth, the knuckles of one hand pressed against his mouth anxiously. Minutes passed before the door opened and his father walked stiffly inside. Stiles rushed to embrace him and they stayed like that for a bit, John with his hand in his son's hair and Stiles with his face pressed to his shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, Dad," he said, louder than he thought possible at the moment, "Don't go back to that place if this goes badly, okay?"

John held his son's face in his hands fondly, tears finally slipping onto his cheeks. He shook his head slowly.

"No, you can't fall to pieces again, Dad," Stiles told him sternly, "I want you to be happy, alright? No matter what happens, please just… get through it."

His dad stared at him for a few moments more, as if trying to understand him completely as fast as possible, before pulling him into another hug.

"I love you, Stiles," he managed to get out.

"I love you too."

Seconds later, the door was opened and they were forced to separate. There wasn't a word of actual goodbye. That wasn't needed. It didn't take long for someone to enter the room once John left. Scott rushed to pull him into a tight hug before pulling apart and gripping his arms.

"You can do this, Stiles," he said firmly through tears.

"Scott," he breathed out, not wanting to actually say what he was thinking.

"No, no," his best friend replied, "You're not a quitter. You're a stubborn ass, a fighter."

"I have no idea how to do anything remotely helpful," he stated, "I can't do that stuff."

"You can learn," Scott pleaded.

"I'll try, I will, but it's not gon-,"

"No, Stiles, listen," he interrupted, "You're the smart one. You just have to believe that you can do it. Please."

He soaked in these words, and then pushed them aside for later.

"Alright, Scotty," Stiles said softly, "Alright, but worst case scenario, you have to take care of my dad, okay?"

He nodded seriously.

"I promise."

Scott went in for one last bro-hug just as the Peacekeepers entered to escort him out. He gripped his shoulder for a second and sent him a meaningful gaze.

"You can do it, man," he called, tears pooling again as they pulled him outside, "You can win it."

Stiles nodded before losing sight of his best friend and turning around, thinking that would be it. As luck would have it, the door opened to reveal Allison and Mrs. McCall.

"They only allowed three groups," Allison said softly, "We though Scott should come alone."

He nodded again, not sure what to say, as Melissa suddenly embraced him. Stiles was surprised, but quickly hugged back.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay," he quietly replied, "It's okay, Ms. McCall."

"No, it's not," Allison said firmly as Melissa pulled away, "This can never be okay."

They were silent for a moment. Stiles looked at Allison slightly worriedly.

"You shouldn't really say stuff like that here," he said almost inaudibly.

"I don't care. This-," she scoffed, "this can't be happening."

"Well, it is." He turned to Melissa. "Don't let them blame themselves, Scott or my dad. I'm gonna be fine."

"Stiles-," Allison began.

"And you," he said with a slight smile, "Be careful… and try not to break my best friend's heart."

She embraced him quickly but tightly before turning to leave, wiping tears as she did so. Always the strong one, after all. Mrs. McCall didn't follow immediately, instead she squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

"I agree with Scott, you know," she said, "Don't be so quick to write yourself off. I expect you to come home."

He swallowed and nodded, allowing the smallest of smiles to form. She returned it and then was led out. Now there would definitely be no one else. True to this thought, the peacekeepers returned a moment later to lead him to the train. Stiles exchanged a glance with Erica as they were reunited, but there was no emotion in it. He barely knew the girl and, frankly, this wasn't the time to start forming a bond.

Completely ignoring the cameras surrounding them, he boarded the silver train and couldn't help but stare in awe at the contents. Erica brushed past him straight towards the trays of pastries and started eating one, and Stiles was reminded that there were families in his district in much worse positions than he was. At least his father still had their milking cows, that is if he still has the will to use them. No, don't think about that. Don't.

He sat down in a plushy chair by the table and absently picked up a muffin. Erica placed herself in the seat beside him, but stayed on the edge so as to reach the food more easily. Stiles picked at his baked good but couldn't truly stomach it, especially as Morell began talking to them about all the things that would happen next. He didn't care, and quite frankly didn't want to hear a word of it. Stiles did start paying attention when a new person entered the train car.

He had seen the man around town once in a while and knew who he was, everybody did actually. Derek Hale had won the Hunger Games several years earlier, when he was fifteen and Stiles was only seven. Three years later, his entire family was killed in a house fire. It was ruled an accident, but the people of District 10 knew what had really happened. For some unknown reason, the Capital had murdered them. Ever since that, Derek had lived a silent existence and only came into town every month or so to stock up. He walked in now with a glass of amber liquid and stood across from Stiles and Erica, even though there was a chair available beside Morell.

"What can you do?" he questioned, his expression free of emotion.

"What?" Erica asked.

"What can you do that I can work with?" he repeated in annoyance.

"That's it, you're gonna start with that?" Stiles said loudly, "No introduction? No 'sorry for getting picked'? I can tell how this is gonna go already."

Derek glared at him for a moment before taking a swig of his drink, placing the glass on the table, and folding his arms.

"I'm not interested in becoming your friend," he told them evenly, "I'm here to try to keep you alive."

Stiles didn't have a response for that, but he was luckily spared from having to come up with something as Erica spoke up.

"I can fight," she said, her voice a mixture of uncertainty and assurance.

He immediately shot her a surprised look and their mentor clearly felt the same.

"How?" Derek asked, "bow and arrows, a sword-,"

"Knives," she supplied, "I can throw knives."

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Stiles asked.

"I practiced at my family's butcher's shop," Erica answered, "I wanted to feel like I could do something."

It made sense, he realized, especially since she must've had a lot of free time with their shop being one of the least visited in the district.

"That's good, we can work on that," Derek replied without really changing his tone, "How about you?"

Stiles swallowed.

"Well, uh, I mean," he began, "when you're asking for things that I can do, do you mean-,"

"Ways to fight, survival skills," Derek interrupted heatedly, "can you do anything remotely helpful?"

He licked his lips anxiously as he wracked his brain for anything, anything, that he could say. But Stiles thought of nothing. He wished terribly that he had taken Allison up on that offer to teach him archery, but he was stupid enough to think he would never need it. This whole thing was unfathomable. Stiles wasn't aware that he had begun to shake before he abruptly stood up and left the train car. Morell called after him, and he actually glanced back, only to see Derek shaking his head minutely in disapproval.

He wasn't going to take this shit. Not right now.

Stiles opened the first door he came across and entered a medium-sized bedroom. He sat on the edge of the huge bed and plucked a remote from the side table. Not sure what to expect, he turned the large television on to see an overview of the districts reapings. His fingers twitched to change the channel, but something compelled him to keep watching. The McCalls' voices echoed in his ear. You're the smart one. I expect you to come home. He needed a plan, and it was going to start with checking out the competition.

He had missed the first couple districts, but he already knew what to expect from them. Careers, kids trained to kill since they were little, who volunteered to fight to the death. No matter what, he'd be watching them. As it was, Stiles picked up the show at the end of District 4, where the newsmen were discussing the volunteer male tribute, Ethan, whose twin brother had won the Games two years before and would be mentoring. He remembered that guy, Aiden, as a vicious body-builder and it was clear that Ethan wasn't too different.

District 5's tributes didn't seem especially dangerous, the girl in her mid-teens looking timid and the boy being one of the younger ones. They approached the stage as most non-Careers did, trembling but submissive, and so the newsmen quickly moved on from the boring Reaping. District 6's female tribute, however, immediately caught Stiles's eye. He'd remember that name for the rest of his life, h was sure of it.

Lydia Martin

At first he could just see a tumble of strawberry blonde waves, but as the camera zoomed in, he knew she must be around his age. Her bright green eyes were scared yet determined and though her body shook as she walked, no one needed to push her forward. There was something about her expression, the set of her mouth, that screamed resolute. There was no sharp denial like Stiles had experienced, she was going forward with the confidence of a guilty murderer to his execution. There was no changing what she was approaching, but damn it if she wasn't going to fight anyway.

So as Lydia took her place beside the District 6 escort, standing strong yet terrified nonetheless, Stiles knew right then and there who his best ally would be.

A/N: THIS IS NO LONGER AN AU COLLECTION. I have moved the Diner AU into its own separate story as a oneshot which kept the name Golden. This one, obviously, I renamed.

The name of this story comes from The Killers's song Be Still, which is a favorite of mine and really great to listen to while thinking about this. Also, the chapter's title is from Mumford and Sons's Below My Feet, another favorite. Kay, so this is shaping up to be pretty long, mostly because I really don't want to leave out anything that I don't absolutely have to. I just love putting all the characters into places and having their relationships be ever so slightly different or just have them develop differently. Alrighty, thanks a bunch for reading, and remember to review. Even one word would be glorious.