Author's Note (Aug. 28):This outtake was originally posted as chapter fifteen. In an attempt to keep all the body chapters together, we reorganized them when chapter seventeen was updated. That being said, if you clicked on the link hoping to go to the updated chapter, you want to select "Chapter Seventeen - Peeta" from the drop down menu. I'm so sorry for the confusion!


Morgantown, West Virginia - 1989

Ezekiel hears Malia's braying from his bedroom window. Despite the chilly fall breeze, he can't help but sleep with the window open, just like Armarna always did. He used to give her any amount of hell for it, but in the end, he could never say no to his 'Marna. Now his bedroom feels stuffy without it open at least a crack.

He looks over and sees the tiny towhead still completely out for the count on the pillow next to him. In the week the boy has been with him, he's gifted the generous supply of sewing equipment and paraphernalia that Armarna left behind to the Cartwright's, and spent more money than he ever imagined he would transforming the spare room from his wife's crafting office into a functional bedroom. He left the walls the original pale blue she'd painted them years ago when they first started trying for a baby, even though he's not sure what color the little boy might like instead since the boy still won't—or can't—talk. A small bed and chest of drawers had arrived from Capitol just two days before, and the child had seemed delighted by them. Right up until it was time to go to sleep.

"Are the pillows too puffy?" Ezekiel had asked the boy, who'd shaken his head quickly. Sae had taken a pair of scissors to the child's long curls, but they still fell in waves over his forehead when he moved his head.

"Are the sheets scratchy? Armarna did all the washing, I never know when to add in the fabric softener," he'd pressed, but again the boy had shaken his head insistently.

He'd sighed heavily and run his hand along the child's shoulders. As if on cue, the boy had crawled into his lap and clung tightly to his chest. Ezekiel's arms had wrapped around him, and he could smell the sweet scent of childhood rising up from the boy's tiny body—sugar, grass, dirt. In the end, the boy was still just a child, no matter how extraordinary the things he was capable of doing.

"You're terribly lonely, aren't you? Without your real parents," Ezekiel had whispered to boy. He wanted this child to be his own desperately. The sense of kinship with this tiny creature had only grown stronger in the days since he'd found him in the stables. But he wondered if there wasn't some way to send the child back where he'd come from, make sure that he was with his own kind, whatever or whomever they might be. He'd hauled the twisted hunk of metal in from the woods with the horses and a makeshift buggy and hidden it in one of the barns. But perhaps it was wrong of him to do so. Perhaps he should have placed the boy back inside and advised him to make the thing fly. Surely a child so small couldn't actually captain a vessel such as that, but maybe it had some auto-pilot feature. It would probably be so much better, so much safer, for this boy to just go home.

But then little Delly had gone and given him a name. Peeta. Peeta Mellark, or so the papers will say when he and Moritz Cartwright work out the fine details, adoptive son of Ezekiel Mellark. The boy already turned his little head whenever the name spilled off of Delly's lips. He seemed to like it just fine, accepted it without question. It was as though it had been his name all along. And yet Ezekiel still finds himself unable to say it himself.

"If I knew how to send you back to them, I would, son. Maybe Sae's right. I might be no good at this parenting thing. So, if you know how to go back from where you came from, I won't be upset if you want to go," Ezekiel said, looking into the child's bright, shining blue eyes.

The child seemed to contemplate this a moment. Then he'd poked Ezekiel firmly in the chest.

"Ow," Ezekiel had grunted. "You don't know your own strength sometimes."

The boy shrugged. Then poked him in the chest again, much softer, in the space right over his heart. His eyes seemed to grow wider as he stared up at the man, as if challenging him to misunderstand his meaning.

It had washed over Ezekiel like a tidal wave. The boy wasn't displeased with the softness of the sheets or the relative comfort of the bed. Even with the light filtering in from the hallway to ease the boy's still intense residual fear of the dark, the boy just didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be near him.

If Ezekiel had to pinpoint a moment with little Peeta that truly cemented his paternal feelings for the child, that was most definitely it. And so he's tucked the boy into Armarna's side of the bed ever since, despite knowing it'd be to the boy's benefit to gain some independence sooner rather than later. For now, though, he can't see the harm in it.

So, that night, when Malia begins to bray and whine loudly enough to carry into his bedroom, he eases himself out of bed very, very slowly so as not to disturb the child's innocent slumber. He keeps a pair of boots near the front door, so he closes the bedroom door tightly behind him to keep the child secure and tiptoes down the stairs. He shrugs on a jacket and boots before grabbing a flashlight to illuminate his path out to the stable.

He knows that the time for Malia's colt to be born has come when he sees her lying on her side in the straw padding of her paddock. She lifts her head at his approach and neighs pathetically. He shakes his head and sighs deeply; he wishes he'd done this at least once unassisted by his wife, just so that he wouldn't feel like he was going into it quite so blind. All the same, he goes into the stable storage space to retrieve the cover-alls that he'll wear over his pajamas and let his instincts guide him; he's been raising horses for nearly a decade, surely this is something he can figure out without having to call Dr. Jessup, the large animal vet in town, at 2:45 in the morning.

He's kneeling by her to get a feel for how her birthing is progressing when he hears a sharp intake of breath from behind him. Sure enough, he turns around and sees a pair of sapphire blue eyes staring at him through a mop of unruly curls perched just on the divider gate. He sighs, wondering how on Earth he'll be able to get his—this—no, his child to sleep in his own bed one day if he can't be out of it for more than ten minutes before the boy wakes to find where he's gone.

"This is a messy business, son," Ezekiel says patiently. "And Malia'll be awfully testy. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

The boy shakes his head and climbs over the stall door, landing gracefully as he jumps over it and pads in his bare feet to Malia's snout. He's about to reach out and pull the boy back from getting a nip or head butt when something sort of miraculous happens: Malia's near incessant whining ceases, and she pushes her snout into his tiny stomach as he strokes her mane.

"How…how are you doing that?" Ezekiel asks, even though he knows the child won't answer. The little one continues to stroke his small fingers through the matted clumps of horse hair and then begins to babble softly. He strains his ears to listen, thinking maybe if he can understand this little one's Mother-tongue, perhaps he can imitate it himself. It's completely fruitless, of course, for just as soon as the child begins speaking, he quiets and begins to hum instead.

Armarna had had a beautiful singing voice. Listening to the easy melody come from the throat of this child would make her happy, Ezekiel's sure of it. And it seems to be completely enchanting Malia, who's holding so still you'd never imagine his hand is shoved so far up her—well. Birthing horses is a messy business.

"Son, if she starts getting antsy, will you please promise me you'll climb up on the side and just watch me instead? She's a big beast, much bigger than you; I can't stomach the idea of you getting hurt," Ezekiel asks the child. His blonde curls bounce when he nods, and his hands continue their rhythmic stroking of her mane and snout.

It is like this that an hour later, the horse that later becomes known as TJ enters the world. Ezekiel scoops the boy up as soon as Malia gets to her feet and begins to investigate and clean the colt, and sits him on the side as the mother and babe bond. The child's eyes widen in amazement as the newborn horse slowly pulls himself up on his spindly legs and tests them out. A moment later, he lifts up his front hooves and sort of gallops in place, and his mother brays at him gently. He makes his way to her teat and begins to suckle for his first meal, making the boy giggle at the funny sight.

"This is how most Earth creatures feed," Ezekiel explains. The boy looks pensive before he nods, accepting this information and adding it into his lexicon of things he now "knows" about the world he lives in. Ezekiel knows it's probably pressing his luck, but he asks the question anyway. "Do you remember your mother?"

The boy seems confused by the word. Ezekiel reiterates that a "mother" is grown up like he, but a female like Delly or Sae. At this, the boy shakes his head and once again points his tiny hand to the sky.

"Right. Of course," Ezekiel says with a small nod.

The boy is entranced by Malia and her baby for a long while, but eventually even his fascination with the horses runs out and his head lolls sleepily against Ezekiel's shoulder. He does once final check to ensure that Malia has plenty of water and hay to last while he gets cleaned up and caffeinated before he comes back to muck out the stall. He carries the child back to the main house and tucks him into bed, sitting with him for several long minutes to ensure he's really asleep before he steps under the piping-hot spray of the shower to wash off the gunk of horse delivery.

The child sleeps almost the entire day away, but when he awakens and sneaks out to the stable without Sae, who'd agreed to keep an ear out for him while Ezekiel worked, being any the wiser, it doesn't surprise the man in the least to find him perched on the tall gate of the horse stall, watching the tiny colt with all the fascination and adoration in the world.


Sae suggests he read to Peeta to coax him to sleep in his own bed a few weeks after the colt is born. She brings a stack of children's books that she says Thatch and Delly won't miss to see if that helps. The child doesn't take well to the idea at first, and Ezekiel allows him to spend several nights once again occupying Armarna's pillow before growing firm with him. Slowly, the boy begins to at least fall asleep in his own room, but the man still often stirs in the middle of the night to find the child creeping into his room, undoing all the hard work of finally getting him to sleep in his own bed.

They run through some of the lighter books quickly before Ezekiel decides on a full novel that he thinks the boy might enjoy, considering its content.

"As she approached her chair, the carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise," Ezekiel reads as the boy fights the growing heaviness of his own eyelids. "Fern looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its ears, turning them pink.

"He's yours," said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an untimely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness."

Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely perfect." She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father, then she kissed her mother."

Suddenly, as if every ounce of exhaustion had been leeched out of his body all at once, the child sits up and looks inquisitively at Ezekiel. He puts the book aside and points outside to the grounds beyond.

"It'd be a bit like if you wanted to care for that colt we birthed the other day," he explains to the child, even though he's not entirely sure of his own logic. "But you don't have to worry about him, because Malia, his mother, is taking good care of him."

The boy seems to accept this. Then he pokes the man in the chest, much lighter than he sometimes does. Then he points at himself. Ezekiel understands immediately.

"Yes. Just like I intend to care for you. I may not be your father, son, not by blood or any ounce of logic that exists in the world. But I'll care for you all the same," the man says, his voice heavy with emotion.

He continues to read the child the beginning of the adventure of Fern Arable and Wilbur the pig when he sees the child's eyes flutter closed and his breathing even out. He smoothes the hair behind the child's ears and snaps out the light, allowing the night light and the glow-in-the-dark stars he'd put up for the child several nights prior to illuminate the room before collapsing into his own bed down the hall.

Sure enough, a tiny weight shifts in bed next to him hours later, and a soft poke comes to his chest. The boy's bright blue eyes seem to reflect the moonlight spilling in from Ezekiel's bedroom window. "Still can't sleep much on your own, huh?" the man asks the boy sleepily.

The boy's mouth opens and closes a few times, and Ezekiel stirs a bit more. The child is still ostensibly mute, save for giggles or gurgles or whines that emanate freely from his throat whenever he's feeling or experiencing something new or interesting. But never before has he moved his lips quite like this; it almost looks like he's trying to form words.

"Fff…" a tiny, strange sound comes from between the boy's teeth, and sounds more like a confused sound than an actual word. "Fffaa…"

Ezekiel snaps on the light next to his bed and pulls the boy into his lap. The boy pokes quickly at his chest and tries again. "Fff-fffaa…"

"What are you trying to say, son?" Ezekiel whispers to him. "Far? Fall? Fath—"

He stops himself short, but the boy nods quickly and pokes him in the chest again.

"Father?" Ezekiel squeaks.

"Fffaa…" the boy tries, but huffs and just pokes his chest again insistently. Ezekiel bites the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check, and nods his head.

"If you'd like…the word 'Dad' might be easier for you," Ezekiel says gently.

The child considers this for a minute before his smile goes immediately from frustrated to exuberant.

"Daaad," the little one says without any more coaxing.

Ezekiel nods his head quickly as tears roll down his cheeks. "Peeta," he says, finally using the sweet child's adoptive name in such a way that the boy will recognize it as their mutual acknowledgment of the importance of one another. The boy beams at him happily and clings to his chest. When he falls back to sleep a short while later, Ezekiel carries him down the hall and tucks him back into his own bed, kissing his temple and gently ruffling his hair.

The child doesn't pad back down the hallway again at night. He sleeps soundly in his own small bed from then on.


A/N from Kika: This outtake would not have been possible without the cheerleading of misshoneywell and haka_nai, Court81981's suggestion of utilizing some of the wonderful words of "Charlotte's Web" to help Peeta find his, my co-author Meggie's love and influence, and our beta sohypothetically's advice and freaky fast turn-around on edits. Thank you ALL; I just really love you, okay? :)

A/N from Meggie: So one week turned into four and I feel awful about that. However, I am THRILLED to announce that we will be resuming regular chapter postings next Wednesday (8/7)! Due to several factors (mostly the fact that we're both really wordy and our chapters keep pushing 10k each) we will only be posting one chapter a week on Wednesdays from here on out. Hopefully this will give you all the chance to catch up and might even mean that a few new people wander into the world of Super!Peeta. Your continued support here, on Ao3, and on Tumblr means the world to us. Feel free to drop by Tumblr and say hello. You might even get a few FaB surprises while you're there (especially on Sunday, but you didn't hear that from me...)! We love you all and we're SO happy to start posting regularly again.