I'd just like to say that since it's a collection of one-shot that I'm writing, the timeline will not be in chronological order.


Before His Brother

(9 years old)

It wasn't so much of a bedroom but a corner of their house separated by a thin sheet that made up Haymitch's room. Lachlan Abernathy parted the sheet and slipped in quietly. He gazed down at the face of his son, taking in the smooth skin and the speck of dust smudged on his nose.

Lachlan raised a hand, thick calloused fingers brushing the side of the boys' face. "I know you ain't sleeping," he murmured. "You're breathing too quick."

Haymitch tried but he couldn't fight the grin. He blinked his eyes open and stared up at his father.

"I was waiting for you," he sat up. "Did you just get back?"

"Told you not to," Lachlan answered.

"You know I have to see you before I sleep – to keep away the bad dreams," Haymitch told his father earnestly in that innocent belief that only a child possessed, as if his father could protect him from every harm in this world.

"Hmmm."

They had developed a ritual, his father and him. Every night, his father would sit by his cot, brushing his fingers against Haymitch's brows and down his cheeks, and he would kiss Haymitch's forehead while wishing his son a pleasant dream in that gruff, low baritone of his. Lachlan was not an affectionate man by nature; rough around the edges and closed-off, a man of very little words. But each night, without fail, he afforded his son some form of tenderness. Haymitch knew he would get a kiss from his father, only that one kiss reserved for him when the sun had set and the darkness surrounded them.

Haymitch touched the spot on his forehead.

"What will you dream tonight?" his father peered at him. "Tell me."

Haymitch spun a tale. He learnt to fill in the silence in his father's presence with stories he made up, his imagination often being the source of delight to his parents. He didn't know it yet at this age, but years from now, this "skill" became persuasive enough for him to convince a Gamemaker to change the rules.

"I'll dream that you'd come home early after you're done with work at the mines tomorrow and that you won't have to do some other extra job so you can push me on the swing, like you used to. Mama'll watch."

"You're a big boy, Haymitch. You're nearly nine. You don't need me to push you on that swing, son. You gotta learn to do things by yourself, yeah?"

His face crumpled slightly and it must be evident to his father who said, "You're going to be a big brother. It's gonna be your job to push your little brother or sister on that swing, you hear me?"

"Yes, father," he nodded gravely, already taking his role seriously.

He had waited and he had counted for the days to come. It had been months and Mama promised the day was nearing. Mama had gotten so big and heavy.

"Go to sleep now."

"Will you stay with me?"

Lachlan squeezed his shoulder and stood up. "I've got somethin' to do."

Haymitch knew his father was lying but he pressed his lips together and lay back down without another word. Outside, in their kitchen, he heard his father's heavy movements opening and closing cupboards. He heard the bottles clinked against each other and the sound of a cork opening. He listened to his father's footsteps – three steps exactly – for him to cross their small shack from the kitchen to the living room.

In the morning, Haymitch would find his father sleeping on the couch, a bottle in hand and he would rouse his father, fingers pinching his nose because he hated that foul smell each time his father drank, but he would insist on being the one to wake his father up all the same so the man could send him to school on the way to the mines.

Early morning and late at night was Haymitch's favourite time of the day. It meant a few personal minutes with his father who was always away working.

XxX

After school was spent helping his mother or if his mother didn't need him, he would play with the other boys in the Seam.

Today, Haymitch pulled a chair and sat, waiting patiently for his mother. Mama waddled to the table, folding clothes she had sown and mended. She arranged them carefully in a basket and pushed it towards Haymitch.

"This one goes to the Donner. You know where they live, yes?"

He did, of course, he did. He had ventured into Town sometimes. Haymitch hauled the basket, nearly dropping it at his feet. It was too big and heavy for his small frame.

Isla Abernathy walked her son to the front door. "I would do it but – "

"It's okay," Haymitch expelled a breath.

His eyes fell on his mother's stomach. Not for the first time, he wondered again if his mother might have swallowed a huge ball. How big was his baby sister or brother going to be? His mother's stomach looked huge, slightly disproportionate to his child's eyes and Haymitch was afraid he wouldn't be able to push his little sibling on the swing if he or she was too big. The swing might crack and hurt the poor child, he thought. He couldn't have that.

The walk to Town took longer than Haymitch expected since he had to pause every so often with the basket on his feet, trying to catch his breath. He had a wagon last time but his father had sold it away and they never did get round to making a new one.

"Hey, Mitchie," a boy waved at him as he ran after a ball.

Haymitch frowned. He hated that name.

As the boy approached, a ring of laughter accompanied him. "What's that you've got, Mitch? Looks like it's draggin' your sorry ass to earth – you've got no strength."

"Clothes," Haymitch mumbled and almost defensively, he said, "and it's heavy."

"Well, come on then," Aspen Everdeen shrugged, tucking the dirty worn out ball under one arm. He lifted one end of the basket and Haymitch the other.

"What do you want?" Haymitch queried, thinking that it was better to get it out of the way.

"Nothing – just helping."

"Sure you'd want something," Haymitch brows furrowed. A look passed between them and Aspen understood. Haymitch didn't want to owe Aspen any favours.

"Some of whatever they pay you with or you can do my math homework."

"Okay, I'll do your homework," Haymitch agreed easily.

The Donner usually pay with food and with his mother pregnant, he wasn't willing to part with whatever edible things he could get. Together they walked to Town, faces covered with coal dust, heaving and panting under the sun.

True enough, Mrs. Donner paid Haymitch with five potatoes for the mended clothes. He grinned happily, keeping them in the sack. Haymitch followed Aspen back to his house to collect his friend's homework and left, promising to meet him tomorrow before school start with the completed worksheets.

"Five potatoes, mama," Haymitch showed his mother.

"Good," Isla nodded. "Good. That should last us a few days. Go on to the back and I'll show you how to boil them."

His mother tire easily nowadays and that was proven when she dropped heavily on a stool where she proceeded to teach and direct him.

Haymitch washed two potatoes and kept the rest. He lighted the coal, filled the pot with water and salt which he realized they were running low on, and mentally made a note to ask Hazelle at school tomorrow if he could have some salt in exchange for doing her school work. She didn't like science - maybe he could do that for her.

While waiting for it to boil, Haymitch did his homework while his mother watched.

"Two of the same work? Whose book is that?"

"Aspen's," he answered without looking up. "He helped me earlier. I didn't want to give him our food. They're for you and the baby, so I told him, I said "I'll do your homework.'"

Isla shook her head, a shadow of regret on her face. "You are a smart boy, Haymitch. Your teacher told me so and I can see it for myself. And you're using your intelligence to help us, to get us food… What can I say? What can I do? It shouldn't be your job; you shouldn't have to worry about this. You're still so young… I wish things were different," his mother lamented.

Haymitch looked up, frowning. "You said we gotta do what we can to survive," he quoted her. "I promise I won't get caught. My teacher won't know what I've done. See, I'm going to purposely give a wrong answer on Aspen's paper so the answers on his and mine won't be the same. Our teacher won't notice that."

The rueful smile she gave her only child went unnoticed. "I think we can check the potatoes now."

Haymitch complied. He tiptoed to get a better look, poking them with his ladle. He had no idea what he was doing but Mama said that the potatoes would be ready when they were tender.

Behind him, his mother laughed quietly. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the look on his mother's face.

"Bring the pot over," she beckoned. "Careful… Take a fork for me."

He watched attentively as Mama showed him. Once it was drained and cooled, Mama sliced a potato in half and gave the bigger half to him.

"We keep one for your father for tonight."

He nodded and stuffed his face with the food, happy that tonight he could go to sleep without suffering hunger pangs.

"You can cook for your little brother now," she smiled, resting her hand on her stomach. "You know how."

"Brother?"

"It's a boy, I can feel it."

He grinned. "Good. We're gonna be great friends – I'll teach him to climb the trees. Maybe catch the tadpoles behind the house."

"Don't you get him in trouble, Haymitch!" Isla chuckled.


I think I've developed a little fondness for 9 year old Haymitch.

Thanks for reading! You can leave me a prompt, if you like :))