Chapter 53 : Dead Kids Walking


Haymitch breathed out the smoke of his cigarette, careful to keep the glowing tip away from the paper when he flipped to the next card. The living-room car was as good a place as any to be alone at that time of day, the train wasn't exactly built with privacy in mind. He wasn't sure where the others were and that suited him just fine like that. With any luck, he wouldn't see a soul until it was time for dinner.

He was in a foul mood and made no excuse for it so they all tended to give him a wide berth. Even Effie gave him as much space as she could.

"Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever." he droned out with bitterness, flicking ash in the ashtray Effie had pointedly placed in the middle of the coffee table a few days earlier. He knew how to give those words the right tone by now, to make them ring just right.

And didn't he just love being the Capitol's mouthpiece.

Eleven had been just as awful as he had been expecting. Standing on that stage, staring straight at Fay Mitchell's face while he talked about how her brother had been his best friend, his ally – an ally he had murdered… Parading around the District, pretending not to notice the haunted looks, the famished frames, the overabundant numbers of Peacekeeper squads patrolling… He had played it as rehearsed even if he had been furious enough to explode. Effie's patronizing remarks about how they really knew how to grow fruits out there, her casual attitude faced with people who were little more than slaves… He knew it was a necessary act but it had made his blood boil.

The worst had been standing in the orchards though. The Mayor had kept talking and talking, explaining how everything worked, how happy everyone was to work there… And all he had been able to see was the tree falling again and again… If Effie hadn't been holding his hand, if she hadn't squeezed his fingers to the point of pain every time he had lost his breath, if she hadn't grounded him…

He had cried when he had been allowed back on the train. He had locked himself in their bathroom, had turned on the shower and he had sat there under the burning stream of water and cried until he had finally stopped shaking. Effie had been sitting on the floor on the other side of the door when he had eventually crawled out of there and he had realized, too late, that she had been banging on the door for hours.

They had curled up in bed and hadn't discussed it.

Ten and Nine had been less difficult because it was less personal. He hadn't been particularly close to either of their victors and while the whole show grated on his nerves, it hadn't been as terrible as Eleven.

They had been at it for almost a week now though and his patience was growing very frayed. What he desperately wanted was the sweet oblivion that whiskey or any cheap moonshine would give him. It was becoming harder and harder to refuse wine during those official dinners. Cigarettes were but a poor substitute. Sleeping pills had been banned from their lives ever since the Crowning.

He needed something to take the edge off and Effie wasn't free enough.

She wasn't sleeping. When she wasn't obsessing over her schedules, she was working on his speeches. He wasn't sleeping either because the nightmares were back with a vengeance. Sometimes he watched her work, sometimes he tried to distract her with sex that always ended up on the rougher side, sometimes he actually helped her. He always reviewed the speeches anyway, to make sure… He didn't quite know what he was making sure of.

"Panem bullshit." he muttered under his breath, as he flipped the card once more to start at the beginning. He liked having the speeches memorized. It helped once he was out there on those stages. Eight shouldn't be too bad and he was almost looking forward to it. Well… Maybe not. Yeah, there would be Alina and she was one of the last true friends he had amongst the surviving victors but there would also be all of Cecelia's children staring back at him.

And the marks of the failed rebellion were everywhere for those who knew where to look. It weighted on his conscience.

The worst by far was being reminded of the arena though. Everywhere he looked it was there. He couldn't tell where the memories ended and reality began. It was hell. At every second of every day it was hell.

The car doors slid open and closed and he looked up, hoping it would be Harwyn because the stylist never minded sitting quietly so he barely managed not to make a face when Peeta walked in, sporting his now constant scowl. Haymitch didn't know if the kid was channeling his inner Katniss, if that was an attempt at keeping his dead lover alive… But he knew that the boy's behavior was quickly becoming old.

Peeta was perpetually jumping at his throat.

It was all snide remarks or off-hand comments that hit too close to home. And he could understand because he would have been angry too if he had been in his shoes, Haymitch had gotten his girl killed after all, but it was starting to royally piss him off all the same.

"Do you have to do that in here?" the boy attacked, on his case as always when he caught his mentor with a cigarette between his fingers. As if it was somehow worse than having to deal with him covered in puke or completely wasted. As if it personally insulted him what he chose to do with his own damn lungs. The kid never gave hell to anyone else over this. Lucky Haymitch whose job it was to apparently not try to give himself a slow death through nicotine – as if the Capitol didn't have remedies for every sort of illnesses anyway, as if they would allow him to just lie down and die before he was done serving his purpose. Lucky him who got to be lectured about wasting second – third? – chances at life. Although to be fair, Effie was smart enough to never smoke in public. He had caught her sharing a cigarette with Alys in Ten but she never did it in front of Peeta. And the boy didn't seem to be able to shut up when it came to criticizing him anyway. "This is a shared space. You could keep it to your room."

"Or you could just fuck off 'cause I was here first." he snapped, irritated with the passive aggressive act. He had a headache and he didn't feel like humoring the kid.

Peeta should have been helping Effie anyway and aside from scowling at Haymitch and glaring at him, the boy wasn't doing much of anything. Their escort never pressed the issue but she was running herself thin trying to take care of everything and teaching Alys how to do things the exact same way she did on top of it – and the new escort was quickly coming to realize just what her new job would entail. He figured, by the time their first tribute would die she would be ready to quit. Alys wouldn't last more than a year he could feel it. Peeta was the mentor now, he was supposed to help her. Instead Haymitch was forced to not only play his part as a new victor but to also make sure Effie ate, drank, slept and stop obsessing over things that were out of her control – like how disastrous it would be if they arrived an hour late in the next District.

He was glowering at the kid, purposefully blowing smoke in his direction, and anyone smart enough would have fled before he let his temper get the best of him. Peeta simply stood there behind the empty armchair and glared at him.

"You just don't care, do you." the kid spat. "You're so…"

"Selfish?" he supplied when the boy hesitated, almost chuckling the word out. It was bitter to his ears but what wasn't nowadays? "Finally caught up to that little fact, yeah?"

"I caught up long ago." Peeta sneered. "It must be nice living the perfect life and forgetting all about the stuff you swore you loved."

Haymitch's eyes darted up to the boy's face at that. He flicked ashes by reflex and then slowly brought the cigarette back to his lips like he would have taken a sip of liquor once upon a time. To gain time.

"The perfect life." he repeated flatly after a minute. "You think that's what this is? You think I like it?"

"Are you really going to pretend you're not happy playing house with Effie in the city?" Peeta challenged.

He opened his mouth to tell him that no, hewasn't fucking happy, no. However, the words died on his tongue. Partial happiness was still happiness, more happiness than he ever thought he would get truth be told. And it felt like a betrayal to Effie to deny that.

"I'd give that up in a flash if that meant she was still alive." he growled because that was the truth. "I wanted her to live, boy. I wanted her to win. So, yeah, I fucked up. I got her killed. Yeah. And now you hate me, which is fair enough…"

"What happened in the arena wasn't your fault." Peeta cut him off angrily. "And I'm getting tired of having to tell you that again and again. Johanna killed her not you." The kid made a face. "And I don't hate you."

"Could have fooled me." he snorted, shaking his head. "You should. I would. And you're clearly dying to anyway. Own it, kid, you've been out for my blood since this fucking Tour started."

There. It was better like that, wasn't it? Out in the open. Give the kid a chance to say his piece, to let it all out.

He had been prepared for screams or accusations.

Instead, Peeta laughed. It was a painful laugh. All broken and disbelieving.

"You want to know why I'm angry with you?" the boy challenged.

Haymitch averted his eyes, crushing the bud of his cigarette in the ashtray until there was nothing left of it. He was clutching the cards so hard in his other hand that they would be all crumpled. Effie would have to copy them and she would be mad about it.

"I know why you're angry with me." he muttered. "I came back and your girl didn't. It's…"

"Can't you ever say her name anymore?!" Peeta snapped, raising his voice.

It was probably a legitimate question. Could he? He tried not to if he could help it. It was a dissociative reaction. Instinctive, really. Exactly the reason why he never used the tributes' names to Effie's eternal annoyance.

Girl and boy were easy. Girl and boy weren't Stella the fourteen years old who liked chocolate or Puck the seventeen years old who hoped he had a chance because he could throw a good punch. Girl and boy were the same every year: dead kids walking he would lose at some point.

It made the pain less strong. It made it bearable. Survivable.

Effie let herself feel that pain. Every time, she learned their names, she got to know them, she grew close. Every time she ended up a little more shattered for it.

He saw the cracks in her mask even if no one else did. She was a broken doll now, a pale copy of the woman she used to be.

Peeta and Katniss had gotten under his skin like rarely any tribute before them. There had been a few over the years, a few who had made it impossible for him not to get drawn in, not to get attached… But none who he had felt could win. And then they had, both of them and he had stopped fighting, he had let himself love them because they had won and Thirteen was a real thing and Cinna had convinced him they could free Panem.

His tributes had come back from the arena and he had tasted hope for the first time in a really long time.

He had hoped.

He had hoped and the kids should have been safe.

He had hoped and he had loved and they should have lived.

And now the girl was dead and thinking of her as Katniss hurt too fucking much. There had been Katnisses before except they had been called Stella, Amanda, Lenie, Dahlia… There had been Katnisses before and it should have been the same but it wasn't because Katniss had worn her way in his heart like no one else, because she had made him love her, she had made him want to be more than just an old drunk. He had hoped and watching that hope get murdered in front of him was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

And he was tired. Maybe it wasn't fair to the people around him. Maybe he was being a selfish asshole but he was tired. It felt like someone had turned him inside out, as if his flesh was out and exposed, raw. He felt vulnerable all the time. Preyed upon. Hunted. He felt sad and helpless and it made him furious to feel this way because he was usually a strong man, a confident man, a smart man. And now… Now they had put him in another arena, they had released the beast within, they had made him kill, they had paraded him around like a glorified murderer, they had given him to whoever wanted to pay enough to get him in their bed, they had made it impossible for him not to remain sober and he didn't know who he was anymore.

He was tired.

So tired.

"Katniss." he forced himself to say and the two syllables were like two quick stabs in the stomach.

He slumped further down in the armchair, shoulders slouched, defeated.

Peeta stared at him hard.

Haymitch half hoped it was over for today, that the boy would leave and…

"I'm angry because you left, Haymitch." the kid stated flatly. "Dying's easy, Peeta. Surviving is the real bitch. That's what you said, remember ? Maybe you should try practicing what you teach." The accusation took him aback but the boy wasn't done. "It makes me angry that you didn't bother showing up to her funerals. I understand why you don't want to live in Twelve anymore but her funerals? And what about us, Haymitch? What about Prim and me? Don't we deserve… something? Did you forget how to make your phone work?"

He clenched his jaw and stood up, walking to the window and the flat landscape flashing by. It would take them hours to reach Eight, they were lost in the middle of nowhere. If the train broke down and they managed to somehow flee…

"I can't." he said, not bothering to pretend he didn't understand. "I look at you and I see the girl."

"Katniss." Peeta hissed. "Use her name."

Haymitch closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to keep it even. He casually buried his hands in his pockets so Peeta wouldn't see how shaky they were. He closed his eyes and he saw it all again. The axe coming down. The scream. His own shout as he rushed on Johanna. The sickening noises of bones being crushed under his fists. The blood. The open grey eyes that didn't see anymore. The place where flesh and steel were joined.

"I can't." he insisted. He was almost begging. He glanced at the door, hoping to see Effie coming to the rescue but it remained shut and nobody came to save him. Nobody ever came anyway. Chaff would have, maybe, but Chaff was gone now. By his hands. He closed them into fists in his pockets. "It's too much, boy. And before you say it, I know it ain't fair on you but I can't."

It wasn't what Peeta wanted to hear, that was obvious.

"Maybe you can't because you know it's your fault." the boy spat. "Not the way she died but that she was there at all. They wouldn't have sent victors back if you hadn't tried to launch a rebellion. Real or not real?"

Oh, how easy Peeta made it sound… As if it was solely his fault. As if he had been the one who had woken up one day and had thought hey how about starting some riots today… There had been rumors flying around for years but it wasn't until Cinna had told him everything that he had been brought in the secret circle. His alcoholism had made him a liability up to that point – that and probably the not-so-secret affair with a known Games staff member. They had gotten him involved because they had needed him to get to the kids.

He hadn't tried to launch a rebellion single-handedly.

But truth be told once he had been in he hadn't wasted any moment in sharing his ideas.

He remained silent. What could he say? That Peeta only had one half of the picture? That it hadn't been like that? That it hadn't been supposed to end that way? What good would it do?

"You could at least have told us." the boy continued when it became clear Haymitch wouldn't say any more. "You could have…"

"The girl didn't know how to lie." he cut him off. "And you…"

"Use her name!" Peeta shouted and the echo of his voice boomed around.

"Fuck you." he growled, turning around to glare at the kid. "Fuck you. I volunteered for you. I saved your life. I…"

"I didn't want you to save my life, now, did I?" the boy retorted. "I let you go because you said you would bring her back. And it was your fault we had to go there in the first place so don't you dare tell me to be grateful for you fixing up your own mess!" Peeta looked him up and down before lifting his arms only to let them fall. "You should have stuck around. You're a coward."

The boy was in pain, that much was clear. And it was his fault, that was also obvious. He should have taken better care of the kid – the kids, because he hadn't even spared a thought for Prim aside for how much she must have been hating him – but that was partly why he had never wanted any for himself now, wasn't it? Because he knew he would fuck up. That was inevitable. It ran in the family.

Haymitch shrugged, anger deserting him. "Sorry."

"You should be." Peeta scoffed and then turned on his heels to storm out.

Haymitch followed after a moment, once he was sure the boy was gone, keen to escape the now suffocating room.

He froze for a second when he found their new escort right behind the door but didn't even blink at her eavesdropping. Haymitch didn't know if she was listening for her own personal enjoyment or because she had been instructed to. He pushed past her without a word, not even bothering to utter a single threat. What was the point? She wasn't even officially on the team yet that he already knew she wouldn't last more than a single season.

His feet took him back to his room. He wasn't surprised to find Effie standing in front of the wardrobe, frowning hard at the mess of bright fabrics inside. There were trunks full of clothes for him to wear in one of the last cars of the train, his prep team brought a new one every time they reached a District, but her clothes had to fit in there and with his every day suits taking some of the space it wasn't as easy as when their stuff had been in two separate rooms.

"Do you think I should go with blue or gold for Eight?" she hummed distractedly when she saw him come in. "Or I could wear the pink one. But I was planning on saving the pink dress for Four. Oh, this is a conundrum… I do miss Portia. She always knew what would work."

The mention of their dead friend wasn't a welcomed one given his state of mind.

He dropped on the bed, propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

He had never meant to hurt the boy the way he had. Never.

"What is wrong?" Effie frowned, coming to stand in front of him.

He tugged her closer and buried his face against her stomach, holding tight to her legs. "I fucked up bad with Peeta, yeah?"

He felt her fingers in his hair before she cradled the back of his head.

"I tried to explain it to him." she sighed. "But he is hurting and he misses you. The children did not admit to much but I could tell Mrs Everdeen was not really… Well. I think Peeta has been taking care of Katniss' family and he might not have been prepared for that role, I think he believes that task should have fallen on you. And he misses the girl naturally. He is not… Can one grow accustomed to death? I feel like I have." She winced. "That sounds horrible. What I mean is…"

"Got you." he mumbled, sparing her having to clarify. You got numb after a while. It hurts still but it was something you knew how to ignore, function with. He pressed his face harder against her stomach. "I can't deal, Effie. I get where he comes from, I get he's right, but… It's too much. It's fucking too much. I can't deal."

"Just give it time." she advised. "He is still grieving. We all are, I think. And we are all stressed about the Tour. It will get better, I promise."

"I want to go home." he complained like a sullen child.

"You won't feel that way once we are home and we have to pack everything." she chuckled. "You still want to try out the Capitol country, don't you?"

He wrinkled his nose but looked up at her. "Still sure we can't find a solution that doesn't involve living in your dad's house?"

"He won't interfere." she dismissed. "He barely remembers I exist on a monthly basis."

"He calls you a simpleton in front of me again, I might punch him." he growled.

"No, you won't." she chided, more amused than serious, maybe because she suspected he was more bark than bite at that moment. He just really felt like punching something. Or drinking a bottle or two. "You should take a nap before dinner, darling. It will make you feel better."

The last thing he wanted was to sleep.

He pulled her on the bed. She squealed in surprise but lied down with him willingly enough.

He didn't try to start anything, he was just happy to hold her.

Sometimes she was the only thing that made him feel as if he wasn't a complete failure.


And here it goes, the talk that didn't help anything haha. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know your thoughts!