Prompt: If you're still taking prompts could you pretty please do one when during the war the Capitol sent videos of Effie and the victors being tortured (maybe not of all of them since they wouldn't want to reveal their game) and Haymitch wakes up from his detox time to find all of them and basically looses his shit ? Or something along those lines ? I mean you're the artist here ! Btw I love you're fics you're my fave author sorry if you've already done something similar. I'm out of space bye xoxo

Might be a bit graphic, if you don't like that… ;)

Dead Man

Haymitch couldn't really tell if it was Thirteen that was cold or if the cold came from him.

The irony was that he was drenched in sweat.

He tried hard not to think about the rehab cell, about being left to curl up on the floor like a dog without a blanket. It was his own fault, they had said. They had had him strapped to a bed at first but he had broken out, he had… You are a danger for yourself and others… The doctor's words floated back in his mind, unbidden, and he chased them away. Thirteen wasn't much of a rehab center, that much was sure.

He had flatlined once, they had told him later. He had died. They hadn't let him stay dead. A part of him wished they had.

Katniss would be a problem.

Her accepting to become the Mockingjay was the reason they had finally taken him out of what they called a hospital room – and that he called a convenient out-of-sight cell – but it wouldn't be so simple. They had had a quick talk at the end of the briefing but… No. Katniss wouldn't forgive him so easily.

"What else did I miss?" he asked, making an effort to focus on the present moment.

It was difficult.

His brain felt slow and sluggish, his mind tended to wander.

Plutarch had brought him to the compartment they were supposed to share so he could change – apparently, he was smelly and it was an inconvenience. He started to unbutton the grey shirt, his fingers less deft than he would have liked. It was a complicated task and if Effie had been there…

"Nothing we weren't expecting." Plutarch answered from the living area part of the compartment. He was tinkering with a tablet, checking reports or… something. Haymitch wasn't privy to such technology. He had been given a communicuff but that was the extent of his privileges. "You're caught up on the main things."

He wasn't thrilled about having to share a room, least of all with a Capitol. The only Capitol he wouldn't have minded sharing with…

He shook his head and finally managed to shed his shirt.

His undershirt was easier to pass over his head.

"You're hiding something." he accused, applying a generous amount of deodorant. A shower would have been better but they didn't have time for that – and five minutes of lukewarm water followed by an icy stream didn't seem appealing, he wanted an hour of hot water or, even better, a hot bath, preferably with a hot blond who would insist on using too much flowery smelling products in it. Plutarch had been shifty ever since he had taken him out of his cell. Every time the conversation revolved around the captured victors and the missing escort, he deflected. "Tell me."

There was a deep sigh and Plutarch appeared on the sleeping area's threshold, his arms folded across his chest, the tablet not quite safely dangling from his fingers.

Haymitch wasn't entirely comfortable being the subject of his scrutiny when he wasn't wearing a shirt. The Head Gamemaker's eyes immediately went to the huge angry-looking scar on his right side. Everyone always did that when they saw him bare-chested for the first time. The scar the axe had left was impressive enough to catch anyone's attention.

But Plutarch was observant and Haymitch could tell he took in the other smaller scars. He turned away under the pretext of grabbing a clean undershirt from the meager pile of clothes he had been allotted but he regretted it at once because it exposed his back. The scars there were faint but characteristic enough that the Capitol would know they came from a whip. Although he probably already knew. Haymitch didn't believe for one second that the rebels hadn't investigated him and being whipped for poaching at fifteen must have been in his file.

"Look…" Plutarch hesitated. "We received some transmissions from the Capitol early on. They were meant to unsettle us, nothing more. You don't need to see them."

"What kind of transmissions?" he frowned, slipping a new undershirt on. He felt better once he wasn't so exposed to the Head Gamemaker's gaze. How he was supposed to sleep at night with a Capitol man in the room he wasn't sure. He trusted Plutarch to an extent but accepting to be vulnerable next to a Gamemaker…

It was a problem for later though.

"Videos." the man replied reluctantly. "Videos that allowed us to ascertain three of the captives have been tortured for intel."

He briefly closed his eyes before passing a grey shirt on. He knew about that. Even if he hadn't guessed, it was one of the first things they had told him when they had taken him out of his rehab cell.

But…

"You have videos of them being tortured." he clarified. His fingers were shaking too badly for him to hope succeeding in doing the buttons. He left it open and grabbed a black woolen sweater. The cold wouldn't go away. It was wrapped around his bones. "Jo, Peeta and Annie."

"Not Annie Cresta, no." Plutarch denied, before clearing his throat. "Johanna Mason, Peeta Mellark and…"

The Gamemaker's voice trailed off awkwardly.

Haymitch didn't need him to finish.

"Effie." he said flatly.

Plutarch made a face. "I am sorry, Haymitch."

"You can be." he spat. "It's your fault." The Capitol didn't even flinch and it annoyed Haymitch even more. There was no flash of guilt on his face, no regret, nothing. "You were supposed to get her out. I wanted her with me. You said…"

"I know." Plutarch cut him off. "I stand by what I said then. Taking her with us on that hovercraft would have been far more dangerous than having her safely and quietly extracted from the Capitol. There was no guarantee we wouldn't be blown up out of the sky, Haymitch. It was supposed to be safer for her than it was for us."

"But we're here and she's not." he growled.

The Head Gamemaker looked down at the stretch of floor between them, finally betraying something. Damn those Capitols and their abilities to hide their feelings so well.

"I know you and Effie…" Plutarch started.

"You know fuck about us." he interrupted him before the man could say something that would freak him out even more. "Don't you fucking dare…"

"I know you are friends, at the very least." the Gamemaker countered. "And I know you lost quite a few of those in the last couple of weeks and I am sorry for that, I truly am. And, believe it or not, I am sorry Effie is now in that position. It was never supposed to happen."

"She doesn't even know anything." he retorted angrily. "She wasn't…" He shook his head and outstretched his hand. "Give me that tablet. I want to see."

Plutarch made a face. "I don't think that's a good idea. You don't need…"

"Show me." he snarled.

The Head Gamemaker clucked his tongue once in obvious displeasure but relented. He tapped on his tablet and then handed it to him. "I'll be in Command. Join us when you're ready."

He waited until the sliding door shut on Plutarch to press play.

The first video was Johanna's.

His hands shook so badly that he was forced to place the tablet down on the small table in the living area. He sat down heavily, elbows on the table, hands pressed hard against his mouth. For each question they asked, the young woman answered with an insult. He flinched with every blow.

Next was Peeta and that was worse. He couldn't watch. Not without a bottle. He spent the whole video with his eyes closed, listening to hasty denials and screams that would follow him into his nightmares.

Then he heard the video change and he felt sick to his stomach.

"Who are you?"

The question was weird enough that he opened his eyes.

Effie's arms were tied above her head, she seemed to be dangling from the ceiling, her feet barely touching the ground. Whatever was going on had started a while ago, he could tell. The back of her prison suit was torn and the Peacekeeper circling her had a whip in his hand.

Haymitch tasted bile.

The video was in black and white but he could tell her face was covered with bruises.

Her breathing was loud and heavy. It took some effort on her part to speak.

"Effie Trinket."

For a second there was only statics and then the crack of the whip echoed. She yelled when it tore at her skin.

"Who are you?"

He clenched his jaw, his fists bundled so tight it hurt. He wanted to punch something – or rather someone.

She licked her lips and jutted her chin high. He wished she would lose the attitude. It was commendable but…

"Effie Trinket." she answered again.

There was no pause before the whip lashed out this time. He counted them. Counted every five times that leather struck her back and with each and every one of them he felt his heart grow colder, darker. Something in him was growling, the beast he kept on a leash, the dark part inside… The victor who had killed for less.

"Who are you?" the Peacekeeper asked again. "Come on, pet… I don't have all day. Say it and then you can go back to your friends. I'll give you water even. Don't you want some? It's been a while since you've had a drink, yeah? And Mason… Even longer. I bet she would like some water. All you have to do is say it. Who are you?"

The man made the whip crack in the air and, even though it didn't strike her, Effie flinched and tried to curl up, to protect herself. She lost her already tenuous footing and she ended up dangling from her arms with all her weight. She let out a pained sob.

"It's easy. You say it and I give water to your friend." the Peacekeeper insisted.

Haymitch didn't understand what the man was playing at. She didn't know anything so what kind of information did he want out of her. He had asked her name and she had given it and now…

Effie mumbled something he didn't catch.

Haymitch watched, feeling sicker and sicker, as the man ran his fingers through her hair almost fondly before brutally yanking her head back. She was staring straight at the camera but it was as if she wasn't seeing it, as if she wasn't seeing much of anything.

The amount of pain she must have been in…

"Louder so he can hear you." the Peacekeeper ordered. "Who are you?"

"Abernathy's bitch." she muttered.

And Haymitch's blood ran cold before starting to boil.

The man looked smug and pleased with himself as he addressed the camera directly. This was different from the other videos, Haymitch understood, this wasn't meant to unsettle Thirteen, this was meant to disturb him. This was Snow's revenge.

"Hear that, Abernathy?" the Peacekeeper chuckled. "We're training your slut to answer to her real name…" He still had a grip on Effie's hair and he shook her head a little. "You've got something to say to your boyfriend, pet? Last chance… Don't know which one of you will kick the bucket first but I don't think you'll see each other again."

Effie, Haymitch could tell, was catching up to what was happening.

He had been expecting everything but laughter though. It was a tad hysterical and almost too unhinged but it rang clear as day and it annoyed the Peacekeeper who backslapped her. She spat some blood in a very unladylike fashion, still chuckling.

"If he saw your face, you are a dead man." she told her guard.

It seemed the thought was hilarious to her because she kept laughing even as he used the whip again.

Haymitch couldn't tell if she was that far gone that the pain didn't register or if they had broken her.

"You're dead, bitch." the Peacekeeper told her and then the video cut.

Haymitch felt dizzy and hollow.

He didn't feel it coming but his stomach churned and he barely had time to turn his head not to be sick all over the table. He couldn't stop the shivers or the trembling. He couldn't get the sounds out of his head. Johanna's insults, Peeta's screams, Effie's voice… The crack of the whip…

He punched the wall but the pain gave him no relief.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't think.

You are a dead man.

He was. Whoever that Peacekeeper was, Haymitch would find him and he would make him pay. He would make them all pay.

Nobody touched his family.

Nobody.