A/N: Trigger warning for mentions of suicide in Champagne's portion.
The second day
Guinness had no idea there was another boy in the room with him.
The fifteen-year-old just kept running, never looking behind him. He barely had time to look in front of him because his vision was blurred by tears. Watching the girl from Eleven, just a year younger than he was, die was just too much for him. He couldn't stand to see any more. He had run without getting any supplies, which he cursed himself for. He had no idea what was going to happen to him now. But at the same time, he just couldn't seem to get the courage to get up and try to look for anything.
Guinness had seen what happened to the kids that tried to look for supplies.
He had just calmed down the previous night when a cannon sent him back into a panic. When he woke up that morning, his cheeks were tearstained and his eyes stung and were full of sleep. He had barely slept, and felt overall terrible. His stomach rumbled, but luckily he had learned how to ignore it. After all, this wasn't the first time he had to go hungry. Rations during the war were tough, and he would have much rather made sure his little siblings Whisky and Bailey had enough to eat than fruitlessly divide what little they had. His twin sister Shari felt the same, did the same. Guinness knew that there was no way he could have convinced her to take portions. She was one of the bravest person Guinness knew.
Guinness really had nowhere to go. He was hiding inside the nursery, a room with soft carpet and no less than fifteen cribs, all of them rocking eerily to the same slow rhythm.
Guinness was hiding in a crib. The only time he'd moved from it in the entire day they'd been there was to piss, which he ashamedly did in the corner of the room. He didn't want to risk doing it anywhere else. He knew he was being pathetic, but dammit, he just couldn't help that. He was a fifteen-year-old boy, for Heaven's sake! He wasn't ready for this.
He knew the Games were going to be horrible. He knew it from the chariot rides, during which he realized what was going to happen to them. He couldn't stand to think about the games they'd played on the train, the fun they had together. Rune could kill him. She would kill him. He couldn't let her get that chance. He couldn't let anyone get that chance.
Basically, if he ran into another tribute, Guinness knew he was doomed. He wasn't stupid, he knew he was doomed. He had absolutely nothing, and even though he was fifteen, he was one of the smallest tributes there. All he had left was his cute face and his unfailing optimism. Then again, his optimism had failed. And his cute face was probably a wreck by now, honestly. Tear-stained, pale and gaunt, hollow, red eyes… Yeah, he was a mess. No access to a hairbrush or toothbrush… God, he felt disgusting. And he probably stank like sweat too. Great, so that meant he had absolutely nothing left. Good to hear.
Good work Guinness, he thought with a bitter laugh. Way to totally screw up your only stupid chance to get back home. No no no, he couldn't think like that. Thinking like that would only bring him down. He tried to be optimistic. Maybe nobody would enter this tiny, obscure-looking room. Maybe it would be too dim for anyone to find him. Maybe they would just decide it was empty and leave him alone. He still had a chance. He had a chance as long as he was still breathing, after all. His heart was still beating, which meant that he was still in the game, he still had a chance.
Unlike the names who were announced at sunset the previous night. Guinness was absolutely heartbroken at the announcement of Knut Passerini's name. The boy from Eight was just a year younger than him, and though he seemed pretty rough, he was just scared like all the rest of them. Guinness just knew it. When they were on the hovercraft, Knut was praying. Guinness knew how to pray too. His mother and father had taught him when he was growing up. He knew some stuff about the Bible and God and Jesus, not much admittedly but at least he knew what it was all about. He'd spent his early years going to services with his parents and sister. Soon, though, it became dangerous to be religious, so Guinness's family stopped going and eventually he just stopped caring. After all, the stigma against religion was just so high. Guinness and his family knew that religious people weren't bad, of course, but they were too afraid of the dangers that came with believing in something like that, so they just stopped and became quiet about the issue.
Knut obviously hadn't, though. Guinness wondered what that life might have been like. In the moment before the Games, he was taken back to a time when he was just a little kid, maybe five or six, kneeling by his bed with his sister. They always used to say their prayers together. Guinness always thought that praying was easier when it was done with someone else.
With someone else. Someone else like Knut. Guinness wasn't really sure what moved him to join in, he wasn't even really sure if he was invited or allowed, he just kind of did. It was something he couldn't explain. Part of him was surprised to hear Knut's name, but the other part wasn't at all. He had probably died for what he believed in. Guinness had no idea what kind of courage that must have taken. Courage he didn't have, that was for sure.
Then again, Guinness wouldn't claim to have any courage whatsoever. He was terrified, and he would be terrified until he got out of here. He had spent so much of this week worrying, panicking, and crying. He was just a big baby that was good at running away, nothing like the people that had lost their lives thusfar. He wasn't strong or brave like them. He was just… Guinness. He was just a sad little boy that was good at fleeing.
Guinness took a shaking breath to calm himself down. No more tears, he scolded himself. That was much easier said than done, though. He was sure that he'd be crying again in a matter of a couple hours. He was just so afraid. So hopefully afraid. It was pathetic, and he was mad that he couldn't buck up like everyone else had, but at the same time he couldn't help it. He had always been a sensitive boy, from the time he was a child. That wasn't just going to change in a matter of seconds.
It has to, Guinness told himself in his thoughts. If you want to get home, it has to.
And Guinness really wanted to get home. Home to his family and friends. To the people he loved more than anything. He really wanted to get home. Even if it was impossible. He wanted to be back home, with his family and his friends. He wanted to sit up on his father's lap and listen to his stories. He wanted to play with his siblings again. He wanted things to be back how they were, back before death had become so horribly familiar. But somehow, Guinness knew that there was no going back. He would never be able to forget. He would never be the person he was. His sunshine was sucked out of him, and it would never come back.
Back home, he had been the kid with a plan. No problem was ever too big for Guinness! He had such a creative mind, he could always come up with a good solution. He was always so energetic and optimistic, and it was infectious. When he laughed, the people around him always felt his joy. He put his entire heart into everything he did and it showed. There was never a storm cloud that he couldn't blow away.
Now, though… Now he was just so useless. There was nothing he could do to turn things around. He couldn't do anything to make it better. He was a servant to fate now.
Now all he could do was hide and hope that nobody found him. This was like a game of hide and seek with Whisky and Bailey, except this time, being found would result in a lot more pain than a bruised ego.
The thought scared Guinness, made his heart pound in his chest and more tears threaten to come out of his eyes. Before he let them out, he made himself stop them. After all, crying was only a waste of water. He knew that if he was going to try and survive, he would need to preserve, preserve, preserve. The more he could preserve, the more time he could last without having to leave this room and look around.
Guinness just stayed quiet, keeping a blanket over him. He had no idea if he actually camouflaged with the blanket over his head, but he could only hope that he did. He had no other hope, after all.
What Guinness didn't know, though, was that there was another person in the room with him already. Another person that knew perfectly well that he was there.
Elijah knew that he wasn't alone here. He also happened to know that Guinness had no supplies. He'd followed the other boy into the nursery. Elijah took his backpack and lantern, slowly approaching the crib that contained the other boy.
He clicked the lantern on, but all he saw was the normal insides of the cribs.
Guinness was hiding, realizing that another tribute had found him. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it, he could practically hear it. He made sure not to breathe, silently praying that the other tribute, whoever they were, would go away and leave him alone, please, leave me alone please…
"Guinness."
Hearing his name caused tears to spring to Guinness's eyes. He wasn't ready to die, God he wasn't ready, he had so much to live for… He held his breath, as much as he wanted to burst out sobbing he absolutely couldn't afford that. He refused to die because he was weak.
"It's Elijah."
The District Nine boy didn't move a muscle. He couldn't afford to show any signs of fear. The moment he did, he would have to fight, and as much as Guinness tried to think he could, he knew it was hopeless, he couldn't possibly.
"I don't want to hurt you Guinness."
That caused Guinness to freeze. Was he going to trust this other tribute?! How could he possibly!? Only one could win, after all, and Guinness was sure the boy from the Capitol lapdog District wasn't suicidal.
Guinness felt his crib creak as Elijah stood on the rockers, and soon the blanket was pulled off of him. He'd been spotted.
Guinness wanted to cry, but the tears left him when he noticed the gentleness of Elijah's round blue eyes. They certainly looked sincere.
"A lot of other tributes are allying," he said. "I thought maybe… We could."
Guinness sat up, still quivering slightly as he tried to smooth down his hair, anything to look more presentable.
"Wh-Why would you want to ally with me?" Guinness noticed the supplies he had. The light of the lantern turned on was actually pretty comforting.
Elijah shrugged. "You seem pretty trustworthy. I dunno. I just thought we'd make a good team."
"I… Don't have anything though." Guinness felt stupid for pointing this out. He didn't want the other tribute to decide that Guinness wasn't worth his time. After all, this would be a great thing for Guinness. Having a team mate meant supplies, moral support, and someone to keep watch while he slept. But, the risk that came with that was… Friendship. Which was exactly why Guinness pushed his District partner away. He couldn't afford to get close to anyone else.
But, at the same time… He didn't want to die alone. Dying scared him, after all, maybe it would be less scary with someone else there.
Well, that was morbidly optimistic, Guinness thought to himself. I'm not going to die, though. I can't afford to die.
And this was a good way not to die, it seemed.
"That's okay. I have some stuff."
"Alright then!" Guinness felt better talking to someone. He was a natural extrovert, after all. Talking to someone else was already making him feel more optimistic! As much as Guinness hated to admit, he was no good alone. He always got lost in his own, terrible thoughts. At least when he was with other people, he felt like he had some kind of purpose. When Guinness Fielder was alone, he felt empty, but when he was with other people, he was unstoppable. "I think we'll make a great team!"
Elijah grinned down at him. "Want to get out of the crib?"
"Yeah, sure." Eljiah moved, causing the crib to creak again, as Guinness climbed out.
"Want to try to barricade the door? It can keep the others out."
Guinness smiled. "Oh, that's a great idea! Even if it doesn't work, it would give us some warning they were coming so we could hide or prepare ourselves."
"Yeah, exactly! Let's get to work!"
Together, the two fifteen-year-olds started to move crib after crib, jamming it the best they could all together, trying to make the door too heavy to open.
When they were done, Guinness was sweating, exhausted from his sleepless night and no effort. Luckily, Elijah had some food supplies and a thermos of water in his bag, both of which he shared with Guinness. As small a portion as it was, eating was a miracle in itself. And drinking water… Man, that felt good.
As the boys made small-talk over dinner, he realized that he Elijah must have been in this room the entire time. Which meant that… Yeah, he probably heard Guinness crying and gasping.
Guinness knew that he would have to make up for that. He would have to prove himself to his new ally, prove that he had worth, that keeping him around was a good move. For the first time since being reaped, Guinness's mind was working, the cogs were turning quickly, and ideas filled his brain.
That realization caused Guinness to smile.
The boy with a plan was back in action, better than ever!
~.~.
Champagne barely slept the previous night.
She knew what was going to have to happen, but… She had no idea it would be such a horrible sight.
Champagne had seen death. She was sure that everyone here had seen death. After all the Districts were crushed during the Dark Days. The only people that may not have known someone that died during the rebellion were those from Two, which immediately jumped on the Capitol's side to aid it. Many of its civilians had died, though, in the process. Either fighting for the Capitol or against it.
Champagne knew a couple people from her neighborhood that had left to fight and never returned. She had been to three or four funerals for those people. But she hadn't really known them.
She had lost someone she knew, though. One of her friends, in fact. A girl that was her age named Heart. Champagne was very close with Heart and her younger brother, Cutter, who was a year or two younger.
Heart had committed suicide.
She had chosen death to living. Cutter was the one that found her dead in their bath tub. It was a horrible, horrible day. Champagne's heart absolutely bled for her poor family, especially her poor brother. He was absolutely devastated. Champagne looked into his teary eyes and saw a boy who knew death intimately. It was the same look she saw in Platinum's eyes now, as they were discussing a game plan for the day.
Platinum.
How could Champagne think about Heart and Platinum in the same train of thought? After all, part of the reason Heart died was because of him. He and his stupid thug friends, all of them bullies and horrible, disgusting people. Champagne had totally forgotten who he was. The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she became.
Would she hate me for being with him? Champagne wondered, her heart pounding with grief. Should I leave? She hated the thought of letting her friend down. All of her friends, really. All the people she talked to were victims of the bullying. She was.
Is this unfair to me? She wondered. After all, this guy is terrible. He probably deserves to die. Why should I leave him alive?
Champagne just couldn't come up with the courage to kill him. She was too kind. She had seen too much death. She couldn't stand the thought of taking a life, even his. Especially after they'd had some… Interesting encounters.
Champagne was always the type to see the good in people. She was gentle, kind, and optimistic. And forgiving, she was so forgiving. It was just in her nature to forgive and forget. She was a natural people pleaser. It was in her nature to do things for people, try to make them smile, listen to them, even if it meant totally fading into the background. She knew this about herself, of course, but it wasn't something she could change. She always believed in second chances, she figured that if she were in the position where she had done wrong and wanted to change, she'd want someone to be there to give her a chance.
Champagne was a remarkable empathizer. She always wanted to put herself into someone else's shoes. She wanted to talk to people and learn their stories, trying to figure out why they acted how they did. That also meant that she was extremely open with her own story, even on the brink of oversharing. That was just who she was. She loved to talk to people, and every time she interacted with others, she did everything to put herself in their shoes. She always asked herself, if I were them, how would I want to be treated? And that was what she did.
She couldn't help but feel guilty, though. She knew the horrible things Platinum did. She had experienced them. She had tripped and dropped her books, haunted by the sounds of his laughter, and the laughter of his friends. She had been spit on by some of them. She was the girl with frizzy hair that loved books and writing. She had notebooks full of stories, stories inspired by people she met. Stories about forgiveness, and second chances. Writing made her much more aware of the emotions and temperament of others.
Champagne couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten angry. Even when she did, she suppressed it so much she usually just forgot about it. She was hurt easily, like a porcelain doll, but very rarely got angry. She was fragile and sensitive, but couldn't help being intrigued by interesting people. Interesting characters. She never really realized that she spent so much of her life surrounded by assholes with bad intentions. The few friends she had were…. Shady figures. The truth was that she just loved to love people. She loved to make them happy, it was in her nature to do things for others. She always treated others how she wanted to be treated, no matter who they were.
Does that make me weak? She had this battle before. Every time someone broke her fragile heart, she had this battle. She knew that she was soft, she knew that she liked people and liked to have relationships with others. She liked to make friends and talk to people. She liked to give second chances. She liked to have faith in people, whether or not it paid off.
I should be stronger. I shouldn't let other people have such an influence over me. She couldn't help it, though. That was who she was. The girl without a backbone. The sweet girl that did for others. That was who she liked to be, she didn't want to be someone else. She didn't want to be someone outspoken, someone that people disagreed with, she wanted to be someone that people liked, and talked fondly of.
She couldn't help but feel guilty, though. Guilty that so many people had died, of course. But also guilty that she was spending this time with Platinum. She couldn't help but feel like Heart was mad at her. She hated her friend being so weak that she couldn't kill someone who had caused her so much grief.
Champagne couldn't help it, though. She just saw something in Platinum. Some kind of potential for greatness. She wasn't sure if he saw it himself, if anyone saw it, but she did. Sure, she saw that in everyone, but she knew that he had potential. She was willing to forgive him. She wanted him to have that second chance. Especially if one or both of them was going to die in the Games like this. Even if people were mad at her, Champagne could deal with it later. She was the type to be nice to everyone, and no matter what, that meant everyone. Maybe she could change him for the better. Champagne wasn't about to give up until she at least tried.
"Earth to Blondie," Drake said, causing Champagne to snap out of her thoughts. She realized that she'd not been listening to a word either of them were saying.
"Hm? Sorry." She rubbed her eyes. She really had no excuse. She wasn't tired, she hadn't stayed up on watch like the boys. Champagne insisted that she got a turn on watch, but the guys absolutely couldn't manage the thought of both of them sleeping in the same bed. Ugh. No homo was the basis of that entire argument. Which made no sense, because that would imply that both of them were sleeping with Champagne in either a romantic or sexual context, which was the case for neither of them.
Well, Champagne wasn't exactly complaining about sleeping in the same bed as the alluring Dark Pirate King Drake, but she would never say that out loud.
Talk about second chances. Drake was all darkness, all brooding, all hopeless energy. Champagne knew he would be a toughie, but she couldn't help trying. She wanted to know what happened to him that made him like this. She wanted to be a friend to him. Maybe she could help him.
That look, that look of knowing death, knowing pain, knowing sadness… She had seen it in Platinum's eyes after they saw the Bloodbath. But she had seen that look in Drake's eyes, recognized it, from the very first time she saw him. She knew that he probably hadn't seen very much love in his life. Maybe she hadn't either, not real love anyways, but she had seen enough to know what it was, and what it felt like. And she had plenty to give, even if much of it wasn't returned. Surely there was some left to give to him. Just so that he could experience what it was like before… One of them died. Or both.
"We're trying to make a plan here," Drake said, probably noticing Champagne staring. She wasn't staring at him, no, just past him, that was it.
"Right. Sorry. Hearing that cannon last night just shook me up a little bit, that's all," she said. It wasn't totally a lie.
"Well…" For a second, Champagne thought she could see Drake's gaze soften. As soon as it did, though, it hardened right back up again. "You're going to have to get used to hearing that sound if you wanna get out of here," he said gruffly.
"I know," she said quietly. He was never one to withhold the truth, that was for sure. He was definitely honest.
"Why do we have to hunt for them?" Platty asked, his features looking soft and afraid. "Why can't we just… Wait."
"It's like ripping off a Band-Aid," Drake said. "The faster it's over, the better."
"I could argue that," Champagne said quietly.
Drake sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, I teamed up with you because I thought that you both wanted to win."
"I do," Platinum said quietly, but his voice sounded like he wasn't so sure. Champagne knew that she wasn't so sure that she wanted to survive if it meant seeing so much more blood be shed.
"I do too," she finally said, not sure at all if she actually believed it.
"Alright then. If you want to win, the faster the better. I know I just want this to be over already."
"There's something I can agree with," Platty sighed, looking troubled.
"Same," Champagne said quietly.
"Good. Then I think we just need to go room by room, don't you?"
"That sounds like the best way to find tributes, yes," Platinum said.
"It is," Champagne agreed quietly.
"Good. We have weapons, remember? A lot of them probably don't."
"They're just kids," Champagne said quietly. She couldn't help at least voicing the thought.
"Yeah? So are you." Drake's gaze was ice cold. Champagne didn't want to argue with him, that was for sure.
"Alright. Fine." She picked up the spear she'd gotten from the golden horn, doing her best not to shake. She wanted to remain strong. She couldn't stand the thought of looking weak.
"This way." Drake led, and the other two followed behind him, slowly and unsurely, but knowing that he was right. If either of them wanted to win, this was totally necessary. No matter how unsettling the thought was.
They checked the bathroom again, even though each of them had already used it once or twice. Then, they went to the room immediately across the hall.
When the door opened, the group was greeted by the sight of the most gorgeous room Champagne had ever seen. It was a clear walkway into a room of stars. It was like Champagne had just stepped out into the night sky, walking down a shimmering pathway that would take her to the moon, to the stars.
"Wow…" she murmured, stepping into the room and looking at the stars. They looked so real, even if she knew there was no way they could be. She started to walk down the path, but Drake touched her shoulder.
"Hey, Blondie, let me lead why don't you?"
"Oh. Alright." She stepped aside and let him take the lead, sword in hands. She went next, staying close behind him, Platinum bringing up the rear.
When they reached the moon, Champagne was absolutely amazed. The view was… Breathtaking.
"No one here," Drake said decidedly. "Let's clear out."
"Wait!" Champagne said, causing him to turn around and give her a look.
"We don't have time to mess around."
"Just a minute," Champagne said. "Please."
"Do you remember where we are?" Drake asked harshly, glaring at her and standing over her to assert his dominance. Champagne refused to stand down this time, though, matching his gaze with one just as fiery and keeping her head up, not even flinching.
"Of course I do," she said, puffing out her chest to seem more intimidating. "But I also know that at least two of us are going to die before this is over, and if I want to spend a couple of my final moments looking at this amazing view, then dammit, that's what I'm going to do. Now sit with me and watch the stars." That truth broke her heart, and she plopped down to a sitting position as tears started forming in her eyes. She wasn't ready to die, of course. She was still just a teenager. But she couldn't help but try to make the most of her final moments. Who knew when one of her allies would stab her in the back, after all? Who knew when something would happen to separate them? Champagne hadn't chosen allies that were going to jump in, be her friend, and make the most out of this time, but dammit, she was going to make them. Even if just for a little while.
Platinum sat down next to her. "She's right," he said. "And you have to admit, it is pretty beautiful. Why not just try to enjoy it for a moment? Who knows how many more opportunities we'll get like this?"
A blazing yellow streak flew across the sky, and Champagne smiled a bit, trying to hold the tears back. She never thought that Platinum Krietzer would ever agree with her, but it was a nice feeling. Like she was succeeding somehow, in some inexplicable way.
"Fine," Drake huffed, plopping down on Champagne's other side. "But only for a minute."
The platform was small, so both of the boys were close enough that their shoulders touched Champagne's. She couldn't help but smile slightly. She knew that the others didn't make anything of it, anything but just this platform is too damn small, but she liked the feeling of knowing that she wasn't alone in this. She was going to make the most of whatever time she had left, starting immediately. That was for sure.
"Have you ever watched the stars, Drake?" Champagne asked quietly.
"No." His voice had a bite to it.
"Well, now you are." She wasn't about to back down. "See the ones that shoot across the sky like that?" she asked quietly, just loud enough so that both of the boys could hear her. "Those are shooting stars. You can make a wish on them."
"And why would I do that?" Drake asked, his mouth turning into a scowl. "Wishes and magic don't exist."
"Well certainly not if you don't believe," Champagne said.
"Don't be ridiculous," Drake said, rolling his eyes.
"Aw, c'mon," Platty trilled quietly, his voice gentle and soft, if not teasing. "Just pretend to believe for a minute. You never know what might happen." He reached across Champagne to flick Drake's shoulder, which caused the girl from One to laugh.
"Here comes one right now! Make a wish!" she said quietly.
She closed her eyes as the comet came flying down across the sky. She knew exactly what she wanted to wish for. Without thinking about it, she grabbed both of her allies' hands and squeezed them.
Whenever the time or moment may come… She swallowed hard and squeezed their hands.
I wish that I can die happy.
~.~.
The second night
Dill Archer was shivering.
The thin, waterproof jacket and pants weren't enough to keep him warm. Not here, that was for sure.
The boy from District Twelve had fled and headed downstairs. He was the only tribute to do so, he was alone in the darkness. He had gotten away from the bloodbath with a backpack, but hadn't yet opened it. He really wasn't sure what the point of trying to open it would be. After all, it was pitch black downstairs. He had almost slipped down the stairs it was so dark. Dill was honestly surprised he hadn't fallen all the way down the stairs considering he was such a klutz, not to mention that he was absolutely panicking.
The boy from District Twelve was huge and hulking. He was an extremely hard worker, after all, with so many siblings, he had no other choice. District Twelve was impoverished and starving, after all. His siblings, all younger, depended on him to feed them. He would do anything for them. He had fought in the rebellion for them.
Dill Archer had already taken lives. He was already a murderer. He had a gun, and he'd shot bullets at people. But those people were shooting right back at him. Those people were trying to kill him. He was killing out of self-defense.
Alright, that one was a stretch and Dill knew it. It wasn't really self-defense. It wasn't like he was totally innocent, just walking along when he was shot. No, it was more like he had volunteered to take a gun and shoot people, and those people just happened to be shooting back at him. Those people had signed up to kill, too, so they weren't innocent either. None of them were. Is anyone really innocent in war?
Dill may have shot people, but at least he was killing for a cause. He was killing for something he believed in. If he killed enough, the Capitol would fall. That was what he kept telling himself. If the Capitol falls, the Districts will get more food. More funds. The Districts will be treated better. We'll come up with a better system of government that wasn't a dictatorship.
Yeah, Dill wasn't stupid. He and everyone in his class knew exactly what a dictatorship was. Pretty much all the rebels did. That was exactly what they were fighting against. They still knew remnants of a time where more than one entity had a say. Well, maybe they didn't know them, but they knew about them. Read about them, learned about them. The nation called America that was the backbone of Panem.
Dill knew that more people than just the rebels knew what democracy was. For some reason, they weren't ready to fight for it. Maybe they liked the people in charge, the President. Dill had absolutely no idea why they would, especially District people. After all, District people were the ones being fucked over by Milionus. Dill wondered if they'd lived in democracy and had it taken away, if maybe then they'd be willing to fight for it. Maybe they were just too afraid. Or maybe they figured that the government all the way there, the government that they only heard about in the news, didn't actually affect them, all the way over here in the Districts. Dill wanted to slap some sense into those people. Didn't they realize that everything Milionus said affected them all directly!?
And, if someone did know all those things, if they knew how sucky it was to live in the Districts, knew that it was the Capitol's fault everyone around them was suffering so much, if they had any idea… Then why the goddamn hell would they not fight for it!? Dill couldn't imagine having all that knowledge and not feeling the least bit passionate about it. How could people just stand by and watch this happen!? How could people that knew what was happening to them just stand by and take it?! Even if it meant death. Who cared? They were dying for a cause, at least, instead of starving away in the sad little shithole that was District Twelve! It was those people that lost them the battle. More people meant more resources, more firepower, more passion.
That was why Dill was a murderer. He was more willing than anyone to fight for what he believed in. Dill was a quiet guy, quiet and strong from working, so people always wrote him off as a dumb brute. Dill wasn't claiming to be the smartest goddamn thing out there, but he did wish people would take him more seriously. Usually people carried conversations like he wasn't even in the room.
Home was the one place Dill always knew he was needed. He was fighting, murdering, to protect his siblings, after all. He wanted to save them from rotting away at the age of thirty to the grip of starvation. He wanted them to have good lives, lives spent comfortably, with the opportunity to chase their dreams. That wasn't the life they were going to have now. They lost.
This was their lives now. This… Thing called the Hunger Games. This thing in which children were sent to slaughter. Dill could only hope that this thing called the Hunger Games would die off soon. Surely the Capitol people saw that this was inhumane as shit. Surely they saw that, even though the District had lost the war, this was too extreme. These were children. Surely the Capitol would realize that doing this to children, many of whom were innocent, was going too far. Surely they couldn't be too bad. Surely the first would be the last. Surely Cliff, Crawley, Miranda, Rebecca, Natalie, surely none of them would have to worry about going into these Hunger Games. They would end as soon as they started. Surely.
Dill wasn't so sure, but he had to convince himself that it was worth it to keep going.
Before, he had murdered for a cause. He murdered people he didn't know, didn't care about. He murdered people from the Capitol, the place that had been abusing them. He hated those people without even knowing who they were. Their comfortable little lives, lived without a worry in the goddamn world.
This was different. These were kids. They were kids just like him, kids who have seen death and war. Kids who had suffered at the hands of grief and sadness. Kids… Like his siblings. Dill couldn't see himself killing them. He had enough blood on his hands.
You've murdered before, you can do it some more, he told himself. You're killing for a cause. Killing to protect your siblings, get home to them.
Dill was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Octavius Spencer's voice. "Good evening, tributes. Outside, the sun is setting, which means that it's time to announce the deceased."
Dill's heart pounded in his chest. Chicory, his District partner, had survived the Bloodbath. He'd heard her yell, she was in trouble. She escaped somehow. But a cannon went off since then. Surely it couldn't be…
"In nineteenth place, Miss Chicory Kneller of District 12."
Dill could feel his heart sink. Just like that, she was gone.
"Have a good night, tributes. And may the odds be in your favor."
There was a click as the speaker shut off, and Dill was left once again in silence. Alone.
He knew that if he wanted to get back to his siblings he would have to see her die. It was just so hard when she was the same age as Miranda. It was so painful. Her family, her little brother, they were probably mourning now, hit by the pain of death. In the freezing attic, Dill knew he was grieving.
The only thing he could hear in the darkness was his own heart beating. He had to do something to get his mind off of it before he went absolutely goddamn nuts. He decided to at least try and figure out what was inside his backpack. He took it off his back and put it in his lap.
"In nineteenth place…." Dill grunted, scolding himself for thinking about it. Stop. It's done, it happened, I have to move on. He felt along the edge to find the zipper. "Miss Chicory Kneller… Nineteenth place…"
Dill opened the backpack quickly, heart beating. He had to see what was inside. He had to do something, anything, to keep from thinking about it.
"Nineteenth place… Miss Miranda Archer."
"No!" Dill said out loud. He balled his fists, taking in a breath of air. He probably sounded goddamn nuts. That was the last thing he needed if he wanted to get back home to his family.
He looked through his backpack. No flashlight. There was, however, a small bag inside. When he opened it and brought it to his nose, he smelled the familiar scent of dried jerky. Food! It was food! He quickly put a piece in his mouth. It tasted good. Dill was used to going two, three days without a meal, so he decided to save the rest, ration it well so that he wouldn't run out. There was a canteen, too, with water in it, luckily. He took a drink, but saved the rest. He knew that he needed water more often than food, so keeping that canteen as full as possible at all times would be of the utmost importance. There was also a wad of cloth inside. When he pulled it out, he found that it was a blanket. Quickly, he wrapped it around himself. It didn't take long for his body heat to warm it up, giving him some relief from the shivering. He decided to save looking through the rest of the bag for later. After all, he would probably have to keep distracting himself when more tributes started dying.
Instead, he decided to try and get some shut-eye. Using his backpack as a pillow wasn't exactly efficient, but it would have to do for now. He was just happy to have a blanket, a blessing he didn't have the night previous. It was soft and comforting.
The coldness, the shivering, the rationing of food and water, the constant threat of death hanging over him… It reminded him of what it was like to be on the battlefield. He had taken lives there, maybe he could take lives here, too.
Really, the Hunger Games were just like camping and living on the battlefield. He had to fight to get back to his family, no matter what it took. It was just like fighting in the war.
But Dill knew better than anyone that there were no innocents in the war.
Only those who survived, and those that didn't.
~.~.
A/N: And this story is officially back in action! I didn't realize how much I missed it until I really got into it again. During this month off of Danzón, I'm gonna really focus on this story because y'know what, this story is worth it!
Alright, I finally made a list of the CQs that were on the first go-through of this story (but for some reason younger Celtic is stupid af and saved all the chapters two chapters off of what they really were? I have no idea wtf she was thinking smh what a mess) but I just realized how many times I forgot to put CQs on XD Wow. There were six chapters without CQs, so since non-CQ reviews are worth 5 points each, that means that there are 3 questions for which people that read the first time around won't get points.
Also, remember that the CQs marked with an asterisk are CQs that I also asked in the first version of this story (therefore, if you answered it the first time around you won't get points for it because you already did the first time around).
* CQ: Any ships involving these tributes that you ship? This was such a weird question so let's get it out of the way, haha.
Thanks for reading and supporting this story! See ya soon (hopefully) with another update!
