Chapter One
The day had started well enough, despite it being Reaping Day. Most of the younger children had behaved well during breakfast and had gotten ready without causing too much trouble. Everyone had remained remarkably quiet, and no one had tried wandering off during the walk to the Square. Will had actually started to relax and think that, for once, maybe they will get lucky.
He should have known better.
First, little thirteen-year-old Rosie becomes the female tribute. Under their collective pitying gaze, she walks up to the stage visibly trembling in her slightly too large second-hand dress.
"She got no chance." Someone murmurs in the crowd, their words echoing in the resigned hush, and he can't help but regretfully agree. Rosie is a tiny slip of a girl who spends most of her time taking care of flowers in the greenhouses. He often had to kill the invasive bugs for her, since she had never been able to do it herself. Too kind-hearted for her own good, the adults had often said. She would never be capable of killing a human being.
Then, their escort digs into the glass bowl to pick the male tribute, and there is no point in pitying the small girl on the stage because the Capitol woman calls out his name.
Suddenly, the persistent ball of fear in his stomach he had every single time at the Reapings seems to expand. He felt like throwing up.
The crowd shifts in front of him, and he slowly makes his way forward, his body numb and feet like lead. There is a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away, keeping his visage impassive instead to mask his terror. He could no longer afford to look weak or scared. From the moment the cameras shifted towards him, the Hunger Games have started.
He barely registers the rest of the Reaping, ignoring the long-drawn, dull reading of the Treaty of Treason – they've all heard it so many times by now they could recite it in their sleep – but does attempt to give Rosie a reassuring smile when they shake hands and he notices her baby blue eyes glittering with unshed tears.
Before he knows it, he is being shoved into an empty room and left alone. He does not wait for long, the door bursting open again almost immediately, and a few of his closest siblings spill into the room. Eva runs straight into his arms, burying her weeping face into his threadbare shirt.
"You have to come back, Willy!" She cries. "You have too!"
"Promise you'll come back!" The twins chorus clutching his arms.
"I promise I will do my best, loves." He whispers into Eva's hair, trying to conceal his own tears in her thick, dark curls.
"That's not enough, Will." Basil claims angrily. "That's nowhere near enough!"
"But it's all he can do. You know that." Spade pacifies the other in the reasonable tone he used when trying to keep himself calm for the younger children. When the other boy clicks his tongue sharply but does not argue, Spade turns back towards William with a sigh. "Do what it takes to come home, you hear me, little brother? Suck up to the sponsors if you have too. You have a pretty face, use it. And whatever happens, never, and I mean never, hesitate to kill. Go for the deathblow from the get go. Don't think of them as human."
"Yeah, okay, I can do that." He swallows roughly and looks up at his two older siblings. "They're just rats who got into the storehouses again."
"Fuck, yes!" Basil chuckles bitterly. "They're all nothing but fucking rats."
"You kill rats well." Eva murmurs, and he tightens his arms around her. They have so much to say to each other, and so little time, they end up standing in silence the few precious seconds they have left together.
"I love you." Finally bursts out of his mouth, desperate and wretched just as the door closes behind them, and the last glimpse of he has of his siblings is of a single, silent tear running down Basil's cheek.
To his great surprise, the Matron is his next visitor. She had never shown any particular love towards him, and to be honest, he had not thought she cared. She sniffs disapprovingly at his tear-stained top but does not comment on it.
"Take care of Rosalie, boy." The woman says. "At the very least while in the Capitol. And do try not to be one to kill her in the Games."
He frowns in response. "Blood or no blood, she still is my little sister. I'll take care of her even in the Arena."
"Good. You're a good boy, William, always willing to help out." He ducks his head down, embarrassed by the unexpected and unusually praise, his ears reddening slightly. "Don't forget to take care of yourself too sometimes, and don't try playing the hero. Don't fight needlessly, Basil and the other boys might have dragged you into plenty of fights, but I doubt your mere brawling skills will do you much good against bigger and stronger opponents. Especially against Careers Tributes. Run and hide instead, but don't try to outlast anyone. If you enter an alliance, slit their throats while they sleep, before they stab you in the back."
His hands catch his eye, and he inspects them miserably. With their dry and cracked skin, and long, thin fingers covered in calluses, and with the permanent dirt under his fingernails, they belonged to a gardener, and not to a trained warrior, to a killer.
"I don't think I can." He quietly confesses, because while he had put up a brave face in front of six-year-old Eva, he could not do it with the woman who all but raised him. "I understand what I need to do in my head, but I don't think I can."
"You can because you need too. You can't afford to be gentle anymore, William Hadley, if you want to live. Be ruthless and smart. That is the only way you stand a chance of winning." With that, the Matron turns around and leaves.
Will cannot help but notice the woman has not stayed the full allotted time for her visit. He is not surprised. It was not the first or last time she will need to say her goodbyes this way. In District 11, orphans always had the highest chance of being reaped.
There are no more visitors after that, so he sits on the edge of the velvet couch, running his fingers in wonder at the softness over the fabric. There must be people still visiting Rosie. She was always well-liked, even outside school and work areas. Always so sweet and friendly. Unlike him. He interacted little outside their makeshift family, always busy with making sure no one got into trouble by being stupid little shits.
It's not long before the guards are back to escort him to the train station, flanking him from either side as if he would attempt to escape. But really, where would he go? Death was waiting for him either way.
Soon enough, the Peacekeepers are back and he's escorted out to a car. When Rosie catches sight of him, she immediately clutches at his sleeve and refuses to let go. He does not fight her. She needs comfort, and he feels calmer when he knows where she is. Nevertheless, they have yet to say a word to each other. Talking – acknowledging it – he thought, would have made everything real. Somewhere deep inside, he still hoped this was nothing but a dream. A nightmare. That he was going to wake up any minute now.
The ride from the Justice Building to the train station is surprisingly nothing new. He had expected cars to be a little more different from the tractors they occasionally used in the orchards during harvest season. If anything, the ride was smoother and didn't shake as much.
The station was thoroughly overflowing with reporters and their various cameras. Rosie tightens her grip on his clothes, and he steps slightly in front of her.
There is a television screen on the wall he could see their image on while they pose for the cameras. He looks protective as if he is trying to shield the frightened little girl behind him. The other tributes will take that as a weakness, but the sponsors might like it. Cashmere and Gloss are beloved by the entire Capitol and they weren't even in the same Games. He did not see why two siblings who choose to stick together through thick and thin alone against the rest of the world would do any worse. Star-crossed lovers without the lovers part.
They are eventually allowed into the train, and Will lets out a relieved breath. Rosie, on the other hand, bursts into tears.
He immediately panics. Spade was the one who dealt with crying children, not him! He stood to the side with Basil and tried not to get in the way. "Aw, come on, Rosie. Please don't cry, you know I don't like it when you cry."
"You don't like it when any one of us cries." She sniffles.
Did he hug her? Stroked her hair? Do both at the same time? "It's the big brother instincts, sweetheart. I can't really help it. Like Basil can't help punching people in the face when he's angry."
"I'm sorry, Willy."
Both. He'll do both, he decides as he hugs her tight and runs a shaky hand through her soft blond hair. "It's alright, I understand. I promise I won't leave you alone, alright? I'll be with you every step of the way. Till the very end."
"Even in the Arena?"
"Especially in the Arena, flower."
Though they were each given their own quarters with a bedroom, and a private bathroom with a shower with both hot and cold running water, an almost unheard-of luxury in District 11, to his relief Rosie insists they bunk together. At the orphanage, they had always shared rooms, and he does not remember a time when he had slept alone. He doubted he would be able to rest well without another person breathing beside him.
It is Lucretia, their escort, that comes to get them for supper. She is eternally dressed in various shades of red with accents of gold, though her clothes are rarely as outrageous as the ones he sees other Capitolites wearing on the television. It was other things that tended to attract attention to her, instead.
Her hair, for example, was dyed a dark crimson color and pulled into a tight braid which was tied by a golden embellishment at the end, then part of it she styled into a bun on top of her head which was also held together by a golden ornament. She let the remaining long queue hang free. And her eyebrows had been a great source of amusement at school too. No one could quite understand why she would feel the need to shave the real ones off and paint smudge-like dots in their place. They generally attributed it to Capitol strangeness and left it at that.
When the enter the expensive dining room after Lucretia, their mentors were already inside, obviously waiting for them.
"Well, come in." Seeder impatiently gestures them over when Rosie freezes in the doorway. "We have too little time to stand around doing nothing."
"Let the kids eat first." Chaff gently chides from where he was pouring himself a glass to drink of what Will assumed to be alcohol. The one-handed man was their resident District drunk. "They must be starving."
Hesitantly they sit down, and they are served their supper. It comes in courses; a thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops, and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and a large chocolate cake.
"It's the same thing every year." Lucretia comments with a sigh, but they are barely listening. Ordinarily, the Matron carefully proportioned out this amount of food among ten to fifteen of her charges. And it is so good, and unlike anything else they have ever eaten, they cannot help but stuff themselves. It is only the table matters beaten into him since childhood that prevent him from abandoning his utensils in favor of his fingers.
The quantity of food remaining on the plates after the meal is over makes him want to cry more than being reaped did. "What's going to happen to it?"
"Thrown out in the trash, I expect." Lucretia negligently waves a meticulously manicured hand. "What else would you do with leftovers?"
He would not know. They never had leftovers.
He feels slightly sick from overeating for the first time in his life but obediently moves over to the next compartment to watch the recap of the Reapings across Panem. In the Capitol, people could see it live as it happens, but because the Districts have to attend the Reapings themselves, they watch the complete thing at the end of the day.
The District 1 tributes will be this year's favorites, he already knows even before they show them on the screen. District 1 was always in the running with their incredibly beautiful, trained since birth volunteers. Nothing new there.
Two other potential picks for favorite came from Districts 7 and 10, a hulking boy of about eighteen and a somewhat thinner boy in bloodstained clothing of about sixteen, respectively.
"Tough crowd this time." Chaff murmurs. "I'll wager the boy from 10 is a butcher. Just look at all that blood, he must have come to the Reaping right from work."
"How unsightly." Their escort mutters.
"And the one from 7 is a lumberjack." Seeder adds. "You'll have to be careful of those two. They'll know how to use sharp weapons as well as Careers."
It is District 11's turn, and there is no way the others will miss his protectiveness towards Rosie. Not with how he was angling his body to hide her behind him practically the entire time they were on camera, and not with how she held on to him from start to finish. Even one of the commentators' notices, wondering aloud if they were somehow related, or if they were just friends despite the age gap. Fifteen years old boys were not often buddies with thirteen years old girls.
"Are you related?" Lucretia asks, suspiciously looking them over.
Will smirks slightly at her doubt. It was a common mistake since they did look alike and were some of the few pale-skinned people in the District. "Not that we know off." He replies, shaking his head.
"Pity. Imagine the number of sponsors you would have had if we spun a story of you two being long-lost siblings." The escort laments.
Rosie stares at Seeder incredulously. "They wouldn't really believe that, would they?"
"You would think that they would be smarter. But no, they will believe anything they read or see on the news." Seeder laughs bitterly. "They are like sheep in that aspect. To them, the government can do no wrong."
"I can't argue with that." Lucretia despondently sighs. "Sometimes, my fellow Capitolites can be so naive. Aquila, that's the District 12 escort..."
"We might not be related by blood." Will interjects, eager to return to the previous topic before they get stuck in an hour-long gossip session. "But we were raised together in the orphanage. Maybe the self-chosen siblings' angle might be even better liked."
"The others will take that as a weakness." Chaff cautions.
"I know. It's already too late for that anyway." He gestures towards the screen where he was herding Rosie in front of him into the train.
The other man looks up at from his glass of red wine. "Will you be able to play protective siblings in the Arena too? The worst thing you could do is to drop the act the moment you're in danger."
He closes his eyes, feels the train moving faster than he could imagine for a long moment while he gathers his courage.
He had only thought about it until now. He made vague promises that he could break at any moment. Presently, what the mentors needed from him was commitment. Whatever he chooses, there will be no coming back or second-guessing.
When he opens his eyes again, their blue color is ice cold with determination.
"She's my little sister. I'm not leaving her alone. I can't."
And Seeder smiles for the first time. It is not a nice one. "We can use that."
They don't get much done after that. There is an attempt to discuss strategies for the training, but it had been a long and hard day, and everyone was tired. So, he eventually picks up Rosie who had fallen asleep nestled into his side on the couch in a princess carry and bids goodnight to the adults, before slowly making his way back to their allocated room.
It was not the first time he had to tuck in sleepy little siblings into bed, though Rosie had always preferred Basil for some unfathomable reason. Their brother was among the rougher spoken ones, and perhaps the most violent of their siblings. The older girls suspected she had a crush on the boy since he had saved her from some rich kid bullies at school several years ago. That fight had ended with most of the participants suspended, Will included, and students still talked about it in hushed whispers. The Matron had been extremely unimpressed and had given a beating they remember to this day. Quill has yet to try touching pruning shears outside work areas. Still, for a little girl who had just lost her parents, it must have looked mighty impressive. Maybe she likened Basil to a knight in shining armor straight out from those fairy tales she used to love so much. Every little girl dreamed of being a princess once.
He sits at the edge of the bed and stares at the blond head peeking out from under the covers. How often had he sat the same way comforting siblings after their nightmares? He reaches out a trembling hand and smooths down some flyaway hair gingerly. Once, others had done the same to him. Only now they have grown up and left to start their own families. And in one case, reaped. She had not gotten out of the Cornucopia Bloodbath alive, and for months after, he saw her dying face everywhere he went. He did not want the same for Eva, and Hazel and Heather, the twins who had already seen their parents shot by Peacekeepers, and all the other little ones back at the orphanage. They did not need to see their big brother dying.
"What are we going to do, angel?"
Tomorrow they will reach the Capitol, and they will not have a moment to rest anymore. It will be all Chariot Rides, and training, and interviews, and then, in the end, the Arena. If they are lucky, the Careers will not consider them a threat, and leave them for last, if they are not, they will be among the first to be hunted down. Although maybe not the very first, there had been a twelve-year-old boy from District 8, Needle, and a sickly-looking girl from 6.
"Her name was Luna. She volunteered for her best friend." He whispers in the dark. "She's probably dying already." Judging by her wan appearance and his considerable experience with ill children, she wouldn't have lasted the season in 11.
"Willy?" Rosie murmurs voice thick with sleep.
"Nothing, princess. Go back to sleep."
"M'kay." She shuffles around a bit before her soft breathing evens out again.
He attempts to lie down too. Minutes pass, and he gives up going to sleep any time soon. The problem with the bed is that it is exceedingly comfortable, the sheets made of soft silk, and the covers thick and fluffy. He feels like he is drowning in the mattress. Back home, they might as well have just slept on planks of wood for all the difference it made.
He must have finally drifted off at some point because it is the rapping on the door that wakes him, and leaves him blinking up at the smooth, low ceiling in confusion. Where were the wooden rafters of the attic dormitory he'd been sleeping in for as long as he could remember?
"Breakfast!" Lucretia calls, and he hears her heels clicking away on the polished floor. Oh, right. He'd been reaped.
He pushes himself up with a groan and shakes his arm out of the grip Rosie had on it. He had not realized she liked cuddling in her sleep. "Time to get up, sleepyhead. We've got a big day today."
"I don't wanna..."
"Up." Will unceremoniously yanks off the covers and goes rooting through the drawers for new clothes, while the girl stares at him with a betrayed expression from the bed. There is not a shred of pity in him. She better be grateful he had not gone for an ice bath as the Matron tends to do for the ones who overslept.
He moves to the bathroom and lifts an eyebrow in incredulity at the multitude of buttons. Shrugging eventually, he starts pushing every single one to understand what they did since they weren't helpfully labeled.
If it had been up to him, he would have had only two buttons, one for hot water and the other for cold, and maybe one for body wash if he didn't have a bar soap. Why anyone would need a dozen buttons alone for colorful bubbles, he had not the faintest idea. And how was he supposed to know which of the many substances the buttons dispensed was for cleaning? They were all of different shades and consistencies… Despite having ended up having to guess, the shower he ultimately gets out of it is heavenly. It was like being under a water sprinkler on a warm, sunny day, only hotter. And he actually got clean, without having any mud thrown at him by mischievous siblings or having to wait after for his clothes to dry.
After getting ready, they make their way to the dining room for the already served breakfast. It was a wonder the table did not break under the weight of the enormous platters piled upon it.
Sitting down, he spoons a bit of egg, ham, and fried potatoes unto a plate and passes it to Rosie, contenting himself with just fruit. He never liked eating heavily in the morning, and especially not on days when he felt nervous.
They eat in silence, although Lucretia does attempt to start several conversations. She ends up leaving in a huff when they ignore her.
They already had said everything the previous evening, and gossip about the latest scandals of high society could not interest them any less at this very moment.
Soon enough, the car goes dark as the train enters the tunnel that runs under the mountains surrounding the Capitol. When it starts slowing down, and they blink out the spots from their eyes from the sudden return of light, the two of them move to the windows under the careful watch of their mentors.
They really could not help themselves. Seeing things on the television screen and in real life were two incredibly different things. They had made a game of it once, on a sleepless night when everyone had been too sick to sleep – because if one was sick, they were all infected in short order too – trying to imagine how the Capitol looked. There had been suggestions for flying cars. Someone had proposed floating houses. And another had joked that they had roofs and roads made of gold.
"It's so strange." Rosie declares wrinkling her brow in bewilderment, and Will hums in agreement.
The city could not be any different from their simple District 11 with its rolling orchards and glistening greenhouses. Here, the buildings rose high into the sky, and shiny, new cars rolled down wide paved streets instead of rusty, old tractors that broken down every couple of days, and the people seemed to wear every color of the rainbow at once. He likens them to the peacocks and parrots from the old picture books at school. It almost hurt to look at them without having watery eyes.
The Capitolites begin eagerly pointing and waving once they realize a tribute train was rolling into the city. He glances back towards the mentors passively drinking their coffee – plain black for Seeder and liberally dosed with spirits for Chaff – and nudges Rosie with his elbow. "Wave back. Make yourself look friendly, cute. Make them love you."
I do not own The Hunger Games.