Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to Acereader55 and MornieGalad Baggins for Nephelle and Thomas, respectively.

District Seven
Grow

Casper Hensley, 39
Victor of the 29th Hunger Games

He'd almost gotten used to having an extra tribute.

Casper glanced around at the crowd that was already forming as he, Kurt, and Freda made their way to the square. Despite the growing tension, the teens seemed to be moving a bit quicker than usual. Maybe they could feel it, too – a sense of relief at only sending two tributes this year. It felt strange, the idea of being relieved at a Quell. But the other part of the twist – a ban on volunteers – didn't really mean much for their district. And since he and Hazel were the only Victors…

Casper held back a chuckle. Laughing at the reaping would be disrespectful. But Kurt couldn't help but notice. "What's so funny?"

Casper shook his head. "Must be the first time having only two Victors was good for a district." Seven and Twelve only had two Victors, while Three, Six, Eight, and Ten only had three. All six districts were sending two tributes each. Maybe it wasn't fair – punishing the districts that had been more successful in the Games – but he had to admit it was a nice change. And with Careers who weren't as well prepared, maybe District Seven would stand a better chance.

Maybe. But there were no guarantees. Even though their district was sending fewer tributes this year, there would still be thirty-five tributes in the arena. And only one of them would be coming out again.

"I'm just glad our district has you," Freda reminded him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "We all are. You and Hazel – you're a reminder that the Games aren't completely hopeless."

Not completely hopeless. Casper managed a smile at that. When he'd been chosen for the Games, "completely hopeless" was exactly how most people would have described him. He'd broken down at the reaping, begging for his life. Until Lydia had died in the arena, he hadn't been sure he would have it in him to kill.

But when she had died in his arms, everything had changed. His district partner. His friend. Kurt and Freda's daughter. He'd promised himself then and there that he would make it home – for her. For them. And for himself. It hadn't been easy, but he'd made it.

But what good was that, if he hadn't been able to bring anyone else home?

Casper gave Freda one last hug before taking the stage and sliding into a seat beside Hazel. He knew Hazel had spent years asking herself the same thing. She'd had to wait more than twenty-five years to bring home a Victor. Now it had been more than twenty years since his own victory.

Casper and Hazel exchanged a glance as their escort, Miranda Canestro, joined them onstage. Maybe this was the year they would finally bring home another Victor. Maybe. Right now, all they could do was hope that Miranda drew the name of someone who would have a chance.

Someone who would have a chance. He knew better than anyone that it wasn't always obvious from a reaping who would have a chance in the Games. Even age didn't mean as much as some people thought. He'd been eighteen when he was reaped. Hazel had been twelve. Both of them had won the Games. Both of them had survived.

Both of them were still here.

"Hello, District Seven, and thank you for such a warm welcome!" Miranda exclaimed, even though she'd received nothing of the sort. The Capitol's response to the rebellion during the 41st Games may have frightened the districts back into submission, but their relationship would never be 'warm.' No Capitolite would ever receive a 'warm' welcome in District Seven.

Still, it didn't hurt to pretend – and it might even help their tributes' chances. So he smiled a little at the crowd as Miranda made her way towards the single reaping bowl in the center of the stage. Might was well try to look confident. Might as well try to appear certain that this would finally be the year he and Hazel would bring home another Victor.

Miranda reached into the bowl and quickly drew a name. Maybe she wanted this over with as quickly as the rest of them. "District Seven, your very first tribute for the second Quarter Quell is … Thomas Elliot!"

The crowd grew silent as the eighteen-year-old section parted around a boy in a dark grey button-down shirt and black slacks. He was tall – easily more than six feet – with dark, scraggly hair and a bit of a tan. His dark brown eyes remained fixed on the stage, confused, as the Peacekeepers made their way towards him.

Finally, when they'd almost reached him, he took a step forward. Then another. Slowly, as if in a daze, he made his way forward to the stage, nearly tripping over the first step. Silently, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He shook his head and closed his mouth again, trying not to look out at the crowd. Trying not to break down. Trying to keep it together as well as he could.

Miranda nodded a little, then turned her attention back to the reaping bowl. She smiled as she quickly drew another name. "And our second – and final – tribute this year is … Nephelle Sorena!"

This time, it was the seventeen-year-old section that parted around a girl in a knee-length dark green dress. She had tan skin and long hair that was dark brown at the top but faded to a lighter brown – almost blonde – at the ends. She was about average height, but seemed shorter at first because she was crouched down low, as if hoping that maybe no one would notice her. Maybe if they couldn't find her, they would simply pick someone else.

But, of course, they didn't. As the Peacekeepers started to head towards her, she stood up straight and stepped out of the crowd, glancing around blankly as if searching for something. Or maybe waiting for something. But there was nothing to wait for. No one could volunteer this year even if they wanted to. And chances were, no one would volunteer any other year, either. Maybe the girl wasn't the tallest or the strongest, but she was older, and she seemed healthy. That would be good enough for most of the district. Enough to convince them that she had a chance.

For her part, the girl seemed to be trying to convince herself of the same thing as she took the stage, her brown eyes straying to the crowd as a faint smile crept over her face. She straightened up a little bit more as she turned to the boy, offering her hand. He took a step forward and shook it, still shaking his head. Still not quite believing what was going on.

"District Seven, your tributes!" Miranda boomed, but the crowd remained silent. That was expected. He couldn't remember the last time the crowd in District Seven had actually applauded at a reaping. Had it ever happened? Certainly not as his, and not since then.

Fortunately, Miranda knew better than to expect anything else from them. She nodded to the workers to switch off the cameras and quickly dismissed the crowd. "Congratulations!" she beamed, placing a hand on each of the tribute's shoulders as she led them towards the Justice Building. "A Quarter Quell! Isn't this exciting?"

"That's one word for it," Casper muttered as soon as Miranda was out of earshot.

"Could be worse," Hazel reminded him. And she was right. The tributes could have been younger. They could have cried. They could have been like … well, like him. Instead, the pair of them just seemed numb. They could work with that. Numbness would eventually wear off. They would grow out of it.

It was just a matter of whether they would grow out of it in time.

"You have a preference?" Casper asked. Hazel shook her head. "I'll take the boy, then," Casper offered.

"Sounds good to me," Hazel agreed.

It didn't, of course. None of it sounded good. Nothing to do with the Games ever sounded good. But it could certainly be a lot worse, and this wasn't the time to complain. This was the time to buckle down and get to work.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

Thomas Elliot, 18

He'd almost gotten used to making it through the reaping safely.

Thomas shook his head as Hodden paced the room. "It's just not fair," Hodden insisted. "It was your last year. They just had to pick someone else – anyone else – just one more time."

Thomas nodded silently as his older brother fumed. He wasn't saying anything Thomas hadn't thought himself. Three years ago, when Hodden had made it through his final reaping safely, Thomas had begun to relax a little. Hodden had always taken more tesserae than him, after all. If he could make it through the reapings…

But it hadn't been enough. His name had only been in the bowl seven times – the minimum for an eighteen-year-old – and that still hadn't been enough to save him. "It's not fair," Hodden repeated, as if he couldn't think of anything else to say. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe there was nothing else to say to someone who had just been chosen for the Games.

Because it wasn't fair. But that would be true regardless of who had been chosen. The Games weren't fair at all, no matter who was in them. This time, it just happened to be him.

"It's all right," Thomas said quietly after Hodden finally stopped grumbling for a moment. "Really, it's all right. Maybe I can do this."

Hodden turned, surprised, as if he'd forgotten that Thomas was even there. "Of course you can. I'm counting on it. I didn't mean to say that—"

"That I didn't have a chance, and that's what's so unfair?"

"I didn't mean that. I just meant it's not fair – what you'll have to do to get back."

Thomas nodded a little. Was that what he'd really meant? Maybe. He didn't want to believe that even his brother would write him off as a lost cause from the start. He had as much chance as anyone, after all. Especially this year. Without Careers from the usual districts, he would probably be one of the oldest tributes in the arena. The other tributes might even assume he was a threat.

Yes. Yes, that was it. They wouldn't write him off. They had no reason to. All the Capitol audience knew about him – all the other tributes knew about him – came from the few minutes they'd seen of the reaping. And that hadn't gone so badly. Well, not as badly as it could have. He'd been chosen for the Games, yes, but he hadn't broken down crying. He hadn't started begging for his life and made a complete fool out of himself. It could certainly have been worse.

But it could also have been better. Hearing someone else's name – anyone else's name – would have been better. He'd only had one more year. One more year, and he would have been safe.

Thomas shook his head as the Peacekeepers knocked on the door, letting Hodden know his time was up. "You can do this, little brother," Hodden insisted, wrapping Thomas in a hug. "We're all counting on you."

Counting on you. It had been a while since anyone had been counting on him to do anything. Hodden had always been the responsible one. The one who knew what he was doing. The one others could count on. But now Hodden was counting on him – counting on his ability to come back from the Games.

And he wasn't going to let his brother down.

Nephelle Sorena, 17

She couldn't let them down now.

Nephelle wrapped her family in one last hug before the Peacekeepers came to take them away. "You can do this," her older sister Sephora insisted, squeezing her tightly. Nephelle blinked away her tears as the door closed behind her family. She hoped her sister was right. She couldn't imagine what it would do to them if…

If she lost the Games. If she died. She'd been trying not to even think the word since the reaping. She'd been too busy trying to hold herself together for her family's sake. But now there was no one else to reassure. No reason not to think about what would have to happen eventually. She was going into the Hunger Games, and only one thing was certain. If she wanted to make it out again, she would have to be stronger.

Stronger than this. Stronger than she'd been for the last few minutes. Stronger than she'd ever needed to be in her life. Strength wasn't usually something that was expected of the district's planters. Patience, yes. Perseverance. Balance. A keen eye for detail and how the plants were growing. But strength … that was something the district's lumberjacks needed. She'd never had the strength for that. How could they expect her to suddenly have what it took to win the Games?

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted as the door creaked open one more time, revealing her friend Avora, holding something in her hands. "I thought you might want this," Avora offered, holding out a small sapling. A cutting, Nephelle knew, from one of the first trees she'd ever planted.

A willow.

Nephelle smiled a little as Avora placed the tiny sapling in her hands. She'd always had a special fondness for willow trees. The willow is deceptively strong, her mother always said. It bends, but it does not break.

Deceptively strong.

Nephelle clung to the little sapling as Avora wrapped her arms around her. "You don't need to be the biggest or the strongest," Avora agreed, as if she could tell what Nephelle had been thinking. Maybe she could. "You just have to be patient. You just have to be you."

"Thank you," Nephelle whispered as she and Avora held each other tightly. That wasn't completely true, she knew. If all she needed to win the Games was to be herself, how could anyone ever lose? But it sounded a lot better than the alternative – that she would have to be someone else. Someone stronger. Someone harsher.

The Games changed everyone, of course – that much was obvious from their district's two Victors. Only two of District Seven's tributes had ever made it home, and even they had come home changed. She remembered watching in surprise the first time she'd seen snippets of Hazel's Games. She'd been so young – one of the youngest Victors ever. Certainly not one of the strongest.

And Casper … he'd seemed so helpless during the reaping. He'd broken down in tears, begging the escort to choose someone else. But he'd gone on to win the Games, as surely as any of the other forty-eight Victors. He was still alive, while twenty-three other tributes were dead. He hadn't been the strongest. But he'd been willing to adapt – and, at the same time, he hadn't lost himself. He'd been able to bend without breaking.

Maybe she could do the same.

"If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear your favours nor your hate."