Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to Coven of Amyranth and PeonyPierce for Connor and Skyton, respectively.

District Ten
Home

Presley Winters, 29
Victor of the 36th Hunger Games

She wouldn't be staying home.

Presley shook her head as she, Tess, and Glenn headed for the square. She didn't have much of a right to complain about the way things had turned out. Tess had won the flip fair and square, which meant Presley would be going with Glenn to the Capitol. If they were being completely fair, of course, it should have been the two of them going – her and Tess. But Glenn had insisted on mentoring again this year, despite his seniority and despite the fact that they only had to send two mentors. Because they were only sending two tributes.

Only two. It still felt wrong, thinking about it like that. As if the Quell was some sort of relief for the districts that had been sending more tributes since the 42nd Games. The year that Indira had come so close to winning…

So close. She had come so close, but her ally Imalia had outlasted her in the finale. She'd had more strength, more talent, more training. Indira hadn't exactly been lacking in the first two, but, in the end, Imalia's training had meant the difference between victory and defeat. Imalia had said herself on occasion that, giving the same advantage of training, Indira would have won the fight.

She was probably trying to be kind. But words like that only added to the feeling of inevitability that ran through the Games. Yes, there were times when outer-district tributes managed to come out on top. She was proof of that herself. But there was no denying that the tributes from Career districts had a distinct advantage. Outer-district tributes were fighting an uphill battle from the start.

To most of them, of course, that wasn't anything new. The outer districts were so accustomed to being at a disadvantage – both in the Games and out of them – that they didn't even think about it anymore. Not that she blamed her district for that. The events nine years ago had reminded the districts of what happened to those who dared to challenge that balance. Those who wanted something better. The districts had been forced back into place, and it would be a while before anyone was willing to step out of line again.

A while. But not forever. Because as inevitable as the Capitol's control seemed, it was only a matter of time before someone came along to challenge it. Then the same thing would happen again. And again. It was a cycle – and an unavoidable one, as far as she could tell. There would always be people brave enough to step forward and try to change things. They would always be subdued. That was just the way things were.

Presley took a deep breath as they neared the square. The crowd was always a bit of a surprise. District Ten's population was spread more thinly than some districts, due to the space required for cows and sheep and other animals to graze. So when people actually gathered in the center of the district – which was rare – the sheer number of people was a bit jarring. She wasn't used to this.

And she didn't want to be.

Presley could feel Glenn's hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Presley nodded a little. "Yeah. It's just … quite a crowd this year."

Glenn couldn't help a smile. "You say that every year."

"And it's still true."

"I suppose you'd rather be back with your sheep."

Presley gave him a punch on the shoulder. But it was true. She'd always considered animals better company than people. Her Games had only cemented that belief, as even the Capitol's genetically engineered lion mutts had proved better allies for her than any human companions. Presley shook her head. "Let's just get this over with."

It was a sentiment that was clearly shared by a majority of the district. She, Glenn, and Tess had arrived early, as usual, but the crowd was already gathered and in place by the time they arrived. There were still a few stragglers trickling in, but, for the most part, everyone was ready. Ready for this to be over with.

Their new escort, Gerard Swanson, was apparently in agreement, as well. He took the stage with little flourish, barely glancing at the mayor and the three Victors before heading for the microphone. "Quarter Quell!" he announced. "So excited. Thrilled to be here. Et cetera. Et cetera. You know how this goes. Let's get on with it."

Presley held back a chuckle. Laughing at the reaping wouldn't do, but it was hard to disagree with his sentiments. This was their fiftieth year of reapings. They all knew what was coming. There were no surprises – not in District Ten. Certainly not in a year where there could be no volunteers. Not that volunteers were common even when they were allowed. They could all do the math. In forty-nine years, District Ten had sent over a hundred tributes into the Games. Only three had returned. That wasn't a gamble that anyone in their right mind would want to take.

It certainly wasn't a risk she would have chosen. Or Glenn. Or even Tess, who, of the three, had probably seemed most prepared at the reaping. How many volunteers had there been in District Ten's history? She couldn't remember any.

Maybe she could ask Glenn later. He would remember. He remembered every tribute he'd ever mentored, and some who hadn't even been his. He'd been mentoring without fail every year since his own Games.

She couldn't imagine doing that.

And she wouldn't have to. She'd been mentoring since her victory during the 36th Games, but that would change after this year. With only two tributes from now on – assuming nothing went wrong during the Games themselves – she and Tess could alternate years while Glenn kept mentoring. Which meant that she wouldn't have to mentor next year.

Just get through this year first.

Presley braced herself as Gerard drew a name out of the single reaping bowl in the center of the stage. He quickly unfolded the slip of paper. "Skyton Tate!"

The sixteen-year-old section parted around a boy in a pair of overalls and mud-caked boots. He was about average height, but while his arms were muscular, the rest of him was rather scrawny. He was quite pale, with dark brown hair and brown eyes – eyes that were clearly trying to hold back tears as he took a few shaky steps towards the stage.

After a few steps, however, he couldn't keep the tears at bay any longer. He was sobbing silently as he walked, wiping away the tears that kept slipping down his cheeks as he took one step, and then another, towards the stage. Presley had to fight back the urge to rush over and help him. Console him. That might make her feel good, but it was really the worst thing she could do for him. Needing to be comforted by a mentor during the reaping was a sign of weakness, and that was something she couldn't allow him to have.

The boy brushed away a few more tears as he took his place onstage, his gaze planted firmly on the ground, avoiding the eyes of the crowd. Most of them were more than happy to return the favor. No volunteers were allowed this year, but she doubted anyone would have stepped forward even if they could. Maybe this boy wasn't the best their district had to offer, but he was sixteen. He had some muscle. Maybe they felt sorry for him, but that wouldn't be enough to make anyone want to trade their life for his.

Besides, it wasn't as if she had been the pick of the crop, either. Neither had Glenn. And both of them had come home, when so many older, stronger tributes had come home in boxes. This boy had as good a chance as anyone else. Maybe better. That was what she would keep telling herself. What she had to keep telling herself.

"Connor Sawyer!"

Presley raised an eyebrow. Gerard sure hadn't wasted any time. The other boy had barely stepped on the stage, and already he'd called the second name. Good. Better to get things over with quicker. Wasn't it?

It was the fifteen-year-old section that parted this time, revealing a boy in a tattered grey shirt, well-worn jeans, and a pair of work boots. He was tall for his age – taller than the other boy – with messy brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin with a few freckles. He glanced around for a moment before stepping out of the crowd, making his way towards the stage more quickly than the other boy. More confidently. Maybe he knew that he didn't have to do much in order to appear more capable than the boy who was still sobbing onstage.

As he reached the stage, however, Presley could see the fear growing in the younger boy's eyes. Maybe the other boy's crying was beginning to affect him. Maybe seeing the crowd watching him suddenly made it seem more real. Whatever the reason, as he took his last step off the stairs leading up to the stage, tears began to slip from his eyes. "Shit," he muttered, wiping them away, but more took their place. He clenched his teeth, trying to hide his tears from the crowd.

"Great," Gerard muttered. "Just shake hands already." The boys quickly did as they were told, and the Peacekeepers ushered them away towards the Justice Building. "Two more down, I suppose," Gerard scoffed as soon as they were out of earshot.

Presley glared. "Don't count them out yet."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Which one? The one who was crying the moment his name was called, or the one who didn't have the sense to realize he was toast until he was already onstage?"

"Either of them," Glenn answered calmly. "I'm sure you would have said the same thing about me."

Gerard shrugged. "I'm sure I would have. And any year other than yours, I would have been right. I'll see you on the train."

Glenn shook his head as Gerard left. "Don't pay him any mind. He'll be gone in a year or two. He doesn't have the stomach for this sort of thing."

Presley couldn't help a smile. The thought of their new escort not being able to handle dealing with District Ten for more than a few years was somewhat satisfying. They'd been going through new escorts for quite a while, with few staying on more than a year or two. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise that no one wanted to work with District Ten, but it was still annoying to have to break in a new escort so often.

"So which one would you like?" Presley asked.

Glenn thought for a moment. "I'll take Connor, if it's all right with you."

Presley nodded. "Fine with me."

"Something else on your mind?"

Presley nodded. He could always tell. "Just something I was wondering – with the quell and all. The rule about no volunteers. When's the last time we even had one?"

Glenn didn't even hesitate. "Forty years."

Forty years. No wonder she hadn't remembered any volunteers. She hadn't even been born then. "What happened?"

"Her name was Maeren. She was fourteen. Volunteered in place of her older sister. Ended up allying with the boy from Three and the girl from Eight. They were doing pretty well, until they stumbled across a nest of mutt eggs. When the mutt came back to the nest, they ran, but the other girl shoved Maeren down in its path, giving the other two time to escape. She survived the mutt's attack, but some other tributes found her. Careers, you would call them now, though they weren't exactly what we would consider Careers back then. They killed her. Tied her to a tree and flayed her alive. No one in Ten has volunteered for the Games since."

Presley nodded. "Not much of a surprise, really."

"No, I suppose not."

Presley frowned, doing the math in her head. "Forty years ago?"

"Forty years exactly."

"Then the girl from Eight—"

"Carolina," Glenn nodded. "You didn't know, did you."

"No." She couldn't imagine that – leaving her ally to be attacked by mutts. No, causing her ally to be attacked by mutts. Not that she'd had allies. She'd gone it alone during her Games, for exactly that reason. She hadn't wanted to get attached. Sure, she'd gotten rather attached to the two lion mutts she'd been working with, but that was different. They hadn't had to die in order for her to win.

Presley shook her head. That didn't change anything. Every Victor had things that they regretted. None of them had made it out of the Games unscathed. Not even Glenn had made it out of the arena unchanged. He hadn't killed, but she knew the things he'd seen still haunted him.

That was part of the reason, she suspected, why he kept volunteering to mentor. Why he continued to keep a journal of all the tributes he'd mentored. Why he remembered the stories of tributes from forty years ago – stories that no one else would want to tell. Stories that had long been forgotten by the rest of the district, blended together with the dozens of other tributes who had lost their lives in the Games.

"Wasn't there a Sawyer kid in the last Quarter Quell?" Tess asked as the three of them left the stage. "Something sweet-sounding? Lacie? Gracie?"

"Grace," Glenn answered quietly. "Her name was Grace. And she was sweet, but … but strong, too. Strong enough to sacrifice herself for her allies once she realized … once she knew the Gamemakers weren't going to let her out of the arena alive. But I doubt they're related. Her family … they've been gone for a while now."

Gone. Presley knew what he meant. Sometimes people disappeared. Troublemakers, usually, but sometimes not. Sometimes people who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. People who happened to be accused of the wrong thing by the right people. There were no questions, no procedure. One day, they were just gone.

Glenn shook his head. "Actually, one of her allies ended up winning, too."

Presley shook her head. "I guess we District Ten folks know how to pick 'em." Grace. Maeren. Indira. They'd all ended up allying with the eventual Victor of their Games. There were probably others, too. Maybe she'd had the right idea when she'd decided not to find any allies. Because being a Victor's ally didn't mean anything to the family of a tribute who didn't come home. And it didn't do anything to help the district.

She had come home. Her. Not one of her allies. Not her district partner. She had made it home.

And she would do everything she could to help one of this year's tributes do the same.

Skyton Tate, 16

He wouldn't be coming home.

Skyton wiped away his tears with the edge of his sleeve, but it barely did any good. His shirt was already damp with tears, and he knew they wouldn't be stopping any time soon. He'd already made a mess of the reaping, so there was no point in trying to look strong now. They all knew he was crying. And who wouldn't be? He was a tribute now. He would be in the Hunger Games soon. And then…

Soon. But not yet. He still had time. Time to say goodbye, at least. The door creaked open, and his family rushed in. His parents. His older brother Clayton. His sisters Cameron, Lucy, and little Kit. Kit was crying. She was only four – old enough to know that something was wrong, but not really old enough to understand everything. She knew about the Games, of course, but their parents had never let her watch them. And even if they had, the fact that they were called Games sounded so benign. She wouldn't have understood that it wasn't just a game. That the tributes on the screen were really dead.

But now…

Now it was real. He was a tribute. Skyton scooped up Kit and held her as tightly as he could, trying to hide his tears. "It's okay," he whispered over and over again. "It'll be okay."

But it wouldn't be. This would never be okay. Maybe his family would never be okay again. They didn't always get along, but, at the end of the day, they all cared for each other. They all needed each other more than they would usually like to admit. Without him…

Suddenly, a little jingling sound interrupted his thoughts. Lucy was holding something out to him. Skyton swallowed back the lump in his throat when he saw what it was. A bell. But not just any bell. The bell that belonged to Fifa, his favorite cow. Clayton had always said it was stupid that he had a favorite cow, and Cameron and Lucy thought cows were "stinky." But maybe they really did understand just how much the animals meant to him. Skyton managed a smile as Lucy handed him the bell. "Thank you."

"Try not to let it jingle too much," Cameron advised. "You don't want it letting the other tributes know where you are."

Skyton nodded. "All right."

"Maybe you can use it as some sort of signal," Clayton suggested. "If you have allies, I mean."

"Or maybe you could throw it at someone," Lucy offered. "It's pretty hard."

Skyton couldn't help a smile. They were all trying to help. They were already planning, coming up with different possibilities, trying to imagine any way that he might make it out of the Games. They wanted to believe that he had a chance of coming home.

Of course, he wanted to believe it, too. Who wouldn't? But did he really have a chance? In almost fifty years now, District Ten had only brought home three Victors. One of those had been a fluke. Another had ended up in a coma after her Games after going into shock during her interview. And Presley had been lucky enough to befriend some of the mutts on the ark that had served as her arena. None of them had been particularly strong, or particularly skilled.

And maybe others would see that as a good sign. But this year … this year, the Gamemakers wouldn't allow a Victor who simply got lucky. They would want a Victor with blood on their hands. A Victor who was willing to do what had to be done, ready to cut down anyone in their path on their way to victory.

And that simply wasn't him.

Connor Sawyer, 15

He would be coming home.

Connor clenched his fists as the door closed behind his family, leaving him alone in the room. His parents had been silent for most of their time together, and he couldn't really blame them for that. What was there to say? Either he would be back, or he wouldn't. If he came back, then nothing they said now really mattered. And if he didn't…

If he didn't, what were they supposed to say? That they were going to miss him? That they didn't know what they would do without him? None of them wanted to believe that there was a chance he wouldn't be coming home. They wanted to focus on the chance – whatever chance there was – that he would be the one coming back.

Connor took a deep breath. It wasn't just a chance. It was a chance he had to hold onto with all his might. A chance he had to cling to. A chance he couldn't let go of, because if he stopped believing he could come home, then how was anyone else supposed to believe in him?

The door opened again, and Amelia rushed in. "Connor, I…" She trailed off as she threw her arms around him. "I'm so sorry," she managed after a moment.

"I know," Connor answered. There wasn't much else to say. She was sorry he'd been chosen. He was sorry he was going. Both of them would do anything to change it, but there was nothing that either of them could do. Nothing that would change what was about to happen. Where he was about to go. What he would have to do in order to come home.

Connor held back his tears as Amelia slipped something into his hand. A leather bracelet that she always wore. "Bring it back," she whispered, holding back tears. "When you come home."

When. Yes, that was it. When, not if. When he came home, he would give it back to her. And when he came home, he would have so much more to offer her. A Victor's earnings would set his family up for life, and they would have plenty to spare. He could provide not only for his own family, but for his friends. They would never want for anything again.

But first he had to win the Games. First he had to fight. He had to kill. Thirty-four other tributes would have to die in order for him to make it home.

Connor wrapped his arms around Amelia and held her close. He didn't want to think about that. Not now. Not yet. For now, he just wanted to make this moment last as long as he could. If these were his last moments in District Ten – or, at least, his last moments there until the Games were over – then this was how he wanted to spend them.

For a while, they simply sat there, holding each other close. Neither of them said anything, but they didn't need to. It was enough to simply be together a little longer.

But a little longer was all they had, because the Peacekeepers knocked on the door, signaling the end of Amelia's time. "Please come back," Amelia whispered, choking back tears as she finally let go. "Please."

Connor nodded a little as she left. It was strange, hearing that word from her. She was usually so confident, so sure of herself. To hear her begging, pleading for him to come back … that wasn't something he'd ever expected to hear.

Of course, he hadn't expected any of this. No one ever did. No matter their chances, no one ever really expected to end up in the Games. There were so many other people. So many others who could have been chosen. But now none of them mattered. He was the one who was going into the Games.

And he was the one who would be coming home.

"That trusted home might yet enkindle you unto the crown."