Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to upsettomcat42, Tear That Cherry Out, and renee walker for Kilian, Shanali, and Wes, respectively.

District Eleven
All

Tamsin Lane, 39
Victor of the 27th Hunger Games

The house was already bustling with people.

Tamsin stretched her arms as she joined the others in the kitchen. Her wife Marion and brother-in-law Elijah were already busy fixing breakfast for their nieces and nephews, many of whom were scampering around the room, filled with nervous energy. Technically, she and Marion had their own house next door in Victors' Village, but they usually spent the night before the reaping with the Whitakers, trying to calm the younger ones' nerves.

There were three of them eligible for the reaping this year. Alaric, who was sixteen, Tristan, who was fourteen, and Persephone, who was thirteen. They were safer than most of District Eleven's kids, of course. No one in their family had needed to take tesserae since Elijah's victory more than twenty years ago. None of them had been reaped since Marion. Maybe the Capitol figured they'd had their fill of drama when Tamsin had volunteered to take Marion's place. Maybe that had been enough to satisfy their need for excitement.

Tamsin ruffled Persephone's hair before joining Marion at the stove. "You should have woken me. I could have helped."

Marion hid a giggle. "Right. You could have helped with the cooking."

Tamsin smirked. "I could have tried."

"You and Elijah have plenty to worry about with the reaping," Marion pointed out. "I can take care of the food."

Fair enough. "Has anyone checked on Violet?"

"I went over to offer her breakfast about ten minutes ago," Elijah answered. "She was … awake. Which is something. I invited her over, but I don't think she wanted to see anyone."

"Give her time," came a voice from behind them. Ivy. "It's only been four years since her Games," District Eleven's oldest Victor pointed out. "She needs to figure out how to deal with it in her own way. The best thing you can do is what you're doing – keep offering support, but give her space if she needs it."

Elijah shook his head. "I keep telling her she's welcome to come over if she wants to talk, but…"

"Sometimes people don't want to talk," Tamsin pointed out. "Sometimes they just need time." Even after twenty-five years of mentoring, Elijah still couldn't seem to wrap his head around the idea that not everyone worked through their issues by talking about them. If that had worked for him, that was great, but some people just needed to stew for a while.

Of course, there was too much of a good thing. Tobiah. Vernon. They were perfect examples of what happened if someone stewed a little too long. And sometimes she worried that Violet was headed in the same direction. But there wasn't really anything that she or Elijah could do about that. There were problems that people just had to work out on their own.

"I just want her to know that there are people who are there for her," Elijah continued, oblivious. "I always had my family when I came back. Tamsin, you had us. Ivy, you had—"

"No one," Ivy pointed out. "And I did just fine. Violet will be fine – in time. Not right away. And not as quickly as you'd like, especially if you keep hounding her. But she'll come around in time. Everyone does."

Elijah shook his head. "Except the ones who don't."

Ivy sighed. "Look, you have a long day ahead of you. Why don't you two go get dressed for the reaping, and I'll finish up here. What do you say, Marion?"

Marion nodded. "Ivy and I can handle things here. Go ahead."

Tamsin sighed. She could always count on Ivy and Marion to keep things moving efficiently, even with children running this way and that all around them. "I'll see you at the reaping, then," she agreed, leaning in for a kiss. Marion drew her in a little closer and, for a moment, none of the rest mattered. For a moment, it was all worth it. The Games. The memories. Having to mentor year after year after year. It was worth all of it, just to be here with her.

Tamsin hugged Marion tightly before finally letting go and heading back to her room, where she dressed as quickly as she could before joining Elijah outside. "Ready?"

"Nope."

Tamsin shrugged. "Me, neither. Let's go get Violet."

Violet was less than happy to see them, but at least she was ready and waiting for them. "I was about to leave, anyway," she insisted. "You didn't have to come by."

"It's on the way," Elijah reasoned. "How are you doing?"

Violet shook her head. "Vienna's too old to be reaped this year … so not bad, I guess. Better than last year."

That was something. "It gets easier," Elijah assured her.

"I don't know how you do it," Violet admitted. "You've got … what? Four nieces and nephews who are in the bowl?"

Elijah shook his head. "Three this year. Nellie's nineteen now. But it's not like I really have much say in the matter. None of them are mine, and I can't exactly tell my brothers and sisters not to have kids."

"Aren't you worried about them?"

"Of course I am. But we've been pretty lucky so far."

"Except you."

Elijah nodded. "Fair enough. But I got lucky, too. I survived. So did you."

Violet nodded as they headed for the square, but Tamsin could tell from the look on her face that she didn't consider herself lucky, no matter what Elijah might say. The three of them made their way down the path in silence. Finally, they reached the square, where the crowd was already starting to gather. There was no fuss, no applause as they took the stage. This wasn't a Career district, where Victors were practically worshiped. But it also wasn't a district that looked on its Victors with pity. The four of them had made it out of the Games alive, and they'd managed to get on with their lives, for the most part. That was the best their district could ask for.

Mayor Hamish nodded to them as they joined him onstage. "Ivy offered to help corral the little ones since she's not mentoring anymore?"

Tamsin nodded. "She'll be along soon." Ivy had done her part. She'd mentored for twenty-five years – most of them alone. She'd earned her retirement.

Sure enough, Ivy was only a few minutes behind, with the rest of the Whitaker family in tow. The rest of the family. Tamsin couldn't help a smile. The Whitakers had taken Ivy in without question after Elijah's victory, and they'd done the same for her. But despite their efforts to reach out to Violet, she'd never responded in quite the same way.

Ivy managed a smile as she joined the others onstage, and Tamsin nodded back. Maybe it had something to do with how they'd ended up in the Games. Violet had been reaped, just like most of District Eleven's tributes. But both Tamsin and Ivy had volunteered for the Games. Tamsin had taken Marion's place, and Ivy had been hoping for a better life after losing her family in the rebellion. Both of them had come out of the Games with memories they would rather not have, but both of them had chosen to be there. Violet hadn't.

But neither had Elijah, and he seemed to be doing fine.

Tamsin glanced over at her brother-in-law, who shrugged. Maybe it was better not to try to make sense of it – of who made it out of the Games more or less intact, and who came out damaged. Maybe it was simply a matter of luck, or of what happened during the Games themselves. She'd killed, yes, but, as far as arenas went, the playground she'd spent six days in couldn't really compare to spending two and a half weeks in a claustrophobic vineyard that had seemed more like a maze.

Finally, their escort, Osvaldo Case, joined them onstage, and the crowd grew a little quieter. Waiting. Just waiting. Osvaldo took his time, much to Mayor Hamish's clear annoyance. He greeted each of the Victors in turn, then turned his attention to the reaping bowl in the center of the stage. "It's so exciting, isn't it!" he crooned. "This sort of thing only happens once in twenty-five years! And you're lucky enough to be here to share it with me! How wonderful."

Get on with it. But Tamsin knew better than to say it. Any sort of arguing with the escort could jeopardize their tributes' chances in the Capitol's eyes. Mayor Hamish, however, didn't seem to share that concern, and was rolling his eyes as Osvaldo finally reached into the reaping bowl. "And your first tribute for this year's Quarter Quell is … Kilian Romaine!"

Slowly, the seventeen-year-old section parted around a boy in a maroon shirt with the sleeves rolled up, brown pants, a black belt, and worn-out shoes. He was about average height but underfed, with dark brown skin, brown eyes, and a black semi-afro. His wide-brimmed glasses were taped together in several places, making him look a bit younger as he did his best to smile and wave at the crowd.

He made his way to the stage quickly, still waving – maybe an attempt to cover up the fact that he was trembling. Still, waving was better than crying, and Osvaldo quickly turned his attention back to the reaping bowl and drew a second slip of paper. "Wes … Barto … Bar-tosh-es-ky? Bart-o-she-sky? Bar-tos-hes-ky? B-a-r-t-o—"

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Mayor Hamish muttered. "Bartoshesky."

By then, the sixteen-year-old section had already parted around a boy in a short-sleeved, blue button-down shirt, pressed black pants, and polished black shoes. A collection of leather bracelets circled his left wrist, and he wore a thin black necklace with a single white shell around his neck. He was a little taller than the first boy, broad-shouldered and lean, with dark skin, dark brown eyes, and a thin layer of black hair.

The boy looked to his left, then his right, as if trying to figure out why they had all stepped away from him. Once the Peacekeepers started making their way towards him, however, he finally started walking towards the stage, staring straight ahead as if not really understanding what was going on. Kilian gave him a pat on the back as Wes joined him beside Osvaldo. Tamsin held her breath as Osvaldo drew another name. Just one more.

"Shanali Theisen!"

Tamsin tried to hide a sigh of relief. Alaric, Tristan, and Persephone were safe for another year. It was the seventeen-year-old section that parted again, this time around a girl in a dark brown jacket, black pants, and black shoes. She was about as tall as the boys and willowy, with dark skin, frizzy black hair, and dark brown eyes.

Almost immediately, she began making her way towards the stage, keeping her eyes on the people who waited for her there, avoiding the crowd's gaze. As she took her place by the boys, she held out her hand. Wes shook it, and then Kilian. The two boys shook hands with each other, and the cameras clicked off.

Tamsin let out a sigh of relief as the three of them were led away. Everything had gone about as well as could be expected. Sending teenagers to fight to the death would never be good, but this certainly wasn't as bad as it could have been. All three of them were on the older side, and they'd all managed not to break down when they were chosen. All in all, it had been a fairly normal reaping.

Elijah turned to Violet as the crowd began to disperse, ignoring Mayor Hamish, who was scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Which one would you like?"

Violet shrugged as the mayor folded the piece of paper. "I'll take Wes."

"I'll take Shanali," Tamsin agreed.

"And that leaves Kilian for me," Elijah nodded. "You get it right, Mycr?"

Mayor Hamish smirked and tossed the folded piece of paper to Elijah. Elijah unfolded it and shook his head. "Tamsin – frizzy girl. Elijah – shaky boy. Violet – rich kid."

Violet glanced over his shoulder. "What are those numbers?"

"Six, twenty, thirty-one." He shook his head. "I wouldn't worry too much about those. Mycr just likes to make predictions. Since he apparently has nothing better to do with his time."

The mayor shrugged. "Call it a hobby. Enjoy the Capitol, you three."

Tamsin rolled her eyes as he left. "Don't mind him. He didn't think you were going to win, either. Or me. Or Elijah. So don't worry about it."

She just hoped he would be wrong again this year.

Wes Bartoshesky, 16

It was all he could do to keep from puking.

Wes clenched his fists tightly as the door opened and his parents rushed in. His stomach was churning, the breakfast he'd eaten only a few hours earlier threatening to make a reappearance. But he had to hold it together a little longer. Just a little longer. Tears stung his eyes as his parents threw their arms around him. "It's not fair," his father insisted. "It's just not fair."

Wes held his parents close. Of course it wasn't fair. Nothing about the Games was fair. Hell, the fact that the Games existed in the first place wasn't fair. But he knew what his father meant. It wasn't fair that he had been picked. As families went in District Eleven, his was rather well-off. He'd never had to take tesserae in order to help the family get by. His name had only been in the reaping bowl the required five times.

But that hadn't been enough to save him. And then the escort had made a fool of himself trying to pronounce his family's last name, which the Capitol announcers would almost certainly make a joke out of. They wouldn't care what he could do; he would just be the District Eleven kid with the funny last name.

Maybe it didn't really matter what they thought. He didn't usually make a big deal out of what others thought of him. He was who he was, and they were who they were. Usually, their opinions didn't matter. But once he was in the Games, the opinions of the Capitolites could help keep him alive. And right now, they probably didn't have a high opinion of him.

So he would have to show them something different.

But did he really have anything different to show them? Anything to make him stand out from the other thirty-four tributes who would be in the arena? He certainly didn't feel any different. He'd never really thought of himself as a fighter. He certainly didn't feel like one now, with his stomach turning over and his hands growing clammy. But that was what he would have to be in order to survive. A fighter.

A killer.

Wes fought back another wave of nausea at the thought. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to kill anyone. He'd never been in a real fight in his life. Sure, he'd gotten into arguments. Shouting matches. He'd gotten angry … but not violent. What would it even feel like to be that angry at someone?

Wes closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the feeling. Because most tributes in the Games, he knew, weren't actually angry at each other. They were just desperate. Desperate enough to kill in order to survive. But, in a way, that was even worse. At least if he were angry enough at someone to kill them, it might feel good. Maybe. But just killing someone out of desperation, out of fear of what might happen if he let them live … that was even harder to imagine.

"It'll be all right," his mother insisted. "You can do this." Wes swallowed hard. He wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that she meant it. But she had to say that. Just like thirty-four other mothers or fathers all across Panem were saying the same thing to their children. Children just like him. Thirty-five of them were going into the Games with the same hope, the same longing to come back to their families.

But only one of them would be coming home.

Kilian Romane, 17

It was all he could do to keep from shaking.

Kilian clenched his fists tightly, trying to hide the fact that he was trembling as the door opened. His father and younger brother Devan were escorted in by the Peacekeepers, and Devan immediately ran to Kilian's side and threw his arms around his brother. Kilian held him tightly – but not too tightly. He hadn't always been so gentle with his little brother. Devan had been born with a stunted arm, weak legs, and a bit of a hunch. For years, Kilian and his older sister Kiva had taken their frustrations out on their youngest sibling, until their father had finally stepped in.

Kilian had stopped; Kiva hadn't. She'd moved out of the house when she'd turned eighteen and hadn't looked back. Kilian had stayed, trying his best to make it up to his brother. He'd dropped out of school two years ago to go to work in the fields full-time so that Devan wouldn't have to take out tesserae and increase his chances of being chosen for the Games. If he was picked…

But he hadn't been picked. Kilian had. And while he certainly stood a better chance than Devan would, he knew better than to think it would be easy. In forty-nine years of the Games, District Eleven had brought home four Victors. Four. That was more than some districts, yes, but still not great odds.

Kilian shook his head. His odds had nothing to do with District Eleven's previous tributes. He wasn't them. He didn't want to be them. He didn't want any of this.

But he didn't have any choice in the matter. This year, there was no one who did. None of them wanted to be there – even the tributes from Career districts that would normally send volunteers. Even they were being chosen at random, and the chances of them picking someone who actually wanted to be in the Games seemed … well, slim. None of them had a choice. None of them wanted to be here.

But this was where he was. Saying goodbye to his family. Soon, he would be on a train, headed for the Capitol. And if he ever wanted to see them again, thirty-four other tributes would have to die.

And he would have to kill some of them. How many, he wasn't sure, but the last time someone had won without killing was … what? Forty-five years ago? Forty-six? It certainly wouldn't be happening again this year. Not during a Quarter Quell, when the Capitol wanted to see more blood and gore than ever. Not when there were thirty-five tributes in the Games.

So he would have to kill someone. Another person. Probably more than one other person. Kilian held Devan close, shaking his head. His father laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Kilian looked up, and his father nodded. But what did that mean? Was he giving his … approval? His understanding of what Kilian would have to do in order to come home.

That didn't make it all right. That didn't mean that killing would be any easier. But knowing that his father understood … that his family knew that he would have to do something terrible in order to return – and that that didn't make him a monster – that meant more than he would have thought it could.

Kilian nodded silently, holding onto Devan as long as he could before the Peacekeepers came to take his family away. In order to come home to them, he would have to do terrible things. But it would be worth it – it would all be worth it – just to see them again.

He would just have to hope that was true.

Shanali Theisen, 17

It was all she could do to keep her composure.

Shanali shook her head as her parents left, leaving the awkward silence behind them. It had been a while since they had even spoken, let alone had a real conversation. Of course this wouldn't be the exception. They had moved on with their lives since she had moved out of the house, and so had she. There had never been much love there; even when they'd been living under the same roof, they'd merely tolerated each other. Why should she expect anything different now?

She'd been hoping for a warmer goodbye from her brother, Antoine, but he'd barely said two words when he'd come in with their aunt, Taissa. Maybe he'd simply been trying to hold it together. Maybe he just didn't know what to say. What would she have said, if he was the one who had been picked? Taissa hadn't had much to say either, after all, but she'd never really needed to say anything. A hug had been enough. It always was.

Finally, the door opened again, and her friends burst in. Shanali let out a sigh of relief as they rushed over, showering her in hugs. "I'm so sorry," Harriet whispered as she and the others wrapped Shanali in a group hug. "Why did it have to be you? I—"

"It had to be someone," Shanali pointed out. She'd had the same chance as anyone else, after all. Maybe a little more, considering her age, and how much tesserae she'd taken. Maybe running away from her parents' house hadn't been the brightest move on that account, but she still wouldn't take it back. She'd learned to fend for herself, to be her own person, and that was worth whatever might come after.

Wasn't it?

Shanali shook her head as her friends let go. Harriet was still shaking her head in disbelief. Kieren and Estelle were near tears. Faye and Jacques were trying to hold it together, but she could see the tears in their eyes. She could feel the trembling in their hands as they held her close. She was shaking, too – and why not? The reaping was over. There was no one left to impress. She'd never felt the need to try to impress them before. Why should things be any different now that…

Now that she might never see them again. That was what none of them wanted to say. What none of them ended up saying in the next few minutes, until the Peacekeepers came to take them away. But they didn't have to say it. They all understood. There was a chance – a pretty high chance, if she was being honest – that she wouldn't be coming back. And if she did…

If she did, nothing would be the same. But would that change be for better or worse? Some of their Victors had managed to make a life for themselves. Elijah's victory had lifted his family out of poverty, and Tamsin had been quick to join them. Maybe Ivy was bitter after so many years of mentoring, but at least she was able to live in comfort now that she was older. And Violet, their newest Victor … well, she seemed to be the exception. But maybe that was because her victory was so recent. Maybe things would get better.

Shanali took a deep breath as the door closed behind her friends. It didn't matter, really, what the Victors had done, how they had reacted. None of that meant anything about whether she would be able to cope with winning. At the very least, all four of them were still alive, which was more than could be said about the other tributes who had entered their Games. As long as they were alive, there was a chance for something better.

But if she wanted that chance, she would have to be willing to fight for it.

"I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none."