Trigger warning: underage drinking in Haymitch's POV. Go figure.
Haymitch Abernathy, aged 16
Tonight is the first night he sleeps in an empty house.
He's not used to having anyone nearby. Even in the arena, he was constantly under the impression there was someone near him, too close for comfort. Someone who needed to be killed. He slept with Maysilee under the stars, and sometimes, he'd feel Johnny press up against his chest, finally relieved to have his big brother home.
But Johnny's gone.
Haymitch's own hands have indirectly killed him.
Does he regret what's he done? He's not sure anymore. He used to be proud, because it was such a big fat fuck you to the Capitol and hey, in a game of survival, you take any odds you can get. But his mother is dead, Johnny is dead, and he's lost his Corinth. Sweet, lovely Corinth. He didn't deserve her...
If he had known, he would've fucked Maysilee instead. Liven up a little. But that makes him feel dirty. That being said, neither girl's family will even look him in the eye anymore. Yeah, he deserves it. He deserves a lot of things. He doesn't deserve the companionship either girl provided him with.
Add their names to list of people he's killed.
It's only going to grow.
Haymitch gives the blanket off, hearing it thump loudly on the floor next to him. He feels the cool breeze wafting in from his open window. He wants to shut it, but he just doesn't have the energy to move. His pillow is drenched in his sweat, and he shivers slightly.
An idea drifts into his head.
Finally, Haymitch gets up, shuts the damn window, and moves downstairs. The stairs don't creak under his footsteps like his old ones did. The railing isn't chipped and rough as he runs his hand along. This is not his house. He may live here, but this will never be his house. Victor's Village is not his, especially now that there's no Ma, no Johnny, no Corinth...
Haymitch slips into the kitchen, as to not disturb the invisible demons that lay resting. he opens up the cupboards and rummages through them, until he's finally found what he's been looking for.
A bottle of white liqour.
The first few sips burn on the way down and he nearly spits them out. Haymitch forces himself to continue with the rest of the bottle. Yeah yeah, he's only 16, big fucking deal. But he doesn't care anymore. Who's gonna stop him? Who's gonna tell him what he can and cannot do?
Eventually, he's starting to feel a little fuzzy.
But it feels so good.
By the third bottle, then the fourth, he feels nothing anymore. The weight of the world has slipped from his shoulders. He's so blissful, so peaceful, he could die.
Then, he's throwing up on the cold hard floor as his head pounds, and the room spins. God, why did he do that!? What good ever comes from drinking so much!? What does this gain him, what good has this done. There are better solutions Haymitch, then just drowning your sorrows and turning into a lowly drunk.
Haymitch sneers. Like what?
"Cheers, mate." He raises a new bottle to the demons in his head, then tilts his head back and downs it all.
He's going to regret this in the morning. He'll be throwing up in all his toilets, wondering what on earth inspired him to do what he had just done. He will the hate consequences, as he sobs himself to sleep again, asking just when was the moment he went wrong. Maybe he'll wish he'd never been born at all.
"Ughhhhh." Haymitch sighs, spitting up the last of the liquor as he searches for a brand new bottle to knock back. That's just who he is. That's just who he'll become. He made plenty of wrong decisions in the Games too, and this is is how he pays for it.
Better to ruin his own life than anyone else's. He's already sentenced enough people for death.
At least if he dies, he can't hurt anyone else.
There's no more bottles left, finally putting an end to Haymitch's devastating drinking binge. His limbs feel weak and he makes no effort to stand up, go back to bed, or do anything to clean up the mess. His breath reeks of liquor; the whole kitchen reeks. He wants to vomit as he curls up on his side, but he can't bring himself to. So he lies there until the nausea subsides.
He's doomed. 12 is doomed. The children he's supposed to save are doomed.
Maybe someday, a mockingjay with braided brown hair and a boy with a loaf of bread will strike their names from his list of the dead. They will prove their worth to him as they burn the country and the Capitol to the ground. They will leave Haymitch untouched by the flames and will invite him to join them in their destruction. Once the ashes or cleaned up and the embers put out, there will be a new Panem in which Haymitch smashes up his precious bottles and raises geese for the rest of his life, finally happy for once.
Tonight will not be that someday.
Peeta Mellark, aged 17
One night, alone with Katniss in Victor's Village, Peeta has a dream.
He dreams he is older and wiser, standing in a meadow. It's unlike any meadow he's ever seen. Little yellow dandelions pop up, as the cool spring air ruffles them ever so slightly. The Sun shines down, and the sky is the most beautiful blue he has ever seen. He wishes he had his paints with him, so he could capture this moment before he ever has to let it go.
His fake leg doesn't weigh him down at all; for a second, Peeta can imagine himself floating on air. What is this place?
"Your turn to hold him!"
Behind him is a stunning young woman with braided brown hair and grey eyes full of life. She reminds him of Katniss...no, it can't be his girl. This woman is well into her thirties at the very least. And she's carrying a toddler with her, a chubby little boy with bright blond curls and his mother's eyes, that dart back and forth as he studies the land around him.
"Peeta..." the woman says in the voice that makes the birds stop singing. "Peeta, he looks more like you with every day."
Peeta takes the boy from his mother's arms. It feels so foreign, but so right. "I see."
"Now if you excuse me, I need to go find your daughter!"
"My daughter?" When did he have a daughter? Is this woman? Who is she? She's not his Katniss...no...she can't be his Katniss! He's much too young to have kids anyways...even if he wanted them, after everything he's been through...
Is Peeta Mellark fit to be a parent?
He gently bops the boys in his hands on the nose. "Alright, rascal. What should we do now? Go find your sister?"
The boy whines as he reaches towards the grassy meadow and attempts to grab it, but comes up with a fistful of nothing.
"Fine. I'll put you down. Don't go too far, okay? I don't want your mommy to yell at me."
Peeta eases himself down until he's sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by dandelions, with the little boy in his lap. The kid is very eager to explore, and the second he's free from Peeta's legs, he clumsily hauls himself to his feet, before falling back down on his behind. Peeta gently holds him upright, until he can finally stand by himself.
"Be careful, squirt. There. That's a good boy. Now go explore."
The little one knows exactly where he wants to go, squatting down so he can pick up some of the dandelions. Then, he tries to shove a small handful of leaves and dirt into his mouth, which Peeta has to stop him from doing. But he doesn't mind. He's got other things to keep him entertained.
The woman shows up again, holding the hand of a young girl with weeds in her hair. "Sorry about that...what did I tell you about running off?" The girl mutters a faint apology. Then, she glances up, and next thing Peeta knows, she's slammed into him, practically climbing him in order to stick a flower crown in his hair.
"Thanks, sweetheart!" Peeta pushes the crown up over his hair. "It's beautiful!"
The little girl laughs, and it sounds like music.
Then Peeta finds himself lying in bed next to Katniss Everdeen in the middle of a warm summer night.
Katniss has her arms wrapped all over him, gently cradling him and resting her chin on his shoulder. Maybe she felt asleep like this. Peeta doesn't remember why. Perhaps she was lonely, or he was having a nightmare, or they just wanted to hold each other for a little while.
Peeta gently pulls her close. It's the only thing to do.
Perhaps he'll tell her about his dream. Or maybe, he should wait. They're both kids after all. He likes to imagine that the woman and the boy and the girl could be his someday; he's always had a soft spot for kids. And there's no danger left to fear. His children could be safe.
But they will have to wait.
For now, Peeta is perfectly content where he is. He can smell Everdeen's breath wafting in his face as she grinds her teeth together, probably trying to chase off another bad dream. For a brief moment, his hands bring themselves towards her neck, but he catches this and he shifts them into a much more comfortable, loving position. He pulls back a little, lying the side of his head against his cool pillow.
He can tell her about his dream in the morning. It would be funny to hear what she thinks.
Then, they can go visit the meadow and hunt for dandelions there.
Katniss stirs ever so slightly, huffing in his face. "What time is it?"
"Just a little past midnight?"
"Why are you still awake?"
"Just to let you know I'm here."
Katniss yawns. "Good. Don't ever leave."
"I won't. I promise."