A/N: This chapter is me playing around with a headcanon that people in Panem have a Winter Festival, that's Christmas-like without the religious aspect, especially in the Capitol. So, without further ado, It's A Very Kasparek Christmas!

KYRAN

~Winter Fest circa. 39th Games: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas~

The Winter Festival is more commonly celebrated in the Capitol (damn the Capitol) than in the Districts, but let's face it, every once in a while it's nice to celebrate something.

This year, I'm awakened at two in the afternoon to a loud knock on the front door.

The only major problem? I'm stark naked and Weston Sheffield is lying next to me. I flick his forehead and his eyes slide open, widening at the next loud knock. "Shit."

We jump out of bed and I throw on the first shirt, pants, socks, and boxers I find (not in that order, imbecile, I'm damn good at speed-dressing, thank you), before stumbling to the door by the third knock.

"Sleeping in as always? Had me waiting at least half an hour in the cold."

"Sorry Ha- uh, excuse me, it was not half an hour!"

"I've been knocking for at least twenty minutes, no exaggeration."

"Oh. Guess I'm a bit of a deep sleeper."

"A bit?!" Hazelle groans, "Sure."

"Sorry. Anyways, come in." I let her in, out of the raging wind and snow flurries.

"Well, happy Winter Fest, I suppose," Hazelle says, taking a seat.

"Yeah, same to you." I smile sweetly in apology, Hazelle rolls her eyes. She doesn't take much shit from people.

Another knock and I open the door to the Stallosky twins. Hector smiles brightly at me, cheeks rosy, and Hester looks at my outfit and raises her eyebrows. I realize for the first time that the shirt I'm wearing 1) is not mine and 2) is also inside out.

"Happy holidays!" the Stallosky twins say at the same time.

"Yeah, yeah." I let them in, Hester winking at me when Hector's looking the other way. I smile a bit despite myself, "You too."

Suddenly arms wrap around my waist and the strong smell of coal dust surrounds me. West dangles mistletoe in front of my face with a crooked grin. "Ain't it pretty?" he asks, winking a blue-gray eye at me.

"Beautiful." He presses his rough lips to mine and I kiss him back. It doesn't last long because soon someone pounds on the door hard.

"Ah, yes, Salem's here."

I go to get the door for him, and see not just one scowling person but one scowling person and three or four younger, happy persons.

"Uh-"

"Shut up, I have to babysit."

"Hi Kyran," Holland says, smiling and waving to me. Salem and I are 16, Holland and his friends are 13.

"My Mom sees them out by themselves, I'm dead."

"Well…"

"Let them in," Hazelle says. "Hester and I can take care of them."

I'm not swayed by those big eyes, so I grumble, "Okay. Come in, then."

Salem walks in, the other four following close behind him like short little ducklings. Following Holland are a boy with tan skin and dark hair, a girl with long, dark hair and gray eyes, and a girl with blonde merchant hair.

"Make them feel welcome, Kyran," Hester says, gesturing to the open furniture by the fireplace.

"Please, sit," I say in the most sickeningly sarcastically welcoming voice I can manage.

The four younger kids sit in a huddle together, and I take a seat next to (and by next to I mean on top of) West.

"So, welcome to Winter Fest at the Kasparek house. I suppose we should all introduce ourselves to our… Unexpected guests."

"Be nice to them," West whispers, grazing his fingers behind my ear.

"Yeah, yeah," I whisper before turning to the 13-year-olds. "I'm Kyran Kasparek. Below me is Weston Sheffield."

"Call me West," he says, holding up a hand in greeting and saluting slightly.

"I'm Hector," he says, smiling at the group of kids, "And this is my twin sister Hester."

"And I'm Hazelle. We really are glad you're here."

My best friend kicks up his feet on the table like he does when it's just the two of us, drinking. "I'm Salem, and I hate all four of you." Hester flicks him, "Salem!"

"What? It's true!"

"Who are all yinz?" I ask, turning to the kids.

"I'm, uh, Holland," he says, talking and signing just like his brother did about a minute before.

"Elizabeth," says the blonde merchant girl, smiling confidently.

"And I'm Barney!" the youngins seem to be gaining confidence at being surrounded by so many big kids. I blame the girls.

"Isabella," says the Seam girl quietly, a shy look in her pale blue eyes.

"Yes, of course, welcome to my house." I don't do it often, but now I'm actually trying to be nice. West rubs my back soothingly as reward I guess.

"We like to celebrate the winter holidays," Hester says, "Gathered together as friends, and sometimes more than friends and sometimes overly-suggestive more than friends-" I see her look at me and just try to hide my laughter- "Around a nice fire place."

"It's very nice!" Blondie says, smiling.

"Now I know why Salem always comes here," says Holland, signing at a relaxed speed as compared to how excitedly both of the brothers constantly do it. Sometimes when Salem comes over he teaches me certain signs. It's become quite a game between us, I give him a word, he signs it for me. "It's really cozy," Holland smiles and sinks into a beanbag, Merchant girl next to him and the other little boy on his other side.

"Thanks?" Nobody's ever really said anything about the house being cozy. "Anyways, my parents are out, and they shouldn't be back until late."

Everyone nods, "Right."

A silence follows that, but it's a comfortable silence. West's arms wrap around my stomach and he puts his chin on my shoulder, smiling at me. I sigh contently, a little surprised that none of the four youngins have asked about two guys loving each other.

Suddenly, the silence is broken calmly by Salem, talking and signing, something a little off in his eye.

"I'm dropping out to work."

"What!?" Hester looks over, Holland's eyes widen.

"Of school. I'm dropping out of school to go to work. Times are trying."

"Mom and Dad are making you work!?" Holland sounds upset, his signing speeds up so I can't understand any of the words anymore.

"No, I haven't told Mom and Dad yet. They've just become so grouchy from constantly breaking their backs. I'm 16, I should be carrying my share of the load like Kyran does."

"I only work because my Mom's a drunk and my Dad's lazy. I do what I have to do."

"I know."

"Salem, you can't do this," says Hester sternly, "What about your education!?"

"I know everything I ever wanted to know! I'm going, there's no other way for me to hold our family together."

"There has to be another way!" squeaks Holland, "There has to be!"

"There's not. Don't try to talk me out of it, I'm going."

"Salem-"

"Shut up! Just… Shut up. Okay? Okay. Shut up. I'm going to work in the mines, and you can't stop me."

The next silence is miserably awkward and feels like it goes on forever.

"Let 'im go," I say to the hurt Holland and glaring Hester, "Just let 'im go. He's doing what he thinks is best for his family, so quit trying to say he doesn't care about it because he obviously does. There are grim realities that face the family and friends of a miner, and you'll have to put your big-boy and big-girl panties on and deal with it. It's that or tesserae. That or the Games."

Hector works, he started at the young age of 14. Hester wouldn't speak to him for weeks after he told them. I'm about to mention how nobody worried at all when I said I was going to work at 15, but stop myself. That's another deep, dark hole of feelings that I really don't want to provoke in that moment. It's a festival, it's supposed to be happy.

Maybe I'll break down to West later.

At my charged words, everyone nods and Salem looks at me, his eyes softening slightly. "Thank you, Kyran."

I dismiss him with a wave, "Don't thank me." He smiles for the first time in a long while.

My heart flies, but on the outside I feel West's arms around me.

Right.

"Well, I brought food," Hester says, pulling out a roll of cloth from her satchel. All of us take that as a cue to scour the food we won from the bakery, the Hob, and the plants that surround the electric fence on the inside.

"I brought some cake," says West. Everyone stops their scouring and stares. He looks like a mix between a Seam and a merchant, with dirty blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, but he's actually a wealthy merchant boy from two merchant parents.

"C-Cake!?" squeaks the young boy that isn't Holland.

"No way," Hector says, amazed.

"All I got is some lousy bread," Hester says, throwing up her arms.

"And I got some of these weird red berries," Hector says.

"I bargained hard for some stew," I say, pulling out the bowl to put it over the fire.

"Wow," Holland says, signing, "Mom and Dad will never even let us near the Hob!"

"That doesn't stop me, Little Bro," Salem says, fluently signing and looking cute as he relaxes. "I'm not half as good a bargainer as Kyran, though, so all I got is some lousy dog meat." He sighs, pouting.

He holds out the gross-looking carcass and we all make faces.

"I…I wouldn't eat that if I were you," West says, sounding grossed out.

"Yeah, it's much better to eat the dog meat in the stew, when you can pretend it's from some other animal."

West makes a face, and all the Seam kids laugh. It's not a joke, but for the sake of him and the merchant girl, we pretend it is.

"What a feast," I say, holding the pot of stew over the fire.

"You should bring more rich guys home for the holidays, Kyran," Salem jokes, eyes lighting up in his laugh though it earns him a flick from both girls.

"I wish I had something to bring," sighs Holland, and the other youngins agree.

Suddenly, Blondie gets up. "We have some fresh fruit at home from District 11. I'll go get some."

"And you guys can look for some berries by the fence," West offers, "As long as you stay together, that is."

"Okay!" the youngins grab their coats and giggle as they run out the door.

As soon as the door closes behind Holland, Hazelle says, "Let's do gifts now." I grab the pile of items I got for everyone from the knick-knack places littered around the District with old antiques as Salem and the rest of us agree to exchange them.

I hand Salem the old but cool-looking key I found for him this year. "Another year, another key."

"This is a dumb tradition." But he's smiling.

"I found this for you," he says, holding out a pen to me. I take it, confused. I thought I told him earlier this year that I have no money to waste on pencils and pens.

"What do I need with this?"

"It goes with Hester's gift."

As if having heard her name, Hester appears and holds a folded newspaper out to me.

"A new open canvas," she says.

"Huh?"

She points to the newspaper lying on my table, barely readable because I get doodle-happy.

"Oh." I thought nobody noticed that bad habit. "Thanks."

Salem pats my back and I never want his hand to go away. I distribute the rest of my presents: I got a tea cup for Hester, a really cool-looking spoon for Hazelle, and a hat for Hector because I know he doesn't have one (he gave it to Hester last winter when she lost hers).

West has quality gifts for everyone and I feel so stupid when he gives me a pair of really nice gloves and all I have for him is physical affection and crude sketches that I hate so much I don't even give them after all.

I pocket the various knick-knacks I receive from my friends as the 13-year-olds come back, each carrying a handful of blackberries. Merchant girl comes last of all, carrying a bowl of fruits that include some I've never seen before in my life.

The stew smells, well, as good as stew from the Hob can smell, and I pour it in bowls, cups, plates, whatever I can find for so many people. And so the best part of the Winter Festival begins: eating.

Dinner dissolves into conversation, exciting conversation about happy things. Everyone dissolves into laughter at the poor merchants that eat some of that stew. The conversation bounds back and forth between the big kids and the youngins.

Even Salem lightens up, as we talk about gossip and rumors and laugh about silly things. Even the shy little Seam girl makes a couple comments, and the conversation sucks her in. She and Hector exchange puppy eyes, but I don't think anyone noticed that but me.

Soon we finish eating and the cake is cut, full of laughter and happiness as the delicious sugary taste explodes on our tongues. I haven't eaten anything so delicious in my entire life. And the merchants get a laugh as we try some weird shit called grapes (which are delicious, actually), and fathom how such weird foods could even exist.

We eat with our fingers until all the food's successfully gone and all of us are quite full, leaving but one piece of rock-hard bread.

After some more jolly conversation and laughter, the festivities reach a standstill when we have nothing more to talk about. The young Seam girl relocated to sit next to Hector after they got into a very in-depth conversation about eyes, and Hester in turn sat next to Salem.

"I know what we could do," says West, and suddenly a sprig of festive colors is waved in front of my eyes. He kisses the side of my jaw and grins.

"I know what that is!" says Blondie, "That's mistletoe! When two people are caught under it, they have to kiss!"

"Have to?" says the young boy that isn't Holland, "What, are they going to tie you there until you do?"

"No, you just have to!" says Blondie, putting her hands on her hips, "Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, that's right," says West. "This is my favorite way to play matchmaker!"

"If you're caught under the mistletoe with someone and don't kiss them, you get a kiss from me instead," I say, smiling. That'll get them to kiss. I'm probably the least desirable thing in the entire District, more like the entire country of Panem. How West tolerates me is absolutely beyond my understanding.

Everyone laughs and I just shrug a little.

"So, who should we set up first?" asks West, looking around. The youngins sink into the beanbag so I decide to have mercy on them. For now.

West waltzes over to Salem and Hester and holds up the sprig between them.

"Cut that out," Salem snaps, blushing and ducking his head.

"It's all in good fun," says West, and Hester shrugs. She tilts Salem's chin up and kisses him, and a million conflicted feelings heat up in my chest.

The youngins' eyes are wide. I guess they thought we were joking.

"Get the other two chatty Kathys," I say to West, lounging back, amused and very very confused at all these dumb feels that make me feel heavy.

"Gladly!" he waltzes over to Hector and the young Seam girl, who is currently staring up at him with wide doe-eyes.

"Look up, lovebirds!" sings West. Hester squeaks and the Seam girl blinks, blushing a little as he pecks her on the lips.

"This game is fun!" I laugh, and the others agree.

"Hey, Little Cris, who was your first kiss?"

"Me? Oh, uh, it was a girl name Roselle. Yeah, Roselle Messenger."

Salem gasps, "You little deceitful thing! You told Mom and Dad you didn't kiss Roselle Messenger!"

Holland laughs, shrugging, "Eh. They don't have to know that."

"How about you two?" asks West. Blondie and other-boy-that-isn't-Holland-damn-I-should-learn-his-name point at each other.

"Hm."

He looks at them and then holds the mistletoe between Holland and that other kid.

Holland squeaks and other-kid-that-isn't-Holland turns crimson, and everyone: even Salem: bursts into laughter. The kiss is brief and barely more than a mutual peck, but afterwards they both still have smiles on so I guess they were pretty okay with it.

"Happy Winterfest," Hazelle muses with a smirk, "Happy Winterfest indeed."

~Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore…

Faithful friends who are to dear to us, gather near to us, once more…~

~.~.

~Winter Fest circa. 58th Games: Blue Christmas~

My one-year-old child stands on my lap, his hand in his mouth, wide gray eyes staring at me. I sit on the same rocking chair West and I sat on that winter, so long ago, rocking back and forth as I finish recounting the happiest holiday I ever had.

"Happy memory, no?" I ask quietly, though he doesn't understand.

"Dada," he says quietly, smiling at me.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." The first time he said that I freaked out, it was the happiest I felt in a long while, but now it just reminds me of this huge responsibility I can't and don't want to deal with.

I've considered orphanages, I almost took him there, but when I went inside and saw the sad, lost, sullen looks in those kids' eyes, I just couldn't do it. I'm not a great father and I never will be, if anything, I'll get worse and worse as the years slip by, but anything's gotta be better than that hopeless trap.

"Well, Dennis Penn Kasparek, I'll bet you're wondering what happened that I'm sitting here with you right now."

Suddenly, the baby bursts into tears, and I hold a finger to his mouth, which he promptly starts teething on. I've got nothing better for him to chew.

"Well, the memory was nice while it lasted. But all good things have to end."

He sucks and bites on my finger, staring at me with his big gray eyes. I use the other hand to brush his brown hair out of them before supporting him again.

"You see, it started when Salem forever decided he hated Holland, then the younger kids were never allowed back in Salem's eyes. Then, when he was 18, he died in the 41st Hunger Games." Tears push at the corners of my eyes.

"Wah," says Dennis through my finger, almost sensing that the mood is off.

"That year changed my life. Without Salem I realized that I loved him, I always loved him, there was no way I didn't. My poor, poor lost love. And even worse was that West figured it out. I broke his heart, which is what I was always afraid of."

"Bababa," Dennis says, apparently content with his teething when he releases my finger. He smiles at me and giggles. I wipe the spit off my finger and smooth his hair away from his face.

"West's younger brother died in the 50th Hunger Games, in a cruel twist of fate that saw twice as many tributes going into the Arena. He died the first day. I tried to find West and I didn't. Next day I found out he was dead."

"Mem," Dennis's own hand goes into his mouth and he looks at me, confused.

"Dead for sure. Not sure if it was a gun or a noose or a knife or what, but what I did know was that I could never ever hurt somebody that much again."

I sigh, trying not to shake with tears. A loose tear falls down my cheek and slides down slowly.

"Dada?" his tiny hand lands on my cheek and presses until I take his wrist and take it off.

"Yeah. I'm your Dad," I mutter quietly. There's a pause when we stare into each other's eyes, until finally I look away. "After that, well, everyone else ended up happy. Hazelle married someone named Hawthorne. Holland married Hester, and I think they have a kid. Hector married that wide-eyed little Seam girl, and they have at least one kid. The other kid, Barney, he hasn't talked to me at all since that day, and neither did the merchant girl Elizabeth. They all forgot about me."

"Baba," says Dennis.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Then I was with some girl who I didn't want to sleep with until she got me drunk enough and put me on some psyched-out shit to make me think unprotected sex was a good idea… And then, last year, I found you on my doorstep, and I named you and I tried to give you away before I decided to raise you. It's just you and me. No matter how much it hurts to be alone, I'm the most undesirable thing in all of Panem, and you come in a close second for having a Dad like me. Like it or not, we're alone."

There's a pause as he glances at me, before he smiles and slumps against my chest, snuggling into my shirt. "Dada," he says quietly, putting his fingers in his mouth.

"Yeah. I'm all you've got."

"Lub Dada," says Dennis.

"You say you love me, Dennis?"

He blinks sleepily. He looks up at me with his wide eyes and falls asleep, but not before he mumbles into my chest, "Lub oo Dada."

I actually smile down at him for a second.

He'd be the only one.

~You'll be doing alright,

With your Christmas of white,

But I'll,

Have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas…~