It's an early morning in the Hob, and I have a bottle of alcohol on the counter as Rouge and I have a conversation. Stallosky was here with me but he declined the alcohol and went home.

"So anyways-"

Suddenly a guy with neat dark hair and dark eyes takes a seat between us. "Sorry to interrupt ya, but I really couldn't resist."

I sigh deeply, exchanging a look with Rouge before turning back to the guy. "She's a lesbian, loser, so why don't you fuck off?"

"Oh, she's pretty enough, but I wasn't talking about her."

My heart stops beating for a second. So much for getting ready for a fight….

"Huh?"

"Sorry Rouge," he says, "Didn't mean to cut you off, now." He has a thick accent that's like the Capitol but a bit different.

"No, no, go ahead, try to score him, I dare you," she lounges back, putting her feet up on the counter and watching him.

"Uh, this is nice 'nd all, but I'm not really looking for any, uh, scoring." I swallow hard, nervously taking another sip of alcohol.

"Hey, no problem, it's really no big deal, I promise ya."

"Oh, okay…" I laugh nervously, taking a sip of alcohol.

"You're the tattoo artist 'round here, arentcha?" he asks, smiling.

"Uh, yeah…" I smile, "You want one?"

"I've already got a couple from ya, dontcha r'member?"

I think back, studying his face. I didn't recognize him because I was so tipsy when I first laid eyes on him, but now that I study the face I do recognize him.

"Oh yeah, I remember you! You give good tips!" The more I drink the happier I feel, the more I let go.

"Oh, glad ya noticed. Yer quite the artist, I'd be glad ta' take ya back home with me when I go there!"

"I thought Peacekeepers served for life?"

He smirks, leaning back. "N't always."

I take a drink and shrug. "What's your name? Sorry, I'm tipsy and don't remember." I didn't really mean for that last part to come out, but hey, who am I to care, it's only the truth!

"Diesel Bundren. It's a real pleasure."

"Kasparek. Dennis Kasparek." I smile. The more I drink the more attractive he looks.

He holds out his hand and I miss it the first time but shake it the second time. He shakes with a firm, stabilizing grip.

"Would ya let me buy ya another drink?" he asks, smiling at me. His dark eyes lighten up and shine so very brightly my heart skips a beat.

I nod quickly and in no time, he hands me a glass. I take it gratefully and drink.

"Th-This tastes like no alcohol I've ever tasted before," I say, "It tastes… Weird…"

"Don't worry, you're just having fun and getting drunk!"

I take a deep breath and shrug, downing the rest of the shot, but I realize quickly that something isn't right. My head is fuzzy and everything turns into a blur. A blur of colors, sounds, and feelings.

I feel light-headed and can't compute anything that's happening. I feel a numb sensation of being picked up and taken away.

Numb sensations of pain, of cold air on my naked body, of pain throbbing all over.

I feel stings of pain all over my body, and that's all I remember before I black out.

~.~.

When I wake up, I'm in a dimly-lit room I don't recognize.

A heavy arm is constricting me and I hear quiet snoring. I look over, yawning, and suddenly put together what must've happened last night.

Diesel has a black eye from something or someone and my whole body aches. I have scratches that run with blood. Bite marks litter my arms and neck. My entire body complains as I sit up, my head pounds hard and I definitely don't remember consenting to this.

I try to move but am much too restricted by Diesel's huge arm to do anything.

His eyes open and he smiles sleepily at me.

"Mornin' there," he says, letting go of me.

"What happened? Why the fuck am I here!?" I roar, sitting straight up. "What did you do!?"

"Nothing ya didn't want done…" he says, smirking.

"Oh, of course, of course, fucking go ahead and rape me then, of course I want it!"

"You were drunk as a skunk, lad, ya were. B't not drugged."

"Fucking liar!" I sit up and quickly grab my clothes.

He raises an eyebrow. "Be careful wh't ya say, now. Wouldn't want ta' lose business, would ya?"

I'm about to cuss him out on why I don't need his service until I stop and think about it. I do need that money, I know those tips give me food to eat and I need that money. Badly. This is one of the few people in the District who actually has money.

I sigh quietly and sit up, stretching and getting the rest of my clothes. "Fine. You win. I hope you're happy."

"Talk t' ya again!" he says cheerily, as tears threaten to push out of my eyes and I escape out the door. I stumble back home, hurt and upset. This was never supposed to happen to me, and here it's happened. And something in my head tells me that it isn't going to be the last time.

I walk home in the evening light, tears pouring out of my eyes. I can't believe this happened.

I throw the door open and slam it shut, running to my room and ignoring my father looking up when I come in.

"Dennis?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I run to my room and collapse on my bed, finally giving way to the sobs that escape me. I'm humiliated and feel overwhelmingly alone. No one will ever understand this at all. I bury my face in my knees and make myself stop crying.

Once the tears stop, I feel hopelessly lost. Alone. Miserable. Numb.

I stare at the wall until I fall asleep.

Kaspareks always survive. Always.

~.~.

When I wake up, I feel rough fingers gently stroking my hair. And I hear a song I haven't heard sung to me in years.

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree?"

My eyes open wide to see my Dad there. "D-Dad-"

"Sh." He keeps singing and I close my eyes again, overwhelmingly confused.

"What's up with you? Why are you being nice?"

"I am your father, y'know?"

"You hate me."

"You have enough people hating you right now, Dennis."

"I-I do not!" I do.

"Either that or you've got some extreme love marks. But… Dennis, those aren't the marks of someone with very much love in them."

More tears threaten to come to my eyes. I did this to Orlick… How the hell could I do that to Orlick!? Is this how he felt!?

More tears try to come but I force them away. Kaspareks always survive, after all.

He keeps stroking my hair and sings Hanging Tree quietly to me.

The last time he sang this song to me was when I was nine years old. I haven't allowed myself to cry since then.

I stop myself from crying and sit miserably as my father strokes my hair and sings to me. I close my eyes and listen to him.

Somehow he eventually coaxes me to sit up and to the tub to clean out the scratches down my arms and thighs. He cares for the wounds with a tender hand, much more tender than I ever thought he could be.

"Lemme see the back of you," he mumbles.

I turn around and I hear him take in a sharp breath.

"Shit, son…" he mumbles. "Whether you fought or fucked, which I really don't need to know, you… You need to stop talking to this person."

"I can't. Money." I sigh quietly, as he splashes water on my cuts.

"You're a prostitute now?"

"No. I don't get paid for it, I just…" I sigh, "I don't know, Dad."

"Relax, kid. Relax."

I take a deep breath and let out a tiny scream as he splashes water on my back. "Fuck!"

"Sorry, son," he whispers.

"If it's ever any worse than this you're going to have to trudge your butt over to the Everdeens and see if Mrs. Merchant's got anything that might help."

I cringe as he splashes again, letting out a pained moan. "Fuuuuuck!" But I don't want to go to the Everdeen house. I don't want to have to tell anyone what happened. And I don't want to be helped. Kaspareks always survive.

He wipes the rest of my injuries and scratches until they're as clean as he can get them.

"If these get infected, you're going to the Everdeen house."

"Dad."

"You are. Final." He dries me off and wraps some towels around me. "Stay home from work tomorrow."

"But-"

"Stay home tomorrow."

I sigh. "Fine."

He helps me up and takes me to bed. "Sit. I'll get you dinner." He leaves to go to the kitchen and try to find something salvageable in the stuff I got at the Hob yesterday.

I'm left, in the meantime, to sit up in bed, stare up at the ceiling and think about the peace flag waving calmly in the Kasparek household.

…I don't care if this peace is temporary, and tomorrow night he can be drunk and scream at me as much as he wants…

He comes back up with some stew in a bowl that's lukewarm, handing the bowl to me.

"What are you having?"

"I already ate."

"Okay."

He sits with me in a comfortable silence while I eat, occasionally stroking my hair or humming Hanging Tree.

He takes my dish to the kitchen and then stays up with me until I eventually doze off, singing quietly under his breath. His voice isn't spectacular, but it's the most calming thing I've heard in a long while.

I smile and close my eyes as I slowly doze off to the sound of my father's voice.

…Tonight, tonight all I need is someone to love me. And tonight, I couldn't have asked for anything more than this…

~.~.

It's a dark, ugly day. I sit, hunched over some sketches that I hate. They're no good.

I put the pencil down and groan in frustration. The house is eerily empty, and it'll be that way forever.

My Dad is gone. Shot by Diesel Bundren, a Peacekeeper who violated me.

I glance at the doorway to my father's bedroom. I know I should probably clean out his things, and anything looks better than these terrible sketches. I get up and walk there, lighting a candle on the way.

I turn on a TV and play the Games in the background as I start sorting my father's things. I pick up the place and start at the closet.

I flick through his shirts and coats, and pants and boots, saving the ones that would fit me, and putting the rest in a pile to trade at the Hob or give to some poor Seam kids.

Then I go through his dresser, picking out a couple of rusted Kasparek hand-me-downs including a bell that doesn't ring and a watch that doesn't tick.

I pick up about twenty dusty bottles, some of which were shattered on the floor. I clean out the rest of his clothes and then open the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Newspapers everywhere. And tiny knick-knacks he had never said anything about. The first thing I pick up is a rusty old silver key that's probably been sitting in there for 30 years. Then I unload the drawer of at least thirty newspapers, all doodled all over. Most of them are from before I was born.

After that, I see a ripped half of a piece of paper laying in the drawer.

Could this be...? I pull it out and immediately want to find the other half.

I clean out the rest of the room, making piles of things I can trade or sell. My father and I never got along very well at all. Honestly, I thought my father's death would make me happy, but it really hasn't.

I clear out an unopened pack of beer and another ten or so empty bottles, holding the ripped piece of paper in my hands gently. It's old and I have to hold it oh-so-gently to prevent from ruining it even more.

I look under his bed by the candlelight and amazingly, it's there. Looks like some alcohol spilt on it, but it's there. I quickly retrieve the piece of paper, and to my surprise the two halves fit almost perfectly. I hold them together and read by the firelight.

To: West

'West?' He's never mentioned anyone with the name before...

Sheffield-
I'm no good at art, and I'm no good with words, either. But since I'm sure you're going to have a beautiful present for me, something a poor boy could never dream of having, I decided to put this together for you. Though it turned out so terrible I dunno if I even want you to see it...

'This... This is my Dad's handwriting. My... My Dad? Drew this?' I didn't think it was possible. I mean, my Dad's doodles are good, sure, but drawing and doodling are very different. I quickly keep readying the letter

So, in this letter, I'm going to give you the one thing that all Kaspareks have deep within them: heart. I didn't think I had any, but now I know that I do, it's just buried. I don't know how you can continue to put up with me, but I'm glad you do. I need someone like you in my life to keep me grounded. Kaspareks may always survive, but sometimes we need a little bit of help. Thank you for helping me. I hope you think of me in all Winter Festivals to come, no matter how the Capitol, the Games, or your family affect you. You will always be in my heart and my mind.
Love,
Kyran

I read the letter twice, again, three times before I compute the symbols that surround the words. Cakes, strawberries... Mistletoe... Compass roses...

This is the person my Dad loved.

I quickly flip the paper over, staring at the face that smiles at me like it's a picture taken with a camera, not drawn by hand.

He has bright, round eyes and messy hair (that looks to be dirty blonde, but it's done in pencil, so we never know) and a tiny bit of stubble. He wears a beanie on the back of his head and has a bright smile on his face.

I have to wonder what happened to him...

And that's when I start to cry.

I don't know why, or how, but what I do know is that I cry. I sob my eyes out. Maybe it's for my Dad, maybe for the love he lost, maybe it's for Orlick, or maybe Sylvester, I don't know. Maybe it's the misery of being left here.

I haven't cried in a while, and I've never cried without knowing why.

…

It was an experience that touched me for the rest of my life.

That was the first time I had ever felt a presence around me with nobody around. It was a warm, inviting presence, maybe because I knew, deep down in the very chambers of my heart, that my Dad knew what I was going through. He always knew.

I think back to all those little things that I never paid particular attention to. That time my razor blades disappeared. The time the alcohol was hidden. The loud thumping noises I heard when I was this close to having unprotected sex with some busty girl (holy hell I was drunk). The mysterious surplus of food the morning after the first time I was raped.

I bury my face in my knees and sob harder, replaying the letter again and again in my head.

Kaspareks may always survive, but sometimes we need a little bit of help. I had always thought the implication behind the phrase, "Kaspareks always survive" was that we're always okay and we can always do it alone.

But that's not what it means, I was in denial for all these years.

My Dad understood, though, obviously from the time he was just a teen. And I guess we're more alike than I ever thought to think about.

He was never oblivious to what I was going through.

He always knew...

And he always protected me.