Finnick bolted up in bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his throat raw with a scream.

"Finnick?" A voice penetrated Finnick's scattered thoughts. "It's a dream. Just a dream. You're okay. You're safe."

A dream. Just a dream.

Finnick slumped against his brother's grip on his shoulders. Tears stung his eyes as the terror began to ease. He felt wobbly. Shakey. Exhausted.

"Just a dream," Triton repeated. He tugged Finnick closer, and Finnick didn't resist. He allowed himself to rest against his brother's chest as Triton released his shoulders and pulled him into a hug instead.

"I'm sorry," Finnick mumbled.

Triton sighed and didn't say anything in response.

Finnick felt like a child, allowing his brother to comfort him after a nightmare, but he didn't have the strength to resist. It had been a year and a half since he won the Hunger Games. He had thought the nightmares would fade, and they had. He no longer woke in a sweaty panic every night, but they still came often enough that he and his family often stumbled through their days in an exhausted stupor.

"Do you want me to get Mom or Dad?" Triton asked.

Finnick shook his head, knowing Triton would feel the gesture even if he couldn't see it. "Let them sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

Triton released a tired sigh. "Not your fault."

"Thank you."

"It's okay."

"I think I'm okay now." Finnick straightened, pulling out of Triton's grip. He still felt weak and shaky, but his mind was firmly back in reality. "You should go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" Finnick couldn't see Triton's face in the darkness, but he could hear the skepticism in his brother's voice. Triton knew how the memories lingered long after the nightmares faded. Often Finnick and one of his parents would go downstairs, make a hot drink, and sit together until the sun began to rise.

"I'm fine," Finnick reiterated. He didn't have much hope of getting any more rest, but that didn't mean he had to keep anyone else up. "Really."

"Okay." Triton pushed away from the bed, his willingness to let it drop a sign of how tired he was.

Finnick bit back another apology.

Daylight flooded around the edges of the curtains when Finnick woke the next morning. He yawned, taking a moment to realize that he had actually fallen back asleep. His body felt heavy, still only half-awake.

That much sunlight meant it was hours past the family's usual time to wake up. Dad and Triton were likely long gone on the boat. Since Finnick didn't hear his little brother's footsteps or constant stream of chatter, maybe Tristan had gone too today. He'd probably taken Finnick's place to allow Finnick to sleep longer.

A twist of guilt twinged Finnick's gut.

Levering himself to a sitting position, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. He still felt lousy. His throat ached and his tongue felt thick and fuzzy in his mouth. His head throbbed.

He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to stand up, then make his way to the bathroom, then push robotically through brushing his teeth and taking a shower. None of it made him feel refreshed or even truly awake.

When he finally shuffled downstairs and into the kitchen, his mother turned from the counter and offered him a smile. "Morning, sleepy head."

"Is it still?" Finnick glanced at the wall clock.

Mom followed his gaze and shrugged. "Ten minutes till noon. I say it still counts as morning."

"Sorry I'm so late."

"I'm glad you could sleep."

Finnick nodded despite the fact that he didn't feel rested. It wasn't like his mother could do anything to fix it, as much as she would try.

"Did Tristan go with Dad and Tri?" Finnick leaned against the counter, watching as his mother went back to kneading a mound of bread dough. He could afford to buy his family things now. His father didn't have to fish. His mother didn't have to make bread from scratch. But he was secretly glad they kept doing all the normal things. It gave him something familiar to hold onto.

Mom nodded, a smile warming her eyes. "You should have seen how excited he was."

The guilt in Finnick's stomach eased, as if somehow he'd forgotten how eager his little brother would be to go out on the boat. "I wonder how much they're regretting taking him."

"They're probably giving him lunch right about now." Mom chuckled. "Out of desperation to make him stop talking for a few seconds."

"And then scolding him for talking with his mouth full." A grin surfaced despite Finnick's exhaustion.

"I packed extra cookies to give them a secret weapon for later in the afternoon." Mom winked, then used her chin to nod at cookies still sitting on a wire cooling rack. "I won't sanction cookies for breakfast, but I kept some back for you to have after you've eaten some real food."

Finnick wasn't hungry. He was never hungry anymore.

"Isn't it late for breakfast?" he said.

"I said real food. Not breakfast."

"What did you have in mind?"

"There's fish soup in the fridge. You can warm it up."

They hadn't had fish soup recently, which meant she had made it while he slept, knowing it was the easiest thing for him to choke down after a rough night. Finnick ducked his head and mumbled, "Thanks. You didn't have to."

"There's bread in the bread box. It'll be good for soaking up the broth."

Finnick didn't protest. He ladled himself a small bowl of soup and put it in the fancy microwave that had come with the victor's mansion, then retrieved the bread and cut himself a slice.

Mom knew what she was doing. The soup, mostly broth with a sheen of olive oil and chunks of white fish, potatoes, and carrots, smelled good without looking heavy enough to further upset his queasy stomach. The bread would settle his stomach further.

Finnick sat at the kitchen table and eased a spoonful of broth to his lips. A few sips later, the warmth began to ease the lingering tension in his body.

Footsteps, a little louder than they needed to be, signaled his mother crossing the kitchen to stand behind him. Her hands settled onto his shoulders, thumbs gently pressing into the tight muscles behind his shoulder blades.

Finnick leaned back, closing his eyes. "Thanks, Mom."

"I love you." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"I love you too."

The next morning, a red envelope arrived, reeking of roses and ordering Finnick to the capitol.

Triton and Triston perched on Triton's bed, watching Finnick pack a few things in an overnight bag. He didn't need to bring much. His apartment in the capitol had everything he needed. It just felt strange to leave without anything.

"I don't get it," Triton said. "None of the other victors for four ever go back to the capitol."

"Mags does," Finnick said. He didn't look at his older brother.

"For the games. To mentor. And now she goes with you. That's it."

Finnick shrugged. His family knew why he had to make periodic visits to the capitol, but he repeated the story anyway. "They say I'm the youngest person to win because of how many sponsors I got. The capitol likes me. I'm supposed to show them my gratitude."

He tried not to wince when Triton gave a predictably derisive snort. "They really helped you out a lot."

Finnick stuffed a small box of pastels into his bag and swallowed hard. The sponsors had helped him survive. That's what President Snow said. Most days, he wasn't sure if that was something he should be grateful for or not.

"Fin." The sarcastic edge dropped from Triton's tone. "You know I'm glad you're still here. Beyond glad. I just don't think you owe those idiots anything."

Finnick bit his lip and nodded, adding his drawing pad to the bag.

"Fin?"

"I know what you meant, Tri."

Triston bounced on the bed beside Triton, apparently oblivious to the tension. "I wish I could go see all the funny looking people."

"It gets old fast." Finnick glanced up and forced a smile. He'd visited the capitol a dozen times since his victory, but he still found the rampant body modifications more grotesque than intriguing. "You're not missing out on much."

"You'll be careful?"

Finnick nodded. "It's just a few dinner dates. Same as usual."

For some reason, the people who sponsored him during the games liked to have him eat dinner with them. Some of them flirted with him a little, which was weird since most of them were at least a decade or two older than him, but they seemed happy as long as Finnick was friendly and laughed at their stupid jokes and told them how grateful he was for their help during his games.

"You're going to be gone for your birthday." Tristan sounded forlorn as he announced the fact.

Finnick looked up again, unsure how to respond, but Triton was already taking care of it. He ruffled Tristan's hair and grinned. "That just means we have extra time to come up with a good plan for how to celebrate."

"Oh no." Finnick groaned. He didn't much feel like celebrating his birthday. It felt too much like celebrating that he was still alive while 23 other kids weren't. "Nothing too elaborate, please."

"We're going to invite the whole district," Triton said.

Tristan's eyes rounded. "We are?"

The reassuring glance Triton sent in Finnick's direction was far more serious than the teasing tone he maintained as he ruffled Tristan's hair again. "No. Not really. But we'll figure out something fun."

That sounded like a promise to both of them.

Finnick stared down at his bag, gripping the leather strap till his knuckles whitened. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here, where his mother knew he needed fish soup after a night with nightmares, and his little brother's biggest concern was missing his birthday, and his older brother always had his back, and his father knew when to wake him up to go fishing and when to let him sleep a little longer. But Mags said it wasn't safe to say no to President Snow. She never said why. She just said it wasn't something one did and looked over his head to make eye contact with his dad as they exchanged solemn nods. And then Finnick and Mags would board the train and go to the capitol. Iit wasn't the worst thing ever. Nothing bad ever happened. But when Finnick came home, the nightmares came home with him. They were always worse after he visited the capitol. His whole family would stumble through their days in an exhausted fog, and Finnick tried not to let them see how guilty it made him feel that he was the reason they struggled so much.

Pushing the thoughts away, Finnick lifted his head and forced himself to smile at his brothers. "Something quiet when I get home sounds nice."