Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to So hard to choose usernames and daydreamer626 for Ellie and Elio, respectfully. (I swear I didn't put them in the same district just because their names are so similar.)


District Twelve
Once and Again


Brennan Aldaine, 45
Victor of the 25th Hunger Games

It was still just the two of them.

Brennan gave Kyra's shoulder a squeeze with his good hand as the pair of them made their way to the square. Just the two of them – at least for now. He'd gotten his hopes up last year, when they'd had their first Career volunteer. And he'd gotten his hopes up the year before, when a brother and sister from the orphanage had captured the Capitol's hearts. Winter had volunteered in place of a younger girl from the orphanage, but had passed herself off as a Career trainee to the Capitol audience. They had loved her, and she and Ajax had quickly become Capitol favorites. Ajax had taken a page out of District Five's book and used the mutts to his advantage, singing to charm them into attacking the other tributes – including a group of Careers that found them near the end of the Games.

But it hadn't been enough. The pair had split up when the Careers attacked, hoping to separate them into smaller, manageable groups. It hadn't worked. The Careers had gone after Ajax, seeing him as the younger, weaker target, figuring they could take care of Winter later. Winter, meanwhile, had been ambushed by the boy from Seven, who had hit her with a poison dart. Ajax found her in time to injure the boy, who ran off, but not in time to save her. As the poison coursed through her, Ajax begged the sponsors to send an antidote, but Winter told him that even if they sent one, she would refuse it, because she didn't want it to come down to the two of them. And if she died, then he had a chance.

Except he refused the chance. After ending her suffering, Ajax had turned his weapon on himself, leaving the boys from Seven and One, and the rest … well, everyone knew the rest. Aramis had finished off the boy from Seven without much trouble, and the Capitol had embraced him as an unexpected Victor. An underdog. A Career playing the underdog role to a pair of Capitol favorites from Twelve. It was almost funny.

Except it wasn't funny. Because they were dead. Ajax and Winter had placed third and fourth, but that didn't matter. They were still dead. Just as dead as Logan, who had been killed near the end of the first day last year when the Careers he'd joined up decided that he was too much of a risk to have around. Too much of a Capitol favorite, especially after what had happened the year before. His district partner, Sonya, had died in the bloodbath. But she and Logan were just as dead as the Career who had placed second last year. In the end, it didn't really matter where a tribute placed, unless that place was first.

But it did give people hope. They were starting to latch onto the idea that some of the audience actually liked District Twelve, and wanted to see their tributes do well. Wanted to see them rewarded for their loyalty. And maybe 'loyalty' still seemed like a strange word to use, but that didn't make it any less true. District Twelve had remained loyal during the rebellion in the 41st Games. He and Kyra had helped with Eldred's plan to bring down District Thirteen. The Capitol trusted him with enough weapons for his fledgling Career training. Slowly, things in Twelve were starting to look a little better.

But it still felt strange.

Maybe it would always feel strange.

"Is Elio still planning to volunteer?" Kyra asked at last, breaking the silence.

Brennan nodded. "The last I heard, yes. He didn't come by this morning, but I talked to him yesterday, and he seems … ready."

Kyra must have caught the note of hesitation, because they raised an eyebrow. "Even after what happened last year?"

"Maybe especially after what happened last year. I don't think he wanted to be the first Career volunteer, even if he'd been ready last year. He knows the Capitol's attention is a double-edged sword. Being one of the Capitol's favorites helps, but it also attracts attention from the other tributes. I don't think he'll have as much of a problem with that this year. Winter was our first volunteer ever. Logan was our first Career. Elio won't be our first anything, and maybe that's not as exciting, but it means some of the novelty will have worn off in the Capitol, and he won't be as much of a danger to keep around in the other Careers' eyes. Besides, a lot of their attention will be on Thirteen this year."

Kyra cocked their head curiously. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Brennan smiled fondly. "Probably both. But the important thing is, Elio knows the risks. This is his choice. If he decides to wait until next year, or decides not to volunteer at all, he knows I'll respect that. And if he decides to volunteer, he knows I'll try my hardest to bring him home. The important thing is, he has a choice."

A choice. That wasn't something a lot of people in Twelve were used to having. It certainly wasn't something he'd had – or Kyra, for that matter. The idea of choosing to be in the Games was a new one, but it was one that both Winter and Logan had made, albeit for different reasons.

Winter made her choice. That was what he'd told Ellie, the girl Winter had volunteered for, when he'd given her a small wooden carving of flames. A few weeks after last year's Games, after a particularly rough day, he'd found a small fabric doll outside his door with an answering message. It's not your fault. Logan made his own choice. It was exactly what he'd needed then, and now…

Now it was Elio's turn to make his choice. As far as Brennan knew, he was the only one even thinking about volunteering this year. He had a couple others he'd been working with on a regular basis, but most of them, like Elio's sister Hypatia, were younger, and the two older ones had mostly been training just in case they'd happened to be reaped. That way, they would be ready.

Just in case. Even Kyra, who hadn't exactly been quiet about their uneasiness regarding the Career system even now that they weren't playing it up to try to attract Thirteen's attention, couldn't object to that. If some of their tributes had had even a little practice – even a lesson or two – how much better would their chances have been? How much more prepared would he have been with a little training?

Of course, he had won without training. So had Kyra. Untrained tributes won a fair amount of the time, it was true. But untrained tributes from Twelve had only won twice. When he'd accepted Harakuise's offer during the 42nd Games, he'd wanted to improve those odds.

Maybe this was the year that bargain would finally pay off.

Or maybe not. He was getting his hopes up, he knew. He always did. But what was the alternative?

Brennan gave Kyra's hand a squeeze as they took their places onstage. He knew what the alternative was – and it wasn't any better. The alternative was hopelessness. The alternative was mentors who were immediately resigned to their tributes' deaths the moment they were reaped, who barely put in any effort, because what was the point in helping someone who was going to die anyway? Mentors like Tobiah, like Vernon, like Violet. Mentors who, to be quite frank, had no business mentoring, and whose positions were replaced as quickly as possible so that the tributes had someone who believed in them. Or at least wanted to believe in them.

And he did want to. He always wanted to. And if that meant being disappointed again and again, it was worth it. Because sometimes, that hope paid off. Would Kyra still be sitting here if he had given up on them the moment they were reaped? Maybe. Maybe they would have pulled through anyway. Maybe they would have believed in themself enough to win, even if he hadn't. But it would certainly have been harder.

And mentors had no business making things harder for their tributes.

Kyra squeezed Brennan's hand back as their escort, Valentine Sullivan, joined them onstage. "Good to see you again!" he called, shaking Kyra's hand, then making sure to swap hands to shake Brennan's left. "Always nice to be back."

Brennan couldn't help a smile. Maybe he really did mean it. Most escorts didn't stick around District Twelve very long, but this was, what, his fourteenth year? Yes, that was right. He'd started during the 42nd Games, perhaps intrigued by the fact that Twelve hadn't joined in the rebellion the year before. And he'd stayed. Maybe he was hoping that Twelve would become a full-blown Career district, and this would eventually be the escort assignment that everyone would want.

Maybe he'd gotten his hopes up, too.

Brennan tensed as Valentine made his way to the first reaping bowl, reached in, and drew a slip. For a moment, there was silence as he looked at the name, but he quickly recovered his wits. "Well, isn't that something. Our first tribute is … Elysium Danvers!"

Elysium. Ellie, for short, he knew. The girl who had been chosen two years ago. The girl Winter had volunteered for. The fourteen-year-old section parted around the familiar figure – a small girl in a plain, ankle-length grey skirt and a button-up shirt that had probably once been white. For a moment, she stood there, frozen, staring at the stage. But then she took a step forward, and then another, her eyes fixed on something she was holding in her hands.

As she reached the stairs, Brennan could see what it was – the wooden flames he'd carved for her two years ago, a gift in memory of Winter. She didn't even look up as she took her place onstage, swallowing hard and fighting back tears. She was small for her age – barely over five feet tall, scrawny and pale. Her thin, straight brown hair hung long and loose down her back, and her dark brown eyes were full of tears.

Brennan's gaze scanned the crowd, silently hoping that maybe one of his trainees would change their mind. Maybe someone would volunteer, like Winter had two years ago. But Ellie wasn't looking for that. Wasn't waiting for that. Someone had stepped in unexpectedly to save her life once; she clearly wasn't counting on it happening again. "Ellie," she said softly. "Just Ellie."

"Wonderful to see you again, Ellie! Looks like it's your turn this year." After waiting for a moment – maybe secretly hoping for a volunteer, as well – Valentine reached into the second bowl, gave the papers a dramatic swirl, and drew a slip. "Elio Provost!"

Well, so much for him having a choice. Brennan kept his expression carefully neutral as the sixteen-year-old section parted around the boy he'd expected to volunteer. Elio wore a clean, light blue, long-sleeved polo shirt, dark blue dress pants, and black laced shoes. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, his mouth opened as if he'd been about to say something. Brennan wondered if that would be enough for anyone else to spot that he'd been about to volunteer.

Elio shrugged off the surprise and made his way forward through the crowd, taking his place beside Ellie without any comment. He was taller than her and thin, with pale skin, shoulder-length, wavy dark brown hair, and small, almond-shaped brown eyes. He held out his hand, and Ellie finally looked up long enough to shake it. "Your tributes, everyone!" Valentine beamed. "Ellie Danvers and Elio Provost! Give them a round of applause!"

They didn't. Not a round, certainly. But there were a few scattered claps from the other trainees who knew that Elio had been planning to volunteer. That was clearly more than Valentine had been hoping for, because he was practically skipping with giddiness as he left the stage, followed closely by the tributes.

"Guess it's a good thing he's been training after all," Kyra admitted grudgingly once the pair were out of earshot and the cameras were off. "I'll take Ellie."

"Are you sure?"

Kyra nodded. "I'm sure. I know you've got a soft spot for Ellie, but…"

Brennan shook his head. "I feel sorry for her, that's all. That's a real stroke of bad luck – getting reaped twice. And after what happened to Winter and Ajax…"

"Exactly." Kyra shook their head. "You feel sorry for her. The whole district feels sorry for her. Hell, maybe even the audience will feel sorry for her. But that girl doesn't need someone else who's going to pity her. Pity doesn't keep you alive in the Games; you know that."

He did. They both did. There had been tributes during both of their Games who the audience had felt sorry for. His own district partner, Blythe, had been one of them. But that hadn't saved her life in the arena. It hadn't saved her from him. He was sitting here, not her.

"She needs someone who actually thinks she can win," Kyra continued, leaning forward in their chair. "And that's me. Besides, Elio's been working with you, and he knows Ellie hasn't. If I take over as his mentor now, he'll think something's gone wrong. You're his best option; I'm hers. And who knows? If we all play this right, maybe one of them will be sitting here with us next year."

Brennan nodded. That was all they could hope for, he knew. No matter what they did, at least one of the two was going to die. Maybe both. Probably both. In fifty-four years of the Games, only two of District Twelve's tributes had come home. All they could do was hope that maybe – just maybe – this year would change that. And he would keep hoping, again and again, because the alternative was worse. Despair was worse. It was easier, but it was worse.

Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril, we can never surrender. Nicodemus had told him that on the eve of the 41st Games, just before everything had gone wrong. Brennan took Kyra's hand as the pair headed for the train. Maybe hope looked a bit different these days, but it was still there.

And it was still worth fighting for.


Elio Provost, 16

This was exactly what he'd been training for.

Elio clapped his sister Hypatia on the back and pulled her into a hug as their parents watched. When the pair of them had begun training, this was exactly the sort of scenario they'd wanted to prepare for. Their odds of being reaped were slim, since they'd never had to take tesserae, but as so many children had found out over the years, there was a big difference between "slim," and "none." There was always a chance that they would be reaped, and their parents had encouraged them to take Brennan up on his offer because it might just save their lives someday.

That was how it had started: as a precaution. Something to do just in case the worst happened. But as it turned out, both of them were good at it – better than Brennan had expected, and better than he'd really been prepared for. Over the last year, he'd even talked a few of the friendlier Peacekeepers into helping with some more complex weapons training, because he would be the first to admit that he hadn't won his own Games because of his skill with weapons, and he'd been pretty much making his training up as he went along.

Elio admired that – his willingness to admit that he didn't have it all figured out. That was something Careers from other districts seemed to lack. They thought they knew everything there was to know about the Games because they'd been taught to swing a sword around. He wouldn't make the same mistake.

That didn't make swordplay useless, of course. There was a reason Brennan's training had begun with weapons. But it didn't end there. Knowing how to build a fire or set a trap was just as useful as knowing how to swing a weapon, Brennan had told him. And knowing when to do those things was more crucial than the details of how to do either.

Because brute strength wouldn't be enough. It wasn't enough for non-Careers, and increasingly, it wasn't even enough for Careers. Gone were the days when a trained tribute could expect to simply run circles around everyone else because they'd had some training. That wasn't enough for the audience anymore. It wasn't interesting anymore. Careers weren't flashy and interesting and new anymore. They were familiar. They were expected. And the audience as a whole preferred the unexpected.

That was why District Twelve had done so well two years ago, when Winter and Ajax had come out of nowhere, using the mutts and the arena to their advantage, whittling the odds down until they actually were in their favor. But then they'd stumbled at the finish line, because neither of them really wanted to win. They wanted the other one to win.

It was hard to fault them for that, of course, Elio knew as he embraced his sister. If it was the two of them in the Games together – if Hypatia's name had been called this year instead of Ellie's – he would fight tooth and nail to protect her, and she would do the same for him. If it came down to the two of them, he didn't know what he would do.

But he wasn't facing her. And if she chose to volunteer in a few years – or if she was reaped anyway – she wouldn't be facing him. This was his year, and he meant to make the most of it. And that meant taking advantage of every stroke of luck.

Like the fact that he'd actually been reaped. It was a bit of a disappointment, maybe, that the only life he would save would be his own. There was something appealing about volunteering saving another person's life. Someone would have been grateful. Someone would have thought he was a hero, even if he didn't make it back. There was something romantic about it.

But that was all it was – a feeling of satisfaction. Whereas being reaped instead … he could make that work to his advantage. Everyone last year had known Logan had been training. Winter had pretended that she had, as well. No one would suspect that he had more training than either of them – not as long as he didn't give them a reason to. Hiding his training wasn't an angle he'd been expecting to take, but it might be a useful one. In any case, it would be worth talking over with Brennan.

"What?" he asked, aware that someone had spoken.

His mother chuckled. "Head already in the Games, I see."

Elio blushed. This might be the last time he saw his parents, and his mind was already elsewhere. But if he didn't want this to be the last time he saw them, then he couldn't afford not to think ahead. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I was just thinking."

His father clapped him on the back. "We were just saying how proud we are."

His mother nodded. "A bit worried … but proud."

Elio nodded. He'd never doubted that – never had a reason to, ever since they'd adopted him eleven years ago. They had always loved him, always supported him, always been proud of him. And he couldn't be prouder to be their son, to be Hypatia's big brother, to be representing them and all of District Twelve. And when he came back home, the entire district would have a reason to be proud. Elio held his family close one more time.

He couldn't wait to see them again.


Ellie Danvers, 14

She would probably never see him again.

Ellie held her little brother Reed close as both of them silently wept. He would see her, of course – on every screen in the district. He would watch her, just like the two of them had watched Winter and Ajax two years ago. He would see everything, and that was the worst part. There was no way to protect him from that. No one left who would tell him to look away, no one whose shoulder he could cry into if the worst happened.

When. When, not if. What sort of chance did she have? Winter had stepped in to save her from the Games, and she would always be grateful for that, but doing so was basically an admission that Winter hadn't thought Ellie stood a chance. Of course, she was two years older now, but she wasn't much bigger, and she certainly wasn't any stronger. Not stronger than the other tributes who were certain to be there.

Except … except Winter and Ajax hadn't been stronger than the other contestants, either – not really. They had grown up in the orphanage, just like her. Taken her and Reed under their wing. They had been older than her, at least a little bigger and stronger than her, but certainly not stronger than the Careers. They hadn't come as close as they had because of brute force. They had been smart, and they had been brave. They had taken risks, they had played the Games, and they had taken advantage of every chance they had.

But it hadn't been enough. She had started to think it would be, towards the end. The Capitol had loved them. The audience had wanted them to win. But in the end, they hadn't wanted to face each other. Winter had wanted Ajax to win, and Ajax hadn't wanted to come home without her. Their love for each other had kept them going until the end, but it wasn't enough – couldn't be enough – because they couldn't both win.

Ellie gripped Reed as tightly as she could. At least that was one problem she wouldn't have. He wouldn't be going into the arena with her. He was too young, for one thing. She sometimes forgot he was only eight. He'd had to grow up so much in the last two years after losing two people they both thought of as older siblings, even if they weren't biologically related. It was just the two of them now.

And soon it would be just him.

Ellie closed her eyes, holding him close. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want to leave him all alone. The orphanage would see to it that he wouldn't starve, but that wasn't enough. "Not starving" wasn't enough.

But it was more than some people had.

Finally, slowly, Ellie let go of her brother and opened her eyes. He looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. "I don't want you to go. I can't … I can't lose you, too."

Ellie swallowed hard. "Reed, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"If I don't make it back–"

"But you have to."

"Reed, if I don't come back, I want you to live. Do that, please. Don't just survive. Live." Ellie gave his shoulder a squeeze. That was the last thing Winter had said to her. Don't just survive. Live. And she'd done her best to live up to Winter's last request, but now…

"I promise," Reed whispered. "As long as you promise to try. Don't … don't give up. Don't just find someone else and help them win. Don't…"

Ellie heard the words he didn't have the heart to say. Don't do what Ajax did. Ajax could have won. He really could have. After Winter's death, there had only been two other tributes left. One of them had been badly injured. The other had been a Career, but he'd done so well against the other Careers. He could have done it. He could have won.

But he hadn't. He had given up. Losing Winter had been too much for him. Ellie nodded. "I promise. I promise I'll fight – fight for myself, not for anyone else. If it's me or them … I'll choose me."

It was an easy promise, she knew. An easy promise to make now, before she really knew any of the other tributes. But none of them would matter more to her than Reed. None of their lives would be more important to her than coming home to him, making sure he didn't lose anyone else. She would try. Of course she would try. It wasn't as if she was just going to give up, but…

But nothing. Reed didn't need to hear the rest of what she was thinking, even if it was probably obvious in her face. He was eight, not two. He knew the odds. He knew that only one person could make it out alive, and the chances of it being a scrawny fourteen-year-old orphan from District Twelve were slim.

Ellie swallowed hard. There was a big difference between "slim" and "none." Brennan had been fifteen when he'd won – only a year older than her. Kyra had only been twelve. Neither of them had been the strongest tribute in the arena. Neither of them had been the fastest, the most skilled, or even the most well-liked by the audience. But they had survived when so many others had died. They had given the district hope.

And that was worth holding onto.


"This is who I am. I believe in people. I'm not hiply cynical, and I don't make easy, snide remarks. I would rather think that people are good and be disappointed once and again."