Jughead was so tired and so emotionally drained that he barely registered the opulence of their suite. He literally didn't even register that perhaps he should change his clothes before he collapsed on the most comfortable bed he'd ever felt in his life because just like that, he was out like a light.

Morning came and Jughead panicked for a second, disoriented by the largeness and the emptiness of the space. So much room in here was devoted to utterly nothing, a luxury he could never afford.

It all came crawling back to him, not like a wave, but like a growing dread.

He was going to die in the Hunger Games.

Kids like him never won.

Peeta and Haymitch had been different. Haymitch had been smart and Peeta had been good at strategy. Jughead didn't think he possessed either of those things, at least, not more than anyone else here.

Alone in his room, he allowed himself the moment to cry. He didn't want to in front of his mentors (Haymitch for Toni, and Katniss for himself; Peeta had stayed behind in 12) or where anyone could see it, but he'd be lying if he was totally fine with all of this. Even though he chose it, and would a thousand times over, it didn't mean that this didn't scare the shit out of him.

He wanted his parents more than ever. Not his mother, gone with the wind, or his father, drunk on their couch, but he wished for the parents before his mother had vanished. The ones where he remembered laughter and hugs and kisses.

But he was alone, and that's how he would be. It's how he always was, so why expect anything to change?

He wiped his face, checking his reflection in the mirror before venturing outside. Katniss was waking up from her room. They met and paused, Jughead unsure what to do for a second until Katniss just nodded.

"It's a brave thing you did." She gave a harsh laugh, "Snow hates bravery."

"I know," Jughead managed to muster, "But I couldn't…" He looked at his feet, swallowing tears again. He'd hardly gotten a moment with Jellybean before he was torn away. He hadn't even seen his father before he left.

"Hey," Katniss' voice was soft. He got the feeling she didn't show her emotions often either, "You never have to explain it to me. I, out of everyone, understand."

Jughead nodded, gathering himself again before he met Toni at the table for breakfast.

"Holy shit! Have you ever seen so much food?" Toni said, standing and waving, like Jughead was going to have trouble finding his way to the table, "I just…god, I think I've died and gone to heaven!:"

Jughead couldn't help but wince at the unfortunate choice of words.

He decided to swing topics somewhere else, "What's on the docket for today?"

"The parade," Haymitch said and Jughead wished he hadn't asked, "You have Cinna, who always makes you youngins look better than what we used to get dressed as. My costume was pitiful."

"I'd rather no costumes at all, thanks," Jughead muttered, taking a full plate. If there was one thing he genuinely enjoyed in this world, it was food. And he didn't get good stuff very often. If he had the chance to pig out, he was going to. Plus, he didn't know what the arena would be…stocking up in case food was scarce was a good bet any time.

He saw both Haymitch and Katniss give approving looks at how large his plate was.

"Cinna will be here soon. After he takes his measurements, you'll go to train for a bit. You'll come back, get ready. The parade is important; it's the first look sponsors will get of all of you. After, there will be a Tribute Dinner. And that's the end of day one," Katniss explained. Toni took it in, all very seriously.

Jughead rolled his eyes.

"Sounds like a real blast," He snorted, "Kill me now."

From across the table, Haymitch let out an amused laugh, "Lookie here, Katniss. Looks like we have a new tribute to match my sarcasm and your moodiness." He held up his drink, sloshing with some light-colored liquid, "Cheers to you, Jones. May the odds truly be in your favor."

XXX

The first morning of training had been disappointing, to say the least.

Betty had been itching to dig her hands into everything the area had to offer, brushing up on the skills she was lacking and showing off those she had down pat. Instead, the instructor took them through each of the stations in a group, explaining topics like they were children.

Betty had to remind herself that not everyone here had the same opportunities for practice as she had.

So, she decided to use this time to size up her enemies and opponents. From the tilt of his jaw and the narrowed-eyed stare from Bret, he had come to the same conclusion.

Most of the tributes were her age, or about. There was only one who was markedly younger, a boy who looked no more than twelve or thirteen. He seemed scrappy though, snapping at a District Four girl who tried to talk to him.

On the other end of the spectrum, there were three boys that towered over everyone else, muscles on display as a warning to everyone. However, muscles weren't everything. Still, Betty was half their size and made sure to make a mental note of them.

Surprisingly, only one of them was a career. The two other career men, District 1 and District 3, both had scrawnier and clean-shaven boys. However, there had to be a reason they were here, allowed to participate. It just meant they were a riddle for Betty to solve.

Perhaps Jason was crazy like people were saying about his sister. Already the jokes and jabs about Cheryl's family's supposed complicated tangle of the family tree were abound.

"Just admit it, sweetheart," Chuck, the District 4 tribute, crooned, "That you've fucked your brother. I promise you I'd do better than him."

"You know who I've also had?" Cheryl snapped back, a half-crazed grin, "Your mother. And she screamed louder than your father could ever make her."

Chuck huffed, rolling his nose in disgust, but left her alone.

Cheryl noticed Betty noticing her, as they all walked in a huddle to the next station, and slipped beside her.

Betty gave a slight nod, but no more. She wasn't looking to make friends.

However, she felt like she'd felt a spark of recognition in Cheryl. She, too, would rather bite a boy's head off than let him push her around with comments like that.

Still, Betty wouldn't say that. She didn't want to give anyone the idea of her making pacts when she wasn't.

Yes, the usual career way was to make allegiances early on and stick in a pack.

But her father had won without all of that, and from all his stories - and all their research of other years - it seemed more trouble than its worth.

Betty was very good at compartmentalizing or pushing away her emotions. This was no different. Besides, she had little interest in becoming close with those she'd just have to kill later.

Shit; Cheryl was coming over here. Betty groaned inwardly, preparing to let her down.

It's not you, it's me. I just work better alone, honestly.

"You're Hal's daughter." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Betty licked her lips, focusing on the words the instructor was telling them.

"Yep."

"We're cousins, you know?" Cheryl said casually and this caused Betty to snap her attention towards Cheryl, confusion and mild disgust in her eyes.

God, Polls, what did you get yourself into?

"I didn't know that."

"It's far back. We're third cousins or fourth cousins; it's too far back to mean much. Our ancestors were brothers in the games together. Two different districts, back when the games were newer. One killed the other…" Cheryl purred, "How lucky it was that one brother got his girlfriend pregnant before he was reaped at eighteen, or you wouldn't exist."

"If this is some mental fuckery, I'm not interested. Find another target," Betty growled, wondering if she knew about Jason and Polly.

"None of that. Just sharing a fun fact," Cheryl said, grinning, almost pleased to get a reaction, "Ciao, cousin."

By the time lunch rolled around, Betty was ready to tuck in.

Bret came behind her, his breath warm on her neck. Something about him made her shiver, and not in a good way.

"Swap what we learned?" He asked.

"I don't know what you mean," Betty played dumb, taking her meal from the Avox.

"It doesn't become you to be a dumb blonde," Bret said with a scowl, using an antiquated phrase that no one knew the exact history of, "I saw you cataloging. Like any good Career would."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Betty snipped, "I'm sure I'll do fine on my own."

"You're going to need an alliance," Bret said, but it sounded like a warning, not a friendly tip.

Betty jerked her arm away, "I don't. And if I did, you'd be the last person I'd ask."

Instead of being offended, which was her target, Bret just grinned.

"Oh, Betty," He sighed, "God, I wish you'd just waited a year to enter like you were meant to."

Betty froze, "What's that mean?" She demanded. Bret leaned back, shrugging.

"I think I'll leave you with that puzzle, just to annoy you for a bit," He said, taking his tray and going to sit by Nick, the District 3 tribute.

Betty found a table by herself and sat down, glad to be away from the talking and friendships happening tables over.

Just as she was tucking in, someone came and sat at her table. Not exactly across or next to her, but near enough to annoy her.

"Can't you see that I don't want to sit next to someone?" She asked hotly, looking up. It took her a second, but she registered this as the District 12 tribute, not someone she paid much attention to. Enough to know where he came from, though. Being able to tell where everyone came from (and what means they'd have, or what weapons they'd be comfortable with) wasn't rocket science.

"There are no more empty tables," He grouched back. At least he wasn't trying to sit next to her out of some misguided attempt at friendship, "So deal with it. You don't own the table, Princess."

"Why aren't you sitting next to your District partner?" Betty asked. The boy looked up, craning his neck. She followed his gaze to the warm, inviting personality of a girl who sported dyed purple hair, very unusual for someone in such a low district.

"I'd rather not," He said, but Betty wasn't sure if this was because he disliked her or because he disliked her choice of table mates; a lot of the girls from the other Districts, all giggling and laughing like they wouldn't be slashing each other's throats in a few day's time.

"I'm not looking to talk to anyone."

The boy raised an eyebrow, unwrapping his sandwich, "Good. I'm not either."

Betty inhaled hard, "Fine."

No sooner had they both taken their first bites when a girl with long black hair dropped her tray next to Betty.

"My god, you think they'd give us better food than this?" The girl gagged, "We are tributes, after all. And underfed tributes are no fun."

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" The boy asked, crossing his arms.

"Sitting here," The girl replied. She was from another career district, Betty recalled as she looked her up and down, "Veronica Lodge."

Veronica held out her hand, but neither Betty nor the boy took it. She huffed.

"Did neither of your parents teach you manners?"

Betty, after a long moment, offered a quick, 'Betty', but no more. The boy gave a sardonic smile.

"My momma disappeared and my daddy's drunk. So that's a no," He said, and Betty almost laughed at his tone. He had some fire to him. More than she thought most District 12 kids had. Katniss was the exception, not the norm.

"I assume you're still given a name in the mountains of nowhere," Veronica prompted, and when it was clear she was not going to leave and was not going to stop badgering him until he relented, he threw out a word.

"Jughead."

"What?" Veronica asked, blinking.

"My name. You asked," He snapped, "Now, please, let me eat this sandwich in pea-,"

"Can I sit here?" Someone else had appeared from nowhere.

"No!" Betty and Jughead said in unison to the ginger-haired boy next to them. Not the ginger hair of Jason, who was sitting next to Cheryl, but a different ginger.

"Of course, sit down!" Veronica invited, as though she had the right to let people sit at the table Betty had colonized.

"Awesome! I'm Archie. What a day, huh?" He said, totally oblivious to half of the grouch emanating from Betty and Jughead, totally focusing on Veronica, who beamed warmly at him.

"District 7," Betty said, snapping her fingers, "Lumber."

"Woah, how'd you know that?" Veronica asked, eyes wide.

"I know things," Betty replied, pride filling her tone, "His hands. The callouses. From someone swinging an axe." She said. Archie looked at his hands, in awe, as though he'd never considered this before. Jughead looked mildly impressed, but when Betty turned back, he became focused on his sandwich. Engrossed, really.

"Aren't you just Miss Smarty Pants," Veronica said, but it wasn't said in a demeaning way. No, she was actually impressed.

"Her father's Hal Cooper," Jughead said, and immediately, the table tensed, "And he's not dumb."

"No," Veronica said after a moment, "He's not."

"Neither am I," Betty said, confused by their reactions, "Now, if you'll let me in peace," She sighed, wanting nothing more than the silence to eat this in a few quick bits, lest someone starts talking again.

But Archie didn't know the meaning of the word peace or didn't know how to pick up on vibes and feelings, because he bulldozed right through, talking about everything and nothing. He forced Betty and Jughead into participating, though it seemed both of them went kicking and screaming, and by the end, he waved to the trio left, like they were comrades or something.

"I'll see you in training tomorrow," Veronica agreed, but Betty imagined she was smart enough to pick up on the cues, and was choosing to ignore it.

She didn't know who was worse; Betty or Veronica.

Jughead...Jughead seemed okay. He wasn't foaming at the mouth for friendly connections. He seemed too aware of the games in the way that Betty was.

He was quiet, but Betty got the feeling he was smarter than he was letting on.

"Enjoy your food, you two," Veronica purred as she picked up her plate and sashayed away.

As she left, Betty recalled where she'd heard about her.

"Used to be part of the Capital. Her father messed something up really bad and they were booted to District 3," She said, frowning, "Wonder what it was…to have such a reaction…"

"Look, I don't give two shits. I just want to finish my food in silence." Jughead said, scratching underneath his head, which had a hat on it.

Betty turned, feeling a sense of relief.

"Me too." She agreed.

They did not speak a single word for the rest of lunch.

They didn't even say goodbye when they parted their separate ways.

XXX

Jughead woke the next morning, better rested than he ever had been.

Waking up today was less of a shock to his system than yesterday.

The parade had gone exactly right. Cinna, of course, hadn't let them look foolish. All eyes were on him. Not totally unusual, since the capital had a fascination with 12 ever since Katniss and Peeta, wondering if it was bound for a repeat. The other districts were varying degrees of success, with District 2 and Betty - the girl from lunch - dressed like a mythological warrior, glittering in weapons.

It fit her perfectly. She didn't look childish or out of place; she looked like someone that could slash him down in one fell swoop. Intimidating, powerful, and confident...exactly who Betty- for all he knew of her- was.

Something about her drew him in, in a way that he couldn't describe other than his interest had been piqued. It hadn't been before, not with any girl from the Seam, so this was a mild surprise to him.

He recalled a moment last night where, across the Parade grounds, she met his gaze. And she held it for three beats, two whole seconds longer than strictly necessary. His mouth had gone dry and his heart had thumped, but he couldn't look away.

For as much as he'd been looking at her, he wanted to know why she was looking at him too.

It didn't matter, though, did it?

Only one of them was coming out of there alive.

Anyone who was not a career and didn't dream of having ht glory to themselves, as Betty likely did, had wild and unrealistic fantasies that perhaps Snow would let more than one person win this year, widening their chances.

Jughead was under no such childish illusions.

He knew his odds. They were not in his favor, no matter how many times people repeated that stupid mantra.

He was scrappy and wanted to survive, but other than that, he had not much going for him.

Because, well, didn't everyone not want to die?

The worst of the costumes was Archie, who was dressed as a near-cartoonish lumberjack. How incredibly unique. But Archie grinned the entire time, either a far better actor than Jughead pegged him for, or genuinely okay with this absurd get-up.

It, uhm, got people's attention. Which, perhaps, was the intention. If you knew you weren't going to be the best…be the worst?

Well, not the stupidest game theory Jughead had ever heard. Not good by any means, but he could see someone desperate to prove themselves thinking up such a strategy.

Haymitch had a lot to say about those costumes, if anything it kept him in good spirits and gave him something to chuckle about the rest of the morning. Their prospects had been good, at least by District 12 standards. A few interested parties, but of course, what would really make the biggest difference would be their individual scoring.

Jughead had no idea what he was going to do.

Neither did Toni.

"Perfect," Haymitch sighed, good mood shot, "At least Katniss and Peet had some skills…what do you two have? Nothing!" He muttered, stumbling back to his room, "You two better figure it out today, you hear me?"

Jughead winced.

All he could offer was a faint, "Yes, sir," before he and Toni were shoved to the elevators for their first of three days of training.

"Any ideas yet?" Toni asked as they flew past, floor by floor, all the way to the sub-basement.

"Nope." Jughead replied, popping the 'p' sound on his reply.

Toni gave a long, frustrated sigh, "Think being bisexual counts somehow?" She asked, and at Jughead's lack of an answer, she pouted, "Yeah, then. Me neither."