Disclaimer: I don't have any claim to the characters, locations, etc. in this story, they all belong to the lovely Suzanne Collins, who decided to hurl a brick directly at my heart by writing Sunrise on the Reaping and making me feel things.

Summary: Post-series, set five years after the war. Katniss goes to see Haymitch on the morning of his birthday, formerly known as Reaping Day, and finds him already working through bottles of white liquor, drunker than he's been in a long time. She pulls him away from the bottle and talks to him about the Games and Lenore Dove. Language warning.

A/N: I have always loved Haymitch, and Sunrise on the Reaping made me ugly cry for two days, so I absolutely needed to write something where Haymitch finally gets a listening ear and a hug. As much as I love Peeta, I felt like he needed Katniss to listen to him. She was already so much like him before she lost Prim, and I just really wanted them to have some Trauma Talks. Haymitch deserves some love too.

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You Will Never Ever Walk Alone

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Haymitch Abernathy hated his birthday.

Nothing good had ever come from his birthday. For his whole life, he had to stand up and watch children being led away to slaughter on his birthday, and then he had been sent himself, illegally, and he had lost everything. His whole life had been ripped away from him on his sixteenth birthday, and then he had been forced to spend twenty-five more years leading children to slaughter.

So, yes, he hated his birthday. It was the worst day of the year for him, besides the anniversary of Lenore Dove's death. There was nothing worse, in his eyes, that those two days.

So, despite the fact that he had been relatively sober since his return to District 12 five years ago, he woke up on the morning of July 4th and immediately started drinking. He twisted the mangled top off an old bottle of white liquor and downed it in one go, not even bothering with something as trivial as breakfast to soak it up.

He was three bottles in before ten in the morning, trying to decide whether it was worth it to continue living and swaying and smashing his shoulder painfully into a wall on his way to the kitchen to get a fourth, when he heard a sharp knock on the door. Before he even found the words, in his haze, to tell whoever it was to leave him alone, his door was pushed open and Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay herself, was stalking into his house.

"Go away, sweetheart, I'm not in the mood today." Haymitch mumbled, wishing he hadn't been an alcoholic his entire life. He figured he would already be passed out in a puddle of his own vomit if his liver didn't greet white liquor as an old friend.

"Haymitch, what the hell is wrong with you?" Katniss grabbed his bicep hard enough to leave bruises and hauled him to his couch, unceremoniously shoving him into the corner. She went into the kitchen while Haymitch struggled to push his hair out of his face and brought him a glass of water. "It's not even ten in the morning and you're already drunk? I know it's Reaping Day but for fuck's sake, pull yourself together."

"Leave me alone, Katniss." Haymitch knocked the water out of her hand and struggled to stand. He ignored the pang of guilt he felt when he felt the glass shatter on the floor, knowing she was just trying to help him, as he marched into the kitchen for another bottle of liquor.

Katniss sighed and followed him, watching disapprovingly as he opened another bottle and drained half of it. "Look, I know you probably want me to go away, but I'm worried about you. You haven't drank like this in years. What's going on?" She was eyeing his open bottle of liquor like she wanted to swipe it from his hand, so Haymitch downed the rest of it. Katniss gave him a hard look as he reached for another.

"I'm celebrating." Haymitch did a flamboyant toast and downed another half a bottle. At this rate, he could peacefully pass out on the floor in about an hour. He wished the liquor was stronger.

"Celebrating what?" Katniss made a swipe at his bottle, and Haymitch tried, and failed, to dance away from her, losing his footing and slamming his hip into the counter and then falling on his face. He was just starting to think that the kitchen floor was as good a place as any to pass out on when he felt Katniss's hand on his biceps again, hauling him up and onto his feet. She took the bottle out of Haymitch's hand and slapped him across the face, hard. Haymitch stumbled back into the counter again, knocking a few of his still full bottles onto the floor. He heard the glass break and felt the cold liquid seeping into his socks. He looked at her in horror.

"You're better than this, Haymitch." Katniss said coldly. "You've gotten so much better since the end of the war, why are you starting up again now?"

"You hit me!" Haymitch yelled. He slipped another two small bottles of liquor into his pants pocket and stumbled around Katniss, plopping into the corner of his couch. He felt his cheek turning red where she'd slapped him.

"Because I care about you, damn it!" Katniss yelled back. "I don't want to see you die of alcohol poisoning!" Haymitch heard her rummaging through his kitchen and running the faucet. She came around the corner and sat next to him on the couch, gently pressing the cool, wet cloth on his face. "I'm sorry I hit you." She patted his knee. "I get so… I don't know if angry is the right word for it. I get worked up when I see you drinking like this, Haymitch. I'm sorry."

Haymitch brought his hand up to cover hers against his cheek. "It's alright, sweetheart. I deserved it." Katniss moved her hand and leaned back, looking at him sadly.

"What happened?" She asked quietly. "Is it because it's Reaping Day?"

"It's also my birthday." Haymitch blurted out. He immediately regretted it when the sad look in her eyes turned even sadder. "Shit, Katniss, I…"

"Your birthday is Reaping Day?" she interrupted softly.

Haymitch avoided her eyes as he adjusted the cloth on his face. "Always has been." He muttered. He expected to feel another slap for not telling her, after all these years. Instead, he felt strong, callused fingers wrap around his own.

They sat in silence for a long time, the cloth dripping onto Haymitch's shoulder and Katniss's thumb stroking the back of his hand. He leaned forward to set the cloth on the table in front of him, squeezing her fingers subconsciously. "I never wanted you to know." He said, wishing for once that he wasn't drunk.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"Today was the worst day of all our lives, Katniss. It was the day that your life, Peeta's life, and my life were all destroyed forever. I don't… I don't want to celebrate a day that was the end of my life as I knew it."

Katniss was quiet for a long time, so long that Haymitch was starting to think about going up to his bedroom to sleep it off, leaving her to go about her business, when she finally spoke.

"You never told me about what happened to you. You said that Snow had your whole family killed because of your Games, but you never said anything more than that. I know I'm probably not the person you want to talk to, Peeta would be so much better at this than me, but… if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

Haymitch struggled to speak against the lump in his throat. He had spent so many years desperately wishing to be loved, never expecting to get it, and here was this girl who was willing to hold his hand and listen to him. He hadn't felt anything close to love in a long time. Still, he was supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around.

"You have so much of your own shit, sweetheart, I don't need to add on to the suffering." He said, refusing to look Katniss in the eye. He absolutely did not want to burden her with his grief. He had only really known Katniss for about seven years, and he hated the thought that she was finally starting to break down some of the walls around his heart. He wasn't sure he remembered how to love or be loved, and that was not her burden to bear.

"How many times have you held onto me while I cried?" Katniss challenged, her grip on his hand tightening. "You have been there for me through all of that shit that I have weighing on my shoulders. I have always known that if I was struggling, I could come to you. That kind of relationship isn't a one-way street." she pulled on his hand until he turned and looked at her. "I understand if you don't want to tell me because it's too hard, or it hurts too much, but don't think for one second that I don't want to be here for you if you need me. I may find this stuff hard, and I know I don't always have the right words, but you're my friend, and I love you, Haymitch. I will listen if you want to talk."

Haymitch found himself swallowing past another lump in his throat. "I just… I've spent so many years knowing that Snow would kill anyone I dared to love. Anybody who knew my story, anyone who was near me for longer than it took to sell me a bottle of liquor or die in the Games… Snow would kill them like he killed my mother and my brother and…" Haymitch sniffed. "I love you too, Katniss, and it scares the hell out of me."

"Snow is dead. He can't hurt anyone ever again." Katniss scooted closer to him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. "We're in this together, Haymitch. Our choices are either to talk to each other or bottle it up and drink ourselves to death. Peeta and I have chosen to share our grief. Now, you have to choose."

And so, he told her. He told her how he had been illegally reaped because he tried to save his love from the Peacekeepers. How he was involved in a plot to destroy the arena of his Games, how he had watched his sweetheart Louella die right in front of him, how he had found Ampert, Beetee's son, eaten by a hoard of rabid squirrels until there was nothing left but his bones. How he had come home, victorious, to find his mother and brother burning to death in his house, and how they couldn't be saved because he hadn't filled the cistern before he was reaped. And how he had found Lenore Dove the next day, dancing in the Meadow, and how he held her as she ate the poisoned gumdrops and died in his arms. He was out of breath, fighting his tears, when he was done.

Katniss had stayed silent through the whole speech, resting against his shoulder and stroking her thumb across the back of his hand. Haymitch couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him so gently. He had held Katniss while she screamed and cried, had even held Effie's hand while Katniss and Peeta had left to go into their second Games, but he had never been the one on the receiving end of a comforting touch. Not since Lenore Dove died.

When he was done speaking, and he was considering whether to take one of the liquor bottles out of his pocket and drown his sorrows, Katniss leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, right in the middle of the handprint she had left behind when she'd slapped him. "I'm so sorry, Haymitch. Your shit makes mine look like a breeze. I'm sorry I never asked before."

"I don't want to play the trauma games with you, sweetheart. We've both lost too much." He choked out. His voice broke on the nickname, remembering Louella.

Katniss settled back against his shoulder. "I came over because I knew it was the thirtieth anniversary of your Reaping, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I understand now why you aren't, but I don't want you making yourself sick every time you remember them, Haymitch. You have a family now, and we care about you."

Haymitch reached up with his free hand and stroked Katniss's hair. "I know, sweetheart. I just haven't gotten used to the idea of anyone caring about me."

"Well get used to it." Katniss stood and reached out her hands, pulling Haymitch off the couch with her. She walked him over to the base of his stairs. "I want you to go upstairs and get some rest. Sleep it off, and then come over later. We'll celebrate your birthday."

"Katniss, I don't…"

"I don't want you to spend the rest of your life drinking yourself to death on your birthday. I want to make a new tradition. I want today to be happy. Not just for you, but for Peeta and I. I don't want the three of us to spend every Reaping Day being miserable. We won the war, and you deserve better than passing out in a puddle of vomit every year when you're supposed to be celebrating."

"Katniss…"

She shut him up by leaning in and wrapping her arms around his waist. "We've lost too much already. We have to make an effort to spend the rest of our lives as happy as we can be. And that starts with celebrating your birthday."

Haymitch hugged her back tightly. He missed being hugged for reasons other than terror and heartbreak.

"Promise me you'll stop drinking, Haymitch. Promise me you'll come over later. I don't want to spend the rest of the day worrying about you." She muttered into his chest.

"I promise, sweetheart." Haymitch struggled to get the words out past yet another lump in his throat. He buried his nose in her hair. "I love you." Despite the fear. Despite the loneliness. Despite the fact that he never thought he would ever get the chance to love anyone again. He loved her like the daughter he never had. He thought that, if he'd had the chance, he would have wanted a daughter with Lenore Dove who was a lot like Katniss. He hugged her tighter.

"I love you, too, Haymitch."

….

A/N: I'm sorry okay, Haymitch has always been my favorite HG character and Sunrise on the Reaping actually broke my entire soul, and I needed Haymitch to talk about his trauma and receive a hug. I mean, yeah, Katniss hugged him a few times in the books, but that was always when she was freaking the fuck out and he was trying to help her. There was never a time where someone hugged Haymitch just because he looked sad, because boy does he look fucking sad. I love him so much.

Also, the title is from Call Me Little Sunshine by Ghost.