Chapter Text
All was quiet in District 12 on the last morning before reaping day.
Or at least it would be, if it wasn’t for the stupid goose.
Haymitch sidestepped, feed bucket swinging. The bird's beak snapped at empty air where his shin had just been. The thing hated him specifically, which was outrageous considering he was the one who fed it.
Ma could walk right past - nothing. Cal could practically ride it like a pony - fine. But Haymitch stepped into the backyard before dawn with a bucket of feed and suddenly he was public enemy number one.
"Easy now," Haymitch muttered as he inched forward. The air was already thick with humidity, promising another scorcher by noon.
The bird came at him again, honking loud enough to wake up half the Seam. "Damn bird!" A window somewhere a couple houses over slammed shut hard enough to rattle.
Haymitch Abernathy swore right there and then that he was going to murder that goose.
Not today - today he had bigger problems. But someday, when he had the time and energy, that bird was done for.
Except he wouldn’t. Couldn’t, really. Whenever one of their chicken’s turn came to be part of Sunday dinner, Haymitch found somewhere else to be - a long walk, a pointless errand, whatever excuse he could manage. He only came back once it was feathers-off and sizzling on the stove.
He had a suspicion the goose knew he was full of it too, the way it was looking at him now.
Haymitch made a break for the chicken coop, and managed to slip through the gate before the menace of a bird could get a piece of him.
The coop his Pa had built leaned slightly to the left now, nobody having the time or energy to fix it proper. Most things in the Seam were like that - held together with wire and rusty nails.
The chickens were already awake and demanding breakfast, mobbing his feet as he scattered feed. At least someone around here was grateful, alright.
The goose was supposed to be their unhinged watchdog, and to be fair, she did her job. Peacekeepers announced themselves from the road. Strangers kept their distance. Even the coal delivery man knew better than to step foot in their yard without Ma coming out first.
From inside, the sound of Ma moving around the kitchen reached him. Already up, like always. The thing about Ma was that she had this way of making you feel like you hung the moon, even when you'd just forgotten to muck out the chicken coop for the third time that week. She was small but tireless, warm like bread fresh out of the oven, steady as the sun coming up. Hands always reaching, adjusting Cal's collar, brushing dust off Haymitch's shoulder, pulling them close.
"Haymitch!" Her voice carried through the back door. "Breakfast!"
He latched the coop gate and headed inside. "I live here," he informed the goose as he walked past her, scowling. "Been living here my whole life, in case you forgot." The goose didn’t even spare him so much as a glance now, which he felt was very deliberate.
Their house was small. One main room that served as kitchen, dining area, and living space. A ladder leading up to Haymitch's sleeping platform under the roof. Everything patched and mended.
“Boots off,” his Ma reminded him. Not in an annoyed way, though. She was never annoyed with him.
He couldn't remember her ever raising her voice. Not at him, not at Cal, not even at the supply clerk who'd tried to shortchange them on tesserae. She'd just stood there at the window, patient as stone, until the man had gotten so uncomfortable with her quiet stare that he'd recounted and found his "mistake”.
Once, maybe a year back, Haymitch had asked her about it. Why she never yelled, never got worked up like other people did.
She'd been kneading bread dough, flour up to her elbows. Hadn't even paused. "What's the point? I can get worked up over small things and make myself miserable, or I can try not to dwell too much and live a much happier life."
That had stunned Haymitch.
He had tried to copy that sentiment more times than he could count. Failed more times than he could count, too. Sometimes he thought Ma was a little too kind. Other times he figured maybe it was just that it was him who wasn’t kind enough. Hard to tell.
After Pa had died down in the mines about six years back, there'd been a stretch in time where he’d been angry at anything and everyone.
Haymitch had been angry at the mine, angry at the Capitol, angry at the fence that kept them all trapped here like livestock. Angry at trees, for some reason, which he'd kicked until his toes were bruised. He'd gotten into fights at school. Stupid fights, over nothing. A wrong look. A careless word.
Thinking back on it now made something hot and uncomfortable twist in his chest. He must've been a real pain to be around. He'd calmed down since then, mostly, but he still suspected he'd never be as good a person as Ma. Probably wasn't capable of it.
Lately though, things have been different. The approaching reaping had gotten even to her - his invincible, unshakeable mother. The porridge had been burned every morning for a week straight now.
She was worried about him. He could feel it in the way she watched him when she thought he wasn't looking. Two more reapings after this one and he was done. Then they'd have some peace and quiet before it started all over again with Cal, who was already sat at the table, eagerly shoveling porridge into his mouth. He didn’t seem to care that it was burned again, always quite easy to please, really.
Cal was all freckles and scraped knees and questions that never stopped coming. He had Ma's smile and Pa's dark hair and absolutely no concept that the world was anything other than an endless adventure waiting to happen. He believed in things - that tomorrow would come, that bugs were important, that his big brother would always be there to check for monsters under the bed after he’d carried him to bed at night.
"-and then it flew away but I think it'll come back 'cause I left it some crumbs," Cal said. "And today I'm gonna look for bugs. Different kinds. Maybe a beetle. Will you look for bugs with me after school?" He turned to look at Haymitch, spoon hanging from the corner of his mouth. Bright grey seam eyes. Shining with the kind of endless curiosity and joyful anticipation that could only exist when you were too young to know better.
"Not today," Haymitch said.
"Tomorrow?"
"We've got a deal, my friend." Haymitch stuck out his hand with exaggerated formality, and Cal's whole face lit up as he grabbed it, shaking with both hands like they'd just agreed to an important business deal.
Haymitch ate quickly and got up to collect his books and pencils that were strewn around the room, throwing them loosely into his book bag as he went.
After he brushed his teeth, he was ready to go.
“Bye Ma! Bye Cal!” he shouted, already halfway out of the door, balancing on one foot as he slipped his second boot on.
"Wait!" Cal's voice came from behind him. He was tugging on the hem of his shirt now.
Haymitch paused, boot half on. "Cal, I'm kind of running late."
"Just one! Please!" Cal was bouncing on his toes.
Haymitch sighed. "Fine. One."
Cal's whole face lit up. "What did the boot say to the foot?"
"What?"
"Nothing! Boots don't talk!" He dissolved into giggles.
Haymitch groaned. "Cal, you told the exact same joke yesterday - But with rocks."
“But this one's about boots!" Like that made it completely different.
“Alright,“ he agreed. “That is funny.“
Cal was still laughing when Haymitch pulled the door shut behind him. The sound followed him down the path, small and bright against the morning hush. At least they’d moved past the knock-knock joke phase. That one was a real doozie.
Haymitch hurried down the street and then broke into a jog, not under any circumstances wanting to be late for this occasion in particular. Only just before the corner where they met every day came up in front of him, he slowed down.
“Hello, Jaybird,” Haymitch said with a smile. She returned his smile and without a word he took her outstretched hand and they fell into step.
As soon as they rounded another corner and were out of sight of her house and on a quiet side street, he pulled her close by the waist and planted a kiss on the top of her head. The abruptness of it almost made them both lose balance and they laughed, steadying each other. They did this every morning, but still he had butterflies dancing in his stomach every single time.
Juniper laughed easy. Saw through him easier. Never made him feel small for it though.
To this day he couldn't figure out why she'd said yes when he asked her out.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, her hand in his. A cart rattled past. Someone's goat bleated from a yard. The morning felt almost normal, except it wasn't. Tomorrow was the reaping.
She bumped her shoulder against his. "Where'd you go?"
He shook his head. "Nowhere. Just thinking about that math test I forgot to study for."
"Liar." But she was smiling when she said it.
"I'm not-"
"Haymitch, you could do that test in your sleep,” she said, exasperated.
He kicked at a loose rock. Couldn't argue with that.
They didn't talk about the Games. Not today. Not ever, really. What was there to say?
Once they arrived at the gate, he stopped and turned to face her. "I’ll see you later?”
She kissed his cheek quickly, aware of the other students streaming past. “Same spot,” she said and then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.
As soon as Haymitch stepped into his classroom, he knew it was going to be a long day.
Geordie Sullivan was standing on a desk.
Of course he was standing on a desk. Geordie - possibly the most annoying human being Haymitch had ever had the misfortune of sharing oxygen with - couldn’t possibly just co-exist in a room with you, he had to hold you hostage in it. Worse, there was no escaping him, not in the one and only school in District 12, where everyone knew everyone else's business.
He'd heard the big Districts had multiple schools. Separate buildings. What he wouldn't give.
Sometimes living in a cramped place like District 12 could be a major exercise in patience.
Geordie was doing his routine, pointing at kids like some cut-rate Games expert you’d see on TV. "Maret - you're strong, I'll give you that. Five days, maybe six, before a Career snaps your neck." He swiveled. "Bo, sorry man, but you're dead by sundown. Just being honest."
Haymitch dropped into his seat and pulled out his math homework. Couple more minutes until the teacher showed.
"Emmarie, you might hide for a while, but eventually-"
He couldn’t take it anymore. "Shut up, Geordie."
The room went quiet. Geordie turned slowly to face him, eyes narrowed. With that, Haymitch had clearly just volunteered for inspection.
"Abernathy." He looked Haymitch up and down with the gravity of a Head Gamemaker. "Cornucopia. Bloodbath. First thirty seconds. They'd have to scrape your brains off the grass."
"Yeah, and they'd have to get you a new pair of pants," Haymitch said, not even looking up from the homework he was hastily scribbling down last minute, "because you'd shit yourself the second they pulled your name."
Laughter echoed through the classroom. Geordie's ears went red, but he powered through like he hadn't heard it.
"My strategy," he announced, “looks like this,” He went on an elaborate rant that essentially entirely boiled down to this: Step one, don’t die. Step two, repeat step one.
"Brilliant. You should volunteer," Haymitch said. He kind of meant it too.
"I might."
"Please do."
Geordie planted his hands on his hips. "Okay, since you’re so smart, what would you do?"
Haymitch finally looked up, setting his pencil down slowly. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable.
"Me? I'd milk every second in the Capitol. Eat until I puked. Try those fancy cakes covered in gold or whatever stupid stuff they eat. Then, before that gong even has a chance to go off, I’m stepping off my platform early and I’ll blow myself to pieces."
He winked, just to really get him going.
Geordie's face contorted. "You - no you wouldn't!"
"I absolutely would."
"You're full of-"
"I'd somersault off it."
The truth was, Haymitch had never let himself think that far. His mom said thinking about the Games too hard was like daring them to come for you, and he figured she was probably right. The trick was not to picture it. Not your name, not the stage, not the train. You just didn't.
They might've kept going forever if their teacher hadn't shouldered through the door just then and told them to sit down and cut it out immediately or else-
During lunch, Haymitch claimed his usual spot with Maret and Wyatt.
His two best friends. Only real friends, if he was being honest. All three were Seam kids who'd found each other on the first day of first grade the way six-year-olds do - Maret had sat down at the desk next to Haymitch, Wyatt had wandered over to them at some point, and by recess Wyatt had announced that they were best friends. That was it. When Wyatt decided to adopt you, you were stuck with him for life, whether you wanted to or not.
Like every year, the school had set up a projector in the cafeteria showing Games coverage.
“Speculation about this year’s arena is hot, folks. Of course, we can’t give you the dirty deets just yet but what I can say is that it’s going to be spectacular!” Caesar Flickerman - the famous and popular host of the Hunger Games - said into the camera now
“Are you saying you’ve seen it already?” his co-host Pius Hammerson asked, leaning in conspiratorially.
"I will neither confirm nor deny such allegations," Caesar said with an exaggerated wink.
Pius rattled off meaningless statistics about the arena - construction costs and timelines and how many tons of dirt they'd hauled from who knows where.
"Now, one major challenge when designing an arena, I'm told, is getting the size just right. This year we'll have twice as many tributes, so we're sailing into uncharted waters. Make it too small, games will be over before you can blink. Too big, and you're looking at a real snooze fest."
"Absolutely right! Lucky for us, there's a whole team of scientists at The University who've been racking their brilliant brains over this very problem!"
They cut to some old guy in glasses and a lab coat droning on about agent-based models and statistical probability-
To be honest Haymitch had stopped listening at that point.
"...In any case, this year's games will be twice as deadly!" Pius confirmed after the video finished.
Caesar nodded solemnly. "Twice as deadly indeed."
The show finally cut to commercials.
Haymitch shook his head in disgust. "Truly, who cares."
Wyatt eyed him sideways. "What's eating you today? Your face has been looking like you've got fresh manure stuck under your nose. It's getting on my nerves."
Maret nearly choked on his mashed potatoes.
"They've been spouting that 'twice as deadly' garbage for weeks," Haymitch said, thumping Maret's back hard. "And every single time they act all shocked and surprised, like it wasn't them that dreamed this whole mess up in the first place."
"In any case," Wyatt said, spreading his arms wide like Caesar himself, "I can't spill too many secrets, but what I can tell you is this: If this is my last school lunch - and it very well might be - then folks, at least it was absolutely spectacular!" He winked and took an enormous bite of whatever slop they were serving.
Haymitch had to admit, Wyatt's Caesar impression was spot-on.
"Any plans after school?" Maret asked, mouth still full so it came out garbled, but Haymitch was practiced in deciphering it.
"Let's hit the lake and skip rocks," Wyatt suggested.
The lake lay deep in the woods beyond the fence, their private refuge when the summer heat got unbearable.
Something in Haymitch's expression must've given him away because Wyatt's face soured.
"What?" Wyatt snapped.
"Well..."
"You're meeting with your girlfriend, aren't you?" His voice went flat.
Haymitch's silence was answer enough.
"Come on, man! We haven't hung out all week!".
Haymitch didn't have it in him to point out it was only Wednesday.
Maret, having finally swallowed, spoke up, "You're just crabby because you can't get a girl to like you to save your life."
Privately, Haymitch figured there was some truth to that. Wyatt was the only one in their little group without a girlfriend.
"Well, well, look at precious Maret here," Wyatt said, pretending to examine his fingernails. "He's discovered the finer things in life, stepping out with some merchant girl - or so I'm guessing, because he refuses to say who it is."
"Get a grip," Haymitch said. Privately, though, he was dying to know the girl's identity himself. He had a couple choice guesses, but Maret was so obnoxiously secretive lately, it was impossible to be sure.
“You’re gonna regret this if they pick my name tomorrow,” Wyatt said and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“In that case, I am willing to mope for about a week,” Haymitch offered generously.
"Fine. What if I agreed to kiss you - would you hang out with me then?" Wyatt closed his eyes and made a kissy face.
"Not a chance," Haymitch said drily. “My standards are a bit higher than that.”
“Oh, don’t we know it”, Wyatt said. Haymitch opened his mouth to reply, but Wyatt shushed him with a finger in the air. "Oh no, absolutely not. No waxing poetic about your girl. Remember the rules."
“I wasn’t going to-”
“Last week you spent fifteen minutes describing her laugh. Fifteen. Minutes. Time I’ll never get back, mind you." Wyatt shook his head. "We heard enough."
Haymitch felt very hot all of a sudden. "Wasn't that long."
"It certainly felt eternal, alright," Maret added without looking up from his plate.
Wyatt opened his mouth to say more, but this time it was Haymitch who quieted him.
"Anyway," he said exaggeratedly, and shoved his open palm over Wyatt's mouth. "You'd be out of your mind trying to cross that fence right now. With all the prep for tomorrow, every Peacekeeper in the district's watching. I say we hit the creek after the reaping's done."
Wyatt bit down on his hand hard. Haymitch yelped and jerked it back: “You- ow! What is wrong with you-”
"Doesn't matter," Maret said over the sound of Haymitch cursing Wyatt out. "The fence has been humming since yesterday evening. I checked this morning - still hot."
That shut them up real quick.
Wyatt’s grin dropped. "They've lost their ever loving minds.”
"What, they actually think people are gonna make a run for it?" Haymitch flexed his fingers, checking for teeth marks.
"This year's little rule change wasn't exactly popular," Maret said.
Haymitch shrugged. "They'll ease up after the reaping."
"If they ease up," Wyatt muttered darkly.
"They will," Haymitch said.
For a moment, none of them said anything. The weight of tomorrow pressed down - the square, the reaping bowl, all those folded slips of paper. Too many with their names written on them.
But then Wyatt flicked a food wrapper at Haymitch's head and all talk of the Games and electric fences was forgotten.