The Shark in Your Water

by sunsets12

Summary:

When people are desperate they turn to faith. Panem has done a good job creating a truly secular society, stamping out the religions of the past, but nothing can stop new gods from rising.

-

Or: When Gaea curses Percy to live in a world without the gods, he winds up in District 4 and is chosen as tribute for the 70th Hunger Games. From there, everything just kind of spirals.

Notes:

Arc one: The 70th Hunger Games.

Chapter 1: In the Beginning (Part 1: Garden of Evil)

Part 1: Garden of Evil

 

A trip into the archives of Persea University, with Professor Flavian and her Intro to Panem History class…

 

“In order to understand history, we have to look at something called primary sources. These are first-hand sources that are made at the moment events occurred. We’ll also be looking a bit at something called secondary sources. Secondary sources discuss things second-hand. AKA they discuss things that have been discussed before elsewhere. For example, a primary source can be a news article, whereas a secondary source can be a writing analyzing the news article.”

 

“Archives are good for finding both primary and secondary sources, but today we will be focusing on primary sources. Panem has devoted a lot of time and energy to preserving items such as letters, news articles, political statements, songs, and even, yes, videos of the Hunger Games themselves. As terrible as they are, they help us understand our history, and understand how we got there so that we may never go back.” A plump professor of library science was saying, pacing back and forth before a freshman year class at Persea University. 

 

The professor stopped walking when she noticed a student had their hand up. “Yes, Miss…?” She prompted. 

 

“I’m Claudia,” she starts before bracing herself, “Professor, with this lesson, I think we’re all a bit nervous about what you have queued up on the projector as a primary source. We’re not going to actually… watch anything from the games, are we?” The student, a freshman girl wearing a university sweatshirt just a bit too big for her, asked, chewing on her pen nervously.

 

“From the games themselves? No. I think that’s a rather terrible thing to force students to watch, and I, myself, have no desire to watch them, but we are going to watch an interesting clip from one of the pre-game interviews. I think you will recognize who it is. While we’re watching this, I want you to practice understanding primary sources. I want you all to take notes. Your assignment for next class will be to write a short paper—just two pages, about what the interview meant at the time it was taken and what the interview means to us now when we watch it. And, class, what is this paper?”

 

A twitchy freshman boy said, “homework?”

 

Dr. Flavian laughed. “No, no. Mr…”

 

“Tyler.”

 

“Mr. Tyler. What was I talking about earlier?” She surveyed her class. “Anyone?”

 

“It’s a secondary source.” A voice popped up. “I’m Gizelle, by the way.”

 

“Right you are, Gizelle! Thank you. Let’s get the video started, and, remember, take notes.”

 

As the students obediently got their papers out, the professor went up to the projector and pressed play. 

 

*The camera pans over a large audience. Everyone is dressed ostensibly in garish colors. One woman even appears to be wearing a dress made completely out of neon pink feathers. In the corner of the room, sits a group of individuals who are not applauding. Instead they are studying the scene with interest as the interviewees switch out, going from the female tribute from district 4 to the male tribute.*

 

CAESAR FLICKERMAN: Everybody welcome the male tribute from district 4, Perseus Jackson!

 

*The audience claps loudly and some whoops are even heard*

 

CAESAR: It seems they love you already, but who wouldn’t with that face? And with that outfit at the parade… *CAESAR fans himself dramatically* First Finnick Odair five years ago and now you, WHAT are they putting in the water over there.

 

PERSEUS JACKSON: A lot of salt.

 

*Audience laughs and CAESAR laughs along.*

 

CAESAR: Alright, I’ve got to start with the question I ask everyone. You’re from district 4?

 

*PERSEUS smiles and nods*

 

CAESAR: I know that is quite different from the capital, and we always hear it’s a big culture shock coming here. What is your favorite thing so far?

 

PERSEUS: The food. Well, except for the seafood. Nothing beats it fresh from the ocean, especially when you catch it yourself.

 

CAESAR: I bet. *CAESAR chuckles lightly* So, Perseus, I understand you have quite the backstory, and that it played into your outfit at the Opening Ceremony.

 

*Perseus looks down, twiddling briefly with the pearl necklace he wears. He looks nervous, but abruptly, he seems to calm down, crossing his left ankle over his right knee and shooting the audience a winning smile.*

 

PERSEUS: Well, yes, that’s what everyone’s been telling me. They say that I’m strange. That I have to be some sort of mythical sea creature. I think they exaggerate the story a bit, but I’ll retell it just like they do.

 

CAESAR: Yes, yes, I think we all would love to hear the District 4 folktales regarding you. Wouldn’t we?

 

*Audience cheers*

 

PERSEUS: All I know is that some kind fishermen from District 4 pulled me from the ocean, but the story goes that I looked half-dead. That I was doing the dead man’s float, 

 

*He gestures in a way that imitates the floating position*

 

PERSEUS: and had been for a long time. I shouldn’t have been alive because you can’t breathe like that. They pulled me out, just to give me a proper burial, and then they were like, holy sh—

 

*Here CAESAR shushes PERSEUS*

 

PERSEUS: Oh, am I not allowed to curse on—

 

*CAESAR shakes his head in the negative. PERSEUS just laughs it off before continuing with his story.*

 

PERSEUS: Sorry about that. Sailor’s mouth. Anyway they were like, “This guy’s still alive.” Apparently, one of them checked my neck for gills.

 

*CAESAR raised his eyebrows before squinting at PERSEUS*

 

CAESAR: Did they find them?

 

PERSEUS: No, unfortunately not. It’s a shame, it might’ve given me a leg up in the arena. 

 

CAESAR: Well, I’ll tell you what. I have no idea what the gamemakers have in store, but I don’t think gills would be nearly as helpful as your smile. Can you give us a—

 

*PERSEUS shoots the audience a wide grin. It is lopsided and shows off his perfect white, straight teeth. Cooing is heard from the audience. It is largely female cooing in tone.*

 

CAESAR: There you go—Did you hear that? I’ll tell you what, your mentor is going to have an easy time getting sponsors this year. It seems like just about everyone here is rooting for you to get out, if only so they can see that smile again! Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for District 4’s merman, Perseus Jackson!

 

*PERSEUS’s grin doesn’t falter as CAESAR concludes their interview and shows him off stage. He stops by the camera and winks at it before going up to the balcony where the other tributes sit.*

 

Dr. Flavian pauses the video here. “Okay, we don’t have much time left in class today before the archivist shoos us away, but just to make sure you all are thinking in the right direction for your homework, what are some things you noticed?”

 

Gizelle was the first to speak up. “I mean, the video already alluded to him being more than human. At the time everyone thought it was a joke, but when we watch it now…” She trailed off.

 

“It certainly sets the foundation for what was to come, doesn’t it? I think this interview is fascinating, and it is much discussed amongst historians. How much of his myth was already formed in District 4 before he was ever reaped? That’s what I study,” Dr. Flavian smiled at her class, 

 

“If any of you are interested in getting involved in my research let me know. Alright,” She clapped her hands together, “explore those themes in your homework for next time, and we’ll study some more primary sources next class. You’re all dismissed.”

 

 

---

 

Reaping Day for the 70th Hunger Games

 

The Doors of Death had opened to nothing but an influx of ocean water he didn’t recognize, and gloomy clouds that promised a storm. The ocean was, for all intents and purposes, his father. It would always welcome him home and nurture his wounds.

 

But this ocean didn’t. It still felt friendly enough, Percy supposed. The waves lulled him into a sense of calmness, but when he reached out with his already depleted powers, no other being reached back. It was just him and Annabeth, laying passed out in his arms. At least, he prayed she was only passed out.

 

The ocean didn’t even do him the favor of reinvigorating him, or maybe it did, but he was simply too far gone for it to work. One way or another, his eyes slipped shut, and Annabeth floated away. 

 

The next thing he knew were the calloused hands of fishermen gripping his body and hoisting him onto the wooden boards of an old boat. He coughed.

 

“He’s alive?” he heard a withered voice asked, shock painted clear through the words.

 

Percy forced his eyes to open only to immediately shut them again. He hadn’t seen sunlight his whole time in Tartarus and now it seemed so impossibly bright, he’d worried it would blind him. Had Tartarus turned him into a monster? Making him fear the sun in favor of hunting innocents in the night? He saw Bob and Damasen behind his eyelids. He saw Annabeth, holding back tears of terror at what he had become.

 

Annabeth…

 

Annabeth!

 

Percy opened his eyes fully, ignoring the way they stung in the direct sunlight. He forced himself to sit up and take in his surroundings. His muscles were aching worse than he ever remembered them aching, which was saying a lot considering the amount of impossible things he put his body through. 

 

There in front of him was an old man, his face was withered, full of frown lines, and his skin was scarred from years of hard manual labor on a fishing boat. Beside him stood a man in his early thirties. He shared the blue eyes and chin of the old man, and he already had his own impressive set of wrinkles, likely from working in the sun or stress. Possibly both.

 

Both of the men were looking at him like they saw a ghost.

 

“Son, what happened to you?” The old man asked.

 

“Forget that, how did you survive without breathing for that long? We saw you! You had your head under water for probably ten minutes before we managed to reel you in.”

 

The man cursed his fellow fisherman out. “Stop interrogating him. The Peacekeepers will give him enough trouble as is.”

 

Percy was barely able to process what they were saying, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. “There was a girl with me. Did you see her anywhere?” Without him and without his father protecting her, Annabeth wouldn’t last in the open sea. His breathing turned into heavy pants, distantly he knew he was having a panic attack. He could just make out the younger man saying, “I’m sorry,” before he was unable to interact with the world.

 

Annabeth had been unconscious when he let go of her. He knew what that meant, but he didn’t want to face it. Annabeth was his rock, his solace. He couldn’t—wouldn’t go one without her.

 

The younger man reached out to grab him, and he just heard him say, “get the Peacekeepers!”

 

But before the men could dock and take Percy to the Peacekeepers—as he knew happened next, he woke up. His pillow was wet from a mixture of drool and tears. At least his screams were silent. He knew well that the family home he stayed in would have kicked him out if they weren’t. 

 

Everyday that Percy woke up here, in District 4, with no friends, no family, and no Annabeth was a day he would rather spend in Tartarus. Even now he only had a vague impression of what had happened to him—Gaea had finally decided he was a threat, and decided to take him out of the picture. Entirely.

 

And so he was plopped in a new world, with no gods acting as patrons of it. The sea, even at its most violent here, was always quiet, no Poseidon in sight. Since realizing how stranded he was, he had spent his nights in a depressive stupor more often than not and his days working at a low paying job on the docks. The ocean was the only thing powerful enough to raise his spirits—however briefly—anymore. 

 

At the end of his shifts he would go onto the beach and stare at the waves, wishing he could drown like Annabeth did. Once he even tied a noose before abandoning the idea. It made him realize he was more of a coward than he thought. 

 

If only the Peacekeepers had finished what they started when he was first pulled ashore months ago. They had beaten him black and blue searching for information on where he came from, sure he was a spy of some sort. The more he insisted he was from New York, the harder they hit him. But Percy was nothing if not durable, and he had taken a lot harder hits from a lot worse monsters. Eventually they gave up, presumably thinking he was just an insane kid who managed to slip through the cracks somewhere. 

 

That was how Percy learned that New York wasn’t around anymore. That the United States as a whole had been flooded by climate change and gutted by wars over the remaining resources, leaving behind only twelve desolate districts and a glimmering capital in the distance. The rest of the world was left in ruins, uninhabitable.

 

Though Percy didn’t quite believe that. If their records of their citizens were so complete, and the rest of the world was an empty wasteland, where had they thought Percy came from? Who did they think would send a spy?

 

In his more lucid moments, Percy pondered these questions, knowing if he could pull himself together enough, he could escape out into the ocean, living underwater indefinitely as he looked for other civilizations—kinder civilizations. 

 

That felt like a far off fantasy to him now, however. The only thing he could focus on was surviving day-to-day. Bringing in enough fish to keep his boss happy and his stomach fed. It was a tall order.

 

And normally everyone else was in the same boat, especially in the part of the district he lived in—the poor, rundown part, but today was different. Today was Reaping Day, which Percy had heard about in whispers on his job and cries from the other children in the family home at night. 

 

Every year, the Capitol—the lovely people who had ordered Percy’s interrogation months ago—pulled the names of twenty-four kids from the districts to fight to the death, like the gladiator fights of Ancient Rome. Twenty-four victims go in, one survivor comes out.

 

Percy had laughed the first time he heard about the games. Bread and circuses. Panem et circenses. He’d like to drown whoever named the country. And whoever came up with the games. If they were the same person, he’d like to drown them twice.

 

The games weren’t as simple as random chance, though. No, certain districts trained children to volunteer and win the games. It was like New Rome with their child army on steroids, and District 4 was one of them. They straddled the line, not always having “career” volunteers, as they were called, but they had them more often than not. Big burly kids who were well-fed and trained in all sorts of weapons. For the past ten years straight, they had had volunteers for both the male and female tributes in the district. 

 

Except, apparently, for Finnick Odair—the victor of the 65th Hunger Games—who was already being trained as a Career and was simply pulled early. Word on the street said that the volunteer decided to let him have the privilege of going.

 

Personally, Percy thinks the volunteer wisely backed out at the last minute. He would say he wouldn’t blame him, but it was equally shitty to let a fourteen-year-old go off to fight in your place. 

 

Percy shouldn’t judge, though. He had made worse decisions. ( He remembered Annabeth’s cries as he tortured Akhlys. ) Percy gets ready, along with the rest of the kids in the family home for the Reaping Ceremony. His clothes are old and worn, hand me downs from a boy who aged out last year. 

 

He’s not nervous. He had overheard at work the other day that the district already had two volunteers lined up, ready to take the glory of fighting in the hunger games. Ready to fight for the chance to be a Victor and bring honor to their district.

 

Percy was much more concerned about keeping his meager breakfast down while watching two children march to their death.

 

The Reaping wasn’t until the afternoon, but his boss had given him the whole day off since he was in the age bracket for tributes, so Percy went down to the beach and sat staring at the water. The weather today was terrible, heavy rain falling down and ruining any possibility of anyone else joining him on the beach. Ever since he landed in this world without gods, the weather has been reflecting his mood—meaning District 4 was getting more than its fair share of rain and storms. 

 

Though using his powers took far more energy and effort than he was willing to sacrifice, the weather took effort to stop, so he let the rain pour. He knew it would rain at least until he fell asleep tonight. 

 

The time passed in a blur, and before he knew it the alarms located around the district bellowed. It was time to go to the Reaping Ceremony. 

 

Percy showed up completely drenched, and he made an effort to keep it as such. With this heavy of rain and no umbrella, anything else would be suspicious. He remembered the feeling of the Peacekeeper’s baton hitting him. The last thing Percy wanted was to be suspicious. 

 

The man at the census desk pricked his finger to get a blood sample and asked for his name. “Perseus Jackson,” Percy mumbled. 

 

The man looked up at him briefly in surprise. Everyone seemed to know about him despite how much Percy tried to keep his head down. Though the government tried to keep his mysterious appearance under wraps, the rumor mill of District 4 was strong. Everyone wanted to know who he was and where he came from. If there really was the possibility of life outside of this shit-hole of a country. 

 

This man was a professional though, and simply waved him along, telling him to stand with the other seventeen-year-olds. Everyone around him was dressed in their best, like you would dress a corpse for an open-casket funeral. The only thing that ruined the image was that they were all soaked, too. District 4 didn’t have anywhere inside that was large enough to house their whole population of 12-18 year-olds, so they settled for a large tent. That didn’t stop the wind from blowing the water under it, however. 

 

The people around him shivered, but Percy just closed his eyes and enjoyed the chill rain piercing his skin. He could almost imagine he was somewhere else for a moment—anywhere else. 

 

Trumpets started blaring in a song Percy recognized as the Panem national anthem—it always accompanied the evening newscast—as the mayor stepped up to the microphone. He started reading off of a sheet of paper in front of him. Percy was barely able to pay attention with the way the adrenaline was running through the crowd. But he just managed to catch, “as atonement for the district’s sins of the past—”

 

Percy’s head shot up. The Capitol stole the district’s children and had the nerve to blame the districts for it? 

 

It shouldn’t have surprised him. The Capitol made it very obvious they couldn’t care less about their district citizens. It was an abusive relationship, with the Capitol telling the districts it’s your fault I get so angry. If only you did better.

 

Percy swallowed his anger as the mayor finished his speech—the Treaty of Treason he called it, before walking off to the side of the stage. A Capitol citizen, easy to identify because of their elaborate clothes made of magazine cuttings and extensive cosmetic surgery, took the mayor’s place at the podium. 

“Hello District 4!” The man exclaimed, throwing his head back. His hair must’ve been a wig or a toupee because it flew up off of his scalp just slightly with the motion. “It is so good to see you again. Are you all excited for this year’s hunger games?” There was a smattering of applause and weak cheers at his question.

 

That was the strangest thing for Percy to get his head around. Despite the Capitol stealing and killing their children as well as starving them, there were those in District 4 who supported the games. They were the wealthy upper class, who lived on the shore, but far away from the working docks. Their children had few entries—not needing to take out the Tesserae just to make sure they didn’t go to bed on an empty stomach, and they were secure in the knowledge that District 4 would train volunteers if their children’s names were called, anyway.

 

They could afford not to care.

 

“Alright, alright,” the man laughed, “as most of you know my name is Augustus Flatbone, and I have the honor of calling the names for District’s 4 tributes this year. As usual, ladies first,” he rubbed his hands together, like he was maybe trying to warm up his soul from the consequences of his job. He walked over to one of the large fish bowls—the one to his left—and pulled out a slip of paper. 

 

“Patricia McCoy!” He called, voice echoing throughout the gathered crowd. Percy could just see a section of the teenage girls move out of the way, allowing a mousy looking girl to walk out of the crowd and over to the stage. She didn’t look nearly as nervous as Percy thought she should, but maybe she felt safe knowing that there would be a female volunteer this year. 

 

“Come on up, dear,” Augustus said, extending a hand to pull Patricia up onto the stage. She took it and delicately pulled up the edge of her maxi-dress so as to not trip. If Percy were in her place, he wouldn’t have taken his hand. “And, as is customary, it is now time to ask if we have any volunteers for the position of female tribute for District 4.”

 

Percy’s eyes caught movement on the back of the stage, where the past Victors stood. Finnick Odair was looking out into the crowd of teenage girls, shaking his head subtly. “No,” Percy could almost swear he mouthed, but it was hard to tell through the rain.

 

“I volunteer as tribute!” A voice from in front of the stage shouted out, where the eighteen-year old girls stood. Though he was watching it happen, Percy still couldn’t believe anyone would actually volunteer for the games. How did you have to be raised to do that to yourself? To think it was honorable? What kind of parents told their children to volunteer?

 

His eyes flicked back towards Finnick Odair, who looked briefly pained before his face smoothed out, vanishing any trace of emotion he felt.

 

Augustus waved the volunteer up on stage. She was tall and lightly muscled with brown hair. “What’s your name, sweetie?” Augustus asked, passing the girl the microphone. 

 

“Annie Cresta,” her voice was confident; there was no waiver to be found. For someone who had just volunteered to kill or be killed for the entertainment of the masses, she was handling it without any fear. 

 

She carried herself like a demigod into battle. If Percy wasn’t so disgusted with the whole situation, he would be impressed. Instead, he felt morose. When he looked at Annie Cresta, he saw all the demigods at Camp Half-blood desperate to get a quest, to get their parents' attention, even if it killed them. 

 

All too often, it did kill them. 

 

“Well let’s hear some applause for your female tribune, Annie Cresta!” This time, at Augustus’s prompting, the cheering that broke out was loud. People were happy she volunteered, Percy realized. He wondered if it was because they thought she would win or if it was simply because it was another year of their own daughters being safe.

 

Percy noticed Annie looking back at Finnick Odair, for just a brief moment. Then it was over, and no one around him seemed to realize what had happened between the two teenagers. 

 

“And now, it’s time to pull out the name of the lucky male tribute.” Augustus made a big show of walking to the second fish bowl. His gestures were exaggerated as he waved his hand around the bowl before finally snatching a slip of paper quickly, like he was a snake striking. He made his way back over to the microphone. “Let’s see… Perseus Jackson!” He announced.

 

Percy had been in many dangerous situations throughout his life. Some of which were arguably more dangerous than the Hunger Games, but he still felt his heart pound heavily against his ribcage in fear. 

 

He should’ve expected this. For one, his luck was bad enough that this would happen. But more importantly, this was doubtlessly not an issue of luck. No, Percy was willing to bet that whichever tiny slip of paper Augustus pulled from the bowl would have had his name on it. A mysterious teenager who washes up in the tide, swearing he’s from a place that no longer exists, and with no records at all to say who he is or where he came from. He thought it was a miracle they hadn’t killed him in the holding cell when they whipped his back until there was no skin left.

 

Now, he realized they were only biding their time. They were going to make an example of him, take away any hope of life outside of Panem existing in the most brutal way possible.

 

But Percy couldn’t let them. He had not fought titans and giants and walked through Tartarus to be taken down by a corrupt mortal government. A small part of himself, the part where his power lay, spewed how it was insulting—that they think they can deal with him so easily.

 

Percy walks towards the stage. Augustus extends his hand like he did for Patricia, but true to his word, Percy didn’t take it. He didn’t think he would have been able to resist breaking it, not with the anger searing itself deep in his bones. He felt like the tide receding before a Tsunami. It was all he could do to not let his wrath out on the stage, washing away District’s 4 population with it.

 

“Do we have any volunteers to take Perseus Jackson’s place?”

 

Silence. 

 

Percy knew his coworkers had said there was a male volunteer ready, but he must’ve gotten cold feet. Or, he was smart, and he realized, like Percy, why his name was called—the outsider looking for asylum. Maybe he knew better than to get between the Capitol and a punishment. Percy’s hands formed a fist at his side in an effort to not choke the nearest Peacekeeper. Or Augustus. His anger wasn’t picky.

 

They were gathered far enough from the sea that no one noticed, but the ocean stood unnaturally still, waiting to see if Percy would strike. He didn’t. 

 

Instead, when prompted, he turned to face Annie Cresta, and they shook hands. Her grip was hard, as if telling him to stand down—she was going to win. Percy didn’t bother rising to the bait. He had nothing to prove.

Chapter 2: Highway to Hell

Summary:

The train ride and the Opening Ceremony

Percy was escorted into a private room in the justice building. The Capitol allotted an hour for visitors—friends and family, usually—to say goodbye to the tributes. Obviously, no one showed up to speak to Percy. 

 

It wasn’t a surprise. All of the kids at the family home were far more concerned with keeping their head down than befriending their housemates, and it’s not like Percy could have any friends from school, which he didn’t even go to. Instead of wasting any energy being sad over it, Percy stared out the window, which afforded him a perfect view of the ocean. As he watched the distant waves, all of his emotions faded to an iciness settling just under his skin. The rain slowly stopped.

 

He sat in silence until a knock sounded on the door and Percy stood up, surprised. It couldn’t have already been an hour?

 

“Come in,” he said.

 

An old lady, one Percy had seen standing on the stage earlier, opened the door. “Hello,” she said. Her voice was low and fragile. “I’m Mags. I’ll be your mentor for the duration of the games. I didn’t mean to intrude on you early, but the Peacekeepers told me no one was in here, and I thought you might like to not be alone.”

 

Just like that, the iciness faded, though his limbs still felt numb. It had been months since anyone had shown him kindness. He was an outsider in 4 and everyone knew it, whispers spreading to parts of the district he had never even been to.

 

“Thanks, but I don’t know if I’m up for talking right now.”

 

“That’s okay, we can just sit together.” She pulled a chair over to his vigil by the window.

 

The rest of the hour passed in a relatively peaceful silence. Percy was almost able to ignore what was about to happen, with Mags next to him. But like all good things, it had to end. The Peacekeepers opened the doors and greeted them with an aggressive “times up.” Percy and Mags were joined by Finnick and Annie, and they were marched to the train station by armed guards. 

 

At the train station, a photographer with a bright green perm—from the Capitol, no doubt—physically arranged them in front of the train. He took tons of photos, and the aftereffect of the flash burned behind Percy’s eyelids. The whole time another camera was filming their every reaction, no doubt hoping to catch fear or tears. Percy would give them neither.

 

As they were finally allowed to actually board, Percy spotted what must’ve been the other, past Victors from District 4 boarding the back half of the train. Percy guessed they wouldn’t be interacting much, if they were already being sequestered off.

 

The train ride itself was, in a word, awkward. Finnick, Mags, Augustus, Annie and him sat around a table piled high with elaborate foods—everything from meats, pastries, fruits, and bread. Finnick and Mags looked almost bored with the spread and the ostentatious decor of the train, but Annie was looking around in awe, touching a marble tabletop delicately before feeling the red velvet curtains.

 

Percy was much more interested in the food, eating large spoonfuls of a fancy vegetable puree. It had heavy cream in it and Percy almost moaned once he tasted it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cream. 

 

“So, Perseus,” Mags began, breaking the silence, “What part of the district are you from?”

 

Percy eyed Mags. Did she not know the rumors about him? Or was she just making conversation? 

 

“Portland.” Portland was where most of the actual fishermen lived; though, District 4 also had fish farms further inland. 

 

“You fish?” Finnick asked. At Percy’s nod, he continued, “ever used a trident?”

 

Mags reached over and tapped his shoulder gently, shaking her head. Percy realizes suddenly that just like Annie and him weren’t a team, Finnick and Mags weren’t a team, not for this. Finnick was Annie’s mentor, and he was determined to bring her home, not just any district four tribute. When Finnick asked that question, it wasn’t out of curiosity, he was scoping out the competition. The games had already begun, though it would be a week before they went into the arena. 

 

It reminded him painfully of Annabeth.

 

Percy grabbed a bread roll. It was one of the fancy ones from District 4, a light green with seaweed scattered throughout. He tore it apart just to give his hands something to do. 

 

Annie cleared her throat. “I’m from Decoris.”

 

Decoris was latin for beautiful, which from what Percy had heard, fit the area well. It was the touristy part of the district, with a relatively safe surrounding ocean, free of the various aquatic mutts that were still around from when the Capitol had bred them during the war in an effort to make fishing even more dangerous. The mutts had practically starved the district. 

 

The Capitol tourists didn’t care about that though. They were much more concerned about the beautiful sand beaches they pay exorbitant amounts of money to relax in without any district citizens around (except for the ones serving their every whim, of course). Apparently the beaches were surrounded by retired, armed Peacekeepers. Percy had never been anywhere close to the area, as he was the exact kind of person the guards were hired to keep out, but he could imagine it was a stark difference from the rocky beaches and starving kids in Portland.

 

Despite Percy having more tact than Finnick by not asking what weapons Annie knew how to use, knowing she was from Decoris told him quite a bit. For one, she was probably from a wealthier family that worked around the resorts, though likely not upper class, since she was trained as a Career. Just enough to not wear clothes with holes in them and be well fed. Her family was probably the closest thing to middle class in District 4, though from what Percy could tell, there was no such thing as middle class in Panem. There were simply the haves and the have-nots. 

 

Another important thing about Decoris, was that it was the location of Victors Village, which was probably why Finnick and Annie seemed to already know each other. It was also where the training academy for the games was located—just a couple streets down from Victors Village, done on purpose so that the Victors could help the kids train. 

 

It sounds like a special brand of Hades’s punishments to Percy. Surviving the games and going on to train kids to do exactly what you did. Percy struggled to send the younger demigods at camp on quests, and most quests were less deadly than the games, at least in that everyone who went on one had the possibility of coming back alive. 

 

“Do you like it?” Percy asks. At least one of them will be dead before the month is done. The least he can do is be kind. Though Percy feels pretty confident he’ll survive, if he does die, he wants to be remembered as nice. It is helped by the fact that Annie said something first. Though small, it feels like an olive branch. 

 

Annie smiles at him, and from what he can tell, it is genuine. “I love it. My parents own a restaurant and bar, right on the edge of the main beach. I would cook in the back in my free time, when I wasn’t at the academy.” She quiets at the end, as if embarrassed to actually be voicing out loud that she was trained for this, while Percy wasn’t. 

 

Percy is a firm believer that she doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed about what her parents and her society did to her though, so he distracts her. “What’s your favorite food?”

 

“Crab, 100%. Especially if there’s butter to dip it in. Though, of course, I don’t have it much. Only when we accidentally have too much to sell to the tourists.”

 

Percy could count on one hand the amount of time he’s had crab. His mom had never been able to afford it, and now, living in District 4, he still couldn’t afford it given how rare they were. The only crab he had ever had was in between the Titan War and the Giant War when he had visited his father in Atlantis. It was delicious, but Percy didn’t know if it was because he liked crab or if it was because it was prepared by a royal chef. A royal chef could probably make anything taste delicious. 

 

“I like bread,” he says simply, holding up a torn off piece of the roll before plopping it in his mouth. “What about you all?” He turns to Mags, Augustus, and Finnick, who had been watching the conversation between Annie and Percy carefully.

 

Mags smiles, “wild blackberries.”

 

“I used to fish for salmon with my dad, and I still have a soft spot for it,” Finnick says.

 

“Nothing quite beats a good crème brülée,” Augustus chimes in. Any peace the group had found was broken by the stark reminder of the difference between District 4 and the Capitol. More times than he could count over the past six months, Percy had gone to bed hungry, which wasn’t unusual in Portland, and District 4 in general. Augustus, however, was well fed with fancy food and elaborate desserts. Percy heard a fork scrap against a plate, the screech sounding abnormally loud in the uncomfortable silence. 

 

For the rest of the meal on the train ride, Percy doesn’t say anything, even when prompted. Augustus, ignorant to what he had said and the implications it had, chattered on about how excited he was for this year’s Hunger Games. Apparently, he really thinks Annie has a shot.

 

Annie smiled at him, though Percy noticed it wasn’t the genuine smile she had given him earlier. Finnick was friendly enough with Augustus (if his smile was fake, he was much better at hiding it than Annie), but Mags, like Percy, just ate in silence. 

 

Once Percy finally sets his spoon down for good, he’s ushered into a separate room by Mags. “Finnick and Annie will be talking strategy,” she explains, seeing his confusion. “And I wanted to clarify a rumor I heard. You don’t remember anything from before they found you in the ocean?”

 

Percy nods his head, glad Mags knows about the rumors. It is far easier to confirm what she said than to explain where he really came from, even if she—like the Peacekeepers—would just think he was crazy.

 

“You’ve never watched any of the Hunger Games before?” She continues.

 

He nods again, and Mags sighs before saying, “I have a lot to catch you up on, then. The first thing you need to know about is the Tribute Parade…” 

 

---

 

Percy’s stylist for the duration of the games—Amos, as he introduced himself—immediately makes Percy uncomfortable. He has Angelina Jolie cheekbones, long fake lashes with pink feathers attached to the ends, and a startling lack of wrinkles despite his age. That isn’t what makes Percy uncomfortable though, that was par for the course when he lived in New York. No, what makes Percy uncomfortable is the man’s lecherous smile when he looks at Percy. 

 

When he first walked into the room, he had stared at Percy in silence, walking a circle around him. His gaze felt like needles. “I have hit the jackpot, friends. Look at him! You, boy, are beautiful.” 

 

For the first time in a long time, Percy felt like the teenager he was, slouching his shoulders in the hopes of making himself smaller, of making himself invisible. He knew he was attractive—most demigods were, but it had never been spoken out loud in such a manner before. Much less by a strange man three times his age. 

 

His stylist must have noticed the way he curled in on himself because he looks annoyed and huffs to himself, as if it is a crime for Percy to hide from his gaze. He turns around to grab a black bag, which Percy suspects holds the outfit he will wear for tonight.

 

Percy isn’t sure if his stylist knows of the rumors about him back in four or if his luck is just really that bad when he pulls Percy’s costume out from its bag. It is the bottom half of a costume only; a mock merman tail, though not a realistic one people would spend thousands of dollars on. Instead, it looks like his Stylist has cut off the bottom half of a prom dress and not even a particularly pretty one. The fabric, a sequined blue and green color, is form fitting at the waistline all the way down to just past his knee, when it turns instead into flowing silk fabric jutting outwards, one layer after another. On a girl, it would be a fun Halloween costume. On him, he knows it will be hideous, conforming to his body in strange ways. Despite himself, he is relieved. No one will call him beautiful tonight, not with him wearing this tacky fish tail. 

 

After much prompting from his prep team, he takes off his robe, and they move to put the glittering monstrosity on him, But Amos stops his minions at the last moment, literally reaching out to physically stop the petite woman who waxed Percy’s chest from taking another step towards him. 

 

“It’s even better than I thought.” Amos said, staring directly at Percy’s chest. It was a struggle not to cross his arms. “You have an Apollo’s belt.”

 

One of the female members of the team sighs dreamily. At his side, Percy’s fists clench. He thinks he would’ve preferred if the Peacekeepers beat him to death all those months ago. 

 

“Cut off some of the top. I want the tail to ride lower on his hips. We simply must show off his musculature! It is such a shame we have to cover up the thighs…”

 

Amos’s words cause a flurry of movement. Percy, thinking it will be awhile before they finish re-hemming his costume, turns to grab his robe, only to find it missing. The petite girl from earlier—the one Amos grabbed—looks at him in pity before hustling him to a chair and taking her own bedazzled jacket off. Gratefully, he puts it on his lap. The people not involved in redoing the tail walk threateningly towards him with pots of blue pigment, glitter, and pearls. One older man even holds a curling iron. 

 

Oh no, Percy thinks, I’m not getting out of here anytime soon. 

 

---

 

By the time they are done with him, Percy’s scars are fully covered with makeup, the raised skin of his back in particular was indistinguishable from the rest of him, which Percy hadn’t even known was possible. They have also painted blue starfish all over the top half of his body, filling them with glitter and pearls that catch the light. He even had matching blue glittery eyeshadow smudged around his eyes. His hair falls just above his eyes in tight, artificial curls that are much tamer than his natural ones.

 

Just in time for the last member of his team to put down a makeup brush, Amos struts over. He coos over Percy for a long moment, hands extended just inches from his hair, his face, his chest. “Gorgeous work team. And Percy, sweetie, let me tell you—I am including your mother in that.” He laughs, and Percy’s lips turn downward in a frown. Percy licks them, just slightly, and tastes the cherry lip gloss they had painted over them. It was a stark reminder of how foreign his body felt like this, with pounds of paint on him. Not even his nails escaped the treatment—painted a “seaweed green,” according to the stylists. Percy had never hated the ocean more.

 

They marched the mermaid tail over to him, but before he could put it on, it seemed Amos wanted to torture him a bit more. “Have you ever tucked before?” he asked. 

 

If all the tributes in the arena were as evil as Amos, Percy knew he would have no problem killing them. He might even enjoy it.

 

Twenty minutes later, Percy was next to the chariot, feeling more uncomfortable than he ever had in the past. His steps were small, restrained by the fabric keeping his thighs close together, and the fake seashell/pearl crown Amos had him wearing was heavy. He fiddled with the pearl jewelry he wore—first his bracelet, then his necklace, then his ring. How much longer before this thing was over?

 

He felt like he stood there alone forever before, finally, his district partner arrived. She looked gorgeous, Percy noticed. If it hadn’t been for how guilty he still felt for Annabeth’s death and the awful circumstances surrounding the circus they were now in, he thinks he would be drooling. Annie was wearing a light purple lace dress, with a corset underneath. The fabric itself was see-through with two long slits up the side of her legs, leaving her to wear matching purple undergarments in order to not be fully exposed. 

 

Percy, guiltily, felt somewhat relieved by this—like he didn’t have to suffer alone. The dress was also fully decked out in pearls and seashells strung on cords that were elaborately draped around her body. The same pearls and seashells were splattered throughout her hair, which was pulled back in an updo. Comparatively her makeup was simple, with a smokey eye Percy had seen the Aphrodite cabin girls wearing a lot and plum lipstick. Percy guessed the makeup still took her team at least an hour to do.

 

She definitely got the better stylist , Percy thinks. 

 

“How are you holding up?” Percy asks.

 

“Fine,” Annie eyes him, from the top of his crown all the way to where the silk “fins” cover his feet. “I love my outfit. I’m guessing you can’t say the same?”

 

Instead of answering her, Percy says, “Be honest, do you think it would be that strange for a merman to have a bulge?” 

 

At that moment, Percy spots Mags and Finnick coming out of a door opposite where Percy and Annie had come out. He nods in their direction for Annie’s benefit, who is standing with her back to the door. She turns around and calls excitedly, “Finnick!” 

 

Finnick matches step with Mags, so it takes a bit for them to get to their chariot, but once they do, Annie goes to hug Finnick. He subtly pushes her away, “not here,” Percy can hear him say under his breath.

 

Ignoring them, Percy smiles at Mags. “How do I look?” He channels all his bravado, puffing up in the outfit to exaggerate how stupid it is. 

 

“A bit like you’ll follow in Finnick’s footsteps. You’re a very handsome young man.” Mags says. She tries to sound upbeat, but there is a sadness there she isn’t able to mask. He knows about Finnick’s reputation as a playboy in the Capitol, but he doesn’t know why Mags would care enough to be sad about it, even though she was close with him. If he sleeps with that many Capitolites he must enjoy it, right? 

 

Percy remembers suddenly that Mags is 75, and the Hunger Games have been around for 70 years, starting with the rebellion ended, meaning Mags was alive, though very young, during the rebellion. He wonders if she, unlike young Career Finnick, doesn’t like the Capitol and doesn’t like associating with Capitolites—if she doesn’t like her mentee associating with them. It is a sobering thought. All the different things Mags must’ve seen during her life. How many tributes has she trained—their last guiding hand before their lives were cut down prematurely? Did she mourn them? She must, he thinks.

 

Mags seems like she has nothing else to say, so Percy spends the remaining time surveying his surroundings. The horses here don’t react to his presence, not like the horses in his own universe. The most they do is turn around to look at him before getting back in position. They must be trained very well.

 

Off to his side, he can see Finnick and Annie having a hushed conversation. Percy is strong and more durable than most normal humans are thanks to his divine heritage, but that isn’t all. He can also hear better than the normal baseline average. Nothing crazy, but just enough that he can make out their conversation. 

 

“You look pretty,” Finnick says. “Of course, you always look pretty.” There is no playboyness in his words. Instead, they sound awkward, but sincere. A lot like how Percy had sounded around Annabeth before they started dating.

 

“I look hot!” Annie says before doing a twirl. “I’ve never worn anything like this before!”

 

Finnick's smile is strained now, and Annie must notice because she asks, “What’s wrong? Do you not like it?”

 

“Of course, I like it.”

 

Annie crosses her arms. “Do you think I’m hot?”

 

Percy is fully paying attention to the conversation now, and only feeling a little guilty for it. Are Finnick and Annie dating? If so… Well, frankly Percy feels bad for both of them. He can’t imagine how horrible it is to be training someone to enter a death competition, much less how horrible it is to be training your girlfriend to enter a death competition. He pictures Annabeth in Annie’s shoes, twirling in a beautiful dress, but only a week out from competing against 23 other children to be the sole survivor. It makes him want to puke. 

 

“Of course, I think you’re hot, Annie.”

 

“Why don’t you ever say it?” Okay, so they’re definitely dating, Percy thinks.

 

“Now isn’t really the time to have this conversation. Can we talk about it later?”

 

“No, I want you to answer my question right now. I’m wearing probably the nicest dress I’ll ever wear, dripping in pearls and finery, and my boyfriend can’t even tell me I’m hot. Why?”

 

“I just think you’d be a lot hotter at home, where I know you’re safe—alive.” Finnick sounds like a unique mix of annoyed and tired, now, and Percy gets the feeling they already had this argument. A lot.

 

“This year was my last chance, and the Academy chose me. I couldn’t not go.”

 

“Yes, you could’ve. What if you don’t come home?”

 

“You did.” She said, like she wasn’t competing against 23 other kids who wanted to get home just as bad as she did. “And if I don’t, then, well, they’ll preserve my memory with the games. They’ll take so many pictures! And it’s an honor to fight in these games. If I win, District 4’ll get the Capitol’s favoritism for the next year.”

 

“I can’t marry a picture, Annie,” Finnick said. There was no inflection in his voice. He sounded like a man who had lost everything, and the games hadn’t even started. Annie reached out to grab his hand, but Finnick pulled away. “I can’t. I have appearances to keep up when I’m in the Capitol.”

 

Percy tried to wrap his head around what he had heard. Finnick wanted to marry Annie? But he had appearances he had to play up… Was the playboy some sort of persona? 

 

As Finnick and Annie were talking, most of the tributes had arrived, and everyone’s costumes served as a good distraction from what he had overheard. They were a reminder of what the districts are in charge of, as they are supposed to follow a set theme. Even though he has been in this dimension for six months now, Percy still hasn’t been able to keep all of the district numbers and jobs straight. All he had needed to know before now was that 4 was fishing.

 

He also likes looking at the costumes because at least half of them are just as stupid as his, which reassures him. He sees the girl standing by the number three wearing a chunky computer from the 90s on her head like Karen from Spongebob. He wonders if it’s a deliberate reference. It’d be strange if it wasn’t, as Percy was able to tell this universe was years ahead of his own, making the 1990s much more distant to them than it was to Percy. But he hasn’t heard about or seen any media made before the war.

 

The couple from district one are hard to look at, they shine so bright. They both have jewels draped over their body, and from what Percy can tell, not much else. Hopefully, their underclothes is just a really close match to their skin tone. Percy noticed that when he first turned to look at them the female tribute—Emerald, according to the monitor near him—was staring at his ass. He glowers.

 

The little boy from 8, probably 13 if Percy had to guess, wore an incredibly oversized jacket that just looked like a quilt of different fabrics with large balloon sleeves. Percy was kind of jealous of him. It seemed very comfortable. 

 

It wasn’t until the teens from 12 came out that Percy realized that his outfit could’ve been far worse. Meaning, apparently, his stylist could’ve just not given him an outfit. That is what the stylists from 12 had appeared to do with their tributes. The two kids were naked except for the black powder and glitter that covered their skin and offered little in the way of coverage. 

 

If they were adults who had decided to go out dressed like that, Percy would’ve just laughed. But they weren’t. Instead, they were two kids forced into it after having their names drawn for a gladiator fight. Likely, the next time they returned home, it would be in a wooden box. 

 

Percy looked away from them. His brief glance had been long enough to tell that they were both underweight, looking half-starved, and the girl was shaking like a leaf. He noticed, unlike Mags and Finnick standing a stone’s throw away from Percy and Annie, there was no mentor for the two kids anywhere nearby. 

 

“It’s going to start soon,” Mags said. “We have to get going.”

 

Finnick helped Annie get in the chariot, and Percy followed behind her. He barely heard Finnick whisper, “I love you, I’m sorry.” It was so quiet, and he was far away from Annie now, there was no way she heard it. 

 

There must’ve been some sort of cue that Percy missed because the horses for the first Chariot started pulling out. “Good luck,” Percy told Annie. 

 

“You too.” She said, “and no, by the way. I don’t think it’d be strange for a merman to have a bulge.”

 

Their chariot pulled out, and the camera caught Percy and Annie right as the two of them were sharing a genuine laugh. The crowd was deafening, and people were holding up signs, though the words were too small and their chariot too fast for Percy to make out what they said. 

 

Scattered every couple of hundred feet were jumbo monitors showing all of their lovely faces. It cut to Percy, and he stared at his own face in shock. The styling team hadn’t let him look at himself before they sent him outside, and he had never seen himself wearing makeup before. It was strange, like his features weren’t his own. His eyes stood out in a way he wasn’t used to thanks to the blue eye shadow and even the lip gloss exaggerated his frown.

 

Should he smile? He noticed Annie at his side smiling and waving, so he made an effort to smile in a way that would make Apollo proud. He lifted one arm away from his death grip on the chariot to give the audience a subdued wave. 

 

Suddenly, from the stands he could hear it. “Perseus, Perseus, Perseus!” The crowd shouted. If he tried, he could make out certain individuals yelling out other tributes’ names, am “Emerald” here and a “Nero” there, but his name outshone the rest by miles. 

 

The crowd loved him far more than the rest of the tributes, and Percy had no idea why. While he was a demigod, none of them knew that, and he wasn’t the biggest or strongest looking tribute—that was the guy from seven, Trenton. Or if they wanted someone who made a deadly impression, they could cheer for Nero from two. Percy had planned on being a dark horse in the competition, but he couldn’t do that if the crowd had already seen something in him that suggested he could be the victor.

 

Why , Percy wondered, are they cheering for me?

 

Then the monitor cut to it—a sign a Capitolite was holding up in the audience. Perseus, reject me so I can move on! It said. The sign itself was innocent enough, a joke at their own expense, but it was what the sign implied that unsettled Percy. 

 

The audience wasn’t cheering for him because they thought he was strong or deadly. They were cheering for him because he was beautiful. He was seventeen, dressed up like a doll for a fight to the death, and these people were viewing him as an object to be desired and coveted. His smile slipped from his face. Someone throws him a rose, and he lets it fall to the bottom of the chariot. 

 

As they arrive in front of a Mansion, Percy sees the President stand up, and he braces himself to make eye contact with him as he looks around at all of the tributes. Humanity has always been aware of the power behind eyes, from the evil eye, to the eye of Anubis, and even the concept of eyes being windows to the soul. Percy himself had looked in the eyes of gods many times only to be met with threats of their power, of the violence and grief they could enact without lifting a finger. 

 

He realizes suddenly he has been picturing President Snow as a wrathful god in his mind. When he finally makes eye contact, he’s expecting Snow to send a divine threat through his gaze. To be like Zeus staring down at a 12 year-old Percy from his throne. But instead, when they lock eyes, Snow is startlingly human. Percy feels relieved for the briefest of moments, and immediately chastises himself. He knows many stories of humans achieving the impossible. Sisyphus escaping death twice, Daedalus building wings to fly to freedom, and Psyche completing her trials. He shouldn’t underestimate Snow just because his eyes didn’t threaten to turn him into a dolphin.

 

This is a different world with different rules, Percy reminds himself. Though as he is paraded around for people who don’t even look human, he can close his eyes and imagine it is the same, and that he is just a demigod walking the streets of Olympus, waiting for divine judgment. 

 

President Snow looks unnerved for a briefest second before quickly gathering himself, and starting his speech. As much as he should be paying attention, Percy can’t force himself to. The President’s words go in one ear and out the other. 

 

He looks up at the monitor and spots his own face. He tries to see what the audience must be seeing, his strong chin and prominent cheekbones, his dark eyebrows drawn low over eyes that reflect the sea, his curly black hair. These are features he got from his father—the features of a god. He has a very bad feeling about what was on those other signs he couldn’t make out.

Notes:

I really hope I'm doing Annie justice in this story. It's never explicitly stated if she is a career in the books, but since four is a career district, I imagine she was. (I also think the whole "she goes crazy after seeing her district partner beheaded" is more compelling if she was a career because it proves you can't know how people will react in life and death situations until you're in it.) I really want to explore why she was a Career and what she was like before the games started, especially since we know she is genuinely a kind person, whereas a lot of other careers are... not portrayed like that and instead take a cocky and better-than-thou route.

The fight with Finnick is important for establishing why she wanted to be a Career and volunteer AKA because she's been told it's glorious and glamorous her whole life and she gets to wear a pretty dress, which I know when I was a teenager, I loved. The whole "why don't you call me hot?" Part is inspired by Chappell Roan's lyric "Call me hot, not pretty" in Hot to Go!

Btw the reason Finnick doesn't call her hot is because that's the kind of verbiage he uses with the people he is pimped out to. He's trying to keep that and his relationship with Annie separate, but calling her hot would blur the lines. My poor baby.

Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter! I love comments and treasure everyone of them

Chapter 3: The Writing on the Wall

Summary:

The training sessions.

By the time the tribute parade was done, Percy was ready to run off and get changed into something—anything else. He tripped as he stepped down from the chariot and one of the horses neighed in what Percy knew was concern. “I’m fine,” he said out loud for the horse's benefit. Annie just laughed.

 

As Percy pulled himself off the floor, he looked up just in time to see the little boy from 8 pass his quilt-jacket off to the poor girl from 12. 

 

Percy was only now fully processing what had been done to the teens from 12. For all that he had been raised in a cruel world with godly parents who didn’t care and monsters craving demigod flesh, he had never before encountered the type of embarrassment and harassment they were experiencing—stripped bare and paraded around before a whole country. He wished he, like the little boy from 8, had a jacket to offer the male tribute. 

 

A Capitolite lady wearing a tall yellow beehive wig sprinted over to boy from 12 with a robe extended, and finally, their torture was, well not over, but done for now. The Capitol woman was trying to cheer the boy up without outright insulting the prep team’s work, though Percy noticed she wasn’t very good at it. “It’s okay! It was mostly face shots.” She crooned, patting his back. She must be their district representative, like Augustus, he decides. She certainly has the tact for it.

 

Percy forced his attention away from the boy who was now only a step away from having a breakdown and was greeted by Mags and Augustus. 

 

Unfortunately, it was Augustus who spoke first. “You were simply marvelous Perseus! There might be 24 tributes, but everyone’s eyes were on only you!” Annie was still only steps from them, talking to Finnick, and clearly able to hear what Augustus said, but she didn't react outwardly. She must expect it after Augustus told the whole table he thought Annie had a chance of winning, without mentioning anything about Percy. 

 

Mags doesn’t seem nearly as happy with his performance in the Tribute Parade, but when Percy asks if he did something wrong, she simply answers “no,” and walks him inside, her hand resting supportively on his back. 

 

They’re barely five feet past the doorway, when Percy hears loud yelling. “You’re a fucking idiot and a creep, Flavian! And you too Agamemnon! How could you send them out there without any clothes?” The words are hard to make out, slurred like the person saying them was drunk.

 

When Mags sees Percy looking confused, she sighs and says, “Haymitch, the mentor for the district 12 kids. He’s not always able to be there,” she says this in such a way that it hints towards a problem, but also tells Percy not to ask for elaboration, “but he does care about the kids. As much as he can bring himself to. He just heard about their… uh, costumes.”

 

“I don’t understand why he is so upset. Even if he wants to be a prude, those teens from 12 had almost no screen time. Not with our dear Perseus there. The camera loved him too much” Augustus scoffs, either uncaring or unaware of how cruel he is being. Percy doesn’t know how truthful Augustus’s words are, but if he helped those kids not be broadcasted across the whole country, then he hates his own stupid, revealing costume less. 

 

“Though, I will say,” Augustus continues, “at least Flavian and Agamemnon had the sense to use glitter. What was Daphne thinking, not putting any sparkles on Annie’s dress?”

 

“She had pearls,” Percy points out.

 

“Pearls are not diamonds or glitter, sweetie. Of course, Annie you looked gorgeous, but a little bling never hurt anyone.” Percy snorts, thinking of Hazel, and how her “bling” definitely could hurt.

 

It feels like the trip to the elevator took forever, but Percy knows it couldn’t have been more than three minutes before they were squished in a glass box going up to floor 4.

 

Their living arrangement is luxurious, there is no better word for it. It is as grand as the Romans’ temple for Jupiter. But Percy has been on Olympus more times than he can count. He makes no face of awe, looking around only so he can get his bearings. So he isn’t surprised by something he should’ve known about.

 

They all break off in different directions to get ready for dinner. Mags shows Percy to his room, and while he might’ve been able to ignore the extravagance of the apartment as a whole, he cannot ignore how great the bathroom is. It doesn’t look particularly fancy in the same way the rest of the apartment does, but it more than makes up for that in fancy appliances. There is a large shower, with buttons for getting different types of soap, different water pressures, and different heat. It’s been so long since Percy has been able to take a good shower. But it is the hot tub/bathtub combo beside the shower that Percy is really excited for. 

 

He takes off his stupid costume, and slowly peels off the little pearls glued onto his body. As he walks over to the hot tub, his bare feet hit the tiled floor, and he can tell it’s heated. Once the tub is finally filled with hot water, he lowers himself in it and barely contains a moan at how reinvigorating the water feels. Poseidon might not be in this world, but everywhere Percy goes, he takes a part of his father with him, even this far from the sea. 

 

He sends a prayer to his father. Asking for his help—his advice. It is not the first time he does, and like all the other times, there is no answer. Percy ducks his head under the water before starting to scrub off the blue starfishes painted all over his body. He smiles to himself, just slightly when his SPQR tattoo with his dad’s symbol of power is revealed. It’s not an answer to his prayer, but under the water, it provides comfort nonetheless.

 

---

 

 

Percy is the last person at the dinner table, thanks to his long bath. If he wasn’t a son of Poseidon, he would be a prune from how long he soaked. He plops down at the table and begins grabbing food at random. Annie tells him what all the stuff he grabs is. Idly, Percy wishes he could’ve tried her cooking before this whole mess. But he banishes the thought. He never could’ve afforded it. 

 

At the head of the table, sitting next to Annie, is Finnick. He is sitting in silence, staring at him. Well, not his face. Percy tracks his eyes, and sees his SPQR tattoo, the one with the trident above it. Before leaving his room, Percy had changed into a matching blue pajama set with short sleeves. It was something he never would have worn before today, but after his earlier outfit he is grateful for it. Now though, he thinks he should’ve picked something that covered his tattoo. After all, it was common knowledge a trident was the weapon of choice for the careers from 4. 

 

It was too much to hope Finnick would leave the matter alone. “What’s your tattoo mean?” He asks. 

 

Percy knows what Finnick is really asking, though. It’s the same question he asked on the train. Do you know how to use a trident? Only this time, Mags, who sits on Percy’s other side, cannot see his tattoo, so she doesn’t stop Finnick. 

 

“SPQR,” Percy says, just to be difficult. “I don’t actually remember getting it,” a lie. “But I think it must be an abbreviation. I’ve wondered a lot if S, Q, and R are my friends or my family. Maybe the P is Perseus, you know?”

 

Finnick sends an annoyed smile Percy’s way. “And the trident?” Annie chokes on her drink and turns her attention away from her stylist, who she had been making idle conversation with, to look at Percy. Since the cat is out of the bag, he puts his arm on the table, forearm positioned upward to show off his tattoo to everyone. 

 

“I fish,” Percy says simply. It seems both Finnick and Annie assume this to mean he is good with a trident. (He’s not, by the way. When he visited Atlantis after the Titan War, some of his father’s soldiers had tried to teach him how to use it, but he was still leagues better with a sword. He’s… fine with a trident, at best. It had driven his father crazy.) Annie, strangely enough, looks happy about this, while Finnick struggles not to scowl. 

 

“You could be in the alliance with us!” Annie says, smiling at Percy. 

 

Percy thinks this, along with when she first came out wearing her dress, are the only times he’s seen her actually happy. It makes sense, he supposes. It’s not exactly a happy situation, especially when you’re being dogged by your boyfriend who didn’t want you to volunteer. 

 

“Annie!” Finnick chastises. He looks briefly at Percy before his eyes flicker back to Annie. “You can’t just decide things like that this early. What if the other Careers aren’t even good? You don’t want to commit to an alliance with anyone before you see them fight.”

 

Despite Finnick talking about the other Careers, Percy knows the comment is mainly about him.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course the other Careers will be good. And 4 is a Career district, they’ll accept Perseus if I vouch for him.”

 

Finnick slams both hands on the table, startling everyone at the table. Augustus and Amos’s lively conversation on the other side of the table quiets abruptly. 

 

“This isn’t a game, Annie.” Finnick says. His tone is sharp, aggressive. 

 

Logically, Percy can’t blame the guy. He can only imagine how stressed he is right now, but he sees Annie’s face and gets mad on her behalf. Her shoulders are slumped, and she looks like she’s about to cry.

 

She’ll probably be dead soon, and her boyfriend wants to spend his last moments with her arguing? 

 

It’s made all the worse by Amos butting in. “Of course it’s a game. It’s in the name, Finnick, dear.” 

 

If Finnick looked upset at Annie, he looks downright murderous at what Amos said. On this, Percy can’t blame him at all.

 

“With the way you dress your tributes, I’m sure it feels like a game to you,” Finnick sneers. The amount of hatred in his voice is palpable, and it seems personal. Percy wonders if Amos dressed Finnick for his own games. Percy envisions what he wore today and shivers as he imagines what Finnick might’ve had to wear. 

 

“Finnick…” Annie begins, but he doesn’t let her finish.

 

“No, Annie, you can’t make decisions about the games before we even discuss them. And we certainly won’t discuss them publicly.” It’s clear when he says publicly, he means in front of Percy. 

 

Annie’s eyes are watery now, and Percy has had enough. “Take a seat back in your clam shell,” he snaps at Finnick before he can say anything else to Annie.

 

The phrase seems to distract Finnick from the fact that he is supposed to be upset. Finnick’s eyebrows furrow, “Did you just call me a pearl?” he asks.

 

He hadn’t, actually. Percy had called him Aphrodite. But this world had hardly kept any history, stories, or art from before the Dark Days, even the ones so many people in the Capital were named after, so explaining that to Finnick would be pointless. And besides, how was Percy supposed to explain that he was referencing a famous renaissance painting that no longer existed?

 

Finnick was certainly pretty enough to be a child of Aphrodite, though, or possibly one of her lovers, if they were back in Percy's old world. When he looked at him, Percy wondered why so many people were obsessed with Percy’s looks at the Tribute Parade today. Sure, he was maybe one of the more attractive people in the pool of tributes this year, but he had nothing on Finnick. Maybe if he stuck close to him, people would forget about Percy. 

 

But, Finnick would have to stop being a jackass for that to happen. 

 

It’s been long enough now to make it clear that Percy won’t answer his question. Finnick huffs and gets up from the table before leaving the room entirely. It’s just the two designers, Augustus, Mags, Annie, and him now. Augustus starts chatting again—Percy thinks the man must not know how to shut up—but the rest of them only give the smallest of replies to his questions. The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, with Percy eating more than his fair share. 

 

If he puts on some weight, he’ll have more fat to protect from starvation in the arena. More importantly, if he gets a layer of fat on his stomach, Amos won’t comment about his Apollo belt again. 

 

Once they’re all done, Mags walks him to his room, but instead of leaving him at his door, she asks to come in. She closes the door behind her.

 

“Do you really know how to use a trident?” Mags asks. 

 

Percy scratches the back of his neck. “I’m okay with it.”

 

Mags looks him right in the eye. “You need to be honest with me, Perseus,” she says. “Being honest with me could be the difference between your life and death.”

 

Percy tries to think about his skills objectively. He’s already decided he doesn’t want to use a sword in the arena. Swords are too important to him, and if he has to kill innocent kids with a sword, he thinks he might never be able to pick one up again. So, he doesn’t mention his sword fighting skills. Instead, he says, “I’m good, I guess. But nothing crazy. Not like I’ve heard Finnick is.”

 

“Well, Finnick’s skills with a trident are unmatched, so don’t feel too bad about it,” Mags says, giving him a small smile and pat on the shoulder. 

 

“And you don’t need to be great, you just need to be good enough to survive a direct attack. And you look big and strong. I’ll bet on those fishing boats, you haul a lot of your catch. You strong?”

 

This Percy can answer honestly, “yes.” He doesn’t elaborate on how strong he is though. His strength is literally inhuman, and he doesn’t want to give that away. He doesn’t want anyone in the strange world to know about his powers or his past.

 

Finally, Mags asks him what his biggest weakness is.

 

Percy thinks for a moment, and finally says, “foraging for food and shelter.” Grover had taught him a fair amount about edible food in the wild, but what if it was a terrain he wasn’t familiar with?

 

He doesn’t voice his other weakness, his mortal flaw: loyalty. He can’t join an alliance like the one Annie mentioned. Alliances where there can be only one winner would inevitably need to break, and Percy doesn’t think he can do that. 

 

Mags tells him a couple of other things—the importance of focusing on water and shelter, knowing what food is poisonous, taking out the careers if at all possible, and that he should make the Capitol like him. Finally, she left him to get some sleep, but not before telling him that training starts tomorrow, and reminding him that he better put all his energy into learning about water, food, and shelter. Percy nods obediently, and Mags leaves.

 

---

 

 

That night, Percy dreams of his old friends. This isn’t a strange occurrence; he has a lot of nightmares about them being killed by Gaea, but that isn't what this dream is. Instead, Nico is sitting on Percy’s bed in the Poseidon cabin at Camp Half-Blood. His head is bowed, back hunched. 

 

Percy takes a step towards him, and Nico’s head shoots up. “Percy!” he yells, barrelling straight into him. “What happened? Where are you? Are you still in Tartarus? The doors closed, but you and Annabeth never came out or joined my father’s kingdom…”

 

At the mention of Annabeth, Percy chokes up. He had spent so much of the last couple of months trying to forget her. Trying to forget his failure. But it seems she was even denied her proper spot on Elysium because of him. “I’m so sorry, Nico. I couldn’t save Annabeth.” 

 

Nico’s eyes look around wildly. He seems uncomfortable watching Percy cry, but Percy couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. Annabeth was dead because of him. 

 

Nico puts a reassuring hand on his back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Percy, it’s not your fault. Tartarus…” 

 

“She didn’t die in Tartarus, Nico. She died in the sea.” 

 

Nico looks confused. “But if you were in the ocean, your father would have saved you. You’d be safe, here.”

 

Percy’s voice cracked as he said, “it wasn’t my father’s ocean. Gaea must’ve done something. I’m somewhere else entirely. A different earth, and I don’t think there’s any gods here.” 

 

It was the first time Percy had said his fears out loud. Ever since he was twelve, he’d known, for better or worse, there were gods out there. Someone was looking after everything. Here, there was no such certainty, and he wasn’t prepared for how terrifying that thought was. There were no nature spirits to protect the wild. No ocean gods to protect the reefs. No gods to make sure the harvests grew and people thrived. 

 

In their absence, mankind had ruined the earth beyond repair. Even a war god would have been useful in tempering a war—making sure people didn’t go too far.

 

But they had. Percy had even heard that there used to be a District 13, but the Capitol bombed them to ruins. There was hardly enough people or fertile land to destroy anymore, but the Capitol did anyway, uncaring for the consequences. The Olympians were kind of terrible in certain regards, but Percy can’t stop thinking that they wouldn’t have allowed this all to happen. 

 

Nico opens his mouth to respond, but Percy starts to wake up. “Wait, Percy, you need to—”

 

Percy will never know what he needs to do because he opens his eyes to knocking on the door. It’s Augustus, telling Percy he has to get ready for breakfast. Today is their first training day, and Percy has a lot to learn if he’s going to survive.

 

---

 

 

Percy knows he looks like he’s been crying. His eyes have dark circles under them, which only serve to exaggerate how red they look. Mags gives him a hug after breakfast, while Annie looks sympathetically in his direction. Finnick takes one look at him and his red-rimmed eyes and makes a point of not looking at him anymore after that. It is a blessing when they arrive at the training center. 

 

The mentors don’t participate in the training sessions, so Percy and Annie walked into the room together. Everyone is wearing matching clothes, with the number of their district on both the back and front of their shirt. Percy takes the opportunity to study the people around him in a way he hadn’t been able to when they were all wearing elaborate costumes.

 

His eyes first fall on the little boy from 8 who loaned the girl from 12 his jacket. He looks slightly older now that he isn’t being swallowed up by an oversized costume, but he is still small for his age, and he looks underfed, which from what Percy has gathered in his own experience in 4 must not be uncommon in the districts. 

 

The two teens from 12 are standing only a little behind the boy from 8—and Percy makes a mental note to learn his fellow tributes’ names. It is the least he can do for these kids who will be dead so soon—they look only slightly more comfortable today than yesterday, even though they are fully clothed now. 

 

Standing towards the very front of the room, where the various instructors are gathered in a small semi-circle, are who Percy assumes must be the Careers. The boys and girls from Districts 1 and 2. Upon seeing them, Annie gives Percy an awkward smile and small wave before walking over to introduce herself. 

 

They all look big and muscled standing together, especially compared to the rest of the batch of tributes. Percy himself is an outlier. While he isn’t a career, his godly genes allowed for his muscles to stay strong and defined and he reached a tall height—uninhibited by his poor diet over the past couple of months. He towers over just about all of the rest of the tributes, except for the two boys from 1 and 2 and the boy from 7, who Percy clocked last night, noticing how tall and broad he was. His name is Trenton, Percy remembered. 

 

Most of the other tributes don’t have anything that makes them stick out from the others. They are all underfed and look incredibly nervous to be here. 

 

But finally, Percy’s eyes catch on familiar looking hair. She has her back turned to him, but Percy feels longing ache deep within him when he sees the curly blond ringlets that fall down her back, covering the number 7 on her shirt. Percy’s heart feels like it’s about to spontaneously combust, and it takes all his effort to stay rooted where he is. 

 

An instructor claps his hands and announces that training is about to start. He goes over some ground rules, like respecting the supplies and not fighting each other, even for spars. 

 

Training will consist of multiple different subjects all being taught at the same time at different stations. Weapons, shelter, nots, hunting, scavenging, everything you could possibly need. The instructor sends them off and everyone scatters to different sides of the room. 

 

Percy, against his will and better judgment, follows the curly blond hair. 

 

He can see her face now, and she honestly doesn’t even look that much like Annabeth. Her eyes are a dark brown, and her nose is smaller than Annabeths. Her whole face seems more delicate, lacking the strength in Annabeth’s face. Even the way she walks is different. Her feet barely touch the ground, and Percy is reminded of a bird. 

 

She comes to a stop at the fire starting station, which Percy supposes is good enough. He doesn’t know how to start a fire without a lighter or matches, so he feels relatively guiltless when he stands beside her and listens to the instructor drone on and on. 

 

When it is finally their turn to try starting a fire, he does something stupid. “What’s your name?” He asks.

 

She turns to face him, as if she has only now noticed him. Percy knows this isn’t true, she had taken a step aside when he joined the station, giving herself more room, but he supposes everyone will be viewing everyone as an enemy now. If Percy’s dumb heart would be quiet, that is what he would be doing.

 

He notices her eyes look down at the corner of his shirt, which says 4 in a bright blue color. She raises her eyebrow, “What aren’t you doing with the rest of the Careers?” She asks.

 

“I’m not a Career,” Percy says, forcing himself to look back down at the fire he is supposed to be starting. “There was no male volunteer this year for 4.”

 

“That’s bad luck.” The girl says, “but in that case, you can call me Judy.”

 

“I’m Perseus.” It’s easier for Percy when people call him Perseus now. It feels like a fresh start, like he can distance himself from his old life. With the people he failed. He doesn’t know what he would do if this girl with Annabeth’s hair called him Percy. He doesn’t think he’d survive it. 

 

“I know. People kept shouting your name yesterday.”

 

Percy feels himself blush red. It hadn’t occurred to him that all of his fellow tributes would make the connection between the audience’s screaming and himself. He hopes none of them were able to read any of the signs. 

 

Judy sees Percy’s blush and instead of changing the subject, like a nice person would, she continues. “You know, I have a little sister back at home. She’s ten, and when I saw you on the screen last night, I kept wondering if you would be her sexual awakening.”

 

By some miracle, Percy’s fire started, allowing him to simply say, “I hope not,” before leaving the station without glancing back. He heard Judy’s laughter echo behind him. 

 

It sounded like Annabeth’s.

 

From there, Percy went to the shelter station, arguably the thing he was most worried about in the arena. If he didn’t have to hide his powers, he could probably just camp out in a lake or river, but that wasn’t an option. 

 

The instructor at the station seemed delighted by how many questions he had for her, and she gave him long answers covering a variety of different possible arena types. He stayed there talking to her until lunch.

 

At lunch, Percy stared around at all of the different tables he could sit at. There were 24 tables in total, allowing the opportunity for all of the tributes to sit alone, and a lot of them did, especially if they were from the later districts. 

 

Percy debated the merits of sitting alone. It would allow him to not get too attached to any of his fellow tributes, but he also felt so isolated—he had ever since he washed up in this strange world. It would be nice to at least talk with someone who wasn’t either Mags or a Capitolite excited to watch him die live. He spotted the boy from 8 and the two tributes from 12 sitting together close to the bread basket. 

 

Just as he started walking towards them, he felt a hand grab his elbow. It took effort not to fight the person who grabbed him—his war habits were still firmly in place—but he was glad he held back when he saw it was Annie.

 

“C’mon,” she said. “I want to introduce you to the others.”

 

By “others” she apparently meant the Careers. Two girls and two guys from districts 1 and 2. Percy had been watching them as subtly as he could this morning, and it was easy to tell they were trained. 

 

The girl from 1—Emerald—had skills with a bow good enough to confuse her with an Apollo kid. Meanwhile Nero and the guy from 1—Percy still didn’t know his name—could throw a spear as well as they could fight with a knife. And they could fight with a knife very well. The girl from 2 favored a sword, though the ones she chose to practice with were nothing like Percy’s own Riptide, which still sat uselessly in his pocket. Whatever magic made Riptide, well, Riptide was gone now, leaving Percy with a generic ballpoint pen. 

 

The point was, the Careers were deadly. Percy understood why Mags said they were the ones to take out to win. And now Annie wanted him to play nice with them. 

 

“This is Perseus,” she introduced him to the group, “he didn’t train at the academy with me, but he knows how to fight with a trident. He even has a tattoo of it.” 

 

There was something different about how Annie talked to the Careers versus how she had been talking to their ragtag team from 4. It reminded him of the handshake she gave him on the Reaping stage. 

 

She’s playing a persona , Percy realized. This was how she was going to make the Capitol remember her for sponsors. As a tough career, not as the daughter of a couple restaurant owners back in 4. 

 

Percy thinks that maybe Mags would want him to do something similar, but honestly, he was too tired to even think about doing that. Instead, he just nods towards the group. 

 

Nero sizes him up. “You’ve got muscles, but they’re probably from fishing. You any good at hand-to-hand?”

 

“When I have to be.” Percy says, and then, because he promised to learn his fellow tributes’ names, “What are your names?”

 

The Careers look vaguely offended, like they expected him to already know them. It makes Percy glad that he didn’t mention he did know two of their names, just not the other two. 

 

Finally, Emerald speaks up first, “I’m Emerald. District 1, obviously.”

 

“I’m Andromeda,” the girl from District 2 says. If knowledge of the Greek myths weren’t wiped out here, Percy would’ve made a joke.

 

“Nero.” Unfortunate name, Percy notes. Though the guy has a cruel face and laughed when the girl from 6 cried earlier, so maybe it fits.

 

“Lace.”

 

Percy simply nods again in reply to all of their introductions. This doesn’t feel like a “nice to meet you” situation. 

 

“Well, sit down,” Emerald says. Gesturing to any empty seat by her. Percy remembers she was the girl who eyed his ass at the parade yesterday, and wearily takes the seat she gestured to. 

 

He had already piled his plate high with various delicacies, including crab, so he could decide if he liked it or not and tell Annie later. 

 

Andromeda breaks the silence with possibly the worst thing she could’ve said, “So who do you all think is going to die first?”

 

Percy chokes on his water, which is a first for him.

 

“Definitely the girl from 6. She can’t fight, and she seems too delicate to risk the arena without any supplies. So she’ll go for something in the bloodbath and someone will kill her.” Nero begins.

 

Andromeda nods, like the terrible thing Nero said is perfectly reasonable. And, look, Percy will be the first to admit what Nero said was thought through, and was even helpful for Percy’s understanding of the hunger games, but it was still a terrible thing to say. 

 

“Probably one of the kids from 12,” Lace continues, “they never last very long. I can’t even remember the last time one of them lasted through the first day.”

 

“That’s a safe bet. Their mentor sucks. It’s hard to survive when the person who might save your life is black-out drunk.” Annie says, though she sounds sad, as if she’s pitying the kids from 12. 

 

Andromeda must notice the same thing because she scowls and says, “If you’re relying on your mentor that much, you wouldn’t have won anyway. I can still win even if my mentor doesn’t send me anything.”

 

Nero laughs, “Yeah, I can too, but that doesn’t mean I’d enjoy it.”

 

The conversation changes after that, and Percy is grateful to note neither Annie nor Emerald shared who they thought would die first. Though both of them still laugh at jokes about the arena and death and life as a Victor that make Percy uncomfortable. He wonders if Annie would be laughing if the Careers weren’t there. 

 

Percy isn’t able to quite get comfortable with the careers after Andromeda’s first question, and at the end of the day, when it is just Annie and him on the elevator, he tells her he won’t be joining the Careers in an alliance. Annie seems disappointed, but she doesn’t try to persuade him, which Percy is grateful for. 

 

The next two days of training pass similarly. Percy stays away from all of the weapon racks, focuses on survival, and studies the people around him. He’s learned some of the tributes’ names by now. The boy from 8 is named Will, and the two kids from 12 are Daffodil and Matthew. Percy hopes they make it through the first day—that Lace’s prediction was wrong. 

 

At night, Mags will come by with a list of things she forgot to tell him about the games and strategy. Slowly but surely Percy feels like he has a proper understanding of how these games work. Once he gets in bed though, he wonders if he should even try to win. Don’t the other kids deserve it more? Hasn’t Percy already lived long enough? 

 

He was supposed to die at sixteen, and he’s seventeen now. It would be easy to die in the bloodbath. He thinks maybe one of the other tributes could even poison him—an act of revenge from Alkys a whole world away. Besides, all of the other tributes have families and friends waiting back at home for them. 

 

But he always wakes up in the morning with a new will to live. 

 

—

 

Finally, training is done, and all that’s left is to perform in front of the gamemakers, after which they’ll score you and broadcast it for the entirety of Panem to see. Augustus told Percy this was when betting for the games really heats up. 

 

Out of morbid curiosity, Percy asked Augustus if anyone had bet on him winning, and Augustus replied, “Of course, a lot of people have! Though I don’t know how much of it was truly thinking you would win and how much was hoping that your beautiful face would see the competition through.”

 

Percy doesn’t ask Augustus anything else after that. 

 

Annie and him are dropped off on the training floor one last final time, and they see that twenty-four seats have been lined up in the hallway. Percy sits next to the female tribute for 3, a girl named Peyton. She is shaking in fear, and muttering, “I just want a 5,” under her breath. 

 

Percy has no idea what score he should be hoping for despite Mags telling him to aim for an 8. Percy can’t really force himself to care about something as arbitrary as a score, even if a good one will help him attract sponsors. He waits impatiently for the six people in front of him to finish before the gamemakers finally call him in. 

 

He walks in to find all of the gamemakers—mostly middle-aged men—staring intently at him. “I heard he’s not a Career,” one of them mutters to his friend, who is eyeing Percy like fresh meat.

 

The friend replies, “I still hope he wins. I’d love to meet with him throughout the upcoming years.” They both laugh. Something about the conversation deeply unsettles Percy, though he can’t quite pin down why.

 

He clears his throat, “I’m Perseus Jackson, from district 4.” One of the gamemakers gestures for him to start. 

 

Percy had thought a lot about what weapon he wanted to use in his demonstration. Since he decided against using a sword in the arena, and everyone already thought he knew how to use a trident, it is a trident he grabs. 

 

He slashes it around in a fairly random manner focusing on demonstrating speed and technique. He ends by stabbing one of the dummies scattered around the room through the heart. The three prongs of the trident go all the way through to the dummy, and Percy turns back around to the gamemakers. 

 

He doesn’t think he did as well as he could’ve, but he also can’t force himself to care about that. Not when children will be killing each other within a week. He tries to keep his expression neutral, though he has a bad feeling he doesn’t quite manage it, but he is dismissed without further issues. 

 

He wishes Annie luck on the way out.

 

Another awkward dinner passes, with Mags, Finnick, Percy, and Annie all avoiding talking about strategies around each other. At least Augustus and Amos have fun gossiping about the upcoming games with each other. Daphne, Annie’s stylist, seems to have slightly more decorum. Percy is once again jealous he didn’t get her as a stylist. 

 

Once everyone has stuffed themselves with appetizers, entrées, and desserts, they gather around the TV for the announcement of scores. Mags told him the Careers usually get between an 8-10, with 12 being the best possible score. Most other tributes will score anywhere between 3-7. 

 

Sure enough Lace scores a 9, Emerald scores an 8, Andromeda scores a 10, and Nero scores a 9. Then the two from 3 are up. The boy scores a 6, but the girl only gets a 4. 

 

Percy’s score will be the next one announced. Mags reaches out and grabs his hand, holding it in both of hers. He can feel how delicate her hands are, the veins sticking out and skin sagging, but she still squeezes his hand tightly in reassurance, and Percy wonders if this is what it is like to have a grandmother. 

 

Mags is, without a doubt, the best thing to come out of this terrible situation.

 

His face flashes on the screen, and Claudius Templesmith, who is apparently the news anchor for the Hunger Games, stops to comment on his photo and how attractive he looks in it. Percy grits his teeth.

 

“Well ladies,” Claudius says, “You’ll be happy to hear he got a 10.” Mags claps the back of his hand in excitement, and Amos shakes his shoulder.

 

“Atta boy,” Augustus says. 

 

Percy looks over at Annie and Finnick. Annie is smiling, though it doesn’t quite look as real as some of her other smiles Percy has seen. Finnick is frowning, studying him intently. His eyes catch again on Percy’s tattoo, and he looks back at the TV just as Annie’s face shows up on the screen.

 

“And Miss Annie Cresta scored a 9, congratulations Miss Cresta.”

 

It is immediately apparent this is not what Annie wanted to hear. She breathes in deeply, and the smile from earlier is gone. Percy has outperformed her, tying with Andromeda for the highest score, and he isn’t even a Career.

 

Percy has a bad feeling his days of seeing Annie’s real smiles are over. Tomorrow is the interview, and the next day is the arena. Despite his high score, Percy doesn’t feel ready. He forces himself to pay attention to the rest of the score reveals, and winces when Will gets a 3. If they were scoring kindness, Percy knows Will would’ve got a 12.

Notes:

Percy: Yeah I don't think I did that good.
Also Percy: *ties for the highest score*

I hope no one is mad at me for how I am portraying Annie and Finnick so far in this fanfic. I love them both, but they are also in a HIGHLY stressful situation right now, so they're not perfect. It's normal for people to lash out when they're upset (to a certain extent, oc.) Give it time, I hope to do both their characters justice as the story goes along.

Btw "take a seat back in your clam shell," is from Alrighty Aphrodite by Peach pit. I thought it would be so funny if Percy calls Finnick Aphrodite, and Finnick doesn't even understand what he said.

Comment please!

Chapter 4: Pearls Before Swine

Summary:

The interviews

Now that the training days are done and scores are assigned, all that is left are the interviews. They have all day to prepare, and then they will be interviewed tonight. Tomorrow morning they will be flown out to the arena. Somewhat morbidly, Percy hopes Zeus can come through for once and strike the aircraft down before they ever manage to arrive. If anyone would be able to reach across dimensions to do that, it would be his petty uncle. 

 

Once breakfast is over, he asks Mags for more tips for the arena—as he has everyday they have been in the Capitol, but today she tells him he should worry about the interview instead. That since he scored highly, the best thing he could do now is get as many sponsors as possible. A good interview, she says, can achieve that. 

 

“How do I give a good interview?” He asks Mags.

 

“First, we have to pick a character for you to play.” Mags looks him up and down, tapping her fingers on the table in consideration. He is still wearing his pajamas and hasn’t bothered to brush his hair or even shave since he didn’t have to leave the apartment this morning. He wonders if Mags is disappointed in what she has to work with. Percy isn’t in the habit of impressing his teachers. 

 

“How do you feel about playing the interview in a funny way? Maybe acting charismatic?”

 

Augustus, who for some gods forsaken reason is part of this discussion, buts in, “Everyone who isn’t in the know thinks you’re a career. I think you should go for a more aggressive persona to match that assumption. Play up the ten you got in training.”

 

“If you’re not going to join the career alliance, don’t pretend to be a career. Although, aggressive might work, with your score.”

 

Percy knows he can be aggressive in the battle field, but right now, sitting on a couch across from little old lady Mags and his eccentric escort, he feels as far as he can be from aggressive. He feels tired, somber. He thinks neither of those would make for a good interview though.

 

“I don’t want to be aggressive. I don’t think I can pull it off in front of the camera.” Mags and Augustus share a knowing look. 

 

“But you can in the arena, right?” Augustus asks.

 

Percy doesn’t meet either of their eyes. He doesn’t want them to think he’s a monster before he’s even in the arena.

 

“What about funny and charismatic, then?” Augustus directs his question to Mags, which is good. Percy doesn’t feel like answering it.

 

“Maybe that would be best. Percy, could you smile for us?”

 

It takes a lot more energy than he would have expected it to, but Percy manages a half-smile. The one teachers always said made him look like a trouble maker.

 

“Ooooh, shoot that grin at the audience, and they’ll love you. You’ll get all the single old lady donations.” Augustus says. Mags lightly slaps his leg. Percy doesn’t really know why, that was one of the least offensive things Augustus has said since Percy met him.

 

“Okay, well then, let’s work on keeping up a facade during the interview. Let’s do some practice questions. What are you looking forward to the most if you win?”

 

Percy thinks for a moment, and the smile slips off his face. He knows other people are looking forward to riches or going home to their family and friends, but Percy doesn’t care about money, and he doesn’t have anyone to go home to. “Eating dinner every night,” he says finally. He takes one look at Mags and Augustus’s face and knows he has said the wrong thing.

 

Mags clears her throat, “The audience won’t like to be reminded of how… precarious the food situation can be in the districts. And you should stay smiling throughout the whole interview, unless he asks you a specific question that would warrant not smiling, but that usually doesn’t happen.”

 

Percy nods, doing his best to smile again and keep it up. 

 

“What do you enjoy most about the Capitol?”

 

That is an easy question for Percy to answer. “The food.” He leans back into the couch, but his half-smile stays on his face.

 

“Are all of your answers going to be about food?” Augustus asks. Percy pats himself on the back for not decking him there and then.

 

Mags continues on bravely, “What sort of strategy can we look forward to you employing in the arena?”

 

And on and on it goes, with a brief break for Augustus to teach him some etiquette—how to shake Caesar Flickerman’s hand, how to sit, how to project your voice, etc. But Augustus ends the session saying that maybe he should lean back in the chair because he looks more confident that way, so Percy isn’t even sure why he was taught the lesson in the first place.

 

Before they finish, Mags takes him aside, “You’re a very charismatic young man,” she says. “But you’re stiff when we ask you questions. I’m not going to tell you to be yourself because with these interviews I frankly think that is terrible advice, but I want you to loosen up a little bit. It’ll be hard for you to mess up majorly. Everyone in the crowd already likes you because they think you're handsome and you got a good score. Just smile and answer as best you can, and you’ll be alright.”

 

“At least until tomorrow,” Percy mutters.

 

Mags breaths in and exhales loudly. “At least until tomorrow,” she agrees, squeezing his shoulder in support.

 

He gets a brief break for lunch, and then his prep team descends like the plague of locusts upon Egypt. He is placed in a bath containing a variety of oils and soaps, and then scrubbed and exfoliated within an inch of his life. 

 

One of them tuts disapprovingly at his stubble before shaving him. They nick the left side of his jaw, directly underneath his lips, but since he is still in the bath it heals immediately, leaving behind just a drop of blood. Percy swears he can smell it, and he doesn’t know what to think about that. 

 

Finally, he is dried, moisturized, and perfumed. He is offered a towel to tie around his waist, which he takes gratefully, remembering how uncomfortable Amos had made him the last time he styled him. 

 

Amos bursts into the room without knocking. “There is my handsome muse!” he cries. 

 

Percy only barely manages to refrain from rolling his eyes.

 

“Look at what I have brought you today!” Amos pulls Percy’s outfit out of the same black bag his parade costume was in. This one is a bright red suit. Or—well, it is a suit jacket with pants. Percy notices, to his horror, there is no shirt in sight.

 

At least this suit is more tasteful than the parade costume. There are no sequins in sight. Instead there are golden patterns of hibiscus flowers with rubies embroidered around them. It’s obviously styled after a stereotypical Hawaiian shirt, and it is the kind of thing Percy could picture his dad wearing to a fancy event on Olympus. 

 

Unbidden tears threaten to well up in his eyes at the thought of his father. He had spent so much time missing his mom and his friends and the background presence of the gods that he hadn’t even thought about his dad’s mortal form since he landed in Panem. But now, a day out from a possible execution, he would give anything for his dad to be here. To give him some shitty advice before disappearing from his life for another year. 

 

Mags had told him the other tributes would likely mention their families in their interviews as their reason they want to go home. It was a brutal reminder that Percy has no one waiting for him back in 4. He stares down at his SPQR tattoo, hoping it will give him strength. 

 

“Don’t cry; I know, it is beautiful. But not beautiful enough to ruin your makeup!” For once, Percy is grateful for Amos. His stupid comment was just what he needed to shake himself out of the funk he fell in.

 

Percy cannot fall apart. Not right before the interview, and not tomorrow during the games. If he survives, he will have plenty of time to be sad. And if he dies… it will be a non-issue. 

 

Percy dresses in the suit, with his prep team fluttering around him. He has managed to gain weight while in the Capitol, which Mags seemed grateful for, but Amos and the rest of his team mourn his “uber defined” abs. They’re still there, just not as defined as before, but they take makeup to the area, and contour like their life depends on it. By the time the team is done, they look just like they did at the Tribute Parade. Percy tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. 

 

They have let his hair fall in its natural waves today, which Percy is glad about, and his nails are repainted in gold to match the suit. Amos slides a pearl necklace on him as the final touch.

 

“I count myself very privileged to be able to work on a beauty like you, Perseus,” Amos says.

 

Percy smiles at him, deciding this is a great time to practice smiling at statements that actively anger him. It will be very beneficial for the interview, he knows. 

---

 

He practices his smile intermittently as they are lined up outside the stage. He is standing next to Annie again, and this time she is wearing a large blue ball gown that vaguely reminds him of Cinderella. It has underlayers in light sea green and off-white, likely meant to represent sea foam, and there are small fish embroidered in the bodice. 

 

Percy almost tells her she looks beautiful, but at the last minute, he looks around and not finding Finnick anywhere, he shoots her a genuine smile and says, “you look hot.”

 

Annie looks startled at first, then she blushes. “You heard our argument that first night, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Percy scratches the back of his neck. He had honestly forgotten he wasn’t supposed to hear it. At Camp Half-Blood everyone would have known they were within ear-shot. Sometimes, Percy forgets how different normal mortals are from demigods. 

 

“Well, you look pretty hot yourself.” Annie says, quickly getting over her embarrassment. 

 

Percy straightens his jacket and gives her his best trouble-maker grin—the one he’s been practicing all day. Then he winks and says, “Thank you.” 

 

“You’re going for the sexy route, then?” Annie asks, and Percy is so taken aback, he steps backward into the girl from 3. He apologizes profusely to her before turning back to Annie.

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“I mean,” Annie makes a vague gesture towards his body before pointing to her own lips and trying to copy his smile.

 

Was he going for sexy? Percy had never thought of himself as being sexy before. He was still only seventeen, which felt much too young to be labeled sexy. Though, he reminded himself bitterly, typically that is too young to become a killer, but the Capitol seems to have no problem with that. 

 

And with that sobering reminder of why they are here, Percy can hear Caesar Flickerman—the host for the interviews—come out on stage to introduce himself, though Percy doesn’t know why. Caesar Flickerman had apparently been doing this job for decades, so much so that Mags wasn’t even the first time he had heard about the man. The people he worked with back in 4 would often mock interview each other, and they called it their “Caesar Flickerman” impression. 

 

From those impressions, Percy gathered that the man was a bit eccentric, and his TV appearance seemed to reinforce that perception. His hair and eyebrows were dyed an ugly sea green, and he had the face of someone who had multiple face lifts and years of botox. 

 

He called the girl from District 1—Emerald, Percy reminded himself for the dozenth time—up on the stage, and with that, the interviews started. Every tribute got three minutes, and Mags told him to make them count. 

 

Percy just hoped he didn’t embarrass himself. 

 

He catches only glimpses of each interview on the TV, too nervous for his own to pay attention fully. Emerald seems genuinely nice, a lot like Annie, and she is wearing a long green dress absolutely covered in Emeralds. “So you don’t forget my name,” she told Caesar.

 

Lace’s designer seemed to have similar thoughts as Emerald’s as he is dressed in a black lace suit. Percy is uncomfortable with how much it resembles a mourner’s outfit at a funeral. The audience seems to find the fully black outfit boring, and are only more uninterested in what Lace himself has to say. He is tall and broad and did well in training, but he seems to have an episode of stage fright. Percy winces in empathy. At least Caesar seems to be doing a good job of getting him to talk. 

 

Andromeda is over confident in her interview, and Nero tries his best to be funny, and to be fair, most of his jokes land. In any other context, Percy would be laughing along with the audience.

 

Then the two tributes from three go, and they try to justify why their technological knowledge will be helpful in the arena. Both are young and scrawny, so Percy hopes their knowledge genuinely will help them. He worries they won’t get far otherwise.

 

Finally, it’s Annie’s turn. She walks on stage smiling, looking resplendent in her blue gown. If Percy were feeling more like his normal self pre-Tartarus and pre-Panem, he might even call her an angel. She sits down without shaking Caesar’s hand then gets up again, embarrassed when she realizes. She walks over to him and corrects her mistake. They both laugh it off easy enough, though she is bright red by the time she is sitting down again.

 

“So, Annie, can I just call you Annie?” Caesar asks. Annie nods her head dutifully, smile never leaving her face. “Annie, I understand you are being mentored by Finnick Odair this year.” 

 

The audience cheers loudly, a couple girls catcalling and whooping. It makes Percy uncomfortable, and Annie looks uncomfortable too. She’s looking out at the audience in confusion, though she manages to hide it quickly. 

 

“I am a big fan of Mr. Odair,” Caesar says, “I actually dyed my hair to match his eyes this year.” If the audience was cheering before they are screaming now, and the camera cuts to Finnick’s face from where he sits in the audience by Mags and Augustus. He waves at the camera goodnaturedly, shooting a cocky smile as he does so. Percy notices Caesar’s hair does not actually match Finnick’s eyes that well.

 

The camera cuts back to Annie just as she finishes a laugh Percy knows to be fake. He wonders if she has never before realized the extent of which the Capitol covets her boyfriend. He wonders if Finnick never let her realize it.

 

If Percy were in his shoes, he would do the same.

 

“What is working with him like?” Caesar finally asks, getting to the point of his question.

 

“He’s great,” Annie says. “He knows so much about the games. He’s studied the different arenas and given me tips on how to navigate all of them. I feel safe knowing that he’ll be here in the Capitol handling sponsors on my behalf.” 

 

“Well, Finnick Odair’s games were certainly a sight to behold, but I don’t have to tell any of our audience members that.” The audience shares a laugh with Caesar, but Annie merely smiles, waiting for the conversation to actually turn back to her.

 

It seems Caesar isn’t done yet, though. “I’ll tell you what Annie. If you win, Finnick Odair’s face will be the first you see, well after any necessary medical procedures are done. And, wow, doesn’t that sound great?” He turns to the audience to ask this question, and Percy can hear the audience sigh and laugh and cheer. It is obvious Finnick is a crowd favorite.

 

Annie’s smile looks noticeably more fake now. Percy hopes Caesar will change the subject soon.

 

Luckily, it seems Caesar hears his pleas. He looks at Annie’s face, and his mirth dies down a little. “What, Miss Cresta, is the first thing you are going to do if you win?” 

 

Caesar hasn’t asked this to every tribute, but he has asked it more often than not. It allows a moment of seriousness, for a tribute to tell everyone watching what matters to them most. Some treat it as a joke, some take it seriously and deliver messages to their family watching at home. Percy wonders what Annie will do; he can see the timer is almost done. This will be the last question of her interview, the only one not about her mentor. 

 

Annie sits up straighter. She, like Percy, was likely asked this question multiple times today. She knows exactly what to say. “I’m going to kiss Finnick Odair.”

 

The audience went wild with mirth. Half were screaming, “me too!” and half were pounding their feet on the floor. Caesar himself lets out a true cackle, as if Annie had just said the funniest joke. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Cresta, if you win, maybe you can tie him down. Let’s hear it for District 4's female tribute, Annie Cresta.”

 

And with that, Annie’s interview is done. Percy has no idea how well she has done. She ended with quite the splash, but most of her interview wasn’t even about herself. If that had been Percy, he knows he would’ve been really frustrated. He wonders if she chose her answer to the last question based on how the first half of the interview went—if she decided to cut her losses and paint herself firmly in her mentor’s shadow, trusting Finnick will be able to do the rest and successfully secure sponsors. It certainly seems like some of those audience members might be willing to donate to Annie solely because of Finnick. 

 

He has no time to ponder it further before he is waved on stage. The lights are bright, and they blind him momentarily, but he pushes through, making sure his smile is clear on his face. Win them over, he can imagine Mags saying.

 

Charismatic and funny, he reminds himself.

 

Caesar greets him, and they exchange a firm handshake. They trade words back and forth, but Percy barely knows what he is saying. He looks out at the crowd and sees people wearing all sorts of strange clothing. He looks over at the mentors and stylists and catches Mags’ eye. She nods at him. 

 

He looks at Finnick briefly, and finds him sitting in his chair with his hand under his chin staring off into space. Suddenly, Percy knows Annie’s interview did not go how Finnick wanted it to. With the way it started out and how much Caesar talked about him, she never had a chance for it to be about her. 

 

Caesar drops Finnick’s name again, but luckily, he moves on quickly, unlike with Annie’s interview. It was merely a passing joke about how attractive they both are. Percy kind of wants to pull out his hair, but he jokes along, and the moment is gone. Caesar asks another basic question Percy answered an ungodly amount of times today with Mags and Augustus. 

 

Then the monotony breaks.

 

“So, Perseus, I understand you have quite the backstory, and that it played into your outfit at the Opening Ceremony,” Caesar says, and Percy snaps back to attention. They knew about his past? And Caesar was asking him questions about it on live TV? Was that allowed? How much could he say? He could picture the Peacekeepers standing above him now, batons and whips in hand. 

 

He fiddles with his necklace before forcing himself to stop. He adjusts how he sits, and he smiles exactly how he was told to smile. He can freak out after the interview.

 

“Well, yes, that’s what everyone’s been telling me. They say that I’m strange. That I have to be some sort of mythical sea creature. I think they exaggerate the story a bit, but I’ll retell it just like they do…”

 

Percy couldn’t recount what he said if you held him at gunpoint. The lights and the cameras and the cheering audience distract him too much, as well as how traumatic the story is telling is, but he answers every question Caesar asks, and he thinks he does well. At one point he curses, and Caesar stops him. Percy cannot express how he feels knowing he can’t curse in the interview, but that graphic deaths of children will be broadcasted to the whole country in less than 24 hours. 

 

Then it is over. Percy leaves the stage, and the adrenaline flees his body, leaving him feeling like jello. He watches the rest of the interviews more carefully than he did the ones before him. Judy is humble and scared, but promising to try her best in the arena. Will spends his time gushing about his little siblings and how he would love to go home to them. Both of the District 12 tributes discuss how much they love the food in the Capitol. Looking at them and their undernourished bodies, Percy bets this is the only time in their lives they have reliably had food on the table. 

 

And with that somber note, the interviews are done.

 

---

 

All the tributes are corralled back to their respective floors, and Percy prepares to settle in for a long night of troubled sleep, thinking about the days to come. 

 

But before he could enter his room, Mags gently grabbed his elbow. “Perseus,” she greeted. “Good job on your interview. I’ve already had potential sponsors reach out.”

 

Percy blinked, “Oh, that’s good.”

 

Mags rubs her face, and Percy wonders how well she’s handling all of this. “Yeah, it’s really good. But I wanted to talk to you about something else. Your pen, it’s your district token, right?”

 

Percy nods, and Mags continues. “Well, they denied it. They said it could too easily be used as a weapon.”

 

Percy barely holds back a snort. He was angry. Riptide was all he had left, and he couldn’t even bring it with him in the arena. And a weapon? They didn’t know the least of it…

 

“I didn’t want you to be without a token, so I brought this.” She holds out a small pearl earring. It is a delicate golden hoop with a pearl attached to the bottom of it. 

 

“Where did you get it?” Percy asks. “It looks expensive. And how did you even know my ear was pierced?”

 

Mags smiles at him. “It’s mine. I wore it on the train ride here. And I am a Victor, you know. I survived my own games, and you don’t become a Victor by being unobservant.”

 

Percy blushes, and accepts the delicate piece of jewelry. “Thank you so much, this is… really sweet.” He finally settled on. Over the past week, he has grown closer to Mags than he had to any of the people he worked with or lived with back in District 4. For Mags to give him a district token felt, well, poetric. It was incredibly touching. 

 

He looks up to meet Mags’s eyes, and sees there are tears brimming in them. He hugs her, and she hugs back as hard as she can.

 

“Look, young man,” she says once he lets go. “You have a real shot at winning this, but don’t get cocky just because of your score. Remember to find water first, then shelter, and lastly food. The Career pack will inevitably go hunting the first night, so if you aren’t joining them, make sure to avoid them as long as possible. They’ll have a lot of nasty surprises in the arena, so expect the worst and try to sleep lightly.”

 

Percy nods and Mags takes a deep breath before continuing.

 

“Listen, you seem like a very nice boy, and I want you to know that whatever you do in that arena does not define you. Do you hear me?”

 

Mags grabs both sides of Percy’s face, tilting his head downward, so he is staring directly at her when she repeats, “it does not define you. Whatever you need to do to come home is something you have to do. Morals have no place in that arena. Say it.”

 

“Whatever I do there doesn’t define me.” Percy obediently states.

 

“Good.” Mags lets go of his face and nods once. “Watch out for yourself. I’ll be watching out for you as best I can from the mentor chair. They’ll wake you up early tomorrow to take you to the arena, but I have to stay in the Capitol to handle sponsorships.”

 

They hug again, and Percy lets out a weak “goodbye” when she turns to head towards her own bedroom. 

 

Percy takes a bath and heads to bed, but once he’s in bed, he just lays there, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, he might have to kill someone. He might even have to kill multiple people. He has fought in a war before and was in the middle of another one when he was transported here. But it feels different now. The Panem government will be forcing their citizens to watch, as a show of power and control over the districts. He feels like the wars he fought in were justifiable; the Hunger Games are clearly not. 

 

Just as he is starting to get a headache, he hears a knocking on the door. He opens it, just a smidge and sees— 

 

“Annie?”

 

“Hey, Perseus,” she says meekly. “Can we talk?”

 

“Sure.” He opens the door to let her inside his room. He knows this must be breaking all sorts of protocols, but what’s the point now, anyway? What can they punish them with?

 

“Are you okay?” He asks Annie because he feels like if she was, she wouldn’t be here. 

 

“No.” She says, sitting on his bed and pulling her knees up to her face. “Do you think it was wrong of me to volunteer?” 

 

Oh boy , Percy thinks. That is a doozy of a question. Does he think it is wrong that she volunteered so that the other girl—what was her name, Patricia? Portia?—didn’t have to go? No. Did he think it was wrong that Annie was trained and taught at an Academy specifically so she would one day volunteer to enter a death match fight with a bunch of other teens and pre-teens? Yes, that was wrong. But how was Percy supposed to answer this?

 

“I think someone had to go compete, and I think it was brave of you to volunteer so an untrained girl didn’t have to do it.” Percy finally says. 

 

“But do you think being a Career is wrong?” Annie prompts.

 

Percy huffs, “I don’t know what I think. It’s a complicated issue. I think training kids to be better prepared is fine, but I think encouraging them to volunteer is… a bit terrible.”

 

“How so?” 

 

Percy takes a good look at Annie’s face, trying to find out why she’s asking. He doesn’t even know how to explain his thoughts, it’s such a complex issue that he honestly doesn’t know that much about. 

 

If only Annabeth were here, Percy thinks, not for the first time. “Because if you encourage someone to volunteer and they die, that’s on you, isn’t it?”

 

Annie looks like she’s considering what he said, and abruptly, she starts crying. She puts both her hands to her face to cover up that fact, but it doesn’t hide how her voice wavers. “You know Finnick wasn’t happy I volunteered, obviously. But my parents weren’t very happy either.”

 

Annie lets out a sob, and Percy waits patiently for her to continue. “They pay you, if you join the Academy. It’s not a lot, but it is a decent amount. And there’s 24 kids every year—12 girls and 12 boys. There's not high odds you’ll get chosen to volunteer. When I was twelve, my mom got really sick, and she needed to go to the hospital, but my parents went into debt doing it. I joined the Academy to help them pay it off.”

 

There was one hospital in District 4, and it was located in Decoris. There were extensive checks and barriers in place so that not just anyone could go. It was mainly meant for the Capitol tourists in the resorts, but wealthy District members could be treated there as well. Percy could see it now, Annie’s mother ill with some unknown disease, and the family just making the monetary cut-off, but going into debt to do it. 

 

The Academy must’ve seemed like a reasonable solution. Percy had no idea the students who went were paid. While District 4 wasn’t as poor as other districts like 11 or 12, it wasn’t particularly wealthy either, and there were plenty of hungry kids in the streets. If your kid made the cut for the 24 students, and you knew it could mean the difference between keeping your family fed, how many parents would choose to send their kids? Even if it meant volunteering for the Games?

 

Percy knows his horror must be showing on his face, and Annie sees it and laughs, wiping away the tears that had fallen. Her voice is still shaky when she continues, “yeah, well, they withhold money if you don’t reach a certain skill level, so everyone tries their hardest. And they do their best to convince you that volunteering is righteous. That it’s an honor to participate in the games. They say Panem will remember your name forever. It’s all… really stupid from where I’m sitting right now, but it sounded so perfect back in 4. Especially with my mom healthy again.” 

 

Percy reaches out and puts his arm around Annie’s shoulder. “And when I was chosen to represent four, I—I was so excited. I told Finnick all about it, and he tried so hard to talk me out of it, but if I was chosen and I didn’t go through with it, I would’ve been a social pariah. I didn’t have a choice!” Percy rubs her shoulder, and avoids voicing how little this sounds like volunteering.

 

“My parents were so sad too! My mom cried the whole week after I was chosen! She said she felt like she bought her life with mine. How was I even supposed to respond to that? And now, seeing Finnick here in the Capitol, I don’t even know what to think. He’s so different around the Capitolites, and he’s so angry at me and sad, too, and—” Here Annie devolves fully into sobs, unable to continue. 

 

Percy just holds her tight, thinking of Finnick, who wants to get his girlfriend home safe, and Mr. and Mrs. Cresta, who enrolled her in the Academy to pay off their debts and no doubt regret it bitterly now. He can picture them so clearly, though he has never met them. He imagine Mrs. Cresta with Annie’s nose and eyes, and Mr. Cresta with Annie’s hair and jaw and same calluses from years working at the restaurant. They’re huddled around their old TV, waiting for their daughter to show up. Waiting to see if she makes it out alive.

 

If it comes down to Annie or me in the arena, Percy decides, I’ll kill myself. 

 

Percy was never meant to see adulthood. 

…

 

Part 1: End 

 

I was left to my own devices

Many days fell away with nothing to show

 

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love

Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

And if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like you've been here before?

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

 

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices

In your pose as the dust settled around us

 

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love

Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

And if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like you've been here before?

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

 

Oh, where do we begin?

The rubble or our sins?

Oh, oh, where do we begin?

The rubble or our sins?

 

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love

Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

And if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like you've been here before?

Notes:

Y'all we're over 20,000 words in and Percy's games haven't even started yet... (though next chapter is the bloodbath, and the start of Part 2: The Hunger Games)

Anyway I was really excited to write this chapter because of how Annie's interview went and the conversation between Annie and Percy at the end! Poor Annie, she's realizing everything she knows isn't true. And also poor Finnick, he can't even protect and mentor his girlfriend without the Capitol making him into an object to be possessed and shown off. Also also poor Percy. Damn no one's having a good time, but this is a hunger games fic...

The song at the end is Pompeii. We'll have a song at the end of every part that I feel fits the narrative.

Please comment! I love reading them :)

Chapter 5: Beowulf’s glory (Part 2: Bread and Circuses)

Notes:

So since this chapter is the bloodbath, so I don't think I need to warn you for graphic depicts of violence, but there's a lot of graphic depictions of violence in this chapter. And there probably will be until the 70th hunger games arc is done.

Anyway let's get to the story!

Part 2: Bread and Circuses

 

Percy finds peace in his decision to die. To get Annie out. It settles some self-hating part of him that calls him a monster, his father’s son. It used to be buried deep down, but had started surfacing more and more often since Tartarus. Since Annabeth died. 

 

Annie’s sobs slowly turn to sniffles, and eventually she leaves to go to bed. 

 

Percy falls asleep easily. He knows his mind must be at peace because it decides to give him one last good dream. 

 

“Percy!” Nico cries. 

 

Percy walks up to him and pulls him into the strongest hug he can manage. He knows this isn’t really Nico. If the gods can’t communicate with him here and his father can’t hear his prayers, Nico definitely can’t appear in Percy’s dream. But he is going to savor this figment of his imagination anyway. 

 

Nico pulls away first, but he keeps his hands on both sides of Percy’s arms. Staring up at his face. “Percy, there’s another prophecy,” he says. 

 

Any happiness Percy feels abruptly leaves him. His brain hasn’t gifted him a dream, no. It’s given him a nightmare.

 

“Can I not have one nice dream where I get to say goodbye?” Percy asks his subconscious.

 

Nico’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why do you need to say goodbye?”

 

“I’ll be dead in a couple weeks, and I can’t even have a peaceful night’s sleep? I have to be haunted by possibilities of what’s happening to my family and friends.” 

 

Percy paces around the room they are in. It is not one he recognizes, but based on the lighting and decor and Nico, he bets this is the Underworld. 

 

“Haunted? Percy—”

 

“No, if you’re going to tell me about a shitty, fictional prophecy, I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“Not everything about the prophecy is bad,” Nico starts to say. “I mean… It says Thalia and I are going to find you. That we’ll see each other again.” Nico sounds frantic, looking at Percy in a frightened manner. 

 

It is only then that Percy takes himself in, evaluates what he must look like. He has spent the last six months being worked to the bone day-in and day-out, his only respite being that the job was on a boat. Then he was drafted for some fight-to-death games. He has been primped and prepped for glamorous TV appearances, where audiences have oohed and awed over his body, and tomorrow he will run to the Cornucopia and kill fellow teenagers. Kids. He knows his scowl must be fierce, and his eyes are dark in boiling rage. When Nico watches him now, he must see him as a caged tiger. 

 

Something dangerous and easily provoked. 

 

Maybe if Nico were real, he would care. Instead, he reaches for a nearby vase. He wants to throw it against the wall, hear the smash of glass. He wants to pick up the pieces and squeeze his fists until his blood falls on the floor. He wants to destroy something before he’s destroyed. 

 

He doesn’t do any of this. When his hand is about to make contact with the vase, it goes through it like he’s a ghost. He screams in rage.

 

“Percy…” Nico says in a strange combination of fear and concern. Percy looks at his face, and breaks down into tears, just like the ones Annie shed earlier that night. Percy slides down onto the floor, head in his hands to hide his weeping. He doesn’t need to put on a brave face in his dreams. 

 

Nico approaches his side slowly, like Percy is some wounded animal. He’s whispering assurances that ultimately mean nothing. Percy just heard him say, “We’ll see each other again, I promise.” When he wakes up to loud knocking on the door. 

 

It is Amos. Percy bravely holds back a groan at the face of his loathed stylist. He cannot believe it is Amos who will accompany him to the arena, but Mags had explained it to him. She said the stylists were there because they had to be “camera ready.” Her eyes were dull with pity as she said it.

 

Percy had wondered if she was already mourning him.

 

Amos chatters away about theories about the games this year. According to him, Percy is a crowd favorite and projected to at least make it to the top eight, where they would send someone to interview his family and friends. Percy wondered what they would do once they realized he didn’t have any. 

 

They are directed to the roof where a hovercraft picks them up. The ladder that extends down for them to climb up is electrified. For a moment Percy thinks Zeus somehow heard his prayer to kill him before he arrives at the arena, but the voltage is strange. Instead of shocking them, it just freezes them in place as the ladder is pulled up into the hovercraft. 

 

From there, he is injected with two things. Amos readily explains the first one with a larger needle was injecting a tracker, so they can keep track of him in the arena. When Percy asks what the second one was, Amos simply explains it was to make sure he didn’t grow any facial hair in the arena. 

 

“Why is that a big deal?” Percy asks.

 

Amos looks at him in confusion, like the answer should be obvious. “Well, if all the male tributes start growing beards in the arena they’ll look older! Could you imagine? Tributes are supposed to be young, in the prime of their life!”

 

Percy gets the feeling the tributes are actually supposed to be clean-shaven so that those watching in the districts don’t forget it is children the Capitol took to play their sick games. Percy has never before felt any inclination to grow a beard, but he wants to now. As a small fuck you to the Capitol.

 

The hovercraft drops them off in an underground building. Percy and Amos are walked to their destination by a pack of Peacekeepers. Percy wonders how many tributes have tried to escape at the last minute for this to be necessary.

 

Finally, they are locked in a room that Amos calls the “launch room.” There is a large tube on the far end of the room that will take Percy up into the arena. It is not until Percy is gone that the Peacekeepers will unlock the door again to let Amos out.

 

Amos is weirdly silent when he examines the clothes he is to dress Percy in. After a long moment, he says, “It’s going to be cold, though likely not below freezing, since the arctic themed arena was such a bust a couple years ago. But be careful of setting fires, it acts as a beacon for other tributes who want to hunt you down. I’ve seen so many tributes die that way. Your best bet will be grabbing extra clothes and blankets at the cornucopia. With your ten you should be able to survive the bloodbath.”

 

His advice is nothing new for Percy, but he finds himself grateful for it despite himself. Amos had been an outright irritating old man since Percy met him at the beginning of the week, but it was nice that he was making an effort to be more serious now that Percy was moments away from a literal bloodbath.

 

Percy sends him a small, closed mouth smile, but Amos ruins the moment by saying, “promise me you’ll try to avoid an ugly death. So many tributes’ bodies just get absolutely mutilated in the arena, and it would be such a shame for that to happen to those cheekbones.” Amos sighs, putting a hand to Percy’s cheek bones and Percy pushes it away in disgust.

 

“Of course, the best option would be for you to win, to be a Victor! Wouldn’t that be so exciting? I already have an outfit planned for you.”

 

Percy is silent. He hadn’t known it was normal for some tributes to get “absolutely mutilated.” Though, he knew mutts were a thing in the arena, so perhaps getting mauled to death was a normal way for some tributes to die. He hadn’t thought the games could get more horrific, but the Capitol managed to keep surprising him.

 

Amos dresses him first in a layer of thermal underwear and a thermal undershirt. Then a pair of outdoor pants with plenty of pockets, and a black turtleneck shirt made of athletic wear material. Percy slips on thick, wool socks and a pair of hiking boots. Finally, Amos hands Percy a heavy cold weather rain jacket, with a detachable hood. As Percy takes the outfit in, he feels more so like he’s going on a hike than going into a gladiator fight. 

 

The last touch is the single, dangly pearl earring Mags gave him last night. Percy puts it in his ear, pushing through a thin layer of skin that has settled over his piercing. He hasn’t worn an earring in a while.

 

A bright flash erupts from Percy’s right, where Amos was standing, and Percy drops into a defensive position, already in fight mode. Amos takes a step back, startled, and he almost drops his camera.

 

“I just wanted to get a picture,” Amos says dismissively, laughing off the way Percy genuinely scared him. “You look so beautiful right now. It deserves to be preserved forever.”

 

Especially if your face gets torn off in the next couple of weeks , Percy mentally finishes Amos’s sentence. He doesn’t want the games to start, but he also doesn’t want to be in the same room as his stylist anymore, either. 

 

“You know, that earring will start a trend, I just know it. And so I can be ahead of the curve, I already dressed to match you today.” Amos says, gesturing to his pearl necklace.

 

Only, it isn’t a necklace. Percy looks down at what Amos is wearing in shock. There, around his neck, is a rosary. 

 

“You’re Catholic?” Percy asks before he can stop himself. 

 

Percy hasn’t seen any outwardly religious people his whole time in Panem. Back in District 4, he never walked past any churches or mosques or synagogues, and he never saw anyone kneeling or clasping hands in prayer. The idea that his annoying stylist is the first religious person he has encountered here is deeply bizarre to Percy in a way he can’t quite express verbally, but he knows is showing on his face. 

 

Amos blinks heavily, “What? Like the antiquated religion?” He lets out a deep chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous, I would never break the Capitol’s laws like that. What made you even think that?”

 

“You’re wearing a pearl rosary,” Percy says, baffled. Amos had literally pointed it out to him. Did he not know what it signified? “And what do you mean by laws?”

 

Amos is quiet now, looking Percy in his eyes as if trying to read his mind. “Religion is illegal,” he says finally. “My necklace is just an antique piece of jewelry from before the Dark Days.”

 

The tone Amos says it in is sharp, letting Percy know this is the end of the conversation. Percy understands why; he had just implied Amos was breaking a law in Panem, a law that seemed pretty serious. 

 

Percy turned the words around in his head. Religion is illegal. Percy had been raised agnostic, though that obviously quickly changed when he turned twelve. Even before he found out about his relation to the Greek gods, though, religion had always seemed so pivotal to people. What they did. How they made sense of the world. For so many, religion was comforting. It offered hope. How could Panem just outlaw it?

 

He fiddles with his earring, deep in thought, before an announcement comes over the speakers, telling the tributes to get onto the launch pad. Percy shuffles over. He meets Amos’s eyes one last time, wishing he were Mags, or even Finnick. Amos just gives him a thumbs up, and with that the launch pad starts to rise.

 

As Percy finally rises above ground level, he knows immediately what Amos meant by “it will be cold.” The Hunger Games take place during the middle of the summer. Percy had gotten used to the blazing heat outside.

 

But here in the arena, the rules of nature don't apply. There are woods directly in front of Percy, on the other side of the cornucopia. The leaves are an array of bright reds, oranges, yellows, and everything in between, and the ground is covered in fallen leaves. The air is crisp with a light breeze, and the arena is probably somewhere around 50-55 degrees. 

 

It is autumn. This has important implications for what type of vegetation will be growing, what animals will be doing, and what the weather will be like. It will also make sneaking around in the woods harder. He’ll have to navigate the crunches of fallen leaves. Percy hadn’t been prepared for this at all. Regardless, he forces himself to snap out of his shock, and find something he is prepared for: water. 

 

Apparently, there didn’t always used to be water, but since the year where most tributes died of dehydration, there are usually a couple of sources of it in the arena. Often, there is a main source of water that the careers camp out by. It takes him less than a second to find it. 

 

There, to Percy’s left side, is a large dam holding an impressive reservoir of water. It is nestled right in between two hills lush with forestry. But the dam is strange—Percy clocks it immediately. Either the people who build arenas are incompetent, or that dam is going to break. There is even a backup reservoir of more water below the arena. If they flood the place, it won’t just be the valley that gets waterlogged. 

 

This is lucky for him, but nobody else. Even Annie, though she is likely a strong swimmer, can be swept away in a second in a strong enough current, and if all that water flows out at once, there will undoubtedly be debris carried with it—knocked over trees, rocks, etc. You need to be more than a strong swimmer to survive that. You need luck. 

 

Or, well, you need to be a child of Poseidon.

 

It takes him longer to notice the other strange thing about the dam, or, really, it’s about the reservoir behind the dam. It’s got fish in it, but the fish are totally wrong for this kind of landscape and climate. Percy reaches into his gut to feel out the reservoir more, to try to confirm his suspicions and…

 

Those are piranhas. It’s entirely wrong for where the arena seems set, but Percy gets the feeling the gamemakers don’t care about what’s natural. Most piranhas live in far warmer climates, they tend to die at anything colder than 50 degrees. But maybe that’s a good sign that the weather won’t get any colder. Or maybe they’re mutts—mutations specifically designed to survive the colder weather in the arena and eat any tributes that decide to take a dip in the reservoir. Percy hopes it is the former. He doesn’t want to know what a winter night in the arena feels like. 

 

He pulls his attention away from the dam to study the rest of the arena in his eyeline. The cornucopia is in a valley, in the shadow of the dam, and the tributes are gathered around it in a circle, meaning Percy can only see roughly half of them. 

 

It seems like it just rained recently, because there is standing water on the ground, and a lot of it, at least three inches, and even higher towards the center of the cornucopia. Percy winces on behalf of the other tributes and hopes all of the supplies are waterproofed. 

 

To his right is some sort of field, but they grow a type of crop Percy doesn’t recognize, and he can practically hear Mags telling him not to eat it. Apparently, the Gamemakers love to give you something that looks like food but will kill you in horrible ways. 

 

If Percy poisons himself after what happened with Akhlys, forget the poison, he’ll die of embarrassment. 

 

The clock is counting down to 30 seconds now, and Percy pulls his attention away from the arena itself to study the supplies strewn around the cornucopia. Traditionally, the bags in the middle contain the most desirable supplies. Water purifiers, first aid, camping bags, food, and weapons of course. The ones on the outer edge are less valuable, and almost none of the weapons will be more than fifteen feet out from the cornucopia. Percy remembers Amos’s advice, as obvious as it was, Your best bet will be grabbing extra clothes and blankets at the cornucopia .

 

Percy looks around, trying to see if there are any bags that are see through, or are particularly obvious in what they contain. He spots a black sleeping bag close to the middle, and it looks like it might be insulated. Percy decides he will grab that and a medium sized brown bag beside it—much preferable to the bright orange bags on the edges. 

 

But first, he needs a weapon to protect himself with. He scans the cornucopia again to see what he has to work with. There are a lot of large knives and swords, plenty of spears, some barbed wire, two sets of bows and arrows, some axes, and there, leaning against the side of the cornucopia, is one single trident. 

 

There are no others. The Gamemakers know he isn’t a career, and they want him and Annie to fight for it. 

 

At this realization, Percy finally looks at his other competitors, trying to spot his district partner, who has no idea what Percy decided to do last night. He sees her a little off to his right side, and in between the boy from 12 and the girl from 3. She is staring the trident down. Percy knows she must want it bad.

 

Fine, Percy decides , I don’t really need a weapon anyway. The conviction of this thought takes him by surprise, and it becomes a sobering reminder of what Percy is compared to these other kids. It’s like a shipwreck, and he’s the shark, waiting hungry in the water.

 

The timer is down to 10 seconds now, and Percy uses his precious remaining time to place who the rest of the tributes around him are. To his direct left is Andromeda. She’s signaling something to her district partner, Nero, who nods stiffly back. Percy can just barely see him, he’s almost on the other side of the cornucopia. 

 

To his direct right is the girl from district 11. Percy doesn’t remember much about her from training, but she’s looking desperately in the direction of the field, and Percy suspects she isn’t even going to try for anything at the cornucopia. It means she’ll probably survive the bloodbath, but she’ll struggle to not freeze to death at night if she doesn’t grab anything else. 

 

And there, a couple of platforms over, is Annabeth’s not-double, Judy. She is looking determined at something in the cornucopia, but unlike with Annie, he can’t tell what it is. 

 

The timer is almost done. 3. Percy looks back at the sleeping bag he spotted earlier. 2. Percy adjusts his position, ready to run as soon as the timer is done. 1. Percy’s heart is pumping so loudly in his ear, but he isn’t nervous. He’s entered the same mindset he enters before every battle. Fight, stay alive, protect what’s yours to protect.

 

And the timer’s done. With a loud bang, the games have started, and Percy is the first off his platform, sprinting faster than all of the other tributes, even though he is holding himself back. A mix of his divine blood and natural agility carry him to the cornucopia precious seconds before everyone else. 

 

He grabs the backpack he spotted earlier first, and throws it around his shoulders. It will act as a convenient shield for his back. Then he picks up a rope he spotted nearby and slings it around one shoulder, unsure what he will use it for, but knowing it could come in handy. He grabs a small knife—more for cooking and cutting plants than anything else, but also able to be a weapon if necessary. He attaches it to his belt, which has pockets and slots to hold all sorts of weapons. Finally, he grabs the sleeping bag. 

 

He looks up, and takes in what is happening around him. The fastest tributes have weapons now, and are using them liberally on the slower ones. Percy can smell the blood in the air. It’s even stronger than it should be, and he thinks, again, how apt his earlier comparison of himself to a shark was. It horrifies him.

 

Andromeda slashes madly at the boy from 6, who holds a large knife in his hands, but lacks the skills to use it. He falls to the ground, already dead, but Andromeda gets two more slashes in before she is satisfied. His chest must be ribbons by now. There is a gleam to her eyes Percy doesn’t like. She enjoyed killing that boy. 

 

Annabeth’s hair flashes in the corner of his eye, and before he knows it he is moving, some deeply ingrained battle muscle memory forcing himself to protect his girlfriend. Only, of course, it isn’t his girlfriend, and these aren’t his normal battles. This is televised murder games for the entertainment of the regime he now lives under. 

 

He is supposed to be hiding his power, but in a panicked moment where he mistakes Judy for Annabeth and sees Emerald taking a shot at her with a bow and arrow, Percy forgets everything and leaps forward to grab the arrow out of the air. 

 

It is a move impossible for a normal teenage boy. Percy is left holding the arrow in one hand, and Judy looks at him with her wide eyes, a brown color so unlike Annabeth’s. Too late, Percy remembers where he is. He is not in Tartarus, and that is not Annabeth. 

 

He looks over Judy’s shoulder and sees Lace running at them. He, like Andromeda, carries a long, serrated sword, already bloody. 

 

Percy pushes Judy out of the way, and drops his sleeping bag but places the arrow in his belt. He grabs Lace’s raised arm before he has a chance to bring the blade down. Percy twists his wrist in a way he knows from experience hurts like hell, and Lace’s sword clangs to the ground. 

 

Percy keeps twisting his arm, and kicks the back of his knee, forcing Lace to fall onto it. Lace’s other arm—the left one—tries to claw at Percy’s face, but when it gets too close to his mouth, he bites it hard until he feels the skin break under his teeth, and it pulls away immediately, leaving a chunk of flesh in Percy’s mouth. The hand starts to scratch desperately at Percy’s arm. Percy spits the flesh out of his mouth already hating himself, but the taste of iron is still strong in his mouth. His teeth must be stained red.

 

He is a monster. 

 

With one quick move, Percy places his arm around Lace’s head so that his elbow is under his jaw and his hand is on top of his head. He twists his arm quickly, and Lace’s neck snaps like a twig. Percy turns around before he can see the boy’s body fall to the ground. 

 

There are some things you don’t need to see , Percy thinks.

 

It seems Judy realized Percy wasn’t going to let anyone kill her, and had taken the time to grab what she had run for in the first place—an ax. Right, District 7, Percy remembered, was in charge of lumber. He bet Judy was pretty handy with that ax. 

 

She scoops up her own bag and Percy’s fallen sleeping bag and scans their surroundings before looking at him appraisingly. “Allies?” 

 

She asks this in what she no doubt hopes is a calm and collected manner, but Percy can hear the panic in her voice. The begging quality it takes on. In the opening of the game, Percy has proved himself a powerful player, and one willing to protect her. He understands why she wants to be allies, but he doesn’t know if he can do that. He doesn’t think he could kill someone he allied with, and she wasn’t Annie. She hadn’t been crying in his arms last night about her worried parents back home. 

 

He looks around, still trying to see if anyone is approaching them. He sees Andromeda spear someone through the back, and turns away in time to catch the end of the loudest, bloodiest confrontation so far. 

 

There, in the middle of the fight is Trenton, the big, muscled tribute Percy clocked right away as deadly. On either side of him is Emerald, now wielding a knife with her bow and arrows slung across her back, and Nero, holding his own spear in his left hand and a sword in his right. Trenton is barely able to block their hits with the two clubs he holds in either hand. 

 

Emerald lunges forward with her knife, determined to end the fight, and at the same time Nero swings his sword, aiming for Trenton’s chest. But Trenton is faster, and he ducks and rolls out of the way and right into a fight with Annie, who is holding the singular trident in the arena in both hands. It’s already bloody.

 

Percy isn’t focused on Annie and Trenton, though. No, he’s watching Nero’s sword, which was aimed for Trenton’s chest, instead slide cleanly through Emerald’s neck, separating it from the rest of her body. 

 

Beheadings are gorey and scarring in a way that is hard to understand until you see one for yourself. Percy has seen a couple over the course of the two wars he fought in and each one was as terrible as the last. They had a way of searing themself into your nightmares. The brain needs so much blood, that when it’s separated from the body so suddenly, it all comes bursting out. 

 

Emerald is no different. Even standing a couple yards away, Percy feels a little blood splatter on his face. Nero, Annie, and Trenton were hit the worst, with the top half of their arena outfits being coated in blood. Percy notices some even falls in Annie’s open mouth. And the powerful momentum of the sword swing sends Emerald’s detached head flying in Annie’s direction. She instinctively catches it, and stares down at the eyes of the girl she had befriended. 

 

Percy knows Emerald was Annie’s favorite of the Careers. 

 

Annie lets out such a piercing shriek, everyone who isn’t actively involved in a fight looks over, which is impressive considering how many people have already screamed their head off since they started. 

 

Maybe Percy shouldn’t use that turn of phrase.

 

The other tributes see the gore, and they turn away, back to either killing the other tributes or dying. Judy pulls on Percy’s elbow, telling him without words that they need to get going, but he can’t look away from the breakdown happening in front of him.

 

Trenton has taken the opportunity to finally run away, safe from the bloodbath happening at the cornucopia. Annie is in a state of shock and horror, though. She hadn’t faltered at any of the other kills so far, but Emerald’s bloody death was too much for her. She kept wailing, her eyes glassy, while blood dripped on her shoes from Emerald’s head. 

 

Annie threw the decapitated head away from her as her mind caught up with what she was holding. It lands right in Nero’s waiting arms. He seems perturbed for a moment before he tosses it on the ground and hits Annie in the head with the back of his sword to shut her up.

 

It’s a non-lethal hit. He probably didn’t want to directly spill another career’s blood, especially this early in the games. But Annie lands face down in the standing water. If Percy doesn’t do something, she’ll drown. Percy picks up a spear. He uses his other hand to grab whatever part of Judy is closest, and tugs her along towards Annie. 

 

Nero has noticed him now and brings his spear up, and throws it. Percy knocks it aside easily with his own spear. It’s child play for him. 

 

Then he lifts his spear up, and lets go of Judy, just briefly—until he kills Nero. If Nero is as good as he thinks he is, he’ll block it with his sword. It’s exactly what Percy wants him to do. 

 

He throws the spear, and sure enough, Nero is able to block it, but the movement puts him off balance. He’s moved his feet from their stronger, steadier fighting position. Against Percy, this is a lethal mistake.

 

Percy charges the short distance between them and slams into Nero before he can regain his proper footing. Percy lands on top of him with his knees on top of Nero’s shoulders, holding him to the ground. He grab’s Nero’s sword and pushes it away before grabbing the arrow from his belt and stabbing it through Nero’s throat. It’s messy, brutal, and slower than Lace’s death, but it’s the easiest thing for Percy to do at the moment. 

 

He thinks back to Mags’s parting words, and hopes she isn’t judging him right now .  

 

Percy’s up and running towards Annie in the next second. He calls back to Judy, “Grab whatever supplies you think will be helpful, and let’s get out of here.” Then he reaches down and grabs Annie, who is still unconscious, and throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. At the last minute, he grabs another sleeping bag, though this one looks thinner than the other. He doesn’t want to waste time looking around for a better one.

 

Percy can feel the rise and fall of Annie’s chest over his shoulder, meaning she’s still breathing. Good. The middle of the bloodbath was no place to do CPR.

 

He looks back, and is glad to find that Judy is following him. Though, she looks significantly less happy than she did when it was just the two of them. 

 

Well, she’ll have to get over it. He is a son of Poseidon through and through, and he was not going to let another one of his friends drown. Besides, she’s getting more choice in the matter than Annie is.

 

Together, they head into the woods.

Notes:

Percy: *catches an arrow out of the air*
Percy: *wrestles a buff Career from 1 and snaps his neck*
Percy: *Percy tackles an armed Career from 2 to the ground*
Literally everyone watching: 👁️👄👁️
Percy: *Picks Annie up from the ground and takes off with her like a knight in bloody armor*
Finnick: 👁️👄👁️

Ok we are officially in arc 2. I have done research in order to write this, but I am not super knowledgeable on edible plants and the types of animals you can find in the outdoors (I'm a city dweller). So if something seems super off, you can tell me in a comment (nicely please!). Btw for the sunken ship/shark metaphor, I was so close to using a hydrogen bomb/coughing baby metaphor, but the moment felt a bit to serious to reference a meme in.

Also, I hate that I have to say this, but don't leave mean comments? Like constructive criticism is one thing but just straight up criticizing what I wrote is just rude. I'm writing and sharing this for free. If you don't like it hit the back button.

That being said, if you have nice comments to share, I would love to read them. I am so grateful for how many people have taken the time to not only read this story but also tell me their thoughts about it!

Edit: Thank you so much to the people who pointed out that I had Percy kill Nero twice! That was a mistake on my part. It's edited now so the first tribute Percy kills is Lace and the second is Nero.

Chapter 6: An Old Dog for a Hard Road

Summary:

The first night of the games

Notes:

TW for suicidal thoughts.

Percy spent enough time with Grover to know immediately there is something about these woods that are off, but he lacks his friend’s inherent knowledge of nature, meaning he can’t quite put his finger on how it is different. 

 

He briefly wishes that Grover were here, but then he remembers where here is and immediately takes it back, glad that Grover is a whole dimension away—entirely out of reach. Grover is too good for this.

 

Percy eyes all of the animals they pass, wondering which of them are muttations that will kill them as soon as the gamemakers call for it. He remembers Mags cautioning him to be wary of even the weakest, smallest animals, recalling past Hunger Games where tiny, seemingly harmless animals such as squirrels swarmed tributes in packs to eat them alive. 

 

Sure, Percy is planning on dying but being eaten by squirrels is not how he wants to go.

 

He also makes a point to try and identify the foliage they pass, eyes peeled for plants he recognizes as safe to eat. Luckily, there are quite a few, but Mags told him the first day was not ideal for foraging or hunting. Stopping too close to the bloodbath means you might encourage people to hunt you down, she had said. 

 

So, they trek along in the woods, Percy leading, with Annie still slung over his back, unconscious, and Judy following dutifully from behind. They must have walked for hours in silence—or maybe that was just Percy’s horrible sense of time and ADHD making everything seem longer than it was. Either way, it is Judy who breaks the silence first.

 

“How are you not exhausted hauling her around? I can barely even keep up, and I’m not carrying an extra person on my back.”

 

“Must be the adrenaline,” Percy says, “Besides, I’m a lot taller than you. Longer strides, you know?”

 

“So? I’m used to hauling lumber around. You can’t have that much more endurance than me.”

 

Percy is about to remind her that he fishes for a living, which takes its own kind of endurance, but he’s interrupted by Annie. She moans lightly, and Percy can feel her head move just slightly. It seems that their talking woke her up, which was good. He can practically hear Will Solace saying she shouldn’t be asleep with a head wound. 

 

She mumbles something incoherent and starts kicking around. Percy puts her down on the ground. He doesn’t trust her to stay standing with the state she was in, and he doesn’t want to keep holding her in case she starts panicking. 

 

“Why are you putting her down? She’s a career!” Judy exclaims, pointing accusingly at Annie. 

 

Percy shoots her a look. While they aren’t necessarily near the cornucopia anymore, he doesn’t like her speaking loudly. Who knew what she could attract their way…

 

“She’s my friend,” Percy responds. He doesn’t like people insulting his friends, and he can tell that, to Judy, being a Career wasn’t anything good. 

 

He looks over at Annie, who hasn’t moved from her spot on the ground. Her eyes are half-lidded and glassy, and she seems entirely unaware of her surroundings. She scratches pitifully at her neck, like she can still feel Emerald’s pain. 

 

Percy’s eyes soften with pity, but Judy is having none of it. “I don’t want to work with a career,” she says, crossing her arms. “We should leave her here.” 

 

“To what, be eaten by bears? Hunted down by the other Careers?”

 

Judy laughs. It doesn’t sound like a normal laugh; it seems almost manic. Percy had gotten so used to near death experiences he had forgotten how much they can shake people. “What other Careers? The only one left—other than crazy over there—is the girl from 2. You killed the boys, and one of their own killed the girl from 1.”

 

Percy blanches at how casually Judy mentions his violence during the bloodbath. He was doing his best to avoid thinking about it, but now that they are in the woods and everything seems quiet, he has space to think. Post-battle silence is never good for Percy. He’s learned he shouldn’t be alone with his thoughts if he can help it.

 

It starts to drizzle. 

 

For better or worse, Judy isn’t done. “Careers never die that early, and when they do, it’s usually just one of them being stupid during the bloodbath. But this year there isn’t even a Career pack!”

 

Percy had started leaning down towards Annie, wanting to check her head, but at Judy’s words, he trips over a branch and lands right beside her. Annie still has no reaction to show that she knows he is there. That’s concerning , Percy thinks for a moment, but he is distracted by the implications of what Judy is saying.

 

“Is it really that rare?” Percy asks. He had no idea he had already singled himself out as much as he did. Catching the arrow was one thing (that he really shouldn’t have done), but killing the boys from 1 and 2? Was it really that unheard of?

 

“Yeah,” Judy laughs. “They’re the ones to defeat if you want to win.”

 

Percy isn’t sure if Judy meant to imply what she did, but he hears it loud and clear nonetheless. He had killed two Careers early in the game, painting himself as a big threat to the rest of the tributes. I’m the one to defeat if you want to win. If you want to go home. 

 

It makes Percy feel like even more of a monster than he already did. 

 

He looks at Annie again. She was a Career—is a Career—the big bad according to Judy, but she looks like nothing more than a scared teenager, here in the light of the woods. Even Nero and Lace hadn’t looked like the normal threats Percy deals with. 

 

How many more kids is he going to have to kill? He reflexively reaches out for the rope, which he had tied to his belt once they were out of sight of the cornucopia. He doesn’t end up grabbing the rope, but his hands still move subconsciously in a familiar pattern. They’re moving like they’re tying a noose. 

 

That’s how I want to go, Percy decides. He doesn’t want to make one of the other tributes have to kill him, and he certainly doesn’t want to let one of the gamemakers’ mutts off him. That’d be like admitting defeat. Plus after all of the monster attacks he's survived, it'd be embarrassing too. Not that anyone here would know that.

 

He doesn’t realize how distracted he is until Judy snaps her hand in front of his face. “Hello?” She says, annoyance loud in her voice. 

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

 

“You zoned out on me. We can’t be a team if you ignore me. What were you thinking about?”

 

Percy coughs, not wanting to admit the directions his thoughts went. “Nothing, sorry. Since we’re a team, will you be nicer to Annie?”

 

Judy rolls her eyes but acquiesces, “Fine I’ll be nice to crazy over there.” She turns around to study their surroundings, and Percy can just hear her mutter, “it’s not like she’s much of a threat like this anyway…”

 

For his sanity, Percy decides to ignore that comment, just like he’s ignoring the fact that both Annie and Judy can’t win. 

 

Annie’s neck is starting to turn red from her scratches. Percy reaches out to gently grab her arm before she starts drawing blood. She startles and whispers, “Perseus?”

 

“Yeah, Annie, it’s me,” he says gently. 

 

She looks up at him slowly, before squinting her eyes and turning around to vomit on the dead leaves and dry grass. It’s just bile. It seems like she wasn’t able to eat anything this morning. 

 

That’s vomiting and the lack of food is not the concerning part, though. It’s what the vomiting implies that is worrying. 

 

Fuck , Percy thinks, she’s got a concussion. Percy’s experience with concussions wasn’t exactly limited, but most of it wasn’t applicable to Annie. He couldn’t exactly hand her one of his non-existent ambrosia bars and hope she gets better. 

 

Just as he is getting ready to suck it up and ask Judy what they should do to help Annie, the first cannon goes off. 

 

Boom. 1. Boom. 2. Boom. 3. It continues all the way up to nine. 

 

Judy laughs again. Percy is starting to get sick of the sound. “Almost half,” she says, grinning. Percy doesn’t respond. He can’t blame Judy for her excitement. She is nine steps closer to going home after all. But for Percy, who has no home to return to, the canon sounds are sickening. 

 

Nine children are dead. Nine families are already mourning, and the first day hasn’t even ended. The rain grows heavier. 

 

Annie shivers, and Percy pulls the hood of her jacket up, glad he has something to distract himself with. He doesn’t know what he would be doing right now if he was alone. Probably losing his mind. 

 

“I can’t believe the gamemakers are already making it rain. I hope it’s not going to be like this the whole time. It’ll be hard to see anything or stay warm.” Judy rubs her arms, trying to retain as much body heat as she can.

 

“Yeah,” Percy says, not telling Judy the rain is his fault. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. 

 

He should stop the rain, he knows this. But he’s too out of it, too tired. The idea of putting that much effort into holding his emotions back sounds like too much to ask. He has to be strong for Annie. He can’t cry. He can’t spiral in self-hate. He can’t even go to his mother or his girlfriend for comfort. So the sky cries for him, and he lets it. 

 

He gets up and picks Annie up from the ground. This time, he holds her in a princess carry and nods for Judy to follow him. He doesn’t want to stop for the night until they’re closer to the reservoir. 

 

Water has always equaled safety for him, and he’ll need it to protect his friends. If it were just him, he’d already be there, hunting fish for dinner and bathing in the water. But he has Judy and Annie to worry about now, and they can’t hike as fast or long as he can. Plus, they’ll probably only want to hike during daylight hours, something that is limited in the artificial autumn of the arena. He’ll have to settle for waiting another day to reach it. 

 

He doesn’t regret it.

---

 

 

It is twilight when they finally feel like they are a comfortable distance away from any of the other tributes. They settle down for the night and evaluate their supplies. They have two sleeping bags—one of which is noticeably thicker than the other. They also have two backpacks, inside of which are two packages of beef jerky, one package of dried fruit, three high-calorie protein bars, two empty water bottles along with two bottles of iodine for purifying the water, a single pack of matches, and a thick thermal blanket. 

 

Finally, they have their weapons: Percy’s knife, his rope, and Judy’s axes. Annie had dropped her trident long before they ever left the cornucopia. It’s not much, but it is good enough that Percy feels going for the cornucopia wasn’t a waste. He pities whoever doesn’t have something to keep them warm tonight.

 

If only they had gotten some kind of tarp to protect them from the rain. If only Percy had better control of his emotions or more energy to stop the rain. He’s glad Judy doesn’t know it’s his fault. He doesn’t think he could stand her disappointment.

 

Percy opens the water bottles to catch as much rain water as possible. At least his poorly controlled emotions are beneficial for this. 

 

“How should we divide up the supplies?” Percy asks.

 

“What? Are we already splitting up?” Judy's eyes shoot up to look at him. She looks almost as panicked as she did during the bloodbath. 

 

Percy wonders if she’s really that worried about being alone. If Percy were trying to win, he thinks he’d find a lot more comfort alone than around people who would have to kill him to win.

 

“No,” Percy states before Judy can get even more panicked. “But there’s three of us and we only have two sleeping bags and one thermal blanket. Plus we should probably eat some jerky for dinner.”

 

Reassured that they aren’t going their separate ways just yet, Judy votes that Annie should be left without a sleeping bag, since she didn’t haul any of their supplies from the cornucopia. 

 

“That’s cold.” Percy says. “She was unconscious.”

 

“There’s no room for kindness in the Hunger Games,” Judy responds. 

 

Percy closes his mouth. Judy has a point, but he still doesn’t quite think this is fair, and Annie is far too out of it to protest, so Percy volunteers to share the thinner sleeping bag with her. 

 

“You can have the thermal blanket too,” Percy says to placate Judy. “The smaller sleeping bag will be warmer with both Annie and I in it sharing body heat.”

 

Judy huffs but doesn’t complain, probably grateful to have both the nicer sleeping bag and the thermal blanket. Percy puts a couple of drops of iodine into the water bottles so they’ll have safe water to drink before they fall asleep for the night. They dig out the jerky, and each have two strips of it. Percy has to coax Annie to eat it.

 

“You need to keep your energy up,” he tells Annie. She makes no movement to show she understood him or even that she heard him, but he puts the jerky to her lips and she eats it anyway. He’s grateful for small mercies.

 

“Do you think it’s her concussion?” Percy asks Judy, referring to Annie’s unresponsiveness. “Or is it just shock from the bloodbath?”

 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” 

 

Percy huffs. It’ll be hard to have an alliance where one of them can’t stand the other. 

 

“I can take the first watch,” Percy tells Judy, knowing he won’t be able to sleep tonight anyway.

 

“Sure, but I’m not going to sleep until they show who all died today.” Right, Percy remembers now. Mags told him about this. Every night, they put up the faces of who died that day in the sky. It’s a good way of keeping track of who is still alive, but Percy is not looking forward to the reminder of Lace and Nero’s deaths.

 

They lay out their sleeping bags under some trees that will hopefully offer shelter from the rain, and without prompting, Annie climbs in beside Percy, clinging to him like an octopus. Percy lightly touches the side of her head where a bruise from Nero’s sword is already forming. He’s trying not to think about it, but Percy is concerned about how Annie’s going to survive the games once he dies. He hopes Finnick will take care of her, and that she has enough sponsors in case she needs medicine or food.

 

Once the Panem anthem starts, Percy clings back just as tightly as Annie is, grateful for the comfort of another, living person beside him. Judy and him move just slightly so they can see the projection through the trees and rain clouds. 

 

Emerald’s face is the first to be projected in the sky after the emblem of Panem. She looks dangerous in the picture, like nothing could take her down. But that wasn’t the case. One wrong move by her ally, and now she's forever eighteen. Percy’s heart aches for her and for her family. He’s seen his mother worry for him, so he can only guess how hard it must be to outlive your child. A part of him is glad he’ll never have to suffer that fate. 

 

At his side, Annie whimpers, and buries her face in Percy’s neck. She’s mouthing something, and he has a horrible feeling it’s Emerald’s name.

 

Lace’s face is next in the sky, and Percy remembers what it was like to snap his neck. He remembers the taste of his blood. He can practically taste the iron even now. He holds Annie tighter. Right now, she’s his rock as much as he is hers.

 

Andromeda is not in the sky, but Nero is. The other child Percy killed today. He drove an arrow through his throat, a horrible death. He forces himself to look at the picture. To memorize his face. It is the least he owes him.

 

The next five tributes in the sky are people Percy hardly remembered, as guilty as he feels saying that. He tries to remember the tributes who aren’t in the sky, who are still out there somewhere. Judy and Annie are fine of course, safe under Percy’s protection, and Trenton, Judy’s district partner, is also notably absent from the morbid projection. Percy isn’t surprised. After the Careers, he was the tribute who most seemed like he knew what he was doing. Little Will and the girl from 12, Daffodil, are also still alive somewhere in the arena. Percy hopes they were able to get some supplies. He’s sure they’ll need it. 

 

The boy from 12, Matthew, is the last face in the sky, making up the ninth dead tribute. Percy remembers how small he was—even for his age—trembling in his humiliating costume at the Tribute Parade and struggling during training. To his credit, Percy never saw him cry. Not that he would have judged him if he had. No one earned it more than these tributes—these kids, stolen from their families. 

 

With that, the projection is done, and they are left in the dark. The only sounds are the leaves rustling, and Annie breathing heavily at his side.

 

“Good night,” Percy whispers. He hears Judy shuffling, but she doesn’t respond.

 

Surprisingly enough, Annie does though. He’s just able to make out her quiet “night,” mumbled into his neck. He wonders if it’s reflexive. She’s shown no other signs of awareness of what’s happening. 

 

He hopes she’ll be better soon, though he knows trauma doesn’t work like that.

 

In no time at all, Judy’s breathing evens out, and she is asleep, likely suffering from the effects of a major adrenaline crash. But Annie stays in a half-awake, delirious state. She occasionally lets out a quiet sob. All Percy can do is hold her. 

 

The rain doesn’t let up, and a small trickle is able to get into their sleeping bag. Sleeping in cold water cannot be good for Annie. Percy pulls the string at the opening of the sleeping bag tighter to let less rain water in. Then, weighing the pros and cons, he uses his powers to dry the inside of the sleeping bag. Annie practically melts into his side in relief. 

 

Percy is thankful he is able to offer her some sort of comfort in this shitshow. At some point, she even manages to fall asleep. It feels like a miracle. 

 

He spends the rest of the night staring up at a tree just a little to his right. He’s pretty sure it’s a Honey Locust due to its prevalent, sharp thorns, though it’s a bit far from the river valley for it to be growing. He wonders how much research the gamemakers actually put into their arena designs. Do they just put plants wherever they feel like it? It’s not like most district citizens have the knowledge to call out inaccuracies. 

 

Besides, they have bigger things to worry about. Like their dead children. 

 

A movement in the dark catches Percy’s attention. It’s not a tribute or a big enough animal to worry about thought, it’s just a bird. Percy watches it idly. It’s a medium sized bird with muted colors for plumage, cute but not very notable—except for the struggling mouse it has in its beak. The mouse kicks and struggles for a brief moment, before the bird gives it a good shake and it settles down, seemingly accepting its fate. 

 

With a brutal decisiveness, the bird impales the mouse on the Honey Locust’s thorns, spearing it right through its little rodent heart. 

 

That’s me, Percy thinks as he stares at the dead mouse. The bird has started pulling it apart, taking large chunks of its flesh into its mouth. Percy catches a small whiff of blood in the wind. 

 

That’s me.

Notes:

Percy: *subconsciously ties a noose*
Percy: *sees himself in the dead prey of a shrike*
Mr. D, a literal world away: something is wrong.

Anyway, a fairly uneventful chapter, but I really wanted it to end when it did, and it helps establish Percy's emotions. I think the games will last another 3-4 chapters, and then we'll move into the next arc. I know a lot of people are excited to see god!Percy, but I want to reiterate that won't happen for... a while rip. Percy has to overcome his poor mental state first.

Also exciting news! I started a new job! Unfortunately, with this new job comes with more responsibilities than my last one, so I'll probably only be able to update this story once every 1-2 weeks. Bare with me.

Please comment!

Chapter 7: No Man is an Island

Notes:

Lol, remember when I said I wouldn't update for a week?

The night is cold, though easily bearable for Percy since he is sharing a sleeping bag with Annie and is still wearing his thick tribute jacket. Overnight, two more cannons sound, and Percy mourns for whoever they are.

 

The sun comes up all too soon and simultaneously not soon enough. Percy is proud to say his depression rain stopped sometime before the sun fully rose. It might just be the gamemakers finally drying the air out enough that rain clouds couldn’t form, but Percy likes to think he pulled himself together last night. It’s a nice thought.

 

“You didn’t wake me,” Judy says. She sounds accusing. She sounds upset. Percy tries not to let how much it affects him show. He’s good at putting on a brave face. No rain , he tells himself.

 

“I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” He responds. Judy looks at him for a long moment, before turning away without further comment. She takes a long drink of her water bottle and scratches the side of her face.

 

“Perseus?” Annie says. Her voice is small and fragile, but Percy can count on one hand the number of things she said since he rescued her from the bloodbath yesterday, so he’s happy to hear her speaking at all.

 

“Yes, Annie?”

 

She grabs his hand and gives it a firm squeeze. It’s nothing compared to how tightly they held each other last night, but it seems to take all the strength she has to do it. Percy thinks he understands. Sometimes things are harder in the daylight.

 

And that’s not even accounting for how the sun must be hurting her eyes in the aftermath of her concussion. 

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Percy tells her honestly. 

 

Annie sends him a small smile and squeezes his hand again. The confident girl from the reaping is now a thing of the distant past. 

 

“I think we should forage for food before we do anything else.” Judy says, ever logical. 

 

“Okay,” Percy agrees. “But I want to make it to the reservoir today. Sooner rather than later.”

 

“Why do you want to go to the reservoir?”

 

“Well, it’s a water source.” Percy says dumbly. He’s never had to explain his desire to be near water before. Everyone back home knew about his father, and even in District 4 a desire to be near a body of water at all times wasn’t strange. He could say sea water ran in his blood, and no one would’ve blinked an eye—they all would’ve just said it ran in theirs, too. 

 

Evidently, it is different in 7. Percy remembers that Judy might’ve never even seen the ocean. He remembers the dam and wonders if she can even swim.

 

“We can probably find a stream that’s less out in the open, though,” Judy argues.

 

“There’ll be fish in the reservoir. We need all the food we can get.” Percy fixes his eyes on Judy’s face. This is not an argument he wants to lose. 

 

Judy studies his face before eventually humming in agreement. Percy barely holds in a sigh of relief that it didn’t turn into a big fight. Though it would be beneficial for his plans with Annie if the alliance breaks off now, he doesn’t want that to happen.

 

They begin walking. Annie is able to walk on her own today, which is good, but every now and then she’ll stop, staring off into the distance at nothing. The first couple of times, Percy scans their surroundings looking for a threat, sure she is seeing something he isn't. 

 

But there’s nothing there. His worry for Annie reaches new heights. 

---

 

They’re almost at the reservoir when they decide to forage for lunch. They each go their own way to find different food. Annie spots some oak trees, and it takes some persuading, but Percy is finally able to convince her to pick some acorns on her own while he and Judy look for other edible plants. It might’ve seemed a bit cold, but truthfully, Percy just wants to make sure she can forage by herself because, unless he dies at the last moment, she’s going to need to feed herself for at least a little bit. 

 

Judy wanders off in her own direction just in time for Percy to come across a verifiable feast of crabapple trees, ripe with their fruit. They have the same red and orange leaves of all the surrounding trees, and Percy only spots what they are when he steps on a crabapple on the ground and hears the mushing sound of the crushed fruit. 

 

The noise he makes is embarrassing, a high pitched shriek of happiness. If any of his old friends were around, they would’ve never let him live it down. 

 

But Percy can’t find it in himself to be anything but relieved at the sight of the crabapples on the ground. When he had seen that the arena was artificially set during fall, he hadn’t expected to find any fruit. Sure, he knows some fruit does grow in the fall, but he hadn’t exactly been expecting to find the fall staples of an apple tree or pumpkin patch in the arena. 

 

Percy decides to be extra safe before picking any crabapples. He looks around for any animals, and—there! A squirrel picks a crabapple and runs off with its bounty. Just the sign he was looking for to prove they aren’t deadly. He plucks as many crabapples as he can fit in his bag, and craving a non-existent breakfast, he bites into one. 

 

Immediately, his face screws up. It’s a lot more sour than he remembers, but then again he had only ever had some of the nymphs’ crabapple jam. Maybe there was a reason they never ate it raw…

 

But Percy knows he can’t be making jam in the arena. He finishes the crabapple off in two more small bites, just as he hears a branch crunch behind him. He turns around, pulling out the knife at his side on instinct. He hopes it's Annie or Judy, but he’s also ready to fight another tribute.

 

It’s not Annie or Judy or even another tribute. 

 

It’s a giant bear. For one disconcerting moment, Percy tries to remember that stupid bear rhyme they teach kids when they first go into the wilderness, but all he can remember is the last line about polar bears, “if it’s white, say goodnight.” Which in hindsight, is a pretty morbid thing to teach kids.

 

It doesn’t matter though. This is the Hunger Games, meaning, of course, this is no normal bear. It looks like a grizzly bear, but its size is easily far larger than any grizzly bear Percy has ever seen in all his years going to the zoo and hiking with Grover in national parks. Percy has encountered his first muttation in the arena.

 

They lock eyes, and slowly, the bear stands up on its hind legs. Percy is a tall guy, so he’s not used to people (who aren’t gods in their twenty foot forms) looking down on him. He decides it’s not an experience he likes.

 

The bear's nose twitches slightly, and Percy wonders if it's smelling him or if it's receiving some kind of signal from the gamemakers to attack— they have to have some way of controlling their attack dogs , Percy thinks, too much  of a risk otherwise . Either way, Percy’s own nose starts to work, and he smells fresh water, reminding him of how close he is to the reservoir. 

 

He turns around and books it. Hopefully, Annie and Judy aren’t anywhere nearby.

 

He hears a loud thump, thump, thump behind him and knows the bear is giving chase. Its pounding footsteps are so loud, Percy thinks it must be over a thousand pounds. Percy thanks his divine blood and his adrenaline for letting him be fast enough to outrun it. He doesn’t want to know what getting pounced on by a bear this large would feel like. 

 

There, in front of him, is Annabeth’s— Judy’s glimmering golden curls. He barely registers the horror on her face before he grabs her and throws her over his shoulder. He knows she will not be fast enough or agile enough to outrun this bear. He doesn’t see Annie anywhere, and he doesn’t know if he should be grateful for this or not. Hopefully, there’s only one bear mutt, and it stays preoccupied with him.

 

The orange, reds, and yellows of the leaves pass by in a colorful blur as Percy jumps over fallen branches and rocks on the ground. If the situation weren’t so horrifying, he would appreciate the view. 

 

Finally, he breaks through the treeline. Judy is screaming her head off, and if everything wasn’t so touch and go, he’d tell her to shut up. As it is, he is much more concerned about the bear than about any other tributes finding them. 

 

He drops Judy off quickly to the side, and runs a good fifteen yards away before the bear comes tumbling out of the trees. It’s so massive, it’s taken down various tree branches and smaller trees that got in the way of its pursuit of Percy. It even leaves claw marks when it braces itself on one of the trees at the edge of the woods.

 

For a brief moment, the bear looks at Judy. She looks back at it, eyes wide with horror.

 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Percy yells, waving his arms in the air, making himself a large and annoying target. And then, because he is a shit-stirrer to his core, he says, “What’s your problem? Is Winnie-the-Pooh scared of—”

 

The bear cuts off his—frankly lame—insult before he finishes, which he actually feels mildly grateful for. Man, he used to have good insults. Back before he lost his mom and his friends and his whole world. 

 

No time to think about that now. Percy holds out his knife, even though he might as well just wrestle the bear empty handed for all the good it will do him. 

 

The bear charges at him, and Percy is moving so fast to dodge the bear’s swipes and lunges, he’s practically dancing. Every step brings both him and the bear closer to the rocky edge of the reservoir, and the other aquatic mutts that await below, just out of view. 

 

Percy doesn’t need to see them to know they’re there, though. The reservoir might not actually be his father’s domain, but for the way it responds to him, it might as well be. 

 

The bear lunges forward, and Percy jumps to the side. It lands on all fours where Percy was just milliseconds ago. But now, Percy is standing off to the bear's side—caging it between him and the reservoir. It is the perfect location to just push into all that saved hibernation fat; if the bear falls into the reservoir, the hungry piranhas will take care of the rest. Percy leaps forward and puts all his strength into shoving the bear off the rocky ledge they stand on. 

 

It is not a long fall to the water, probably only two feet, but the water is deep here. And within seconds, the bear is completely submerged. The piranhas that linger below hesitate for only the briefest moment. Percy can hear their confused mental cries of, “not food?” and “we can’t eat?” and Percy knows the gamemakers don’t want them to eat their own mutts. They’re probably expensive to make. 

 

Unfortunately for the gamemakers, fish are kind of Percy’s people. All it takes is him passing along one mental word to the swarm of carnivorous, mutated fish—“dinner”—and they dive in. 

 

There’s a myth about piranhas: that they can strip a cow to the bone in a single minute. It’s not true. The story comes from a set up made to impress President Roosevelt back in the early 20th century. The tour guides trapped hundreds of piranhas and starved them, so they could terrify the president with their frantic feeding frenzy. 

 

It was an ethically dubious prank at best, but it seems like the exact sort of thing the Capitol wanted their mutt piranhas to emulate. There are hundreds of them in the water, and they swarm the bear fast enough the water looks like it’s boiling. 

 

The bear lets out a strange combination of a growl and a scream, as the water starts to turn red with its blood. In moments, all of its reserved hibernation fat—hundreds of pounds of it—are gone, and the bear is dead. 

 

Weirdly enough, the piranhas don’t eat the head, and Percy wonders if they were trained to leave it alone. So there’d be something to send back in a wooden box to the districts. Percy stares at the remains of the bear’s body and cannot stop himself from imaging it as a tribute instead. He can practically hear the cannon sounding. 

 

Once again, Judy distracts him, clapping loudly from where she still sits on the ground fifteen feet away. Percy shakes the image of the dead bear from his mind; Judy is good for that. He is kind of really glad he allied with her during the bloodbath. 

 

“Wow,” she says. Her tone is flat, but Percy thinks she is genuinely impressed anyway. “That was fucking crazy.”

 

“Do you think they censor curse words?” Percy asks before he can stop himself. He hadn’t been allowed to curse in the interview, so it seems strange Judy is cursing now.

 

Judy blinks at him slowly. “No, they don’t. Especially if it’s a fight between tributes. I’ve heard them cuss before. 24 kids, there’s inevitably one that says ‘fuck’ while they’re dying.”

 

Percy nods his head, eyebrows furrowing. “I think that’ll be me.”

 

Judy just eyes him strangely, probably not knowing how to respond. Percy is used to that. 

 

Just then, Annie stumbles out of the woods. Her jacket hood is still up to block the sun from her sensitive eyes and the brisk wind from her ears. She carries a weaved grass bag full of acorns.

 

“Perseus?” She asks. She hasn’t said more than one word since she woke up, and most of them have just been his name. 

 

Percy moves to block the bear’s head from view. He doesn’t want to remind her of Emerald.

 

“We’re okay,” he reassures her. Then he looks down at her woven, grass bowl. “I didn’t know you could weave.”

 

She looks at the bowl in her hands, but she doesn’t say anything. Percy thinks she has probably exhausted herself already. He knows concussions can do that, and PTSD probably can too. 

 

He should’ve taken Mr. D up on those offers of therapy when he had the chance. He thinks those lessons would be really helpful for Annie right now.

 

“Are those things waterproof?” Judy asks. “Because that would’ve been really helpful last night.” 

 

Percy opens his mouth to ask if Judy’s sleeping bag didn’t keep her dry, but he’s interrupted before he can start by a cannon booming.

 

“Another death tribute,” he says instead. “That makes three today.” 

 

“Three?” Judy’s eyes meet Percy’s own.

 

“Yeah, two cannons went off while you guys were asleep last night.”

 

“Wow, with no career pack the gamemakers must be trying to cause their own deaths. Mutts don’t normally attack on the second day.”

 

“Really?”

 

Judy sighs, “Yeah, usually the career pack hunts down easy prey the first night and the second day. I don’t think the girl from 2 will be up to doing that alone though, so the gamemakers will probably force us into bad situations. That way the audience doesn’t get bored.”

 

This is news to Percy. Logically, he knew the Capitol audience watches the Hunger Games for entertainment, but the idea that the gamemakers mess with the tributes specifically to keep them interested? Had that been the reason the bear attacked him?

 

“Well, what do we do, then?” He asks Judy.

 

“There’s not much we can do unless you feel like hunting down the other tributes and killing them in bloody, gorey, and creative ways. Mild torture is a favorite of the Capitol citizens watching.”

 

Percy feels sick. “Yeah, no thanks.”

 

Judy kicks at some loose pebbles on the ground. “How did you know those fish were in the water?”

 

Percy bites his cheek. “I didn’t, but I didn’t have many options to take out the bear. I thought pushing it in the water would throw it off. Give me time to do something else.”

 

Judy looks at him, staring intently like she can tell he’s lying. Percy really hopes she can’t. There is no reasonable explanation of how he could have possibly known about the piranhas, and he doesn’t want to lie anymore than he already has to.

 

Annie breaks the staring match by lightly touching Percy’s arm. He looks down at her just as she passes her bowl of acorns to him. He’s glad she did this when she did because it means she isn’t watching the hovercraft pulling the dead tribute’s body from a couple miles away. Percy doesn’t want her to see that.

 

“You’re right Annie, we should probably go ahead and boil the acorns so we can have them for lunch. They have some dangerous chemicals you have to boil out.” 

 

“Tannins.” Judy tells him. “But how are we going to boil it? We don’t have a pot and all of the wood we’ll find will be damp from the rain. We should soak it instead.”

 

Percy looks down at the acorns. “Will that make them safe?”

 

“Yeah, but it takes longer without the element of heat. Twelve hours,” Judy tells him. He looks at her questioningly. “There’s a lot of oak trees in 7, and not enough food for everyone.”

 

“Right,” Percy says. 

 

“I’m not sure if we should touch that water though. Those fish seem pretty vicious.”

 

“I’ll be fine. Annie made me a bowl so I won’t have to actually stick my hand in or anything.” Percy lightly brushes his shoulder against Annie’s, and she gives him a wobbly smile that almost immediately fades. He understands; there’s not much to smile about.

 

He lays the acorns on the ground and walks over to find some water that isn’t red, filling up the bowl once he finds appropriately clean water. He begins to take off the outer layer of the acorns. Judy joins him for a moment before looking back at Annie and huffing. She gets up and drags Annie over before handing her some acorns so she can deshell them too. 

 

“Be careful of the small pieces of outer shell that stick to the meat. There’s a lot of tannins in that.” Judy tells them.

 

Once they get the meat out of all of the acorns, they plop them back into the bowl to soak. Percy places it far away from the edge of the water. Technically, most piranhas are omnivores, and he thinks they probably would eat their acorns if given the opportunity. 

 

Then he gets up and walks back into the woods to find an appropriately long and sharp stick. Judy eyes him questioningly, but Annie seems to be in her own world again—her eyes glossed over. Percy just feels grateful she isn’t crying, and that she isn’t looking at the still bloody water. 

 

“Since we can’t eat the nuts yet, I’m going fishing,” he tells Judy. 

 

“With those killer fish?” 

 

“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t get in the water though.” 

 

Percy approaches the edge of the water, where the bear’s decapitated head still floats. A couple of piranhas swim up to look at him. It almost makes him feel guilty for what he’s about to do. But he can’t afford to feel guilty for fishing—that’s the one thing he learned during his time working in Portland. 

 

He brings the stick down swiftly, and impales the closest piranha. He pulls the stick out of the water to inspect his catch. It’s probably only four pounds and clearly based on the red-belly piranha, arguably the most aggressive species alongside the black piranha. 

 

He turns around to face Annie and Judy, “lunch,” he says cheerfully.

 

Judy is holding a crabapple, and she looks up from inspecting it like it might bite her. “Wow,” she says. “That was fast.”

 

“What can I say? I’m a good fisherman.”

 

“Yeah, well, when the woods finally dry a little bit, I can chop down a tree for firewood, and then it’ll be my turn to show off.”

 

“Looking forward to it,” Percy laughs. 

 

He sits down beside Annie. The piranha is still squirming around on the stick, so Percy hits it with a rock to kill it. Once it finally stops moving, Annie reaches over to open the fish's mouth. She sees the sharp teeth, and immediately draws her hand back.

 

“It’s a piranha,” Percy tells her. “They’re native to freshwater rivers and lakes in South America. Have super sharp teeth and strong jaws. Probably shouldn’t go swimming in that reservoir.”

 

“How do you know that? If they’re native to South America,” she hesitates over the word, probably unfamiliar with the name, only knowing it wasn’t Panem, “where could you have heard of them in district 4?” Judy asks.

 

Percy stares down at the fish for a moment, and remembers there are cameras everywhere in the arena. They probably won’t show anything incriminating—they can’t let people know there’s a world outside of Panem, after all. But Percy doesn’t want to answer the question anyway.

 

The silence stretches on, and finally, Judy must realize he isn’t going to answer. “Fine, ignore me then. We still have a problem, though. No fire, remember? How are we going to cook the fish?”

 

“We aren’t.” Percy says. “We’re going to eat it raw.”

 

Judy mock retches. “You’re joking.”

 

Percy looks up at her questioning. “No I’m not. People eat raw fish all the time. There’s nothing to worry about.”

 

He pulls out his knife, and begins to cut off a skinny strip of the fish’s meat starting at the chest. He has only ever seen other people do this before, so he goes slow and takes the time to make sure there aren’t any bones in the slice of meat. He passes it to Annie who eats it without question. 

 

Judy’s face is genuinely disgusted now. “I cannot believe you two are going to eat that.”

 

“Why?” Percy asks. “It’s just like sashimi.”

 

“I don’t know what that is.”

 

“Well, it’s either this or starve.” Percy cuts another slice of fish and eats it.

 

Judy grabs a crabapple and bites into it. Her face screws up from the tart flavor. Percy holds out a piece of fish. Judy’s shoulders pull up towards her ears, but she grabs it anyway and swallows it almost without chewing.

 

She still looks disgusted, but she says, “I’ve had worse,” as she holds out her hand for another slice. Percy smiles and obliges. 

 

He saves the piranha’s teeth, placing them in his bag, though he doesn’t know what he’ll use them for. 

 

They spend the rest of the day foraging by the reservoir. They manage to find some wild onions and duck potato, and Percy spears another piranha for dinner.

 

Judy is right that all of the wood is too wet to use for a fire, and Percy supposes it would be too suspicious to dry it with his powers. Judy will just have to get used to raw fish. 

 

It’s later that night, when they’re all bundled up in their sleeping bags and (in Judy’s case) blankets, that they are finally able to eat the acorns, which have now soaked for the required twelve hours. 

 

Judy literally moans when she eats the first acorn. “Finally,” she says, “some not horrible food.”

 

Percy laughs, but Annie is too busy staring off into the distance to find the humor in Judy’s statement.

 

That’s when the parachutes come down. Noticeably, there are only two of them, and they land beside Percy and Annie—not Judy. She doesn’t do a good job of hiding her jealousy. 

 

Percy opens his parachute first. Inside is a ski mask and a portable camping stove. Percy is almost scared to know how much this cost to send him. “Well, it looks like you got something too.” He tells Judy, holding up the stove. “No more raw fish.”

 

“Thank the president.” Judy says, somewhat sarcastically, but there is an edge of sincerity to her words. Percy is momentarily taken aback by the expression. In any other situation, it would’ve been “thank God” or, at Camp Half-Blood, “thank the gods.”

 

Has Panem’s ban on religion really spread that far? That you couldn’t even reference a higher power to curse? 

 

The meaning of replacing “god” with “the president” was not lost on Percy. It was a powerful statement. It means, to the people of Panem, President Snow might as well be a god. 

 

It was a sobering thought.

 

Percy looks over at Annie, who was still bundled up at his side, unmoving. “Annie, you have a gift.” He says, trying to rouse her. It is no use; she doesn’t budge.

 

He reaches over and opens the parachute for her. Inside it, there is a pot to match the stove, and she also has her own ski mask. “There’s only two,” Percy says out loud, hoping a third parachute will fall. It doesn’t.

 

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Judy brushes it off, but Percy can see how it bothers her. Last night was cold, and who knows if the arena will be even colder tonight. 

 

Percy wonders why her mentor didn’t send supplies, when it hits him. The gifts were expensive, and Mags had said he already had a lot of sponsors before the game even started. And Finnick seemed fully capable of getting his own sponsors for Annie. He didn’t know anything about Judy’s sponsors though. What if she didn’t have any?

 

Percy puts the ski mask on Annie, and hesitates for a moment with his own. But Judy has turned around in her own sleeping bag, pulling the edge of it up to her nose. She clearly doesn’t want his charity. He puts the ski mask on.

 

“I’ll take first watch.” Judy says, “I don’t trust you to wake me up to switch.”

 

Percy laughs, though it isn’t really a laughing matter. “Fair enough.”

 

He settles down beside Annie, and stays up only long enough to hear the anthem and see the faces of three tributes who died today. It is the girl from 3, the boy from 5, and the girl from 11.

 

Annie whispers something at his side. 

 

“What?” He asks.

 

“Hypothermia,” she says again in a raspy, low voice. She is quiet, and for the first time, Percy thinks it isn't because of her trauma or her concussion. It's because she doesn't want Judy to hear—Judy, who wasn't sent a face covering for the cold nights.

 

Annie must be more aware than Percy thought because he realizes she’s analyzing their surroundings, and that she’s probably right. Though today was probably 60 degrees, that was more than enough to give you hypothermia if you weren’t careful, and two cannons had sounded last night, when the temperature dropped. 

 

Percy remembers the girl from 11 hadn’t even grabbed any supplies from the cornucopia. He had thought she would struggle to stay warm. If Annie is right, she did. 

 

He reaches up to gently touch his ski mask. It isn't fair, Percy only had sponsors because they thought he was beautiful. Did Judy not deserve to stay warm too?

 

Percy thinks it will take awhile to fall asleep after seeing the faces of the dead in the sky and feeling guilty over the supplies that were sent to him but not Judy, but he is wrong. Sleep finds him quickly, with Annie at his side. He must’ve been more tired than he thought. 

 

---

 

Percy is no stranger to nightmares, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates it when he sees himself around the cornucopia, with the timer counting down to the bloodbath. He scans the supplies and environment around him. It seems the same as it was during the real bloodbath. The colorful trees, the reservoir with the poorly made dam, and the field. He even spots the sleeping bag he went for on the first day. 

 

But the weapons are different. There, glimmering where the trident stood, is Riptide. It’s not the only weapon Percy recognizes; scattered throughout the supplies is Thalia’s bow and arrow, Annabeth’s dagger, and Nico’s Stygian iron sword. Percy’s eyes widen in horror, and for the first time, he takes in the other tributes. 

 

They’re not the tributes that were reaped. Instead, they’re Percy’s friends—his family. To his left is Will Solace, and to his right is Jason Grace. He spots Annabeth where Judy was, and Thalia where Annie was. Even Nico is there, and this time, he isn’t trying to convince Percy to hold on. He’s staring down his Stygian iron sword like Annie stared down the trident. 

 

The timer ends, and without his permission, his legs carry him quickly to the cornucopia, where he picks up Riptide. Will is the first to fall to his sword, and Percy can feel tears fall down his face, but he can’t stop himself.

 

He has no control over his movements. 

 

Nico runs forward, and just like with Lace, Percy catches his arm before he can bring his sword down. He puts his arm around his head and snaps his neck. He turns around even though his instincts are screaming for him to hold Nico’s dead body. To offer him comfort in the afterlife he couldn’t offer when he was alive. 

 

He sees Thalia release an arrow at Annabeth, and just like with Judy, he sprints forward to catch it. But he’s too slow, and Thalia’s aim is true. The arrow pierces Annabeth’s heart, and she falls to the ground. 

 

He wants to cradle Annabeth, like he wants to hold Nico, but the nightmare denies him once again. Instead, he runs toward Thalia, cutting her arrows in half as he does. He tackles her to the ground just like he did Nero, and grabs an arrow from her quiver, driving it through her neck.

Notes:

Please do not follow my advice on eating acorns, idk exactly how accurate it is. It's just what google told me.

Anyway, Percy has faced his first mutt in the arena! And he has befriended the piranhas, how fun. Also I researched bears for this chapter, and apparently grizzly bears can weigh up to 1000 to 1200 pounds right before their hibernation. Polar bears can weigh up to 1700. I imagine the bear Percy faced was engineered to be more aggressive and the size of polar bears.

And Piranha sashimi is a real thing, but Judy, living in district 7 has never had any sort of raw fish before, much less heard of sashimi.

Comment, please!

Chapter 8: Bury Me Face Down

Notes:

Because I've had a couple of people ask in the comments: Percy will not be prostituted in this fic for a variety of reasons. The tag is there for Finnick, and it will never go in depth, though the aftereffects of it will be discussed/observed by Percy (in terms of mental and physical health).

Percy wakes up choking on a scream, with Annie shaking him. 

 

His eyes are wide and panicked as he searches their surroundings frantically. Rain is pouring down in heavy sheets, and Annie’s hair is drenched, clinging to her face as Percy’s wide eyed expression is mirrored on hers. She must’ve taken her ski mask off at some point—probably to avoid being waterboarded in the heavy rain. Percy isn’t wearing his either and he wonders if Annie took his off too or if he was really just thrashing that much in his sleep. 

 

They’re still by the reservoir. If he looks over, he can just spot Judy through the gloom and rain.

 

He forces his breathing to slow back to something resembling a normal, healthy pace. 

 

Five things you can see , he tells himself. Annie’s eyes, the water dripping down her face, the trees in the distance—their bright colors muted in the rain, the puddle on the ground next to where they’re lying down, and Judy’s shadow in the distance.

 

Four things you can touch . The sleeping bag. Annie’s hand gripping him. The hard ground underneath them. The rain. 

 

Three things you can hear . Annie’s quick breathing, the rustling of the leaves, and the pounding of rain. 

 

Two things you can smell . The mud and frankly, his and Annie’s BO.

 

Finally , he tells himself, one thing you can taste . 

 

But he can’t taste anything, his mouth is so dry. He opens it just wide enough to let some rainwater fall in. The water calms down more than anything Mr. D told him to do.

 

He squeezes Annie’s hand, and slowly the rain begins to turn into a light drizzle. It was just a dream. His friends and family back home are safe from the Hunger Games—a whole world away. And for better or worse, Percy is never going to see them again. There is no way he killed them in the bloodbath. There is no way they were in the dream with him. It’s just bad memories and guilt over Lace and Nero, who died at his hands.

 

He lies back down in the sleeping bag. He must not have actually screamed because Judy still seems asleep in her bundle of blankets and sleeping bags across from him and Annie. He wonders how she was able to sleep at all in the rain.

 

Wait, Judy is asleep? She was supposed to be on watch duty! 

 

Percy sits back up abruptly, explaining this to Annie.

 

Annie just shakes her head. “Sleep,” she says. “It’s my turn.” 

 

“I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep,” Percy whispers. He hates it as he says it—it's too close to admitting weakness, which Camp Half-Blood taught him to never do. But he thinks Annie won’t judge him. 

 

Percy remembers after the Titan War that Mr. D forced all the veteran demigods—including his last living son—to socialize and talk to each other. He didn’t let anyone be alone. He said if you have a support group you can get through anything. That it’s dangerous when you’re alone—it lets the demons of insanity put their claws in you. With Annie here beside him, he thinks Mr. D was right. Who knows how he would be copping if he was alone right now.

 

He might’ve lost it and gone swimming with the piranhas just for company. Who knows what the Capitol would think of him then—no doubt they already think he’s strange enough.

 

The two of them lay in silence for a while in the small sleeping bag. The rain clouds have started to clear up, and they can see the artificial stars projected on the arena’s domed roof. There aren’t any lights nearby, so they should be plentiful and bright, but instead they look how they would in any small town—better than New York, but still so dim. Too many stars hidden by light pollution. 

 

Did the Capitol not even know what proper stars look like anymore? There was next to no travel outside of the Capitol allowed except for a vacation in Decoris for the wealthy or, for the impoverished or those in debt, to become a Peacekeeper in the districts. 

 

But from what Percy can tell, there’s no hiking in the woods or camping in the mountains. There’s no appreciation for nature here. He doesn’t even think National Parks are a thing anymore. There’s something deeply sad about it all.

 

“Tell me a story,” Annie says suddenly. 

 

Percy turns his head just slightly to look at her. She’s staring up at the stars herself, but her eyes look glassy. Unlike earlier, when her glassy eyes showed she was worlds away in her own mind, Percy thinks she’s here with him but about to cry. 

 

He racks his mind for a story to share, something Annie will like. He thinks of sharing some stories about his father—maybe something from Ancient Greece, but then he thinks those might be too dark. And he’s not sure that he should be talking about any gods where Panem can hear anyway. 

 

Then, he racks his mind through his own childhood, but the memories are either too hard to share or something he wants to keep close to his chest. He knows everything he says could be broadcasted, and his childhood seems too precious and private for that. The Capitol doesn’t deserve to know about his mom or his friends.

 

Finally, he comes up with the perfect story. “You know how so much of the ocean is unexplored?” He asked Annie. 

 

He could feel her head nod, just slightly to show she was following his story. “Well, there used to be myths of a whole kingdom down there named Atlantis, inhabited by merpeople—you know, what they dressed me up as at the Parade.”

 

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Well, as the story goes, there was a Princess named Ariel, and she loved watching humans. She thought they were so fascinating, and her dream was to one day walk on land with the humans. She even had a collection of human artifacts she had gathered over the years from sunken ships. But her father, the King, hated humans, and made going to the surface illegal.”

 

Percy made a point of excluding the name Triton from his retailing. He didn’t really want to bring up his brother, and the last thing he wanted was for some Capitolite to be bragging about how he’s named after the King of Atlantis.

 

“Ariel didn’t listen though, and one day, she’s watching a human ship, when it catches on fire. The men flee the ship, but one brave man, a human prince named Eric, goes back to save his dog. He ends up trapped in the flaming ship, and Ariel, unable to watch him drown, rescues him. She brings him to the shore and sings a song for him while he is half awake before fleeing back to the safety of the ocean.”

 

Annie is watching him closely now, enraptured with the story the way Percy was when his mom showed it to him the first time. 

 

“Her father discovered what she did, and he became so enraged he destroyed her collection of human things she had been gathering her whole life, despite Ariel begging him not to. She was so distraught that she ran away, and only her best friend, Flounder, and her father’s advisor, a crab named Sebastian, were able to follow her.”

 

“A powerful sea witch named Ursula had her own agenda against the king, and saw Ariel as a way to get her revenge. She lured her into her lair, and promised her that she could walk on land with the humans, just like she always dreamed of.”

 

“But there was a catch. In order for the spell to be permanent, she had to make Prince Eric give her true love’s kiss before the sun set on the third day. Otherwise, Ariel would turn back into a mermaid, and Ursula would own her. And to make it even worse, for the spell to work, Ariel had to give up her voice, meaning she couldn’t even tell the Prince who she was. After a little convincing, Ariel agreed.”

 

“She sounds stupid,” Annie interrupted. 

 

Percy huffed out a laugh, “yeah, she kind of is. Do you want to hear the rest?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, so Ariel is turned into a human and washes up on the shore, where Prince Eric finds her. He’s enchanted right away because she reminds him of the woman who rescued him from the shipwreck, but since she can’t talk, he knows it can’t be her. After all, her singing was the main thing he remembered about her. Still, he takes Ariel to his castle and houses and feeds her.”

 

“They find themselves falling in love quickly, almost kissing on the second night, but the sea witch interferes at the last moment, ruining it. Ariel wakes up on the third day to find out that Eric is now engaged to another woman, saying they will be married by sunset. Ariel’s heart breaks, but—” 

 

Here Percy almost starts talking about the seagull, only to realize he completely forgot to introduce him earlier. He barely holds back a sigh. His mother would tell the story so much better than he ever could. 

 

“...Advisor Sebastian is suspicious, he follows the mysterious woman only to find out she is actually the sea witch Ursula. She had put Ariel’s voice in a seashell necklace and used it to put a spell on the prince—making him love her.”

 

“Sebastian tells Ariel and Flounder, and they hatch a plan to ruin the wedding. They break onto the ship that is hosting the ceremony, and various ocean creatures descend onto the boat to cause as much chaos as possible. In the confusion, Ariel manages to steal the necklace that contains her voice. It breaks on the ground, allowing her voice to return to her. The spell is broken, and Prince Eric realizes the woman he is in love with and the woman who saved him from drowning are the same. He embraces Ariel and they kiss, but it’s too late. The sun has already set.”

 

He can hear Annie’s breathing speed up, anxious to find out what happens next.

 

“Ariel falls to the ground, her feet turned back into a fishtail. The sea witch cackles madly and returns to her own mermaid form before grabbing her and jumping overboard. Prince Eric is distraught, and the King of Atlantis demands that Ursula return his daughter to him. But Ursula will not, saying even his power cannot undo the deal they made. But, she says, she’ll accept a trade. The king for his daughter.”

 

“Without hesitating, the King agrees, and, triumphant, Ursula steals his trident—his symbol of power. Now, she is the ruler of the seas. Ariel watches on in horror, and decides she cannot let this stand. Little does she know, Prince Eric is thinking much the same on the surface. He is on a ship in the open water, determined to find her and save her. They reunite just in time to see Ursula grow hundreds of feet tall—the Trident in combination with her witchcraft had made her more powerful than they had even thought she could be.”

 

“Eric and Ariel are terrified, but they know they can’t give up. Luckily, her new power made Ursula sloppy and overconfident. She doesn’t worry about Eric or Ariel, thinking they are now beneath her notice. Eric takes advantage of this and stirs the broken bow of the ship into her stomach, a fatal blow.”

 

“With Ursula dead, the trident returns to the King. Eric and Ariel reluctantly go their separate ways, with Ariel continuing to watch Eric from a rock near the beach his castle is on. The king, remorseful due to the troubles his child went through, takes pity on them, and uses the Trident to turn her into a human again. Overwhelmed with joy, Eric and Ariel unite and get married, finally sharing an uninterrupted true love’s kiss.”

 

Percy hesitates for a moment, before finishing with the ending every fairy-tale needs, “and they lived happily ever after.”

 

He’s pretty sure he didn’t retell the story that great—certainly not to Disney levels, and he knows he got a couple of facts wrong, mainly just because he wanted to cut down on how many characters and small details there were. But Annie still seemed to enjoy it, so it must not have been that terrible.

 

Judy chooses that moment to show she’s been awake the whole time when she says, “That’s a weird story. I’m not sure I like it.”

 

“Well, I’m not offended considering I’m not the one who came up with it.”

 

“Who came up with it then?”

 

Percy considers how to answer, “I don’t know,” he eventually says, “It’s just an old story I remember. It’s a folk tale, I think.” Do Disney movies qualify as folk tales in a post-apocalyptic world? Probably.

 

“Is that what your tattoo means?” Judy asks. “Is it because of that story?”

 

Judy’s question was simultaneously too close to the truth, while being completely wrong. Percy settles on responding with a simple “no.” He doesn’t want to explain his tattoo. The story is too personal and too complicated, anyway.

 

Judy isn’t going to let it go that easily, though. “Your tattoo is strange. I thought for sure it meant you would go for the trident at the cornucopia, but you didn’t. Why?”

 

Percy huffs before answering, “it wasn’t close to the sleeping bag I wanted.” He doesn't want to tell Annie that he was already manipulating the game in her favor. She doesn’t seem like she’d be particularly prideful in her current state, but who knows. Plus, if when she wins, Percy wants the audience to think she did it (mostly) on her own.

 

If she knows how much he’s been helping her, that’ll just make her feel even more guilty over his eventual death.

 

“Well, you should’ve gone for the trident instead, this sleeping bag sucks. You guys’s one looks dry, but I’m swimming over here.” 

 

Percy’s heart skips a beat. He must’ve been unconsciously keeping both himself and Annie dry—he had completely forgotten the sleeping bags weren’t waterproof. And he had made it rain so bad last night! 

 

It seems Judy is taking the brunt of it, which is becoming a pattern after the sponsor gifts fiasco. His stomach churns with guilt. 

 

Annie shifts at his side, not paying any attention to Judy. Percy doesn’t know if it’s her concussion, her leftover trauma response, or just that she doesn’t like Judy. 

 

“I think I’d like to be a mermaid.” She says, changing the subject. Her fingers are drawing circles on Percy’s jacket arm. “Living in the ocean sounds peaceful.”

 

“Yeah, it does.” Try as he might, Percy cannot hide the longing in his voice or the moroseness.

 

“I’ve always heard there’s nothing peaceful about the ocean. That it’s violent and unpredictable and scary,” Judy muses. “It must be different in 4.”

 

“It is.” Percy answers.

 

Somehow, Annie curls up even smaller at Percy’s side. “The ocean is my home,” she says. “It’s safety. I want to go back.”

 

Judy huffs, annoyed. “Well, maybe you can tell them to bury you at sea.”

 

With this comment, Annie can’t ignore Judy anymore. She starts to cry.

 

Percy sits up as much as he can with Annie still clinging to his side to glare at Judy. Logically, he understands and even empathizes with her. They’re in a stressful environment, and at least two of them will die over the next couple of weeks if not days, but come on. Annie’s possibly one of the nicest people he’s ever met. If Judy wants to snark at anyone, it should be Percy.

 

Percy can handle people being mean.

 

“It’s okay, Annie,” he says. “The ocean will always offer you safety, and it will always welcome you home.” His words were really just meant to reassure her—to distract her from what Judy said, but he must’ve put too much of himself behind them because deep in his gut, something locks in place, like a promise. 

 

All of a sudden, he feels weak, drowsy. 

 

“Thanks Perseus, but Judy’s right. There’s no ocean in the arena.”

 

Percy is so tired he can’t think clearly anymore, but he doesn’t want Annie to be scared, so he tries to comfort her anyway. “But there’s that big reservoir. It means there must be a drain somewhere, and all drains lead to the ocean.” 

 

He’s only half able to realize that he’s quoted Finding Nemo , and an incorrect fact from Finding Nemo at that, but he doesn’t think either Judy or Annie will call him out on it. Gods, he’s so tired. He could sleep for a week, he thinks.

 

Annie hums dubiously. Percy just finds the energy in himself to be glad she’s having full conversations now, but before he can fully reflect on that, he falls asleep.

 

---

 

The rain has fully stopped, and the sun is out and high in the sky by the time he wakes up again. He squints at it. Is it already the afternoon? He mentally chastises himself. He’s got a lot of work to do if it’s already the afternoon. 

 

Whatever it was that made him sleep for so long also granted him no nightmares, which he is thankful for, but a sense of exhaustion still clings to him. He forces himself to get up anyway.

 

“Good morning,” he says, smiling at Annie. Judy is still wrapped up in her sleeping bag looking miserable, and Annie is staring out in the distance at nothing again. Neither of them respond. 

 

He slowly pulls himself out of the sleeping bag, taking care to not rustle Annie too much. He walks over to the reservoir with the same long stick he used for fishing yesterday. Judy sees him and moans, “please, no more fish.”

 

Percy rolls his eyes. The district divide between Annie and Judy had never been clearer. No one back in 4 would ever say they’ve had enough fish. He obliges however, and walks into the woods to see what he can find. 

 

He walks for a while in the opposite direction of the crabapple trees, not wanting the bitter aftertaste they leave on his tongue, but he does make a point of swinging around to get some more acorns. Nuts, he knows, are nutritious and high in calories—something they desperately need when the rest of their diet is random plants and fish and they might have to run for their lives at any time. 

 

On the way, he’s lucky enough to pass a blackberry bush, so he spends a good fifteen minutes picking blackberries. He cuts himself multiple times on the thorns when he picks the blackberries hidden deeper in the bush, but he’s so excited about some actually good fruit he doesn’t even notice the small slashes on his hands. He puts the acorns and the blackberries together in the bowl Annie made the other day and begins the walk back to their campsite.

 

Both Annie and Judy are up and about now. Annie is fiddling with some long grass; Percy thinks she might be making another bowl. Judy is sitting on one of the larger rocks by the reservoir, taking off her shoes. “Ugh,” she groans, “my feet are killing me.”

 

Percy wonders if it was due to wearing her shoes to bed. None of them had wanted to take their boots off in case they had to leave their camp in a hurry overnight. Surely, it couldn’t be because of the walking they did yesterday. They spent way more time resting than they did actually hiking, and Judy spent her days in 7 cutting down trees, there’s no way her stamina is that low.

 

Percy spots the problem as soon as Judy takes off her socks, which are still wet from the overnight rainfall. Judy’s feet are swollen and a bright red color feet really shouldn’t be. It’s something Percy’s never seen in real life before, but he knows what it is from when his old history teacher made them watch a documentary about World War I. 

 

Judy has trench foot—a condition you get when your feet are stuck in a cold and wet environment for long periods of time. Like when you’re stuck in a thin sleeping bag with your ally’s supernatural, depression rain trying to slowly drown you.

 

Percy walks up to her as slowly as he can manage. If she hasn’t already realized what is wrong with her feet, he doesn’t want to scare her. 

 

“It’s frostbite, isn’t it?” She asks him. Her voice is higher than he’s ever heard it before, and he can’t help but notice she’s avoiding looking at her own feet.

 

“No, no, I don’t think it’s frostbite,” he says truthfully. He turns to Annie for support, but she still hasn’t looked up from her weaving. “If it was frostbite, it would’ve affected your fingers first, and those look fine.”

 

Percy reaches out to feel Judy’s left foot. He’s praying to all the gods who don’t exist here for a pulse, but if there is one pumping through her foot, it is incredibly weak. 

 

Percy barely knows anything about trench foot. How did the soldiers in World War I treat it? He can’t remember. He knows it’s caused by wet and cold conditions though, so he takes off his outer, waterproof rain jacket and then takes off his shirt, leaving him in only his thermal undershirt. Then he puts his jacket back on and uses his shirt to dry Judy’s feet. “I think you should try to keep it dry,” he tells her. 

 

“It’s not like I’m trying to sleep in all this water,” Judy complains, “but it keeps raining!”

 

Percy swallows around a lump in his throat. That’s his fault, he knows. He couldn’t control his emotions, and he hadn’t even spared a thought to the side effects of sleeping in the rain. And now one of his friends has trench foot, something he’s not even sure they can treat. 

 

What if it’s permanent? What if she can’t walk and dies because of what Percy did?

 

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “It’s not raining right now, so we can keep your feet dry for at least a little bit, and we’ll see if the swelling goes down soon.”

 

Percy offers her his and Annie’s dry sleeping bag to wrap her feet in, which Judy takes gratefully. Percy asks Annie to weave a sort of DIY tarp so even if he can’t get himself under control, Judy will stay dry. Annie takes to the task with a vigor Percy hasn’t seen since before she entered the arena.

 

From there, Percy lays the wet sleeping bag, blanket, and socks out on the rocks to dry in the sun. He de-shells and boils the acorns using their little portable camping stove and pot from last night. 

 

Once he’s done, he passes out the nuts and blackberries to Annie and Judy. He saves only a small portion for himself, knowing if he didn’t eat Annie would worry. But he still feels sick, and the blackberries he had been so excited for earlier now taste revolting to him. It’s a struggle to swallow.

 

Everything is going to be okay , Percy tells himself. And then a small, very small , part of himself tells him it’s better this way. 

 

He could never have gotten both Annie and Judy out.

 

Percy gets up from his spot in between Annie and Judy and walks into the woods. Once he’s out of sight, he throws up his meager meal. It’s a disgusting yellow/purple shade from his stomach acid mixing with the blackberries. 

 

He spots a camera in a nearby tree, and he spits the remains of the bile in his mouth on it. 

 

The only monster worse than him is the Capitol.

Notes:

It's true that one's support groups are the biggest protective factor against just about every type of mental illness, which is partially why all of the Victor's are so poorly adjusted. They were either alone in the arena or their allies died. (Plus all the stuff they had to endure after winning...)

Anyway, you get a chapter earlier than I planned because AO3 was down for awhile, so I had nothing to do but write my own fic. And poor Judy! She was sleeping out in the cold in a wet sleeping bag, and now she's got trench foot. Idk exactly how realistic that is, but according to google you can get trench foot after 10 hours, and the arena has been cold and off-and-on raining since the Games started, and she's been sleeping in a wet sleeping bag for two nights now. I wanted to include this because the Hunger Games isn't only violence, it's wilderness survival too, which is it's own brand of horror. I'm trying to balance action heavy chapters with reflective chapters, so the next one will be...interesting.

You'll also be excited to know I'm working on an interlude chapter that is from a different POV (though not Finnick's lol, don't get too excited). The interlude will happen after this arc, beginning of next one.

Comment!

Chapter 9: Fire and Brimstone

It takes a longer time than Percy would like to pull himself together, as he leans over his vomit in the woods. He takes deep breaths in and deep breaths out, but it doesn’t seem to work.

 

The only thing that brings him back is the idea of Annie and Judy waiting for him by the water. He does because he has two people relying on him now, he reminds himself. He can’t fail them, and he doesn’t like having them out of his eyesight. It’s too easy for something to happen like that. Who knows what is nearby, waiting for an opening. 

 

He comes out of the treeline just in time to see smoke coming from somewhere in the field—someone has managed to start a fire. It’s half stupid, half impressive considering most of the woods are still damp from the rain.

 

Judy scowls, “What an idiot. It’s like people want to die.”

 

She’s moved from where she was before Percy went into the woods. He watches as she gets up and tries to walk. Her feet are still barefoot, the socks on a nearby rock still wet, and every step she takes looks like it hurts. She limps heavily and almost falls every time she puts her weight on her left foot. 

 

“Maybe they want a fight,” Annie tells Judy. Judy doesn’t reply, her face scrunched up in concentration as she stares down at her feet. Percy suspects that’s just an excuse though.  Even now, injured and relying on them for help, she can’t get over Annie’s origins as a Career. Percy thinks Judy prefers when Annie wanders off into her own head. 

 

Percy thinks of everything Mags and Annie and Judy told him about the games. He thinks of what it means to be unable to run if needed. He thinks of what he needs to do to protect Annie and Judy.

 

“Do you think I—” Percy starts, before stopping abruptly. He was going to ask if he should go down to the fire. Pick a fight. Find the tribute and kill them. One less competitor. Percy doesn’t like it, but with Judy’s condition, it made him realize they can’t camp out here forever. The faster the other tributes die, the quicker this ends.

 

But he couldn’t bear voicing that out loud. He doesn’t like to think of himself as a killer, though he knows he is. He killed Lace and Nero, and even before them he’s killed countless demigods and destroyed innumerable monsters. And he has always made a point of not acknowledging the natural disasters he’s caused. (Mt. Saint Helens is a bad word for him). 

 

His mother named him too well—he was made for violence.

 

For destruction. 

 

“What were you asking?” 

 

Judy’s looking up at him, and Percy doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been this lost before, in uncharted territory.

“Nothing.”

 

He sits down and takes his shoes off, before taking off his socks as well and tossing them to Judy. He puts his shoes back on and looks up at her just in time to catch the tail-end of her shocked expression. She shoves the warm, dry socks onto her feet as quickly as possible.

 

Judy wraps her hands over her now-socked feet gratefully, before continuing the conversation. “You think that girl from 2 will track the fire-maker down? She seemed bloodthirsty enough during training.”

 

Annie fiddles with something in her hand. Percy can’t tell if it's a hang-nail or an acorn or what. “I don’t know. Andromeda will want to end this soon, but she doesn’t have backup anymore.” Annie stills as soon as she says it. Percy doesn’t know if she’s thinking about Emerald or how she was supposed to be part of Andromeda’s alliance. Either way, she’s on the edge of getting lost in her own mind again.

 

It’s the push Percy needs to ask. “Should I go?” He’s doing this for Annie (and Judy, though he tries not to think about that), and he can give a quick death to whoever it is. It’s better than succumbing to the elements, he reasons. He stands up.

 

Judy turns to him and looks him over. She studies his face, his posture, his hands—the way he’s totally still. Standing tall and determined. It looks like she’s seeing him in a new light. 

 

He doesn’t like it, and based on how Judy’s eyes flicker, he thinks she doesn’t like it either.

 

“Yeah,” Judy says. “You’re the only one of us who’s fighting fit. Go knock out some competition for us, Prince Eric.”

 

“Prince Eric?” Percy asks at the same time as Annie says:

 

“What? No! You can’t leave!” She scrambles to stand up.

 

Judy’s voice is sharp with hatred when she asks, “And why not? There’s only been thirteen deaths, girlie, and I cannot die before it gets to the final eight. I can’t do that to my little brother.”

 

Percy’s heart aches at the word “brother.” He knew, obviously, that all of the other tributes have a family waiting for them at home, but it was better when it was a hazy idea. 

 

He can clearly picture a pre-teen boy who looks so much like Judy. He’s out in whatever the square in district 7 looks like—probably surrounded by trees based on their District’s job—staring up doe-eyed at the monitor. Or maybe he’s still in school right, eating lunch with his friends as they comfort him over his sister’s likely death. The image is sickening. 

 

He’s made up his mind, and he’s walking towards the smoke before Annie can stop him. 

 

He hears her cry out, but Judy shushes her. This is not the time or place to draw anyone’s attention.

 

---

 

The cannon sounds when he’s just a little ways out, pushing stalks with the strange pink fruit/vegetable out of his way, and then there’s the hovercraft, heading in exactly the same direction as him.

 

The hovercraft makes the trip far quicker than he does, but he rushes forward anyway. He sees the doors open and the claw descend, and he watches, entranced and disgusted all at once. It finds what it’s looking for and pulls back up. Percy squints, trying to make out who it is. All he can make out is that the figure is absolutely drenched in blood and much too small. It doesn’t even look human-shaped, it’s so mangled.

 

He’s come to a brief stop and is standing in place in what might be horror or shock or just plain post-battle instincts, debating if he should just go back to Annie and Judy now, when the claw descends again. And then two more times. Each time the claw retreats into the hovercraft carrying not another body, but a limb. The realization hits Percy like a brick to the face.

 

That was no death by exposure, and it wasn’t an easy death either. He picks up his pace. He’s probably still a mile out by the time he smells the blood in the air. He feels sick when he realizes how much blood must’ve been lost for him to smell it that far away. 

 

He hikes on dutifully. Something is pushing him to see the scene of the crime. To know what happened. If Mr. D were here, he’d tell him to hightail it back to his makeshift camp—there are some things you just don’t need to know.

 

But Mr. D isn’t here. It’s just Percy and who-knows-how-many voyeurs watching him through their TV screens. 

 

By the time he actually makes it to the location of the fight, the fire is put out, and the scent of blood is so overwhelming Percy is fighting the urge to gag. Whatever strange crop is in the field is mashed down, probably done on purpose by the tribute making a place to eat and sleep, and a bunch of the dried leaves and stalks were used to make the fire. 

 

Smart on the tribute’s part in terms that they dried quicker than wood would, but stupid given that they make a lot more smoke than wood does. He wonders if someone set it on purpose to draw a fight, like Annie said. He pulls his knife in case they’re still here. 

 

He’s examining the make-shift clearing when he hears it—soft sobs coming from the opposite direction of where he came. 

 

He walks forward, keeping his steps light and quiet. He can just make out the brown jacket so similar to his own, except for one key point—it’s significantly smaller. 

 

It was made for an underfed, starving little girl from 12. 

 

He pushes the remaining stalks out of the way, and she cries loudly in fear.

 

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Percy says, trying to keep his voice reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Daffodil stares up at him. She’s lying in a fetal position on the ground and making no point of moving. He wonders if she’s already noticed how much bigger and stronger he looks and has given up. Though it goes against what he promised Annie, he hopes not. 

 

“Your name is Daffodil, right?” He asks the little girl, though he already knows it is. She’s petite with tan skin, long black hair, and glassy gray eyes that watch him in fear. 

 

There is a long moment of silence, where Percy waits for a response and Daffodil waits for an attack. Percy makes a point of putting his knife away. 

 

She watches the movement closely, and eventually, she opens her mouth, “yes,” she whispers.

 

“I’m Perseus,” he says. He’s studying her face. The way her eyes are glassy, and the way she’s biting her lip like she’s in pain. 

 

Percy wants to smack himself. She’s curled up, crying, and looks like she’s in pain where he knows a fight was less than an hour ago? How stupid can he be? 

 

“Are you injured?”

 

Tears fall from her doe-like eyes. She turns just enough that it draws a hiss from her as her jacket falls open. Percy stars down at the cut in her shirt with a small knife still protruding from the wound. Since she didn’t take the knife out, it’s not bleeding too badly, but given its location…

 

There’s no way it didn’t injure something vital.

 

“Is it bad?” Daffodil asks, voice scratchy from crying. 

 

Percy gets ready to lie and say everything will be okay, but the words get caught in his throat. She’s too smart to believe him.

 

“Without proper medical care, it’s fatal.” He tells her instead. He opens his mouth again, and the words come out in a slow stutter, “do—do you want me to… to, well, you know?”

 

He feels terrible offering it, but she’s laying with a stab wound in the middle of a field with no chance for medical care anytime soon. It would be a mercy kill, and she looks like she knows it. 

 

She lets out a tiny sob, “no, no, I’m scared, I don’t want it to hurt. Not like what happened to Will.”

 

Percy lowers himself until he’s seated on the ground next to her. Far enough away that she doesn’t feel smothered, but close enough to grab if she wants support. If she doesn’t want to be alone.

 

She’s repeating the name Will under her breath like it’s a mantra, and she inhales before letting out the loudest sob Percy has heard from her yet.

 

“What happened to Will?” He asks, terrified of the answer but needing to know. 

 

“The girl from 2,” her nose has started to run from the tears, and Percy breaks off a leaf from a nearby stalk to let her blow her nose in it. She tries to grab it but flinches when she moves too suddenly, so Percy brings it up to her nose himself. “She tore him apart! She said the audience would want a show, but how could anyone want to see that? It was horrible, and-and he was crying and begging her to just kill him and…” She chokes on her words with a sob.

 

Percy's heart stops. He vaguely remembers having a conversation with Judy and Annie, what was it, yesterday? Two days ago? Judy had said people in the Capitol liked to see gorey deaths. She had implied that a bloody, dramatic death meant relative safety for a couple of days, but to hear that the tribute from 2—Andromeda—had actually gone through with it…

 

And on Will nonetheless, the kind boy from 8 who had given his quilt jacket to Daffodil the night of the parade. He was so young and so good. 

 

Percy thinks of the hovercraft making four different trips to get all of Will’s body. What had she even done to him that would warrant that? Did she use Emerald’s death as inspiration and save Will’s head for last? 

 

Percy can picture it all too clearly from when Kronos displayed the bodies and weapons of the fallen demigods to when his half-brother Antaeus formed an altar to their father out of the skulls of those he killed. It's easy to imagine Andromeda being like them. Making something gruesome into a trophy.

 

Suddenly, he hates her in a way he hadn’t before. She had been needlessly brutal in the bloodbath, sure, but that could be attributed to the adrenaline, the fight or flight instinct. Kill or be killed. But dismembering a child to garner a day-long break from the gamemakers? That's sick. It’s what a coward does. 

 

(Years later, as removed from the situation as he can get, Percy will see Andromeda’s side, though he will never fully empathize with her. Everyone has things they will not do, things they cannot justify. Little Will’s terrible death is one of them.)

 

Without thinking, he reaches out and grabs Daffodil’s hand in what he hopes is a reassuring way. She jerks back at first before realizing what he’s doing. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Will didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve it.” Percy tells her. It is insufficient, he knows, but it is all he can say right now.

 

She tries to hold his hand tight, but she lacks the strength to do it. She’s losing too much blood. Though Percy tries not to focus on it, he can feel it leaving her veins and soaking her shirt. 

 

“Will you stay here until I go?” She asks.

 

“Of course,” Percy tells her. “Would you like to hear a story?” 

 

At her small “yes” he launches, once again, into the story of The Little Mermaid . Annie had seemed to like it, so he hopes it can bring Daffodil some comfort too. 

 

He’s ashamed to admit his second retelling is somehow even worse than the first one. He leaves Flounder out entirely, and he keeps trailing off and forgetting where he is in the story, distracted by how Daffodil shivers in the cold and how her skin is turning a sickly shade. 

 

She doesn’t have much longer.

 

At one point he takes his jacket off and puts it on her. He’s cold now, but he’ll take the mild inconvenience if it offers Daffodil the slightest comfort before she descends to Hades’s realm, or whatever the afterlife here looks like. 

 

“Are you a merman?” She asks Percy once his story is done. Her voice sounds as weak and frail as the rest of her looks.

 

“No,” he says. “Are you a mermaid?”

 

That actually manages to startle a laugh out of her. “Why would you think that?”

 

Percy stumbles out some answer about how he doesn’t know anything about her—”so you could be anything!” he says. “And you certainly seem charming enough to be a mermaid princess like Ariel.”

 

Any mirth his question generated is gone too soon. Her face is blank when she tells him, “I’m just a sixteen year old girl from the Seam. If I hadn’t been reaped, I would’ve become a coal miner just like my parents. Nothing special like a mermaid princess.”

 

Percy is taken aback to learn that Daffodil is sixteen. She’s so short and skinny that she looks twelve, thirteen at most—almost prepubescent. He knows District 12 is poor, much poorer than 4, which means starvation must be even more prevalent there, but it isn’t until now that he’s able to clock how her growth has been permanently stunted by it. He wonders if she’s even had her period yet—if her body can even spare the nutrients. If she had had enough to eat growing up, could she have held her own against Andromeda? Would she have been able to more easily run away?

 

Percy thinks of how 4 spares resources and money into training Careers like Annie—Annie mentioned how she was literally given a salary!—and how 1 and 2 had probably done much the same. He gets the feeling District 12 could’ve never done that even if they wanted to. 

 

Daffodil’s grip, which was already weak before, slacks completely. She’s still at Percy’s side—no more words, no more heartbeat, and no more breathing. Even her blood is barely dripping from her wound anymore.

 

Percy extends his left hand to close her eyes. His right hand is still holding hers.

 

“You’re special to me,” he whispers. He makes himself a promise. If he ever sees the gods again—which he hopes he does, he hopes his death will release him to the Underworld—he’ll tell the gods about Daffodil. He’ll beg them to put her picture up in the stars, so that she’ll always be remembered. So she’ll realize she was special.

 

He pulls the knife out of her stomach, and positions her hands so they’re clasped over the wound, hiding it. He puts his jacket back on and walks away from her. He doesn’t look back, even when the hovercraft comes. 

 

Adrenaline is pumping heavily through his veins. An energy he hasn't felt since he arrived in Panem takes over.

 

He walks forward with a new purpose. He’s going to kill Andromeda. 

 

---

 

He stalks through the arena for what feels like hours and stretches his powers to the full extent. He pays attention to all the nearby water—the streams, the ponds, the reservoir, and when he gets close enough, the blood. He finds all sorts of gamemaker tricks and plots, but none of them bother him. Either Annie’s hypothesis is true and the two tragic deaths are enough for today, or they can tell Percy is already looking for a fight. They don't need to do anything to encourage him. Will and Daffodil have done enough. 

 

Percy feels like he’s back in Tartarus. Like he’s abandoned his morals. Like anything goes. And that’s because he has, and it does. There’s no Annabeth here to stop him. He’s a shark circling.

 

He knows if he lives long enough after this, he will hate himself. But he doesn’t plan on living much longer, so he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he allows his rational mind to take a back seat, while his anger takes over. 

 

He doesn’t walk the whole arena; that’d be pointless. Andromeda had roughly a 1-2 hour head start on him based on the position of the sun. She could not have gotten far. 

 

And besides, Percy suspects where she’s going next: the reservoir. 

 

If she’s truly hunting down other tributes like she’s been taught she should, it is a safe place to assume there will be someone to fight. The reservoir is a large source of freshwater, and it has plenty of foliage around to eat and animals to hunt. It’s as good a place to set up camp as any.

 

Percy has set a walking pace faster than what he assumes Andromeda is capable of at this point in the games. He’s taller and stronger and almost certainly more physically durable than her. He will catch up to her long before she reaches Annie and Judy. Especially because they, luckily for him, are on the opposite side of the reservoir from the field. 

 

He senses Andromeda before he sees her. He can feel the blood in her body pumping through her veins the same way he felt Daffodil’s blood leave her. 

 

Percy makes a point to not dodge the dry leaves or small twigs on the ground; each step he takes leaves behind a crunching sound. He wants Andromeda to hear him. He doesn’t want his appearance to be a surprise.

 

She hears him when he’s about fifty feet away. To her credit, she doesn’t run. 

 

When Percy can finally see Andromeda, he watches her spin around, nervous but doing her best to hide it. She doesn’t succeed.

 

Andromeda pulls a long serrated sword from its sheath at her side. He recognizes it as the one Lace fought with at the bloodbath. It failed Lace then, just as it will fail Andromeda now. Percy fiddles with his knife, before ultimately leaving it in his belt and stepping out from in between the trees that shadowed him.

 

“You,” Andromeda says, voice heavy with accusation. He’s not even sure what she’s mad at him for. Killing her district partner? Ruining her alliance before it could even start? Standing in between her and victory?

 

“Me,” Percy answers. His voice is deep from an emotion he doesn’t want to name. He wants this to be over already. He wants Andromeda dead. He wants himself dead.

 

Andromeda scans him quickly, assessing, and realizes he’s unarmed—his knife still hanging on his belt. She knows it will take him precious seconds to pull the knife out, so she takes advantage of it, running forward to attack. 

 

Percy steps back and out of the way, leaving her sword to cut into the tree he was in front of. The wood sports a large slash mark right where Percy’s neck was. Is there always this many attempts at beheading in the Hunger Games?

 

Andromeda lunges around the tree trying to reach him, but he just steps to the side again. It’s just like his fight with the bear, she lunges and he dodges, taking steps back, back, back…

 

Her eyes are wide with hatred. Percy knows he’s making her look stupid, and she must despise that. Image, Percy has realized, is everything in the Hunger Games. What must her home district be thinking of their Career volunteer failing to kill the reaped boy from 4? More importantly: What must the sponsors think of her fight with Percy? 

 

Maybe they’re thinking she can only properly fight when the target isn’t strong enough to fight back, like Will and Daffodil. Good, Percy thinks. She deserves it for going after them.

 

He wants her to be humiliated. Anything Percy will do to her will be nothing compared to the dismemberment of Will or forcing Daffodil to watch it, injured and unable to move. 

 

At one point, she stops her wild slashing, studying the woods around them and Percy himself as quickly as she can. She’s realized that her fighting style isn’t effective and is thinking what steps she should take next, but Percy doesn’t give her the chance.

 

He pulls his knife and sprints forward. But instead of aiming for something fatal like the throat or chest, he aims for where her hand grips her sword. He aims the sharp end of the knife into the hilt of her sword, though her hand still gets nicked. She watches in horror as her sword fumbles to the dirt.

 

Andromeda snaps out of it and tries to dance back out of Percy’s reach like Percy had been doing to her, but she isn’t quick enough. Percy’s hand wraps around her throat, and he drags her through the woods, putting his knife back into its spot on his belt. She trails pathetically behind him, trying to dig her feet into the ground to stop him, but it doesn’t work. She isn’t strong enough for it.

 

Their size difference is obvious now. Percy’s hand covers the entire front of her throat, and her arms reach out to try and scratch at his face or his chest, but they aren’t long enough. She’s too much smaller than Percy, so she has to settle for scratching helplessly at his outstretched arm and his hand around her throat. Percy’s jacket offers a layer of protection for his arm, but she draws blood on his hand, reopening up the wounds he got earlier from the blackberry bushes and forming new ones as her nails dig into his skin.

 

Percy doesn’t even flinch, too focused on his goal. He’s going to bring her to the reservoir. 

 

Percy spent the time it took to track Andromeda down remembering the myth of the original Perseus and Andromeda. How Andromeda’s mother had offended the nereids who pleaded for Poseidon to get revenge on their behalf. Poseidon had been so wrathful that when Andromeda’s father, the king, went to Zeus for advice, Zeus told him that the only way to calm Poseidon was to sacrifice Andromeda to the sea. 

 

Impatient for payback, Poseidon had sent a sea monster named Cetus to devour Andromeda, only for Perseus to stumble across her and save her at the last moment. 

 

Well, Percy doesn’t have a sea here and he doesn’t have a sea monster, but he does have a reservoir filled with flesh eating piranhas. Close enough, he figures, simmering.

 

Unlike the myth, there will be no Perseus to save Andromeda this time. With the image of the hovercraft picking up the pieces of Will’s body and Daffodil lying dead in his arms, there is no pity for the maiden ready to be killed. There is only the wrath he inherited from his father, begging for satisfaction. 

 

Andromeda is turning blue from his hand around her neck. He hadn’t even meant to choke her, it just happened. His control is slipping, if it was ever even there. He opens his hand just enough for Andromeda to breathe in, and she does so hurriedly with wide eyes, fearful of her death in the way everyone seems to be. 

 

It isn’t a respite though. Percy knows it would’ve been kinder to let her pass out than what he is about to do. 

 

He releases her neck to instead hold her up over the reservoir with both hands wrapped in the front of her jacket. Her neck is bright red from his bruising grip, and she looks frightened, tears streaming down her face as she holds onto both of his arms, coating the sleeve of his jacket in blood from where he cut her earlier. 

 

“Please, please,” she croaks, voice injured from how tightly he had choked her. Percy doesn’t even know what she’s begging for. Is she begging him to spare her? Is she begging him to make it quick? To make it painless? Like she didn’t for Will?

 

The piranhas are directly underneath her now. One even jumps out of the water to try and take a bite of her foot. It only takes off a chunk of the rubber sole of her shoe, but it makes Andromeda realize there’s something underneath her. She looks down to see the fish gathered in a hunting pack beneath her—similar to what the Careers do in every Hunger Games, Percy guesses—and her fear grows exponentially. 

 

There’s snot dripping down her face now, and her mouth is opening and closing repeatedly, spit falling out. She’s still groaning and crying and muttering “please no.” Percy looks into her eyes before he drops her into the water.

 

Unlike with the bear, the piranhas do not hesitate—they have no orders to not eat the tributes. The water turns red with blood, and Andromeda’s screams pierce through the cold, autumn air, stopping just as soon as it started. 

 

The cannon goes off. 

 

The burning hatred that had possessed Percy leaves him the second he hears it. He takes a stumbling step back from the scene. What had he done? For years, he had thought he was better than the gods, than their pointless cruelty and unjust wrath, but here was irrevocable truth that wasn’t true. 

 

With no Annabeth to stop him, he had drowned Aklyhs in her own poison, only worse. Andromeda was no goddess of misery and poison. She was a teenage girl, a defenseless mortal forced into this competition by societal pressure, just like Annie. 

 

Percy truly was his father’s son. 

 

Sing oh Muse, of the wrath of Achilles , Percy thinks bitterly. And pray tell, too, how it didn’t bring him any relief. How everything he did only managed to destroy him.

 

Percy has never thought he resembled Achilles more than he does at this moment. A boy mistakenly seeking revenge in an attempt to find solace, only to realize there is none. Nothing will bring Patroclus back. Nothing will bring Will or Daffodil back. 

 

He falls to the ground. The sun is starting to set, and Annie and Judy will no doubt worry for him. Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ve realized that they’re better off with him dead and gone. One less mutt in the arena.

 

The rocks on the ground dig into his knees, but he hardly feels it. The piranhas speak to him mentally, worried about him. He stares back at them—well, no not at them, but at Andromeda’s head, left untouched just like the bear. 

 

The hovercraft comes silently. Percy doesn’t look away when its claw descends to pick up Andromeda’s remains. He stays staring at the water long after it is gone. 

 

“Creator?” the fish ask. It must be the only word they know to address him with. The fish back home call him variations of “prince” or “lord,” but these fish don’t know who he is. There is no Poseidon here for them to connect him to. They only know that he has power over them. 

 

He wonders if they would eat him if he asked. He deserves it. 

 

Somehow, he gets up and walks mechanically to where he knows Annie and Judy are. He hadn’t been able to see them when… the incident happened, so he hopes they hadn’t seen him either. 

 

His pace is slow, tired, so it takes him hours to reach them. He keeps stumbling over rocks and branches he can’t see in the dark. When he arrives, Annie makes no indication she has noticed he appeared, but Judy sees him immediately.

 

“Perseus!” She greets. “We heard the cannons, who was it?”

 

Percy doesn’t answer her or even acknowledge her. He’s worried she’ll be able to see what he’s done if he looks her in the eyes. She studies him carefully. He must look pathetic because she coughs and looks away.

 

That’s when the anthem starts. Judy and Percy look up at the projection in the sky. Percy needs to see Andromeda, Will, and Daffodil’s faces again, even though some part of him—the part that sounds a lot like Mr. D—is telling him not to. 

 

Andromeda’s face is the first in the sky, with the words District 2 underneath her. Percy hears Judy gasp in shock. He knows she was worried about encountering Andromeda. She doesn’t have to worry about that now, but she should be worrying about Percy. He’s the real monster in the arena. Unlike everyone else, he came in with blood on his hands, and he hasn’t even tried to wash it off. 

 

Will is next, and then Daffodil. 

 

“The final eight,” Judy whispers. 

 

Percy closes his eyes, wishing it was the final seven.

Notes:

I'm not a huge fan of dark Percy, but I actually think it fits really well in this instance. It's meant to echo two things: Katniss after Rue dies in book 1, when she doesn't quite think through what she's doing, and how Percy acts in Tartarus. Also the idea of the hovercraft needing to make multiple attempts to pick up a Tribute's body is based off of that scene in Catching Fire where Katniss watches it happen and basically is just like, "note to self, don't go to that part of the arena."

After this chapter, we're really in for it with the rest of this arc! We're in the final eight... Also, genuinely very surprised how many people thought Percy accidentally poisoned Annie and Judy last chapter, I didn't even realize that subtext was there until I read all the comments, whoops lol. The blackberries are in fact just blackberries, though. Percy threw up once he realized he hurt one of his friends, and that it might result in her death (since her ability to run away is hindered).

Comment please :)

Chapter 10: Honor and Loyalty

The moment feels endless. Annie, Judy, and Percy all sit in silence under the artificial stars of the arena. Percy wonders if their faces are being broadcasted across all of Panem right now. If they really do run this thing like a TV show, surely the Capitol will want to see his reaction?

 

He has a bad feeling he might be a fan favorite, but none of them have any way of knowing inside the arena. They’re about as cut off from society as you can get.

 

But they do know something. Right now, Capitol camera crews and journalists are heading out to the districts with remaining tributes. Both Annie and Percy are still alive from District 4, both Judy and Trenton are alive from District 7, the girl from 5, the boy from 10, and the boy from 11 are all still alive as well. 

 

That only adds up to seven though. Percy’s missing one person to make up the final 8, and that makes him feel worse. He never learned everyone’s names and now he can’t even remember everyone who’s still alive? Is this who he is? Is this who he’s become?

 

He doesn’t want to ask Annie and Judy who he’s missing in his count in case they realize what kind of person he is. He doesn’t think he could stand the look they’d give him. Instead, he prepares their campsite for another cold, and hopefully dry, night.

 

Annie is still lost in her own head as Percy corrals her to their sleeping bag, and she’s shivering fiercely, though Percy doesn’t think it’s from the cold. 

 

He wonders, guiltily, if him being gone for most of the day made her worse. He was planning on waiting for Trenton to die before getting rid of himself, but if this is how Annie is acting without him…

 

He forces himself to stop thinking about it. That subject does nothing good for him, and he doesn’t need to be distracted right now any way, now that the numbers are so low, other tributes might use the cover of night to attack or the gamemakers might push them all together. 

 

He turns to study Judy. She seems to be stuck in her own mind as well, but nothing like how Annie is. Judy’s fiddling with a bracelet around her wrist made of what looks like bronze wire and crystals—it must be her district token—and staring out at the reservoir.

 

She breaks the silence suddenly, without even looking back at Percy. “Have you figured anything else out about these fish?” 

 

Percy shrugs, though she can’t see him. He knows a lot about the fish, of course: the way they move, the way they hunt, their socialization. But he can’t share any of that. He has no way of justifying his knowledge. There aren’t piranhas in District 4.

 

“No,” he voices belatedly.

 

Judy pulls her hand away from her bracelet, still not looking at him. “They’re weird. I tried to fish for some while you were gone, but I didn’t have your experience fishing. And they attacked the stick anyway. Like, they literally ate it.”

 

“Yeah,” Percy acknowledged, uncomfortable with how close Judy was getting to the idea that the fish liked him. “They’re pretty aggressive.”

 

Judy hummed. 

 

“I mean, you ate tonight, though, right? I left a fish for you guys.”

 

“Yeah, I cooked it on the stove and split it between Annie and I.” Judy hesitates. “Sorry I didn’t leave any for you.”

 

“That’s okay, I’m not hungry.” 

 

After what he did to Andromeda, the idea of eating anything sickens him—especially eating the fish. He doesn’t think he’d be able to eat anymore of them for the rest of the games. They’d be digesting her flesh right now. It feels too close to cannibalism. 

 

But he doesn’t want to admit that to Judy. He doesn’t want to tell her how he killed Andromeda. It’s a miracle she hasn’t asked already. 

 

Judy fiddles with her bracelet again, and Percy fights the urge to touch his own district token, the earring Mags gave him. It’s all he has to prove there’s someone out there who wants him to win, but even that is flimsy. She’d probably be glad he survived until the next year came and she had to mentor another unfortunate boy.

 

He looks down and is shocked to find that his hand is painted a dark reddish brown color with dried blood. His immediate instinct is to wash it off in the reservoir, but he stops himself. If he tries to wash it off, the water will heal his gashes, something he can’t let happen, not to mention causing more confusion about what and who the piranhas will or will not eat. 

 

Instead he rubs the sleeve of his jacket on the dried blood, trying to make it flake off. It kind of works, but it also reopens some of the cuts, so he stops, most of the blood still stuck to his hand. Maybe he could control it—force the water not to heal him. He can’t just walk around with literal blood on his hands. Neither Judy, Annie, nor Percy need that reminder.  

 

“I think we should look for somewhere to bathe tomorrow.” He tells Judy. “We can’t do it in the reservoir with the piranhas around.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Judy says. She sounds tired. Percy wonders what she’s thinking about. Is she thinking about what a commitment looking for another source of water will be? Is she thinking about home? About what happened to the three tributes who died today?

 

Is she thinking that it’s time to break the alliance? It’s something Percy has thought of a lot recently. That he and Annie should say goodbye to Judy. They should part soon, so it wouldn’t end with the three of them, forced to turn on each other. Percy couldn’t kill Judy, and even though Judy doesn’t seem to like Annie, he thinks it would be hard for them to kill each other too. 

 

A horrible thought occurs to him. Was Judy worried about him when she heard the cannons? He was gone all day, long enough for three of them to sound… And she had no way of knowing what was happening, and Annie seemed to have gone into a fugue state after he left. Judy wouldn’t have found any comfort in her.

 

Was it right? For him to leave the two of them alone like that? Should he do it again if Trenton were to show his face? His thoughts leave him reeling, and he wishes he had paid more attention to how cabin 6 worked through their logical problems. But he has a bad feeling there isn’t a right answer. Not in the situation he’s been put into.

 

Eventually Judy gets up. “I’ll take the first watch,” she says. She still looks unsteady on her feet, even though she should mostly be over the trench foot by now. “You look exhausted.”

 

Percy doesn’t point out that Judy looks tired too. The fact of the matter is that he is exhausted. There’s nothing that he wants more than to curl up beside Annie right now. Maybe, when he’s lying next to the person he killed for—the person he will kill again for, he can convince himself that what he did wasn’t terrible.

 

He’s scared to fall asleep, though. Afraid of what images his mind might conjure. He can’t fight a dream the same way he can fight a monster. Still, he has to try. He can only go without sleep for so long.

 

He gets up to join Annie in the sleeping bag, but before he can take a step, Judy grabs his arm. He looks at her questioningly, and she hesitates, looking uncertain before rallying herself and  leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Good night,” she says quietly. Her eyes are downcast and her lips are pursed.

 

“Good night,” Percy returns, confused. Judy had, somewhat smartly, been trying to hold him at arm's length. Probably all too aware at least one of them was going to die, if not both. The kiss was out of character for her.

 

It touched Percy anyway though. No one’s kissed his cheek like that since he was left in this godforsaken world. It affects him more than he thought it would.

 

Judy puts something in his hands. He looks down and finds the socks he loaned Judy earlier that day. Hers must be dry now, and Annie has woven her a DIY tarp to keep any possible rain off of her during the night. She’s not going to get trench foot again if Percy and Annie can help it.

 

Still somewhat dazed, Percy puts the socks on. Even he, with his higher than normal body temperature, had been starting to get cold, his toes feeling tingly. He thinks the nights are getting progressively colder. The arena is artificially fall, and Percy suspects the game makers might be planning for the finale to be during an artificial winter.

 

He crawls into the sleeping bag and huddles up next to Annie, pushing those thoughts out of his mind. He’ll have plenty of time to think about that hypothesis during his own watch later in the night. 

 

He falls asleep almost immediately. No nightmares come to haunt him, and in his half-asleep state, he wonders if it’s Judy’s kiss that’s holding them back.

 

---

 

Percy has always been a light sleeper. Honestly, he thinks it’s a demigod thing—it goes along with all the battle instincts to keep you alive. Annabeth used to swear up and down she woke up the second a spider entered her bedroom. 

 

So it’s surprising when Annie wakes up before him, or maybe it isn’t. Maybe his body’s already given up keeping him alive. 

 

All he knows is that Annie lurches in the sleeping bag, and somehow she’s strong enough to pull him along with her a good three feet further along the rocky terrain from where they were originally. There’s yelling and cursing and the sounds of leaves crunching noisily under loud footsteps, and Percy and Annie are stuck in a tangle of limbs, constrained in their sleeping bag.

 

Percy knows it’s a fight even before he can take in all the details. Annie’s crawling out of the sleeping bag as fast as she can, with Percy’s knife in hand. He hears Judy grunt and Annie scream in frustration—or maybe anger. 

 

He smells blood, both Annie’s and someone else’s. Someone’s blood he’s never smelled before. It must be another tribute. He wonders wildly why Judy didn’t wake him. 

 

Then he’s out of the sleeping bag. He has no weapon to wield, but frankly that’s never stopped him before. He crouches into a fighting stance as he takes in the scene in front of him. 

 

There’s no other tribute, and there’s no animal attacking either. It’s just Annie, with a long slash mark stretching from her shoulder down to her forearm, and Judy running away, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She must be bleeding too; it has to be her blood Percy is smelling.

 

And Percy knows what must’ve happened. Why Annie and Judy were fighting, when there was no one there to instigate it. But he can’t—he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. 

 

Annie shrieks again in frustration, and throws the knife in Judy’s direction. It hits the tree Judy just passed and manages to scare her enough that she, somehow, speeds up even more, disappearing in the woods. 

 

Somewhat hysterically, Percy is impressed with Annie’s knife throwing skills. The knife he had been hauling around was not meant for throwing. The balance was too off, but her aim was deadly and she even got it to stick into the bark of the tree.

 

Annie meets his eyes, and he can no longer ignore what happened. Yesterday—or maybe it was still today, the sun hadn't risen—Percy had killed Andromeda. And Judy realized what that meant. There can only be one winner. The biggest threats between her and the victor’s crown were now Percy, Annie, and her own district partner, Trenton. 

 

And Percy had been sloppy, he knows it. He revealed his strength and his agility the first day in the bloodbath, and then again with the bear. And then, he left it a mystery how he killed Andromeda. Judy wasn’t stupid. She realized Percy was dangerous. She realized she couldn’t beat him in a fair fight.

 

It turns out she didn’t have any problem trying to kill Annie and him after all. 

 

It’s why she asked for first watch, Percy realizes belatedly. She had known before they went to bed that she was going to try to kill them. The place she kissed on Percy’s cheek burns.

 

It’s certainly not the first time he’s been betrayed, and these circumstances justify it more than the working for Kronos ever did, but it still hurts something deep inside him. He had never had that many friends after all, and the ones he did have, he had always held onto tightly. Tightly enough for loyalty to be his fatal flaw. 

 

It makes what Judy did hurt all the more.

 

Annie’s been studying him, her eyes switching between where Percy is and where Judy disappeared to. Through the darkness, he can tell she’s still shaking. It’s a miracle the adrenaline didn’t make her relapse. 

 

Finally, she looks down at her own arm, and Percy hears the way she inhales quickly through her teeth. She must not have noticed how long the cut was.

 

“Are you okay?” Percy breaks the silence that has settled between them. He gestures to her arm. “Can I look at that?”

 

Annie stares at him again, like she’s trying to read his intentions. Percy wonders if she’s scared he’s going to try and kill her too. 

 

Then her shoulders shag, and it looks like all her energy leaves her at once. The shaking doesn’t stop, but she manages to croak out a “yeah.”

 

They settle down on top of their sleeping bag, already mindful of how cold the night is now that the fight is over. Annie takes off her jacket and then her shirt and thermal undershirt, leaving only her sports bra on. Her shivering worsens and Percy quickly jogs over to grab the thermal blanket Judy had left behind. Luckily for them, she didn’t seem to have the foresight to pack up any of the supplies, meaning she only grabbed what was already in her bag.

 

Percy frowns before passing the thermal blanket over to Annie. Had she really thought it would be that easy to kill them both? She definitely hadn’t planned for Annie to be as aware as she was. Judy seemed like she had already been counting Annie out…

 

Annie wraps the thermal blanket around her, keeping her injured arm out. Percy gently grabs her wrist to examine the wound better, but with all the blood it’s hard to see it clearly. He grabs the woven bowl Annie had made days ago and fills it up with water from the reservoir. The fish watch him closely as he dips the bowl in the water, but none of them even try to approach him.

 

He walks back over towards Annie and the water to clean up the wound. He might not be a healer, but he does know he needs to see what he’s working with before he can make any judgements. He gently pours the bowl of water over the wound, and he hears Annie hiss and watches her shoulders stiffen slightly from pain.

 

He sends a prayer up to Apollo out of habit, and once he realizes what he’s done, his shoulders stiffen. But there’s no response. He steadies himself mentally, trying to gather his strength. Then he opens his eyes and really tries to study the injury.

 

It’s not necessarily deep enough for stitches, he doesn’t think, but it is long, and they don’t have anything to wrap it in. He turns a critical eye to the woods, trying to remember all the offhand remarks from both Grover and the Apollo cabin. He thinks you can use moss to absorb blood, and he’s willing to use part of his shirt to tie the moss in place, but he’s concerned about the bacteria. He knows without antibiotics even the smallest wound can become deadly, especially if the games continue for a while…

 

And they haven’t even bathed since the games began. He remembers bringing up with Judy earlier and almost laughs at how stupid he must’ve seemed to her. She was planning to kill him in his sleep and he was talking about bathing…

 

Percy shakes himself out of it. Making his decision, he takes off his shirt, leaving on the thermal underlayer. He tears the shirt to shredded pieces he can use as a pseudo bandage, and he gets up to dip one of the pieces into the reservoir. The fish are all still lurking a safe distance away; they can tell something is wrong. Despite how ominous he’s sure they look to Annie, Percy is comforted by it.

 

He walks back up to Annie who seems to be slipping in and out of focus now that the danger seems to be gone and the pain is finally setting in. He reaches out, and she jumps, relaxing when she’s able to focus and see that it’s only him. He flashes her a small smile before he starts cleaning her wound as gently as he can, wiping off some of the more stubborn blood that simply pouring water out of a bowl didn’t get rid of.

 

“I’m left handed,” Annie says. It takes Percy a moment to place why she’s saying that when he realizes, it’s her left arm that was injured. In a pinch, she could still probably use it, but it’s far from ideal. It’d likely mean injuring herself more and her control wouldn’t be as good anyway. 

 

Percy feels like he’s suffocating, everything catching up to him at once, but he forces out an apology anyway. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize.” 

 

Annie reaches out to grab his hand, still holding the wet, and now bloodied, rag. Her fingers are freezing, a combination of the cool night air and the lack of blood reaching her fingertips, but she holds his hand tightly anyway. Percy can’t help comparing it to when Daffodil held his hand. Her grip was already gone—in contrast, this means Annie is okay, that she’s going to be just fine. He repeats it like a mantra. 

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

But it was, Percy knows this deep down. After Annie’s breakdown, Judy didn’t view her as real competition. If she was going to turn on them during the night, it was because she viewed Percy as competition. If Percy hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have attacked Annie. She would have let Annie wander off into the woods, probably to die at the hands of a mutt or something.

 

He does his best to express this outloud, but Annie is having none of it. He can see her shaking her head through the darkness, pieces of hair falling out of her once pristine, now messy braid. “She didn’t like me, Percy. She would’ve tried to kill me anyway. And besides, if we weren’t together I’d have died at the bloodbath.”

 

She’s right. Percy remembers it clearly, her mouth and nose both submerged in the standing water. 

 

Instead of acknowledging her point, he grabs some nearby moss and puts it over the slash mark before using the remaining dry strips of his shirt to tie it in place. “There,” he says, “you might want to alternate the direction of your thermal underlayer and your shirt. That way none of your skin is exposed to the air. I think it’s cold enough now that we might get hypothermia in less than an hour if we aren’t careful.”

 

“I think you’re right.” Annie says. Her eyebrows pull together in thought. Then she projects her voice towards a nearby tree, “Our hands are still exposed to the air. I’m worried about that. Some gloves would be nice. And some medicine, maybe. If it’s not expensive.” Annie looks at the tree for a moment before turning her eyes back towards Percy. 

 

It hits Percy suddenly that she was talking to a camera—to sponsors, and Finnick and Mags. 

 

That’s right, he could’ve asked for supplies—for a first aid kit, some bandages for Annie, maybe. They hadn’t received anything since that one day, and Percy can’t even remember how long ago that was now. He’s entirely lost track of the days. 

 

He looks up at the sky, though no parachutes come their way. He wonders how long it takes to get a sponsorship gift. He looks over at Annie who watches the sky for a long moment before her face falls. There must not be a gift coming, then. 

 

He exhales, disappointed but not wanting to show it. Either Mags and Finnick didn’t think they needed any more supplies right now or they didn’t have the money for it. Either way, they weren’t going to get anything right now. 

 

Annie has put all of her clothes back on now, including her ski mask, but he still sees how she shivers underneath the thermal blanket. She hadn’t lost that much blood, but she was also smaller than Percy, which meant she didn’t have as much blood to lose in the first place. 

 

Reinvigorated with purpose, Percy gets up and grabs Judy’s abandoned sleeping bag. It’s his and Annie’s now, and they’re going to make use of it. He passes it off to Annie and she obediently layers it over their other sleeping bag. He grabs the handmade tarp next and strings it over their little sleeping nook. 

 

Finally he grabs the only water bottle they have left, which is thankfully plastic instead of the metal one Judy had, and grabs some more fresh water from the reservoir to put in their pot. 

 

The fish are closer now than they were before, curious about the way his mood has once again shifted. They must think I’m the most temperamental animal ever , Percy thinks humorously. 

 

He puts the pot of water over their little propane camping stove, heating the water up to an almost boil before letting it cool just a little bit. Eventually, when he’s satisfied with the water’s temperature, he gets up and gestures for Annie to pass the blanket over. Her eyes are wide and grateful, and he knows she’s caught on to what he’s doing.

 

He puts the hot water in their water bottle before wrapping it up in the blanket and handing it back to Annie. “Probably should put it on your stomach,” he tells her. “That way your heart will pump your warmed up blood to the rest of your body. It’ll heat you up faster.”

 

Annie hums in acknowledgment before doing what he said, but instead of curling up to sleep, she holds the sleeping bag open for him to climb in after her. 

 

Percy hesitates. 

 

“C’mon,” she mumbles.

 

“I think I should watch out for any threats.”

 

“You can do that from the sleeping bag,” Annie huffs, like she’s annoyed she even has to say it. The exhaustion must be getting to her. 

 

Percy hates it when people he cares about are annoyed with him. “What happened to sharing body heat?” Annie continues. 

 

Percy holds out for a moment longer, but Annie’s eyes turn from annoyed to pleading and he stares at them for just a moment too long. 

 

He ends up in the sleeping bag next to her. She snuggles into his side gratefully, and closes her eyes. Her breath doesn’t slow down into a pattern of sleep, though. She’s just as awake as Percy is.

 

It doesn’t take long to understand that neither of them are going to fall asleep anytime soon. They’re both worried about what Judy’s attack means for them—for the rest of the game.

 

Percy shifts his arm the slightest amount, and his hand catches on a cut in their sleeping bag, from where Judy slashed at him and Annie. It’s a large slash. 

 

They were lucky they didn’t die. 

 

He remembers the promises he made to himself that first night before the arena, that he was only going to ally with Annie. He remembers Judy’s pleading eyes and scared posture in the bloodbath. He wonders, if he could go back, if he would do anything differently. 

 

Did he blame Judy?

 

Did Annie blame Judy?

 

Was it normal for something like this to happen? Did everything go in the arena? Percy didn’t know, and he didn’t voice any of his questions out loud. 

 

Notes:

I wrote a long author's note and then AO3 deleted it...

Any way did anyone catch the similarity of Judy's name to Judas? The betrayal and the kiss...Her whole arc has been building up to this chapter. I don't blame her though. She saw Percy win a fight with a mutt bear and realized neither she, nor any of the other tributes could beat him in a fair fight, so she did what she thought she had to do to win. I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing if I were in her shoes.

Also "fugue state" is not the best way to describe what Annie is experiencing but I'm trying to consider how Percy would describe things. Like he's familiar with PTSD, but does he have the vocabulary to describe it?

Please comment :) I'm really bad at replying to them, but I read them all and love them!

Chapter 11: The Hero of Old

Summary:

They get dinner.

Annie finally falls asleep—or passes out, Percy can’t tell which it is—roughly an hour before the sun rises. Percy spends the time she’s asleep lost in his own thoughts. 

 

He stares into the woods, but it’s dark enough that he can’t see anything, anyway. He wonders what else might be in the woods. What Judy is treading past right now. 

 

How far could she have gotten? Was she waiting near their campsite until both Percy and Annie were asleep to try and kill them again? 

 

Well, she wasn’t going to get the chance that night. Percy can barely even force his eyes shut in rhythmic blinks before the artificial sun starts to rise, turning the arena’s roof a purplish-red. It’s pretty, he can admit. Percy thinks fondly back to the time he almost died in the sun chariot. 

 

Percy shakes himself out of it. That memory could hardly be called a good one, more proof of how isolated he feels, how cut off he is from his past. As if he didn’t know that already.

 

Annie slowly wakes up, but instead of getting up, she just curls closer into Percy’s side, basking in the shared warmth of the sleeping bag. That’s okay with him, he doesn’t really want to get up and face the day either.

 

Eventually though, Percy pulls himself out of her embrace and into the cold morning air. The arena is colder today than it was yesterday, which doesn’t bode well for them. He gets the feeling the gamemakers have a winter hidden up their sleeve.

 

 “C’mon,” he tells Annie, “we should probably put some new moss on your arm.”

 

As Percy walks into the woods to grab some more moss, he thinks again about how much he doesn’t know what he’s doing. This moss could be deadly for all he knew. He thinks if he got Annie killed he would never forgive himself. 

 

Percy gathers what he deems a sufficient amount of moss and heads back to their campsite—luckily, the moss was close enough he didn’t have to walk far. 

 

He still sees no sign of Judy nearby, which he’s grateful for. 

 

When he steps out of the treeline, he sees Annie has already undone her makeshift bandage. 

 

He shuffles forward, and she extends her arm to him. He barely holds back a groan when he sees the wound. Annie’s arm isn’t getting better. Percy’s perception of wounds is so messed up he doesn’t even know what it should be looking like, but he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to still be bleeding. 

 

He could’ve sworn it had stopped bleeding last night, but maybe the darkness had thrown him off. Or maybe Annie reopened it at some point. He has no idea, and he feels wildly out of his depth. He would kill to be a son of Apollo right now.

 

Should he do stitches? But with what? He doesn’t have a needle, much less sterile thread to do it with, and he has no experience doing stitches anyway. 

 

He’s panicking now—mind going a mile a minute. He tries not to show it though. Annie doesn’t look that worried, and he doesn’t want to scare her. He places more moss on the wound and re-ties the torn fabric around her arm. 

 

He’s still staring down at his haphazard work when Annie breaks the silence. “It's because part of it is in the bend of my arm. I reopen it when I move my arm. Shitty placement, huh? Better than her getting my head like she was trying to though.” 

 

Percy can picture it clearly: He wakes up to an ax swinging down on him—trying to separate his head from his body. And though he manages to stop it before it lands, he turns to the side only to see Annie’s head cleaved open. The gore is spilled all over their sleeping bag, and the warm blood starts reaching his side of the sleeping bag, leaving the sticky, red substance to cling to his clothes in the way no stream water can fully get out. And just like after Daffodil’s death, he turns into something else—a monster, dead set on murdering Judy.

 

Maybe the cut on Annie’s arm isn’t actually that bad after all. 

 

He turns his attention back to Annie, only to see she’s staring at the distance with a look Percy has grown to recognize. She’s on the edge of escaping to her own mind, to think of something horrible Percy can’t keep her safe from. He can’t let that happen. Not right now. 

 

He doesn’t want to be alone.

 

“Did you know she was going to do that?” Percy asks, trying to get Annie’s attention back on him. 

 

Annie turns her head back towards him, blinking slowly. For a long moment it seems like she didn’t even understand his question. But then she hums in thought, and Percy feels the relief settle on him like the sky was being lifted from his shoulders. 

 

“I didn’t know she would do it last night, but I knew she would eventually. She wanted to win, and honestly, I don’t think she liked either of us, really. She certainly hated me more, but you’re still from District 4.”

 

Percy was scared to ask what Annie meant by that last comment. Had Judy really not liked him the whole time? Had she resented him because he was from a career district? How could he not have seen her betrayal coming—all the signs were there. Even Annie, who half the time was trapped in her own horrors, was able to see it.

 

It’s reassuring in a certain way, though—that Annie was able to see it coming. It means she still has a chance of winning, of surviving. 

 

The heavy silence descends on them again, and though Annie doesn’t seem like she’s going to have an episode, Percy is desperate to stave the silence off. “Tell me something—about you, or about your life or something,” Percy sounds desperate, like he’s pleading, and in a way he is, he supposes. He needs something to grasp onto. 

 

He wonders if this is how Annie feels before being trapped in her mind. 

 

Annie’s eyes flit around as she tries to think of something to say. Her eyes settle somewhere for a brief moment, and Percy turns to see what she’s looking at. 

 

It’s a camera nestled into a tree hollow. Of course, even now—perhaps especially now—Annie has to censor what she says. They have an audience, after all. Percy’s stomach feels like lead.

 

Annie grabs a fistful of grass from the ground and begins to braid it. Percy wonders what she’s making now. Another bowl, maybe. She would’ve done well in the arts and crafts classes at camp. 

 

“I was fourteen when I had my first kiss,” Annie begins, and despite the terrible situation they’re in, her lips are titled up in the barest trace of a smile. “It was on the beach, of course. There’s this rock just outside of Decoris. It kind of looks like a face, and the story goes that if you kiss someone on that rock, you’ll be together forever.” 

 

She huffs a laugh, and Percy hears the bitterness in it loud and clear. That’s not the bitterness of losing your first love. That’s the bitterness of life taking something from you. He thinks of Annie looking around for cameras, and the way Finnick seemed desperate to hide their relationship. He remembers the strange reactions everyone had to Finnick during interview night. 

 

He has a pretty good guess who Annie’s first kiss on this mystical rock was. 

 

“He was cute, and it was the slow season—not many tourists, so I didn’t have to work in the restaurant as much. He would wait outside for me to be done every night, and then we would go to the public shores a little ways out from Decoris.”

 

“We would swim and eat and laugh at each other. One day we even saw some sea turtles coming to shore to lay their eggs, and we were so distracted we didn’t even notice one had stolen his hat until it was already back out in the water. He never got it back.” 

 

Annie’s eyes were glistening now, but Percy pretended not to notice. 

 

“And then one day, we were walking along the shore when we saw it. That ridiculous face-shaped rock. We’d both heard the stories about it. He challenged me to see who could run to it the fastest, and he won, of course.” She lets out a wet laugh.

 

“And when I finally got there he leaned forward and kissed me right on the lips. I must’ve been bright red, my face was so hot, but I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. I still kind of do, honestly.”

 

She stops here, and Percy feels like he should say something, but he has no clue what to say. Sorry for your loss? Sorry your country is a piece of shit who entertains itself with murdering children on live TV? Sorry your family decided to bet your life in an effort to pay your mom’s medical bills?

 

Annie won’t want to hear any of that—probably especially not that last one, so Percy stays silent. 

 

“I miss District 4.” Annie says. 

 

Percy doesn’t feel the same—District 4 certainly wasn’t his home, and he didn’t think it would ever be, but he certainly shares the sentiment. So he replies, “I miss home, too.”

 

---

 

After another rousing breakfast of nuts and blackberries—Percy keeps true to his promise to not eat anymore piranhas—they decide they are going to try to find a stream or creek to bathe in, and maybe some other food. Days of eating the same nuts, fruit, and fish are taking a strain on their stomachs, and they’re both desperate for a change. 

 

So, they refill their water bottles, pack up all their supplies, and bustle into the woods.

 

That’s when everything goes wrong of course. Percy keeps his eyes peeled for anything deadly—tributes and non-tributes alike, but somehow, it still manages to take him by surprise. 

 

They’d been walking for a little over an hour at that point, still unable to find a creek to stop at. They had stumbled upon a glade, though, and when Percy and Annie step into it, there it is.

 

It’s dark brown with splotched black spots and large—it must be 200 pounds. Worst of all, it’s got two huge, sharp tusks on the front of its mouth, perfect for goring unsuspecting tributes. Percy doesn’t even think it’s a mutt; it doesn’t need to be, they’re crazy and aggressive enough naturally. 

 

Standing in front of them is Ares’s sacred animal, a wild boar.

 

Percy grabs Annie’s arm to stop her from taking another step into the glade. 

 

This is an animal people should not mess with. Their sense of smell is crazy good, and once they decide they want to kill you, they won’t stop until you’re dead. There’s even a special kind of spear to hunt them; it has a bar after the sharp edge to stop the stabbed boar from continuing to run down the spear towards you. 

 

The Ares’s kids had always joked people needed one to fight them—saying, if you stab an Ares’s kid they’ll stop at nothing to stab you right back.

 

In short, there’s a reason it’s Ares’s sacred animal.

 

Percy can hear Annie’s sharp inhale when she sees what he’s spotted. Percy and the hog have what feels like a stupid western movie standoff; he can practically hear that one theme song in his head. 

 

If those Hunger Games editors are worth their salt, they’ll add it in, too. 

 

Percy’s already staring the boar down when he remembers that for a lot of animals, eye contact is a threat. He should take a slow step back, show it he doesn’t mean any harm. 

 

That’s his last thought before the boar charges at him. 

 

He pushes Annie out of the glade, yelling at her to climb a tree. He hopes that the close trees will slow the boar down if it tries to go after her. 

 

Percy has only a split second to form a plan. When he was twelve, Ares sent a wild boar at him, but he was in the ocean then. It was all too easy to call on the ocean to take the boar away. There isn’t an ocean anywhere in the arena, much less nearby.

 

Plan B, then. Percy braces his arms in front of him, getting ready for the force of a 200 pound boar running into him. He’s done this before with other monsters, many times actually, but that doesn’t make it any easier. One wrong move, and the tusk will gut you.

 

His friends always told him, he didn’t pay enough attention to his mortality, but he doesn’t think that’s true anymore. Not in the Hunger Games facing down a fucking boar. 

 

Gods, his life is a joke.

 

The boar slams into him at full speed, and he’s just barely able to catch both tusks in his hands. His feet are planted firmly in the ground and he’s using all his strength to try and stop the boar, but the impact still knocks him back onto the ground. His ribs ache with the impact. 

 

Still, Percy doesn’t let his grip on the tusks relent. He’s wrestling with the boar now, and as long as the tusks don’t enter the equation, he has a strong chance of winning. 

 

His knife hangs uselessly at his belt. If he tries to grab it, the boar might get the upper hand. He has to come up with another way to kill it. His mind flashes briefly to the first time he killed the Mintoaur—he had ripped its own horn off its head before stabbing it. 

 

He debates the merits of trying something similar with the boar, but then he loses his grip on the tusks and the heavy boar is on top of him. He puts one of his arms under the boar's mouth, forcing the tusks away from his face, and he puts his other arm around the boar’s middle, keeping it in place.

 

He has a plan to kill it, but he has to be very careful to not kill himself in the process. 

 

The arm around the pig’s side pushes with all his force, making the boar tumble to the ground, and before it can recover, Percy is behind it. He wraps both his arms around the boar’s back and lifts it in the air. 

 

It lets out a horrible squeal, and Percy’s only thought is that if he ever makes it back to his own world, he’ll never be able to watch the Lion King again—sorry Pumba. 

 

His arms contract, and he feels the hog’s ribs collapse inward, puncturing its lungs. It’s kicking wildly in pain and panic, letting out terrible screams, but Percy doesn’t relent. He keeps closing his arms around the boar in what must be the most violent hug ever. 

 

Eventually, it stills. 

 

Bone tired, Percy drops the animal to the ground. He looks up to see Annie watching him from a low branch of a nearby tree. She’s wearing an expression similar to how the younger campers had looked at him after the Titan War. 

 

The air is tense, and Percy only has one way of reacting to tension. “I caught dinner,” he tells Annie. 

 

She doesn’t laugh.

 

---

 

Percy’s honestly pretty grateful he didn’t stab the hog once he starts hauling it. He has it slung over his shoulder, and if it was dripping blood, he would’ve ruined his clothes even more than they already are. That would’ve been a bummer. 

 

Annie is still shooting him glances every now and then, but he can’t really decide what they mean. Percy’s doing his best to make sure he’s either leading or in-step with Annie because, as capable as she’s proven herself to be, she doesn’t have familial powers telling her where the nearest source of water is.

 

They arrive by a creek a little after the sun has reached its peak in the sky. Percy drops the hog to the ground, and just stares blankly at it. 

 

“Uh, do you know how to butcher meat?” He asks Annie.

 

Annie stares at the hog, too. “No, but I guess we’re going to try.” She takes off her jacket and rolls up the sleeve of her uninjured arm, before giving Percy a look. He hurries to follow her example.

 

What happens next is frankly a comedy of errors. His hand is steady, but it only helps so much. He still has no idea how to actually make the cuts, and once he gets to the stomach he starts finding shards of ribs scattered randomly throughout the flesh. Oops.

 

Annie keeps grimacing and making disgusted noises. Her nose is scrunched up in distaste. Percy wonders what the careers have to do to be chosen, because cutting into an animal is definitely not one of them. 

 

By the time they have enough usable meat for dinner, both Annie and him are covered up to their elbows in blood—Percy significantly more than Annie, probably because he was the one who actually had a knife. 

 

Percy gets up and wets some moss to wipe the blood off of both of them as best they can, and Annie starts up the grill.

 

It’s over an hour after they started cutting the pig up that they actually have cooked meat to eat, and he’s grateful for it. His stomach had been so messed up from his strange diet, he thought he was going to shit his brains out. He thinks Annie is suffering from the same issue based on how much she went off into the woods, but they’re both tactful enough to not mention it. 

 

They’re sitting in silence eating their meat because what do they even have to talk about, really? Who’s already died? How they thought the other tributes died? Who they still might have to murder? Not exactly a fun conversation.

 

Then Percy remembers Annie’s story from earlier about her first kiss with an unnamed boy (who was almost definitely Finnick). He’s still claiming amnesia, so he can’t go into too much detail about his past, but he feels like Annie deserves to hear something. 

 

He had spoken frantically of Annabeth to the men who pulled him out of the ocean, and he knew they had told the peacekeepers all about it from how frequently she was mentioned in his torture session. And if she is already dead, then what would it hurt…

 

“My first kiss was a girl named Annabeth.” It sounds loud in the relative quiet of the woods, and a part of Percy wishes he could take the words back. The boar’s meat tastes foul in his mouth. But he presses on, “she was my best friend.”

 

Annie must catch the past tense he used because she’s somber when she looks up at him, pausing her chewing. 

 

“We thought we were gonna die.” Percy’s voice breaks, and he normally wouldn’t care about that—he doesn’t think crying is a weakness. But he knows he’s being recorded and likely broadcasted. It would be one thing if it was just Annie seeing him cry, but the Capitol is an entirely different ballpark. They don’t get to see that side of him. 

 

“But you didn’t,” Annie says.

 

“She did.” It’s said in a whisper, and he has to force the words out. It’s a stretch of the truth of course, he makes it sound like she died shortly after kissing him, when that isn’t the case. But to him, the time in between that first kiss and Tartarus feels negligible. 

 

It wasn’t enough time. They could’ve spent eternity together, and it wouldn’t have been enough time.

 

Was this how Annabeth felt in the two weeks when she thought he was dead? He remembers suspecting she had been the one to weave his burial shroud—though she never confirmed it; she refused to talk about those two weeks at all—and his guilt mounts even more. He had been in District 4 for months, and he had never even tried to make her one.

 

Annie doesn’t say anything in response, but she stretches her hand out, holding it in the air, waiting for Percy to see it like he’s some kind of stray cat. When he doesn’t get up or move away, she places her hand delicately on his shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. 

 

Somehow, it feels more intimate than when the two of them force themselves into the same small sleeping bag. 

 

Percy’s about to cry, and he cannot cry in front of what feels like the whole world watching. So he gets up, stretching his legs out before taking his jacket off. “I’m going to wash off in the stream. I feel disgusting.”

 

Annie watches him go, claiming she’ll pass since it’s so cold. 

 

Then, she opens her mouth again, “Hey, Perseus!” She calls behind him, “can we go back to the reservoir once you wash off? I think our campsite there was better.”

 

Percy doesn’t really feel like going back to the reservoir—too many bad memories, but if Annie wants to, he’ll do it.

 

“Sure,” he responds, and he’s got his shirt halfway over his head when he decides something. He had been so distressed by Annabeth’s death that he had renamed himself Perseus in mourning or solidarity or something. It was a way of showing how changed he was, how wrong it felt now for people to call him Percy, a form of rebirth. But now he thinks of everything Annie and him have been through together. 

 

“You can call me Percy, by the way.” He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, but Annie looks at him for a long moment. He thinks she must understand at least some of the significance of the offer.

 

“Okay, Percy.” she says, and though her voice is delicate and light as she says it, it still breaks something inside of him. 

Notes:

I want to take a moment to express how touched I am with everyone's comments so far. You've all been very kind to me, and this story has gotten more attention than I ever thought it would, so thank you so much :)

We are almost done with this arc, and the next chapter is one I am very excited for (👀)

Also someone in the comments recommended that I have Percy fight a wild boar way back during the first chapter of the hunger games arc (I think it was the first chapter at least), which is so funny because I was already planning on having him fight one due to my friend telling me about how they're apparently a problem in Arizona. Great minds think alike (commenter and my irl friend lmao). I couldn't respond to your comment then because it would've been a spoiler, but I saw you and I appreciate you.

Also also the way he kills the boar is directly taken from the Twilight: Eclipse movie. That's how the vampires fight the werewolves.

Chapter 12: Silence of the Lambs

Notes:

Y'all, this chapter is over 7k.

Percy packs some of the butchered boar’s meat in the pot, so that the rest of his supplies don’t get bloody, and then plops the pot into his backpack. He leaves the rest of the pig carcass to the animals. It’s not worth hauling the whole thing through the woods again. Just the thought of it makes his shoulder hurt.

 

Annie dutifully packs up the grill in the backpack next and goes to refill their water bottles. Then they’re off. 

 

Their hike back to the reservoir is—thankfully—uneventful. The meat gives them just enough energy to make the hike with minimal exhaustion, and they meet no other mutts or tributes. Maybe there really is something to be said about keeping the audience entertained. 

 

Annie is quiet, walking after Percy on autopilot, with only the sound of crunching leaves breaking the silence. This gives Percy plenty of time to think about things he really doesn’t want to think about. Like how thoroughly he has ruined any perception the Capitol had of him being normal. At this point he might as well just sleep at the bottom of the fucking reservoir.

 

Maybe they’ll think he’s like a circus strongman or something. Does that exist in Panem? He certainly hasn’t heard anything about circuses back in District 4…

 

He looks back at Annie, to make sure she’s still following him and sees her shivering from the cold. She’s pulled her ski mask over her face and has her hands tucked under her armpits. Percy’s worried about how her blood loss is affecting her ability to thermoregulate. He’s cold too, but it’s nowhere near that bad. 

 

Maybe once they get to the reservoir they can start a fire. He knows it’s a bad idea to do that at the beginning of the games, but now that so many tributes are gone, it could be okay. He hopes.

 

Honestly, Percy’s not that worried about a tribute tracking them down. As long as it’s not Judy.

 

Hell, if it’s Trenton, it might even be a good thing. Get this whole thing over with. 

 

They finally arrive at the reservoir, and Annie shoots down Percy’s idea to start a fire. “That’s stupid,” she says. “I don’t want to invite a fight, especially when we’re about to go to sleep.”

 

Percy doesn’t push it, though he frowns everytime he sees her shiver after that.

 

Hours pass, with Percy and Annie collecting more nuts and fruit. Percy digs out the boar meat and pot, and starts to cook it as Annie peels a new type of nut she found—Percy thinks it’s some kind of walnut. They add the walnuts to the pot with the meat once Annie’s done peeling them. Maybe it’ll infuse the meat with some kind of flavor. Percy is getting really tired of eating unseasoned, bland food. 

 

There’s something peaceful about cooking the meat on their little portable stove. Like they’re just two friends out camping. Percy doesn’t voice this thought, and silence hangs heavy between them.

 

After they eat another (tragically unseasoned) boar steak, Percy moves to get into the sleeping bag, but Annie makes no move to follow him. She’s put some water and pine needles into the pot on top of their little stove in what Percy guesses is an attempt to make tea. Percy leaves her to it as he settles into the sleeping bag, the thermal blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

 

A couple minutes pass as the water heats up, and Annie pours some into their mostly empty water bottle, passing it to Percy. She drinks her tea directly from the pot, flinching as she takes the first sip. Percy guesses she must’ve burned her tongue. Although who knows, maybe pine needle tea just tastes that bad. He tentatively takes his own first sip.

 

They sit in silence for what feels like forever to Percy. He “finishes” his tea first—though he really leaves half of it in the water bottle, and once Annie finishes hers, he gestures for her to join him in the sleeping bag. 

 

“No, I’m not really tired. I don’t want to lay down.” She’s rubbing her hands on her pants anxiously, staring at the ripples in the reservoir caused by the various piranhas popping up to the surface to check on Percy. She’s pulled the ski mask back down under her mouth now that they’re done eating, and she wraps her arms around herself, trying to preserve her body heat. “I’ll take the first watch.”

 

Her tone is off. There’s something… unsettling about how she said it. 

 

Percy feels a rock settle in the bottom of his stomach. The way she asked to return to the reservoir, her different attitude after seeing him kill the boar, her sudden change of tone—it feels too similar to Judy last night, right before she tried to kill Annie and him. 

 

Alliances are meant to be broken in the Hunger Games, he remembers Mags telling him.

 

Percy’s first thought is to say no or to let her take first watch but stay awake anyway. But he’s tired and not just physically. He remembers the promise he made to himself the night before the games began. He remembers Annie has two parents waiting at home for her to return.

 

“Okay,” he tells her. He crawls out of the sleeping bag and grabs the thermal blanket before  approaching Annie. She watches him wearily, but he just wraps the blanket around her shoulders. She’s fidgeting now. Her leg bumping up and down, like she has too much energy and doesn’t know what to do with it—an unusual thing in the Hunger Games, Percy guesses. Usually when you’re starving, dehydrated, stressed, and sleep-deprived, you lack energy. Though maybe the adrenaline brought on by near-death counteracts it.

 

“It’s cold,” he tells her. She stares blankly down at the blanket wrapped around her, and while she’s distracted, Percy subtly pulls the knife from its slot in his belt and drops it beside Annie.

 

If she wants to kill him, she can.

 

He settles himself into the sleeping bag again, and pulls his own ski mask back on. No need to die freezing, after all. Plus it has the added benefit of not letting the Capitol see his face once he dies.

 

The sleeping bag is noticeably colder without Annie at his side. He tucks the bottom half of his face under the sleeping bag.

 

He thinks it’ll take him a while to fall asleep, but it doesn’t. He’s out like a light. Maybe some part of him is relieved at his upcoming death. If there is an afterlife here, he’ll get to join Annabeth. He’ll have to apologize when he sees her. 

 

(He doesn’t think about his suspicion that the lack of gods might mean a lack of an afterlife.)

 

Of course, a dreamless sleep was too much to ask for. Once he enters Hypnos’s realm, he’s greeted with an all-too familiar face. 

 

“Percy,” Thalia breathes out, her voice thick with an emotion Percy doesn’t want to name. 

 

She looks different from the last time he saw her. Her undereyes are dark, her hair longer than he remembers, and her normal heavy eyeliner is notably absent. She isn’t even wearing a silver circlet on her head—the sign that she’s Artemis’s lieutenant. She looks more like her father than she ever has before.

 

He wonders why his subconscious decided to change her appearance like that. 

 

“Nico told me he saw you in his dreams, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him. I thought his mind might’ve been making it up because of how stressed he was. Are you okay?” She sounds panicked, and Percy wonders why she’s so worried about him. 

 

She should be focused on Annabeth—not him. Annabeth, the little 7-year-old she guided to camp. Annabeth, the kid she died to protect. Annabeth, the girl Percy killed. 

 

If Thalia had been with her, she’d still be alive. He just knows it.

 

“We heard you’re ‘beyond our realm,’ and Nico said you’re ‘on a different Earth,’ whatever that means.” She shifts from foot-to-foot looking expectantly at Percy, like he can answer her unvoiced question about where he is.

 

Percy opens his mouth to reply, then closes it, thinking over what he wants to say. “Yeah, that’s a good way to describe it,” he settles on, studying Thalia’s face like a man looking at a mirage in the desert. He wants to reach out and touch her, but he’s scared the closer he looks the faster she’ll fade.

 

“Well, how did you get there? Nico and I are trying to follow you, but all we’re finding right now are dead ends—”

 

“You shouldn’t be.” Percy cuts her off, quickly—aggressively. He doesn’t think these dreams are real, but the idea of Nico and Thalia trying to follow him here, to Panem, is horrifying. He pictures them being tortured by Peacekeepers—just like he was. 

 

Or maybe they’d drown just like Annabeth did.

 

Either way, he likes them just where they are, even if Gaea is still a problem over there, at least they have a chance to fix it, to fight back. If they join Percy here, they’d just be three demigods against a corrupt mortal empire. 

 

They’d be useless, just like Percy is, letting kids be offered to the sacrificial altar of the Capitol. It’s not a feeling he’d wish on anyone.

 

“What do you mean?” Thalia asks. Her words are sharp, accusing. Like Percy is stupid for denying them from following him into this hellhole. 

 

“Where I am,” Percy pauses, thinking how to explain it. “It’s not a good place. I don’t want you here. You’re better off where you are.” 

 

Percy swallows heavily. The dream isn’t real, he knows—or highly suspects. It’s just wishful thinking, but on the off chance it is real… “Tell my mom I love her.” He inhales, and even in his dream, it sounds choked. 

 

Then he thinks of the ocean, of all the time he spent fishing on shitty boats on the endless waters, and how he always feels like there’s something missing. He bites his tongue momentarily before continuing, “and tell my father I miss him.”

 

Thalia looks truly baffled for a brief moment. Percy had a better relationship with his father than most demigods can claim, but it was still rocky. And he knows Thalia has a tumultuous relationship with her own father. 

 

She takes a step forward and then another one and another until she’s right next to Percy, grabbing his face in her hands and forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Come back and tell them that yourself.” She says, shaking his head aggressively, as if she can force all his negative thoughts out of his mind the way people shake old clothes to get spiders out. 

 

If only it were that easy.

 

“I’m going to die soon,” he tells her. Best to rip it off like a bandaid, he figures. 

 

“No you aren’t,” she shakes her head furiously. Her voice sounds snotty, like she’s holding back tears, and Percy feels almost bad. “You can’t. Forget what you told Nico—”

 

“It’s not about what I told Nico. I’m in this… competition, and it’s almost over. It’s a fight to the death, Thalia, and I’m not going to win.”

 

“What do you mean you’re not going to win? Percy, you’re one of the best fighters of our generation, the only way you wouldn't win is if you give up!” 

 

The realization hits her then, Percy can tell exactly when it settles into her bones. She takes a large, unsteady step back as if pushed. “Percy, you can’t give up,” she whispers. Her voice breaks as she says it. 

 

Even though it’s only a dream, Percy can’t look at her. He stares off to the side, noticing for the first time the large mountain of books behind Thalia. They look like some sort of spell books, and most of them seem to be in Ancient Greek. What is Thalia doing there?

 

“What are those books for?” He asks, but Thalia brushes him off. 

 

“You can’t change the subject! Percy, Percy, look at me, please.” Thalia grabs his head again. Her grip is tight and grounding. “Tell me where you are. The more information we have, the quicker we can find you.”

 

Percy presses his lips together. He doesn’t want them to find him, not anymore. 

 

They don’t deserve it. And he doesn’t deserve it either.

 

Suddenly, the dream gets fuzzy, and Thalia’s hands slip from the side of his face. Their time is up.

 

For a minute, Percy thinks he’s waking up, but that can’t be the case. His body feels more exhausted than before he went to sleep, his mind trying to pull him further down into the realm of sleep than he thinks he’s ever been before. 

 

He feels a piercing stab in his head like a migraine, and his mind spins. Thalia is gone now, to who knows where. He tries to force his eyes open, to get a sense of awareness, but the pain in his head only increases and despite not even being awake, he’s dizzy enough he feels nauseous. His eyelids refuse to open, and he lacks the energy to force them to.

 

Then the image in front of him sharpens again, but instead of Thalia, he’s looking at Annie. She’s submerged in dark water, and Percy can only make her out because of his ability to see in even the deepest water of the ocean. The wound on her arm is still bleeding, turning the water a dark, murky red. She’s wearing a backpack, and whatever is in it must be weighing her down, but she doesn’t even try to take it off or to swim upward.

 

Numerous fish surround her, and Percy would recognize them anywhere—they’re the mutt piranhas in the reservoir. The same ones that swarmed the bear and Andromeda, devouring them in seconds. 

 

Only they don’t swarm Annie. Instead they circle her in passive curiosity, watching Annie flail uselessly in the water. She must be drowning, with the way she claws desperately at her throat. Over and over again, she leaves big scratches on her neck. She starts drawing blood and Percy can see cuts form on her throat from where she’s scratching furiously at them.

 

Percy tries to swim towards her, but he can’t force his arms to move. They feel like they’re weighed down with lead, and even the water of the reservoir isn’t responding to him. He’s watching Annie die the exact same way Annabeth did, and he’s powerless to stop it.

 

Only Annie isn’t dying. His horror turns to confusion as the cuts on her throat flare outward. 

 

They aren’t cuts, he registers belatedly. They’re gills.

 

The ocean will always offer you safety, and it will always welcome you home , he had told her what felt like ages ago now, after he told her the story of the little mermaid. He remembers how exhausted he got afterwards and realizes he wasn’t just comforting her. He was blessing her.

 

And now his blessing was being put to the test. That’s why he’s so tired and nauseous, he realizes. It’s draining more energy than he has. Demigods weren’t meant to give blessings. 

 

Percy is still terrified for Annie, unsure if the blessing will actually hold or not. After all, she’s in a freshwater reservoir, not the actual ocean. But he remembers Poseidon sending a nereid to talk to him in the bottom of the Mississippi River and supposes Poseidon still had some measure of power over rivers and lakes. He hopes desperately that he inherited enough of that power to pull this off.

 

He watches intently, unable to tear his eyes away, looking for some sign Annie won’t survive the transformation.

 

Annie isn’t flailing nearly as much now that her gills are working, but she’s still clutching herself in pain as her body transforms into something that can not only survive underwater, but thrive. 

 

The water heats up around her, forming bubbles. Her nails sharpen into claws meant to gut fish as the cut on her arm heals over with scales. Her pants warp strangely as her legs turn into fish tails, and just as Percy starts to think it might finally be over—that he had done it and she might’ve survived—the bubbles increase, and before his eyes Annie vanishes like some sort of underwater shadow travel. 

 

Where had she gone? Had his accidental blessing destroyed her? Simply vanished her from existence?

 

Had he killed her? 

 

The backpack didn’t disappear when Annie did; it’s still in the water. He watches as it sinks to the bottom of the reservoir, and the piranhas disperse. Without anything to distract him, the pain and exhaustion take over, and the image fades out of view. 

 

He must wake up a couple of times, though he doesn’t remember it. The most he remembers is a bright light shining in his eyes and it taking all of his energy to turn away.

 

He dreams of Annie over and over again, watching her painful transformation and disappearance. His subconscious must take mercy on him because he pictures her outside of the arena, too. She’s swimming in coral reefs, her twin tails flipping quickly behind her to propel her through the water, like a real-life Starbucks ad. She looks delighted at every strange animal she sees, a blue crab, a manta ray, and even a jellyfish. Then the image fades out of view and he’s watching her drown again. Over and over it goes.

 

Eventually, he opens his eyes. It’s dim, with the sun either barely starting to rise or already set for the day. His mouth is dry, a sure sign he’s been asleep far longer than one night. He tries to move, and it seems to take all of his energy. His muscles ache in protest, and he can’t make his legs move at all. The most he can do is put his arms in front of him and pull himself forward in a slow crawl.

 

He starts moving towards the water. “Annie,” he croaks. He can’t see her anywhere, and he knows what that means. But he still tries anyway. “Annie,” he says, louder this time.

 

It sets off a coughing fit, his throat dry enough to be a desert, and he has to wait for it to subside before he can keep pulling himself forward. The sleeping bag is wrapped tightly enough around him that it follows him on his quest towards the reservoir, though the thermal blanket that Annie must’ve placed over him at some point, is left behind. 

 

He notices its absence immediately. The arena has undoubtedly gotten much colder during his time asleep. Even the ski mask isn’t enough to keep his face warm. 

 

His nails are torn to bits from the rocks by the time he finally makes it to the edge of the water, and he knows he can’t go any further. And he has to accept it; he won’t find Annie even if he could get into the reservoir. 

 

Because she’s not there. 

 

As usual, the piranhas pop out of the water to check on him. With a weak mental shrug he pushes them away, and hesitantly, they listen. 

 

He feels his lips crack and stretch as he opens and closes his mouth, and reaches forward to hesitantly cup some of the reservoir water in his hand. He doesn’t have the patience or the strength to get his purifying tabs, but the water isn’t dangerous to him. All he’s losing is his ability to seem normal—which was no doubt fully blown after the pig fiasco anyway. 

 

He drinks a couple of handfuls of water and splashes another handful of water on his face. He feels better, but the exhaustion still weighs him down. Before he even knows what’s happening, his eyes close again, and he’s lost to the world.

 

---

 

By the time he’s actually awake for good, he has no idea how much time has passed, but he’s woozy and majorly dehydrated. He slowly gets up, his muscles protesting the whole time as he walks over to their—his supplies.

 

Where their backpack was, now sits one of Annie’s intricately woven baskets, though this one is shaped far more bag-like than the others, with two large handles sticking out of it. Percy thinks it almost looks like one of the totes Silena Beauregard used to carry around. 

 

He hesitates before slowly moving towards it. Seeing the bag throws him off enough that he ends up almost tripping over a rock. Somehow, he manages the ten steps with most of his dignity intact. 

 

He riffles through the bag. There’s a handful of nuts left over from his and Annie’s last meal together. His stomach grumbles in anger, so he grabs them and starts to eat them. They’re gone in seconds. 

 

Next, he pulls out their water bottle, still filled up halfway with the remainder of their water supply. Percy chugs it and only remembers once he’s done that it was actually a weird, old tea. It leaves a strange taste on the back of his tongue, but he doesn’t stop to think about it.

 

He pulls the pot out of his backpack to peek at the boar meat. It’s an entirely different color than it was earlier. What was bright red last he saw is now a muddy brown—definitely not safe to eat and a big clue that he’s been asleep for at least a couple of days. 

 

As he’s leaned over studying it, the smell of the meat hits his nose, and a sense of nausea comes over him. He pushes the pot to the side as he tries to wait it out, bent off to the side of the bag in case his stomach decides to purge itself of the nuts he just ate. 

 

Once the nausea passes, he tosses the spoiled meat into the water. It probably isn’t good for the piranhas, but he’s worried that throwing it in the woods will attract more animals. That’s the last thing he wants to deal with right now. 

 

He returns to scrounging through the tote bag, wondering if there’s any jerky left. The nuts were nice, but if he doesn’t get something else on his stomach, he might start eating his own hand. 

 

There’s no jerky, but the bottom of the bag is noticeably fuller than it should be. 

 

For one, Annie’s jacket is sitting at the bottom, neatly folded. And on top of that are a set of dirty socks, folded into each other, and Annie’s ski mask. 

 

Gods, she had spent who knows how long weaving this bag out of shitty grass, only to then take off her own jacket and her socks to leave them behind for Percy. She must’ve realized, just like he had, that the arena was getting colder. Cold enough that any additional layers could mean the difference between life and death.

 

Percy tastes salt on his tongue, and it’s only then that he notices unbidden tears have welled up. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces them to go away. 

 

They do not get to see his tears, he reminds himself. 

 

He falls from his crouched position to his knees, and from there he forces himself to turn around so he’s sitting down on the hard ground. 

 

He stares uselessly at the rocks in front of him. Dead leaves blow by in a gentle breeze. It’d be almost picturesque if he could ignore why he’s there or what he’s thinking about. But he can’t, so…

 

He’s been staring at the same rock for what feels like hours before he realizes that the coloring of it is off. Most of the rocks around the reservoir are an ugly grayish color, but that one is a dark, rust red. He’s on his feet and walking towards it before he knows what he’s doing.

 

He crouches down, and picks the rock up, studying it. It’s only the half that was facing him that was red, the rest of it was the same gray as the rest of the rocky shore. He rubs his thumb on it and the color flakes off. With his heart in his throat, he brings his thumb up to his nose, sniffing it.

 

It’s metallic smelling—tangy, a smell he’s all too familiar with. Blood. More specifically, Annie’s blood. 

 

He couldn’t stop what he does next if he tried. He falls to the ground, crawling on hands and knees, looking for that same rust red color. And he finds it, leading in two different directions—one towards the woods and one towards the water.

 

Bile climbs up his esophagus, but he forces it back down with a heavy swallow as he moves towards the woods. 

 

It’s not a lot of blood, just a couple of drops every couple of feet, with one particularly bloody puddle that leads towards a pile of bloody moss and Percy’s torn sleeve, turned makeshift bandage. He turns back around before he’s even close enough to touch it, following the track the other way. 

 

Like he knew it would, it leads towards the piranha infested waters, no other detours. 

 

That’s it then, he thinks. Annie’s gone, who knows where. Maybe his blessing killed her, maybe it saved her. Either way, he’s still stuck here in the arena, and she’s out of his reach. He feels selfish wishing that wasn’t the case.

 

Above him, the birds chirp and the leaves drift, and once again, the rain starts to fall. 

 

---

 

The rain is over fairly quickly all things considered, which Percy thinks he should get a lot of credit for. The air it leaves behind is dry and bitter. Losing both Judy and Annie is hard on him in ways he never expected. He can’t conjure up any energy anymore. He hasn’t gone foraging or hunting since the night Annie tried to drown herself in the reservoir.

 

He’s taken to eating the bark off a nearby Birch tree, but only enough to survive. Birch tree bark, he’s learned, is gross. It might be better if he boiled it, but that’s only a passing thought. He can’t bring himself to actually fill a pot with water, get his stove out, and wait for it to boil. 

 

The second evening after his sleeping stunt, a cannon goes off, with the face of the boy from 10 going up in the sky hours later. There’s only six left now. Or maybe there’s less, maybe some tributes died while he was asleep. He has no way of knowing. 

 

It’s on the third day after he woke up alone that the temperature drops low enough for him to see his breath. 

 

Hello winter , he thinks, bitterness clinging heavily to the words even in his own mind. 

 

The games can’t last much longer now. He’s bundled up with his ski mask over his face, Annie’s socks over his hands, her jacket wrapped around him, and then the blanket and sleeping bag over that, so he’s pretty warm. But he can’t imagine everyone is that lucky. Honestly, most of them will probably freeze to death within the next 24 hours. 

 

Almost as if hearing his thoughts, he sees smoke rise far off in the horizon. Someone’s decided the risk of lighting a fire is worth not freezing to death. He can’t even muster up the energy to wonder who it is. 

 

He watches the smoke lifelessly, head on the hard ground and stomach rumbling, but unable to stomach more bark. 

 

And then it sounds, like the trumpets blowing in Zion. 

 

Mags told him about this, he remembers. In the depths of the Hunger Games, the Gamemakers will sometimes host a feast. It’s an invitation to kill or to die—to gather the tributes together when things get too boring.

 

The voice of the announcer sounds, crooning about food and supplies, “Some of you are very hungry, and some of you are simply tired and want this game to be closer to the end,”—his voice echoes around the domed arena. “And this feast, held at sunrise tomorrow at the cornucopia, can help all of you.” 

 

Percy is not swayed. If he really wanted, he could find food. It’s not an issue of being unable to do it, it’s an issue of not wanting to do it. And he doesn’t want to go to any murder feast to kill anyone either. 

 

He’s going to stay right here, bundled up in his sleeping bag and of little interest to the cameras watching everywhere. 

 

But the announcer isn’t done, “And I’m sure you’ve all noticed the plummeting temperatures. An often forgotten fact about cornucopias is their association with Spring.”

 

Yeah, Percy huffs to himself, they’re associated with the harvest, and therefore harvest gods and goddesses—like Persephone, the goddess of Spring . But the Capitol won’t say that. Things like religion and gods are antiquated here.  

 

“Who knows,” the announcer continues, “if you take me up on my invitation, you might find yourself a shelter from the rapidly descending winter.”

 

Fuck, it’s just like Percy thought. The weather is getting colder, but simply having the tributes freeze to death isn’t an interesting enough end. No, they want them to fight it out in the freezing weather. Whoever wins gets to stay in a warm cornucopia-shaped shelter, and if a tribute doesn’t go to the feast…

 

Well then, they don’t deserve to be warm. To keep all of their fingers and toes in the dropping temperatures. 

 

Percy stares up at the sky blankly, trying to accept his impending fate of freezing to death and probably getting severe frostbite in the process. 

 

It just isn’t fair, he thinks. He’s seventeen, he doesn’t want to die. And he doesn’t even have Annie around anymore. She gave him something to fight for, something he desperately needs now. 

 

He doesn’t think he could live with himself if he survived this, though. What kind of monster would kill someone else to save their own skin?

 

In the light of the setting sun, Percy spots the same bird he saw earlier—what must have been over a week ago now. It’s got another mouse in its deadly grip, and this one—much like the last one—is fighting for its life, struggling against the bird. 

 

The bird pays it no mind, flying through the air towards the thorns, the little mouse gallows. Striking swiftly, it impales the mouse, flapping slightly away to watch its meal die. 

 

The mouse struggles for a couple of seconds before stilling, and the bird flies in to devour it, victorious. 

 

Percy watches the bird in morbid fascination before drifting to sleep, lulled by the cold.

 

---

 

He dreams—his mind refusing to give him even the briefest of reprieves. Luckily though, he sees no one he knows, not Thalia, Nico, Judy, or even Annie. 

 

He doesn’t see any other humans at all, actually. It’s only those strange, blood-thirsty birds flying around, beating their wings hard in a violent, unending movement. They’re a lot larger than they are in real life.

 

Before his eyes, the birds fly into one another and peck at other’s feathers with sharp beaks and clawing with their taloned feet, pulling out the feathers and skin and flesh of their opponents. 

 

It is only as a bird flies directly into him that Percy realizes he’s not a human in this dream. He’s one of them, those mouse killing birds. 

 

He goes on the defensive, swiping and biting back at the bird that flew into him, fighting with all the strength he’s got to survive. They’re both fumbling through the air in a desperate bid to stay airborne while not losing the fight, and suddenly Percy sees it out of the corner of his eye. 

 

The other birds are fighting with a goal, trying to drag their enemies towards a nearby tree, lush with thorns and already mounted with bird corpses. The bird he’s fighting keeps pecking and clawing at him, and Percy realizes if he doesn’t do something quick, he’s going to die.

 

Without thinking twice, Percy takes a particularly brutal peck at his opponent's throat, ripping a good chunk of flesh out. The bird stumbles in the air, and Percy grabs it’s back with his claws, getting it in a position where it can’t reach behind it to peck or claw at him. 

 

He flies directly towards an empty thorn on the tree. The bird struggles, almost exactly like the mouse Percy saw earlier did, but Percy, like the bird he saw, pays it no mind. With all his energy, he forces the bird onto the thorn, piercing it right through the heart. 

 

He flies a couple a feet away before turning around to study his work. His heart settles knowing he’s safe—that he’ll live to see another day. He turns around to fly away, and there it is on the ground.

 

A cornucopia. 

 

Percy’s eyes fly open as lunges up in a sitting position, his heart beating a mile a minute. He plays the dream over and over in his head in an endless loop. He remembers not wanting to fight, but being forced into it anyway. He remembers taking out his opponent’s throat, piercing them on a spike. 

 

He remembers being relieved that he wasn’t going to die. 

 

His heart settles as he takes in his surroundings. It’s still dark, meaning he has plenty of time until the sunrise. 

 

He sends a prayer to the only goddess he still cares about in this strange, godless world. Mom, I’m sorry. I know you tried to raise a good kid. But I’m going to do something bad, and I need you not to hold it against me. 

 

And with that, he gets up. He packs his thermal blanket, water bottle, and Annie’s ski mask, leaving everything else behind. He still has his ski mask on, and he’s wearing Annie’s socks on his hands. Everything else he’ll either come back for, or he won’t. It’s as simple as that. 

 

He digs the knife out of the tote bag to scrape off some more bark from the Birch tree, forcing more of it down his throat and into his stomach than he ever has before. He doesn’t want to be hungry for this. 

 

Once he’s satisfied, he sets off, keeping his steps light.

 

He swears he can see in the dark better than ever before, and he’s not sure what that says about him. He doesn’t really want to think about it. 

 

The adrenaline and tree bark does its job, getting him through the hike. It feels like only minutes before he reaches the edge of the clearing the cornucopia is in. For better or worse, he’s here. And he’s going to be here for the feast. 

 

For the first time since he woke up from his nightmare, he allows himself to think about what he’s going to do. 

 

He knows he could take the rest of the tributes out in a fight. What are there, five left, not including him? But he doesn’t really want to do that. Even as he just thinks about it, he swears that he can feel the ghost of Lace’s neck snapping under his hands—that he can see the blood from Nero’s neck under his fingernails. 

 

Then it hits him—the reason he wanted to get to higher ground in the first place, all those days ago. That shitty dam. The gamemakers want to burst it as some weird finale, he’s almost positive. 

 

Well, they’re not going to get to. Percy has the trigger, and he’s going to be the one to pull it. 

 

With his mind made up, he waits. Unlike the hike down to the clearing, the wait to sunrise seems to take eons. And it seems like they really do mean sunrise. 

 

The twilight spreads over the horizon bringing no feast, so the wait goes on. Percy’s carefully suppressed emotions slip to the surface, and a small flurry of snow starts to fall. Ugh, it’s cold enough to snow, Percy complains mentally, before rubbing his sock-covered hands together. 

 

His annoyance only makes the snow fall harder, and by the time the sun actually peaks out of its hiding spot, there’s a good half-inch of it covering the ground. 

 

Just like that, a high creaking sound emits from the cornucopia, (which must just be for show. The Capitol definitely seems like it has the supplies and technology to make a silent lift) and the ground in front of the cornucopia descends before quickly reascending with bundles of supplies—though it’s all covered bags, meaning the tributes won’t know what they got until they open it. 

 

A small girl darts out. Percy recognizes her as the girl from 5, but she looks so different from how she did at the beginning of the games. Where she once had a healthy layer of fat on her face, her cheekbones are now prominent over a gaunt, exhausted, and frightened expression. 

 

She’s barely made it to the table before Trenton appears, moving abnormally fast for a man his size. Unlike the girl, he doesn’t seem to want the supplies. He just wants her dead. He wants this whole thing to be over. 

 

Percy relates to him far more than he would’ve liked to. 

 

Trenton slashes his knife wildly at the girl, and she doesn’t even have a weapon to defend herself with. Percy watches as her blood spills on the soft layer of freshly fallen snow. She’s still alive, but only barely. Percy guesses it’ll take her about ten minutes to die with that wound. 

 

Trenton makes no move to finish her off or leave the cornucopia. Instead, he stands guard over the supplies, blood-stained knife in hand, a red flag for any tribute who might be thinking of trying their luck. 

 

The snow falls even harder now, but none of it lands on Trenton. Instead, the snow around him seems to melt. Percy looks closer, trying to see what’s going on. The cornucopia looks like it’s blasting a bunch of warm air onto the table, and by extension, Trenton and the dying girl from 5. 

 

The idea of warmth and supplies seems too compelling a temptress for the other tributes, and two of them charge towards Trenton at once. They’re the boy from 3 and the boy from 11, and with them trying to take Trenton on at the same time, Judy decides to test her luck, too, running out from the opposite end of the treeline.

 

His ears ring when he sees her, too many emotions welling up in his chest to be able to identify any of them. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he recognizes that makes five tributes, and with him, six. That’s everyone who's left, all round up for the slaughter.

 

He doesn’t even have to dig within himself, the earthshake happens as soon as he thinks about it, and it’s strong, too. Judy, who had been halfway to the cornucopia, falls to the ground under the large trembles. The other tributes only fare slightly better. The two boys from 3 and 11 lilt to the side, and Trenton has to reach out to support himself on the table under the onslaught. 

 

But it isn't them Percy cares about. He has eyes only for the dam, and he doesn’t let up.

 

The wood of the dam cracks and splints under the pressure of the earthquake, and the chilly water, which had just started to ice over, comes flooding out, directly into the valley where the cornucopia is. 

 

The water descends on them like the Red Sea on the Pharaoh's men. 

 

None of the other tributes saw it coming, and they’re swept up in the rapids. They didn’t stand a chance. Even the piranhas seem dazed by the sudden violent movement of water.

 

The flash flooding is strong enough that it tears up trees and carries large rocks and other debris through the valley. A sizable rock hits the boy from 3 in the head, killing him instantly, though a cannon doesn’t immediately sound—for Percy, who senses the boy’s death, it’s notably delayed by several seconds. 

 

Even the Capitol must not be able to keep up in this rapid flooding. He gets a perverse sense of satisfaction at the thought. 

 

The girl from 5, already half dead, is the second to go, breathing in a lungful of water within seconds of being submerged. 

 

It’s just Judy, Trenton, and the boy from 11 left, then. Trenton gets trapped behind an uprooted tree, which pulls him further and further out in the valley until eventually ramming his body into another, larger tree, crushing his ribs and organs under the weight and pressure. 

 

The boy from 11 is bashed against the rocks.

 

Judy is the only one who’s even semi-successful in swimming in the strong currents, because of course the girl who reminds him of Annabeth all that time ago will be the one he has to watch drown. Even in a world where they don’t exist, the fates seem to laugh at him.

 

She doesn’t die by blunt-force trauma or being crushed by a tree, instead she simply… stops swimming, her strokes becoming weaker and weaker as the frigid water saps her energy. The temperature had been just below freezing, and cold water only exacerbates that. Within minutes she’s dead. 

 

The water starts to drain. The gamemakers hadn’t even released all the extra water stored below the arena. It makes sense, he guesses. If they want a living victor, they know they need to act fast. After all, they couldn’t know Percy was made for this.

 

He’s been half-heartedly swimming, trying to put on a semi-realistic show of trying not to die in the raging water, all while using his powers to push debris away from him. He hopes his survival will make sense.

 

A hovercraft flies directly over him, skipping over all of the other dead tributes, knowing if they don’t get him soon he’ll get hypothermia and die anyway. The claw descends down rapidly, and grabs him like an arcade claw machine. The water, now moving rapidly towards the drains, slams him against the metal claw hard enough that he feels his teeth shake. 

 

He deserves that, he guesses. 

 

The trumpets sound, and just like the announcer’s voice came on yesterday evening, he comes on again as Percy is lifted out of the water. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he yells like some kind of sports announcer, “I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games—Perseus Jackson, from District 4.”

 

Percy was never the mouse.

 

---

 

 

Part 2: End

 

To all things housed in her silence

Nature offers a violence

 

The bear that keeps to his own line

The wolf that seeks always his own kind

The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

The parent forced to eat its young before it grows

 

Every bird, gone unheard

Starving where the ground has froze

The winter sunrise, red on white

Like blood upon the snow

 

The ground walked here is a wonder

It ceases never to hunger

And all things nature's given

She takes all things back from the living

 

I've walked the earth and there are so few here that know

How dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow

I've no more hunger now to see where the road will go

I've no more kept my warmth

Than blood upon the snow

 

It's not my arms that will fail me

But this world takes more strength than it gave me

The trees deny themselves nothing that makes them grow

No rain fall, no sunshine

No blood upon the snow

 

To all things housed in her silence

Nature offers a violence

Notes:

.... well. I know some of you saw the thing with Annie coming. And this isn't the last we'll see of her, either! Poor Percy, thinking he saw her betrayal coming after Judy, only to realize she was never planning on killing him.

Also, with the end of this arc, Percy and Finnick are finally going to interact again. It's only taken them, like, close to 60,000 words. When I tagged slow burn, I meant it.

Also also for those of you who haven't read the Hunger Games (idk how many of you there are) the 70th games, which is the one Annie won in the books, did have a dam that broke and flooded the arena. Annie won because she was the best swimmer, which is somewhat realistic I guess? But also, with flash flooding, so much of it is luck, i.e. not getting hit by debris or slammed against rocks or crushed between trees.

By the way, the birds Percy saw are Shrikes, Hozier has a cool song about them, which may or may not become relevant later :) Speaking of Hozier, that's his song Blood Upon the Snow at the end.

Anyway, what do you think?

Chapter 13: Interlude 1

Summary:

An interlude about propaganda and how the Capitol views Percy

Dear Dr. Flavian,

 

I hope this email finds you well. I’ve been thinking about what I want my senior year capstone project to be, and while I don’t quite have my research question, I have decided that I want it to be on the aftermath of the 70th Hunger Games. Specifically, I am interested in studying the propaganda seen in the media, as well as Capitolite reactions to the 70th Hunger Games. I have compiled some primary sources I might use, which I have attached below. 

 

Would you be able to meet sometime next week to discuss my project further? I’m hoping to nail down what specifically I would like to focus on, and would love to hear your thoughts.

 

I hope you have a great weekend!

 

Best,

Perdora Finnigan 

 

---

 

(Email has 5 attachments.)

 

Attachment 1: Capitolite_street_interview.mov

 

Video opens to loud, festive sounds. The interviewer is a man wearing a bubblegum pink, peruke wig, and in the hustle and bustle of the busy Capitol street, the wig has been pushed lopsided, with elaborate curls falling over his extensive golden face makeup. He is wearing an outfit that vaguely resembles a bejeweled marching band uniform. He looks notably haggard.

 

“Happy Hunger Games, Panem!” He huffs out, and even with his microphone, he can barely be heard over the roaring crowd. A child holding an oversized stuffed wild hog runs by in the background.

 

“My name is Tacitus, and I am here on Presidential Street right next to Central Park just after Perseus Jackson’s sudden victory over the last 5 other tributes. As you can tell based on the crowd behind me, many Capitolites are exhilarated with his win. We’ll be interviewing some of them now to hear what they think first hand.”

 

Video cuts to another scene of the same interviewer holding his mic up to a teenaged Capitol girl. She’s wearing a glimmering dress made of fish scales, with miniature fish bobbers hanging from her bleached white hair. Her shoes are high platform heels shaped to look like an Atlantic salmon.

 

“Hello miss, what is your name?” Tacitus asks the young girl.

 

Her head bobs upwards, eyes unnaturally wide. “My name is Marcella Belmont!” Her voice is scratchy and rough, like she’s been screaming recently.

 

“Miss Marcella,” Tacitus begins. “What did you think of the Hunger Games this year?”

 

Marcella fidgets in excitement so quickly that the fish bobbers quake where they are tied into her hair. “It’s the best one I’ve ever seen! And I watch all the reruns every year with my family! Perseus—or as I like to call him, Percy—was so wonderful and strong. He’s even better than Finnick Odair!”

 

Tacitus chuckles good naturedly, though the video doesn’t actually pick up on the sound since the microphone is still pointed at Marcella. 

 

“What was your favorite part?” He probes.

 

Without missing a beat, Marcella exclaims, “When he killed that district 2 trash in revenge for that little girl! It was so romantic.” Marcella’s eyes, which earlier where strangely wide, are now hooded, as if picturing Perseus Jackson killing someone in her honor.

 

The video cuts again, and this time, Tacitus is getting ready to interview a middle-aged man. He has bandages wrapped around the lower half of his chin, but he doesn’t seem to be letting that stop him from partying with the rest of the Capitol. His suit is a cheaper looking replica of the Hawaiian shirt-inspired suit Perseus Jackson wore for the Tribute Interview.

 

“What is your name, sir?” Tacitus begins.

 

The man opens his mouth just wide enough to say, “Alexander,” before wincing at how speaking pulled at his bandages.

 

“Well, Mr. Alexander,” Tacitus opens, “Did you follow the Hunger Games closely this year?”

 

Alexander lets out a booming laugh before putting his hand on his bandage, as if to keep it in place. “Did I? Why after my chin implant surgery, I had two weeks off work, and I had nothing else to do. And what wonderful timing! That boy sure is something else, huh? What I would’ve given to have half his strength and looks when I was his age…”

 

“So you're glad Perseus Jackson from District 4 won, then?”

 

“Glad? I’m ecstatic! I can tell you, if any of those other district tributes would’ve won, I wouldn’t be outside partying so soon post-op. I even think I might take an extra week off work to try and catch his first public appearance in person.”

 

Tacitus grins, “you ought to look into becoming a journalist, I can work and be there for his first public appearance! What was the part of the games you enjoyed most?”

 

“Him killing those other two tributes immediately in the blood bath. Made this game stand out much more than past ones, that’s for sure. And he made it look so easy, too.”

 

“Well, I’ve certainly got to agree with you there, Alexander. You have a good night and don't party too hard. We wouldn’t want your new implant to get infected.”

 

The video has another cut, and this time he is speaking to a woman whose entire body is painted gold, as well as her clothes, wig, and shoes. It is impossible to pinpoint her age, as her face is artificially pulled back tightly, not a wrinkle in sight—likely the work of multiple face lifts and botox.

 

Tacitus's eyes light up when he sees her. “Miss, before I start the interview, I simply must say how much I adore your outfit. I have to ask: how does it follow the festival’s theme?”

 

“Well, this festival is celebrating Mr. Jackson from District 4, of course, and I am his trophy,” she purrs, “he can come and take me anytime he wants.”

 

With a hysteric giggle—it seems Tacitus is no longer entirely sober at this point of the night—he asks, “I assume you’re happy he won then?”

 

“Happy, is an understatement dear. The elation I feel right now is even stronger than my excitement five years ago, when his fellow district victor, Finnick Odair, won. And I’ve heard a rumor, they’ll be having a photoshoot together. I simply must get my hands on those photos.” The woman rubs her hands together, forcing some of the golden paint on her skin to flake off, revealing dyed sky blue skin underneath.

 

“If those rumors are true, I will be getting some of those photos as well, ma’am.” Tacitus concludes.

 

The interviews cut through faster now. Tacitus is no longer taking his time with each interviewee. Instead he has taken to asking singular questions to large groups.

 

“What was your favorite part of the games?” He asks some fraternity brothers from the University.

 

One of the taller students wearing a fishing net as a cape steps up to answer first, “When he pushed that bear into the water. I think that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” His pupils are blown wide, and he nearly falls as he tries to step back in line with his fellow fraternity brothers.

 

Another group. “I think I about fainted when he took off his shirt!”

 

And another, “When he crawled into that sleeping bag with Annie every night. I thought that was so romantic. I was sure they would kiss!”

 

One of the other members of the group butts in, “I thought Judy and Annie would get into a fight for his love.”

 

“I would’ve just died to see that. You know, some romantic drama would make the games even more interesting to watch—”

 

The video ends abruptly, the file corrupted. 

 

---

 

Attachment 2: Hunger_games_book.pdf

 

*Pictured above: a collectible book documenting the 70th Annual Hunger Games, these books have been published every year since the 11th Hunger Games, with Victor Mags Flanagan, District 4. They always sell well, but this year, the book sold a record breaking amount.*

 

*Notable features include never before seen photos of the 70th Hunger Games, a letter from President Snow, and a photoshoot—including a poster—of Finnick Odair and Perseus Jackson together.*

 

Copyright: The Heavensbee Publishing House, 70 ADD 

 

With special thanks to the government of Panem and President Coriolanus Snow.

 

Table of Contents:

 

Opening Letter from President Snow: Page III

 

The Reaping: Page 1

 

The Tribute Parade: Page 11

 

The Scores: Page 23

 

The Tribute Interviews: Page 26

 

Interviews with the Stylists: Page 50

 

The Bloodbath: Page 65

 

Deaths Eleven-Sixteen: Page 82

 

The Final Eight: Page 110

 

The Feast and Finale: Page 140

 

Interview with Finnick Odair: Page 159

 

Interview with Augustus Flatbone: Page 163

 

The Victor Interview: Page 167

 

Photoshoot with Finnick Odair and Perseus Jackson: Page 178

 

Concluding Discussions and What to Expect from the New Victor: Page 195

 

Introduction: A Letter from President Snow

 

Dear Panem,

 

It is with resounding success that we wrap up our 70th Annual Hunger Games. A brilliant portrayal of humanity, inhumanity, mercy, and wrath, the Hunger Games this year reminds us of its purpose—why we call upon the districts to send us their children every year. It reminds us of our past, and why we can never go back. 

 

Twenty-four promising youth entered the arena just over three weeks ago, at the time I am writing this letter. One has come out not only alive, but a Victor—and a promising one at that. 

 

The Victor is an integral part of the Hunger Games. They represent the hope that we all have. How even in the darkest of days, humanity continues. Just as Panem and its Capitol will continue, victorious, through any times of trouble or uncertainty.

 

As for Panem’s 12 districts: Perseus Jackson, a District 4 native himself, is what every district citizen should aim to be. He is strong, smart, and willing to work. As seen in the final eight interviews, his coworkers and bosses praise his skill on the docks and his never wavering work ethic. No matter how difficult the haul, his boss recalled, Mr. Jackson never complained. I know District 4 will welcome their newest Victor with open arms when he returns.

 

Capitol citizens, I implore you to celebrate Mr. Jackson’s win as if it is your own because, in many ways, it is. We are all excited to see what the young man does next, myself included.

 

Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever,

President Coriolanus Snow

 

---

 

Attachment 3: capitol_couture_finnick_odair_first_victor.pdf

 

 

*Exclusive interview with Capitol Couture, your trusted source for all things fashion and pop culture in Panem*

 

Finnick Odair: On Bringing his First Victor Home

 

By: Plinius Fabula

 

The room in the Tribute’s training center is lavish—that’s my first thought when the Peace Keepers let me into District 4’s latest condo. It is draped in finery with only the most luxurious materials—marble, crystal, mahogany. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a Phipps original vase, standing tall and proud, with a bouquet of white roses in it—likely a congratulatory gift from the President himself. 

 

It is glorious and gorgeous in such a way that it perfectly matches the man sitting across from me: Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65th Annual Hunger Games. It is not the first time I’ve seen him in person, but his beauty is still just as striking as it was when I first interviewed him as a fresh Victor at the age of fourteen. Perhaps it’s even more striking now. After all, he’s only grown more handsome in the past five years.

 

He’s wearing a simple blue jumpsuit, with expensive working boots that have never seen the docks of District 4 before. His sleeves are rolled up to just under his elbow, showing off his muscled forearm. I am grateful for all the years I’ve spent honing my professional mask; otherwise, I might be drooling. 

 

He looks professional but detached. You would never know that just 48 hours earlier he had the biggest success of his career as a mentor—his first Victor. 

 

“Mr. Odair,” I greet. 

 

“Pliny,” Finnick smiles back. He’s always called me that—a nickname for only my closest family and friends. Despite my professional nature, I blush.

 

“Don’t flatter me this early in the interview, Finnick.”

 

“Hard not to.” His grin has a hint of troublemaking to it now. I can’t help but compare it to our newest Victor’s infamous lopsided smile.

 

After some more banter, I cut right to the heart of the matter, asking Finnick what it is like to bring a Victor home for the first time.

 

He pauses for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. “Bittersweet,” he says eventually.

 

“How so?” 

 

He smiles ruefully, “I didn’t get to bring the other tribute home.”

 

I blink in baffled surprise. “Well, no. That’s the point of the games, isn’t it?” I ask.

 

Finnick shakes his head. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

It is moments like these that I am reminded of the ocean between our Victors and us. No matter how handsome or how seemingly integrated, they are still District. I continue the interview.

 

“Have you seen Perseus yet? After he got out of the arena?”

 

Finnick nods, “yes I have.”

 

“How does he feel about his victory?”

 

“It’s hard to say. The first couple of days outside of the arena are never accurate depictions of someone’s emotions by the time the interview comes around.”

 

I laugh, remembering when they used to broadcast the Victors being brought to the hospitals when I was a little kid—decades ago now, though I hate admitting my age. The fresh Victors were always so strange and confused in a way I could never understand. “I imagine that’s true,” I agree.

 

“I want to circle back around to your reaction to bringing a Victor home. Other than bittersweet, how do you feel?”

 

Finnick Odair reaches his hand behind his neck, scratching at his curly bronze hair in a way that would have all the teenage girls—and quite a few of the teenage boys of Panem—sighing. “I haven’t brought him home just yet,” he acknowledges, and I nod along, “but I imagine I’ll feel relief to bring him back to 4 and show him his new house in Victor’s Village.” 

 

Finnick continues, “Perseus fought tooth and nail, and he had a lot of qualities that I think surprised all of us. I’ll be glad to bring him home. Victor’s Village has seemed a bit quiet recently.”

 

Thought I don’t ask, I assume Finnick is referencing Riptide Byrne’s (Victor of 57th Annual Hunger Games, District 4) suicide—almost two years ago now. Most people in Panem don't like to talk about it anymore.

 

“And you’ll continue to act as his mentor on the Victory Tour?”

 

“Of course, what kind of mentor would I be if I didn’t see him the whole way through? Do you take me for a bad mentor?” Finnick pouts, looking somewhat like a kicked puppy, and I rush to reassure him everyone has the utmost trust in his mentoring abilities. He laughs and tells me he was just joking. That's always how Finnick's been, lighthearted and charismatic. A natural heartthrob. I imagine anyone watching would've seen the hearts in my eyes. But rumor has it Finnick Odair isn't exactly available right now.

 

“You even seem to be capable of some great multitasking as a mentor,” I hint, hoping he will know what I am referencing and start the conversation himself. 

 

He looks bashful, tilting his head down towards the floor, but it does nothing to hide how red his ears turn. At only 19, he is still shy about his love-affairs, but I have no doubt that will change as he grows more into himself. He's already been seen out and about with three different high society Capitolites.

 

Accepting that he won’t start the conversation, I prompt, “The paparazzi caught photos of you with the recently widowed Floria Creed.”

 

He coughs to clear his throat. “Yes, well, I was comforting her after her husband's passing. She’s a lovely lady.”

 

“She’s quite a bit older than you,” I tease.

 

He gets control of himself, and his normal charming grin is back as he says, “you shouldn’t discuss a lady’s age.”

 

“No you’re right of course, let’s get back to the purpose of the interview, Perseus Jackson…”

 

---

 

Attachment 4: social_media_thread_70_hg.pdf

 

*A thread on the University’s annual forum for the Hunger Games, anonymous*

 

HaymitchsBitch posted:

 

*A gifset of Perseus Jackson fighting in the 70th Hunger Games, followed by a gif of him shirtless and bathing in a stream*

 

Replies:

 

Just.a.sexy.hot.girl: I’m being so normal about this I swear

       THIRSTYgames: Im not

 

-

 

Jrfoihnofnehoshnfio: I’m convinced district four is manufacturing hot guys or something

       FutureGameMaker: Forget that they’re deadass manufacturing supersoldies. Remember how easily Finnick won? And now Perseus can kill a hog with his bare hands??? I know you all think he’s hot, but we should be more concerned about this.

 

-

 

ShiningLikeDistrict1: i want him to crush me like he crushed that pig

 

-

 

Persues4theWin: My uterus is ready perseus baby

       My-dog-is-a-muttation: dude remember hes district. You do NOT want to be having a kid with district people, even if their a victor.

              Flickerman-raised-me-spiritually: Idk I’m still of the mindset victors should be granted capitol citizenship. At least the good/smart ones. 

                     My-dog-is-a-muttation: I wholeheartedly disagree but its not even about that. They probably have diseases or something

              Future_Valedictorian_losers: *they're

              ShiningLikeDistrict1: hes district 4 not 12 wtf??? 

                     My-dog-is-a-muttation: District is district

                     HaymitchsBitch: District 12 makes hot victors 2 y’all

                            ShiningLikeDistrict1: no one asked you haymitchs bitch

                            FutureGameMaker: @HaymitchsBitch I don’t believe in kink shaming except when its you

                                   HaymitchsBitch: Maybe I should just delete this gifset I worked really hard on then

                                          THIRSTYgames: no pls im begging you njjdfhdsuhgng

 

-

 

wildlikeaMUTT: ok but fr how did he do this

 

---

 

Attachment 5: transcript_prosperity_peace_lecture.pdf

 

*Transcript of a Professor’s lecture at the University in a course titled, Prosperity and Peace in Panem: Understanding the Hunger Games *

 

Professor: “I’ve been holding off discussing this year’s Hunger Games so that we could fully digest what happened all together once they were officially over. All we have left at this point is the Victor’s Interview, so I would like to go ahead and break down some particularly relevant points.”

 

Professor: “Now, to start our lecture off, I would like to go back to a fundamental question when discussing the Hunger Games and our history. What is the purpose of the Hunger Games? Yes, Mr. Anderson–”

 

Anderson: “The Games illustrate the horror and destruction of the Dark Days to both the Capitol and the districts by using district citizens to show the bloodshed that happened on Capitol soil.”

 

Professor: “And why do we do this? Miss Breen.”

 

Breen: “It reminds the districts of what is at stake. By taking away two of their children each year, all the districts get a taste of how bad it could be. It allows them to see how good things are now.”

 

Professor: “Good answer, Mr. Anderson, Miss Breen. Yes, indeed. The districts are not as fortunate as we are—”

 

Unknown student, *muffled and difficult to make out* : “Yeah, you wouldn’t believe how dirty the rest of district 4 was when I vacationed there. You definitely don’t want to leave the resort.”

 

Professor: “So the Hunger Games act as a necessary way to convey to them how dire it would be if they were to ever rebel again, like they did in the Dark Days.”

 

Professor: “Now, to get to the part I know you’re all exciting about—especially you Mr. Anderson, I know you hope to be a future Gamemaker—the most recent Hunger Games. The one that just concluded four days ago." *The Professor claps his hands together* "What are your thoughts on it?”

 

Breen: “I can’t wait for Perseus Jackson’s interview tomorrow!”

 

Unknown student: “That’s just because you think he’s hot.”

 

Breen: “Everyone thinks he’s hot.”

 

*Indistinct chatter breaks out*

 

Professor: “Students, calm down. What, am I teaching in district 12?”

 

*The students calm down, and the occasional laugh is heard, along with one loud groan*

 

Professor: “Are those your only thoughts on this year’s games? That the Victor is hot, and you can’t wait to see his interview?”

 

*More laughter is heard*

 

Professor: “Mr. Bowers, yes. What do you think?”

 

Bowers: “I think it had a really promising beginning, but so many of the tributes died of exposure. And the flooding at the end took them all out too quickly.”

 

Professor: “Plenty of tributes die of exposure every year, but I was hoping one of you would point out the flood. The finales are usually bloody—meaning this one, which took out five of the final six tributes, did not fully serve its purpose of showing how ready district citizens are to turn on each other and likewise, the Capitol, if not kept in check…”

 

---

 

Perdora,

 

I’ve attached two additional primary sources seen below. They’re beneficial for understanding how the government actually reacted to the 70th Hunger Games. I encourage you to read between the lines.

 

My office hours are Wednesdays 2-4pm. If this time doesn’t work for you, I am also available Monday morning from 9-11, and Thursday afternoon from 1:30-4:00.

 

Dr. F

 

Marble Flavian, Ph.D. | Professor of Panem Studies and Theology at Persea University

Follower of the Shrike

Email: [email protected] 

Phone: (1)8452

 

(Email has 2 attachments)

 

Attachment 1: mutt_doc_job_open.pdf

Good evening, you are receiving this letter because government records show you have the necessary education and requirements to fulfill a recent job opening in the Experimental Weapons Division, Muttations Department. This job requires a high level of knowledge in genetics, chemistry, and zoology. The ideal job candidate would have a Ph.D. from University with a field of study in Genetics, Muttationology, or proof of equivalent education. 

 

Benefits: 

• Starting salary of $250,000+
• Healthcare coverage, including dental
• Forgiveness of all past debt (no Peace Keeping service required)
• 30 days PTO every calendar year
• 5 months paid parental leave
• Free tickets for you and your family to all past arenas associated with Panem’s Department of Tourism
• Access to the Gamemakers box every Hunger Games as well as all government sponsored Victor Parties

 

If interested, fill out the attached form, add your CV to the supplied envelope, and mail it to the Muttations Department. 

 

Attachment 2: game_maker_job_open.pdf

Good evening, you are receiving this letter because government records show you have the necessary education and requirements to fulfill a recent job opening in the Hunger Games Department. This job requires knowledge in political science, marketing, communications, and/or business. The ideal job candidate would have at least a Bachelor’s degree from University in political science, business, management, communications, marketing, or equivalent.

 

Benefits: 

• Starting salary of $150,000+
• Healthcare coverage, including dental
• Forgiveness of all past debt (no Peace Keeping service required)
• 30 days PTO every calendar year
• 5 months paid parental leave
• Free tickets for you and your family to all past arenas associated with Panem’s Department of Tourism
• Access to the Gamemakers box every Annual Hunger Games as well as all government sponsored Victor Parties

 

If interested, fill out the attached form, add your CV to the supplied envelope, and mail it to the Hunger Games Department.

Notes:

Well Donald Trump won the election. I've spent the morning in denial, and then the afternoon and evening working on this: a chapter about propaganda in a fascist regime. Felt fitting, idk.

Some worldbuilding notes:
*The books use BDD and ADD to tell time. It stands for Before Dark Days and After Dark Days, and the year of the hunger games lines up with the year ADD. So right now in the story, its 70 ADD
*Perdora is a name I made up based on Theodora, which means "gift of god". Perdora means "gift of Perseus"
*Capitol Couture is a real thing in the Hunger Games world. It was made up as advertisement for the movies (specifically catching fire if I'm remembering correctly). They have a now abandoned tumblr that has some pretty cool stuff on it
*The books talk a lot about how District 12 is kind of a joke, so I made the Capitol citizens be very xenophobic towards the districts, but especially towards 12.
*Percy refused to pose for the cover of the book, but Finnick got his full modeling moment (AKA he was forced into it :( ), Percy was later corralled into a proper photoshoot with Finnick
*Also the student professor email correspondence is based on the stereotypical "student sends proper email and professor sends back 'k' " idea.

 

Anyway, did anyone catch anything interesting?

Chapter 14: So It Goes (Part 3: The Land of Milk and Honey)

Summary:

Perseus Jackson, Victor of the 70th Hunger Games

Notes:

I've hyperfixated hard on this fic, so here's the next chapter, way earlier than normal.

Part 3: The Land of Milk and Honey

 

The first thing they do when they pull Percy into the aircraft is try to take off his wet clothes. It makes sense. He was just in frigid water, and if it were anyone else, they’d be at a high risk of developing hypothermia. 

 

But he doesn’t care that it makes sense. He doesn’t care about pretending to be normal. Their hands are all over him—his chest, his arms, his legs—trying to calm him down, or pin him down maybe. But he’s tossing himself around like a wild animal. 

 

He needs space. 

 

A small part of him notices they’ve only sent large men to try and hold him down, and he wonders if it’s because of the boar. Or maybe they’re just used to the tributes fighting back, like a cornered animal.

 

There’s yelling all around him. Percy’s throwing men off of him left and right. He pushes his hand out, smacking some man in the ribs before forcefully pushing him away. He lets out a grunt, and Percy swears he felt something snap under his hands. More people flood into the room.

 

A dart flies towards him, and Percy drops to the cold metal floor to avoid it. But there’s more than just the one, making them hard to dodge—especially now that he’s on the ground, and he’s so tired. He can’t fight forever. He practically feels his gas tank hitting empty. 

 

Another dart flies towards him, and this time he doesn’t dodge in time. It hits him in the shoulder, and the cold, metallic interior of the hovercraft turns black. 

 

---

 

When he wakes up, he has a pounding headache. He doesn’t know if it’s from stress or whatever drugs they put in the dart or something else entirely, but his head feels like it’s splitting open. It forces him to keep his eyes closed—blocking out the bright, fluorescent lights of the room. 

 

He feels panic build in his chest, but he forces himself to stay calm and take deep breaths. He doesn’t know where he is, except for the fact that he knows he left the arena. That doesn’t mean he’s any safer though.

 

Hesitantly, he focuses on his other senses. There's a repetitive beeping sound he’s never heard in real life before, but he recognizes it from a handful of movies and TV shows: a heart monitor. He must be in some kind of hospital, which makes sense if they were concerned about hypothermia. 

 

He tries to stretch out his limbs only to find he can’t. Like some kind of horror movie, he’s strapped down to the bed. He might be able to destroy the restraints if he really tries, but that’ll just bring attention to him and possibly more darts. That’s the last thing he needs right now.

 

Percy focuses again, and this time, he can feel the IV stuck in the back of his hand, and the absolute mountain of heavy blankets on top of him. He’s surprised he didn’t notice them earlier. There are so many of them, and he’s burning up. He cracks his eyes open briefly to see if there’s an easy way to get them off, but all he gets for his efforts is another stabbing pain behind his eyes. 

 

He’d have to move to get them off, and he’d have to destroy the restraints to move. He lets out a frustrated groan.

 

“Are you up for good this time?” A vaguely familiar voice asks from his side. There’s something off about it, though. It sounds congested. 

 

Percy turns his head before finally opening his eyes fully, ignoring any pain it causes. There, lounging on a shitty plastic chair at the side of his bed is Finnick Odair.

 

To say Percy is surprised to see him is an understatement. He’d thought for sure Finnick wouldn’t show his face at all in public after Annie’s… well, disappearance.

 

He blinks forcefully, as if Finnick is a hallucination that will disappear if he simply stops looking at him. He doesn’t. Percy takes the time to study him closer. 

 

At first glance, he looks put together, or maybe just normal. But when he looks a bit closer, he notices Finnick’s waterline is a bright red—a sign he’s been crying. But he doesn’t show any other signs, except for maybe the tiniest amount of puffiness on his face—and Percy half thinks he’s just seeing it because he’s looking for it.

 

And that’s it. No red cheeks, runny nose, or wet face. His face is so perfectly tan, Percy almost thinks Finnick’s wearing makeup. 

 

Percy’s thoughts grind to a halt. Finnick is wearing makeup. He was probably crying about Annie before suddenly stopping and applying makeup to cover it up. Why would he do that? Who was he even going to see? A bed-ridden and half-delirious Percy? 

 

He pictures Finnick perched at the side of his hospital bed on a tiny plastic chair, frantically applying makeup with one of those tiny-hand held mirrors on the off-chance Percy was going to wake up and notice he’d been crying.

 

The idea is so absurd, Percy almost laughs. He looks away to hide his grin, and his eyes fall back to the blankets. The restraints under them seem to almost burn where they touch his skin. Suddenly Percy remembers why he’s here.

 

He was the last survivor. Twenty-three other kids entered that arena with him, and now they’re all dead. Or, in Annie’s case, maybe-dead. Jury’s still out. Any mirth Percy felt is gone now, stomach heavy with dread as pressure builds behind his eyes—not his headache, but tears. 

 

He feels his eyes grow wet. If Finnick wasn’t so intent on hiding that he had been crying, they could be weeping together, like some fucked up support group. 

 

He opens his mouth to try and talk, “Where’s Mags?” He tries to say, but his throat is so parched, it comes out completely garbled. That only makes the tears in his eyes fall. 

 

“Shit,” he hears Finnick curse, and now that Percy’s looking for the signs, he can tell Finnick’s voice isn’t congested, but rough and low from crying. 

 

Finnick reaches over to grab something out of Percy’s line of sight. It makes him antsy, but when Finnick leans back over towards him, he sees that it’s just a bottle of water with a metal straw in it. Finnick holds it up to his mouth, and Percy takes a sip. He should be grateful, but all he feels is tired.

 

“You’ve woken up a couple of times now, but you were pretty out of it. The doctor said you probably wouldn’t remember it.” Finnick pauses here, pulling the water bottle away from Percy’s mouth, as if waiting for a response. Percy doesn’t give him one. 

 

“You were taken out of the arena almost two days ago. Surprisingly, you were pretty stable. They went ahead and took you to dermis surgery that same day.”

 

Percy’s eyes, which had settled onto his lap—trying to glare holes in his restraints or something—dart over to Finnick. “What?” He croaks out. This time, it is vaguely more comprehensible, but still pretty garbled. 

 

Luckily, it seems like Finnick can guess what he’s asking. “Nothing serious. Like I said, you were stable when they took you out of the arena—no actual medical help needed other than warming you up. And everyone already thinks you’re handsome, so they didn’t think any real plastic surgery was needed.” Finnick’s voice, which had been neutral towards Percy ever since he woke up, now turns bitter. “They just did a minor cosmetic procedure to get rid of some old scars. You didn’t even get any major ones from the arena.”

 

Percy’s mind feels like it's stuck in molasses, everything processing twice as slow as usual. It takes him a long moment before he actually understands what Finnick just said. Plastic surgery? Cosmetic procedure? He knew the victors were treated like celebrities, but did they really throw them into elective procedures immediately after they pluck them from the arena?

 

Percy eyes Finnick again, thinking of the bitterness in his voice. Had they done that to Finnick? It was strange to look at his face and think anything needed changing, but the Capitol had weird ideas about beauty. 

 

Then again, hadn’t he only been fourteen when he won? Would they perform plastic surgery on a fourteen year-old?

 

The direction the one-sided conversation took doesn’t make Percy feel any better. He coughs to clear his throat before attempting to speak again. He needs Finnick to understand what he’s saying if he wants an answer, after all.

 

“Where’s,” his voice cracks, and he tries again, “Where’s Mags?”

 

Finnick’s eyes meet his for a nanosecond before he looks up at the ceiling. Like the soulless white paint is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Percy watches as he swallows. 

 

“She’s in the hospital, recovering.” Percy only half registers the words before he’s pulling as hard as he can against the restraints. Finnick’s hand settles on his upper arm, trying to stop him from thrashing around.

 

“Calm down. This’ll only cause them to put you under again.” But Percy doesn’t listen, and less than a minute later, the black spots start to appear in his vision.

 

No one had even come into the room, and Finnick definitely didn’t grab anything. His IV must have remote activated anesthetics. The last thing Percy thinks before he goes under is, those bitches.

 

---

 

It feels like only seconds later that Percy opens his eyes again—fighting valiantly against how heavy they feel. His body wants nothing more than to go to sleep, but his mind needs to know what happened to Mags. If she’s okay.

 

He turns to where Finnick was earlier and realizes he’s been asleep a lot longer than he thought. Finnick is wearing an entirely different outfit now. The one before had been a fancy button up and ironed slacks. Now, he’s wearing sweats and he’s got his arms crossed and head tilted down, chin resting on his chest. He’s asleep.

 

Too bad Percy doesn’t care. “Finnick,” he calls, and when he doesn’t stir, Percy says it again, louder. “Finnick!” The quasi-yell scratches his throat, and he wishes he had the chance to drink more water earlier. But he can’t care about that now.

 

Finnick’s head lurches to the side before his green eyes fly open, taking a second to focus on Percy. He clears his throat. “Morning.”

 

“What happened to Mags?” Percy says, cutting right to the point.

 

Finnick groans, closing his eyes and bringing his hand up to rub his face. He looks just as exhausted as Percy feels.

 

“She had a stroke, about a week after the games started. She’s more or less fine now, but she’s having trouble moving the right side of her body and she can’t really talk. Well, she can talk but it’s just gibberish right now. There’s a speech therapist helping her work on her speaking, and someone else is helping her learn to move. They told me what his title was, but I can’t remember.”

 

“An occupational therapist,” Percy says without thinking about it. Lee, before he died, had wanted to become one. 

 

Percy feels off balance as his stomach rolls. Mags had been the only person who was kind to him—other than Annie—and now they had both been taken from him. Well, no, he corrects himself. Mags had a stroke. Tons of people have strokes, he reassures himself. She’ll be okay.

 

He just wishes she had been here to comfort him after he woke up. 

 

He berates himself immediately. She’s in the hospital and instead of wishing she’s okay, he’s wishing she was comforting him? That’s selfish , he tells himself.

 

“Yeah, that,” Finnick’s voice interrupts Percy’s thoughts. “They’re aren’t any of those back in 4.”

 

He looks at Percy with an unreadable expression. “Bad news is, as of right now, she won’t be coming back with us on time.”

 

“Why?”

 

“She needs an occupational therapist and a speech therapist, and like I said, we don’t have those in 4. They aren’t letting her leave the Capitol until she’s as recovered as she can be.” Finnick’s staring past Percy now, glaring at his IV pole like it personally offended him. “They think it’ll take a couple of months.”

 

“Can we stay here with her?” Percy asks. His heart rate spikes at the thought of leaving Mags alone, miles away from home. 

 

Finnick’s fists ball up, his knuckles turning white. “No, the welcome home is the last part of the Hunger Games. They have to film us getting off the train at 4 pretty much as soon as you’re done with all your interviews and photoshoots.”

 

Photoshoots? Percy mouths to himself. 

 

“And that’s another thing,” Finnick says, still staring at the IV pole instead of Percy. “Mags’s condition hasn’t been publicly disclosed yet, meaning they can’t explain away her absence as your mentor.” Finnick’s teeth clinch as forces out his next words. “As far as the public knows, I was your mentor this whole time.”

 

Percy rears back as if hit. They wanted to lie and say Finnick was always Percy’s mentor? That felt wrong in so many ways. 

 

It erased not only Mags, but also Annie. Annie, Finnick’s girlfriend, Percy remembers with a heavy heart. He wasn’t the only one having a bad time. 

 

He can’t wrestle up the emotional bandwidth to be kind to Finnick though. Percy likes to think he’s nice, but he just doesn’t have the energy to ask how Finnick is doing. He barely has the energy to stop himself from snapping at him—for blaming him for Mags’s stroke.

 

The adrenaline the news about Mags caused is rushing through his veins, fighting off the lingering drowsiness from the anesthesia, but regardless Percy says, “I’m tired. I think I’m going to go to sleep.” His voice is light, almost seeming carefree. He feels like someone else was speaking.

 

Finnick finally looks away from the IV pole and nods, before turning to leave the room. Percy watches as he goes.

 

---

 

The hospital staff move him to the Tribute Center within a day, saying he’s recovered enough. He still has a whole parade of people watching him—notably excluding Finnick—and he can’t help but notice there are no sharp objects, pills, or convenient blankets anywhere on their floor. They put the equivalent of a sleeping bag on his bed, and a brunet Avox comes in every morning with a razor to shave him.

 

Three times a day, a nurse comes by to not only give him food, but also this strange strawberry flavored drink. It kind of tastes like a protein drink, all chalky, and he wonders if it’s dense in calories to try and put some weight back on him. 

 

It would make sense. The last time he showered, he almost fell when he saw his reflection in the mirror—face gaunt and ribs poking out beneath his skin. Even his skin looks thinner than he remembers. 

 

He asks the nurse about it one day, and she answers in the affirmative. “That’s why you haven’t had your interview yet, sweetie,” she says. “They want you to look healthier. Now, finish your plate.”

 

The next day, she brings in a magazine for him to read. Capitol Couture , the title reads. He guesses that it's Panem's version of Vogue . He recognizes the face staring up at him from the cover immediately—it’s the same one he hasn’t seen since the hospital. 

 

Finnick looks good, he notices. No exhaustion or red eyes to be seen as he models like he was born for it. Percy had thought he was spending the past couple of days with Mags in the hospital. Looks like he was wrong, he thinks bitterly. 

 

The subtitle, “Finnick Odair: On Bringing his First Victor Home,” pisses him off. He knows they were playing it off like Finnick was his mentor the whole time, but he hadn’t done anything for him—Mags did. And now he’s getting all the credit. 

 

Despite himself, he opens the magazine, skipping past all the stupid gossip about the latest Capitolite celebrities until finally, he finds Finnick’s interview. 

 

It starts out alright, even if the interviewer is annoying as hell, but it quickly goes downhill. He’s flirting with the interviewer, and even if Percy wants to be nice and say that’s just his personality, it’s still something he shouldn’t do this soon after he thinks his girlfriend died. 

 

Maybe Percy should be more generous in his assumptions, but he doesn’t feel like it. 

 

The article goes on, and it seems like Finnick was actually affected by Annie’s death, even if he’s trying to hide it. 

 

And then it comes to the worst part. While Annie and Percy were fighting for their lives in the arena, Finnick was going on a date with a recently widowed cougar. 

 

“I was comforting her after her husband's passing. She’s a lovely lady.” Finnick says. And I was comforting Annie while you were with her, Percy thinks.

 

To say Percy is pissed is an understatement. How could he do that to Annie? He feels his cheeks heat up, blood flowing to his face as his anger builds. He tries to calm himself—maybe, they had an open relationship or something. But it still feels wrong. If Annabeth had been in a death match, Percy would’ve never been going on a date with someone else, open relationship or not. 

 

Then he realizes something else. That night Annie asked for a sponsorship gift and nothing had come, was that because Finnick was out with this woman? Had Mags already had her stroke? With both their mentors indisposed, they never would’ve been sent a parachute. He remembers Annie’s disappointed face, and the thought makes him incandescent with rage.

 

He can barely get his stupid strawberry drink down under the watchful eyes of his nurse.

 

---

 

It’s a week later that Percy finally sees Finnick again, and he’s dragging Amos, Augustus, and Percy’s prep team behind him. Percy scowls.

 

Amos is the first to speak. “Ah, there’s our victor!” He croons, throwing his arms out as if expecting a hug, drawing attention to the stupid fringes on his neon yellow jacket. 

 

Percy doesn’t move, staring at him dispassionately. He notices Amos is still wearing that stupid pearl rosary. His mind flashes back to the four months he had spent at a private catholic middle school before being expelled. They had passed out rosaries to the whole class before dragging them to the next-door church to pray. Percy had put his around his neck, and Mrs. Nelson had thrown a fit. They aren’t a necklace, she had screeched. 

 

He thinks Mrs. Nelson would hate Amos. And Percy thought he would never have anything in common with her.

 

Augustus congratulates him loudly, claiming he always knew Percy would be the victor, and Percy notices Finnick scowl for the briefest moment before putting on his best poker face. The prep team follow Augustus’s lead with enthusiastic congratulations, fluttering around him—practically skipping.

 

“Perseus,” Finnick greets, much more mildly. Even though he’s pissed at him right now, Percy appreciates that Finnick has never congratulated him on his “win.”

 

Then again, he is the only person in this room who knows first-hand what he’s gone through. 

 

“We have a lot of work to do before the interview tonight, so let’s get started,” Amos prompts, waving his gold-adorned hands at Percy, trying to get him to sit down. 

 

Percy ignores him. His eyes meet Finnick’s as he asks, “What interview?”

 

Finnick opens his mouth to answer, but Augustus beats him to it. “Your Victor Interview of course! They’ve already put it off for far too long because they wanted you to look healthier for it, but it’s really far past time. I mean, other tributes have had to recover from much worse. You really got off lightly, sweetie.” 

 

Hearing the word “sweetie,” in Augustus’s voice activates Percy’s fight or flight instinct, and unfortunately for Augustus, Percy isn’t about to fly anywhere.

 

“Do not call me that,” he snaps. He doesn’t even think it’s that aggressive, but everyone reacts like he just attacked Augustus, tensing up and eyeing Percy like he’s a rabid dog. Augustus himself even takes a step back. Percy has never thought of himself as scary before, but other people have told him he can be, and he guesses this must be one of those times.

 

He remembers Rachel’s paintings, done after she saw him in battle—an animalistic hunger painted on his face, even after the fight was over. He remembers Frank telling him that he has a killer glare on the Argo II, with Hazel shivering at the memory of seeing it on their quest. Normally, Percy would calm himself. He doesn’t like being scary, especially now. It just reminds him of Annabeth in Tartarus.

 

But he can’t bring himself to care right now. Maybe these Capitolites, who are complacent in the Hunger Games every year, deserve to be a little scared.

 

Without even thinking about it, his eyes flick over to Finnick, again. He’s nowhere near as terrified as the other’s look, but he’s not entirely unfazed either. He looks more wary than anything else. Percy thinks he must know what danger looks like. 

 

Percy chews the inside of his cheek as he forces his eyes to stare unfocused at the wall behind everyone. 

 

Somewhat expectedly, Finnick is the first to recover. “Amos, I’d like to speak with Percy before you make him up, if you wouldn’t mind. My interview is directly after him, so I’ve got to see my own prep team before he goes on.”

 

“Of course, Finnick, of course,” Amos agrees easily, and Finncik steps forward to stir Percy out of the room, down the hallway and into what must’ve been Finnick’s room, though Percy knows he hasn’t used it at all since they placed Percy back here and locked him up. It looks just as soulless as Percy’s room, but at least Finnick has blankets.

 

Percy has a million things he wants to say to Finnick—to ask him. For better or worse, he’s replaced Mags as his mentor now, and he really needs a mentor to tell him what the fuck is going on. 

 

Instead of asking anything productive though, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Why didn’t you tell me about the interview?” Then, slightly more helpfully, Percy asks, “Where have you been?” His voice is a quiet hiss, like he’s worried Amos, Augustus, and his prep team might hear him all the way out at the front of the suite. 

 

Finnick’s face scrunches up, no doubt pissed at Percy’s tone, but Percy is so beyond caring at this point. Finnick must realize this because he just lets out a huff, giving up on chastising Percy before he even starts. “I’ve been at the hospital with Mags,” he says before continuing under his breath, “mostly.”

 

The reminder that Percy could’ve been at Mags’s side this whole time aggravates him. “I want to see her,” he says, tone demanding. He kind of feels like a toddler, but he doesn’t care.

 

Finnick purses his lips. “Look, that’s partially why I pulled you in here,” he says. “You seeing Mags isn’t really up to me, and it isn’t up to you either. They want your interview to go a very specific way, Perseus.”

 

Percy knows Finnick is trying to tell him something, but he’s missing far too many pieces to even begin to put it together. “What do you mean?”

 

Finnick stares over his head, preparing himself for whatever he’s about to say. “There were a lot of things that were… off about this year’s games,” he starts. “They want you to be very careful about how you talk about them in this interview. They don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” 

 

Percy thinks back to the arena, all of the times he used his powers—causing it to rain, busting the dam, the fish being friendly with him, but most glaringly, Annie—was that what Finnick was referring to?

 

His confusion must show on his face because Finnick continues. “Those fish mutts you encountered, they never even tried to hurt you—that’s a major failing on the scientists' part, and the general public cannot know that. And the dam bursting happened too soon. You have to be careful about how you talk about this, don’t imply anything in your interview that might even hint towards it.”

 

“Look at me,” Finnick says, tone sounding much older than any nineteen year old had the right to. Percy meets his eyes. “I was told to tell you this. If you want to visit Mags, this interview has to go well—no double meanings, no hints—I’m serious, okay? You do not want to mess around with this.”

 

Percy was used to being called stupid, but he wasn’t actually. He could put 2 and 2 together and get 4. He knows what Finnick is actually saying; he remembers the lashes from the Peacekeepers. 

 

Forget Mags, if he messes up this interview, he’ll be the one who needs to go to the hospital. And that’s not even including the possibility that they might do something to Mags if they think it’ll hurt him.

 

“Okay,” Percy says, voice still quiet, but lacking the aggression it had earlier. The tension in Finnick’s shoulders bleeds out, like he’s dropped a weight he’s been carrying for days. He takes a step back from Percy. 

 

He hadn’t even realized how close Finnick had been standing.

 

“How should I act in this interview, then?” Percy asks.

 

“It doesn’t really matter. They’ll make you into whatever they want you to be anyway.” Finnick says before reaching out to open the door, but instead of turning the door knob, his hand just rests there, back turned towards Percy for a long moment. 

 

“We have a photoshoot tomorrow.” Finnick says before finally opening the door. 

 

“Is that normal?” Percy asks as he follows him out into the hallway and back towards the vultures. 

 

“No.”

 

---

 

Percy isn’t going to say he wishes he was back in the arena, but being back under the scrutiny of Amos and his prep team does make Percy miss the artificial woods and piranha infested reservoir. 

 

Amos tuts at his five-o’clock shadow, claiming the Avox who shaved him this morning had no idea what he was doing, which Percy thought was kind of bullshit—that's not how five-o'clock shadows work—but he didn’t argue. Honestly, he really just didn’t want to talk to Amos, so he lets Amos chatter at him uselessly. Percy has no idea what he’s talking about and he doesn’t care to learn, so he allows the words to go in one ear and out the other as a member of the prep team plucks his eyebrows and another cuts his hair. 

 

In no time, they’re on to makeup, buffing blue, silver, and red onto his eyes. When they’re done with that, Amos opens another tube of makeup—this one the same shade as Percy’s skin—and tells the makeup artist to “go heavy” with it. 

 

She listens, and by the time she’s done Percy feels like he’s wearing a pound of makeup on his face. Augustus, who refused to leave, passes him a handheld mirror, and Percy holds it up. They managed to cover up his skin’s still sickly pallor, but his undereye bags proved too powerful for their makeup, the puffy folds causing stark lines under his eyes. They did manage to cover up the purple bruise-like color, though.

 

“Honestly, Perseus,” Amos chastises as if he knows what Percy is thinking. “Have you been sleeping at all?”

 

Percy looks at him in disbelief. The question is so stupid he can’t even bring himself to be angry. No, he had not been sleeping. Not since they stopped pumping anesthesia into him. He had fallen asleep exactly once, and had a dream of peacefully floating at sea only to see Judy’s drowned body floating past him, followed by Annabeth’s, and Annie’s and his mom and Grover and what seemed like everyone else he ever loved. 

 

So yeah, his undereye bags are large. Amos shoots a look to Augustus, who mumbles something about telling the doctor before he—finally—leaves the room. 

 

Percy doesn’t get a moment to enjoy the Augustus-free atmosphere though because without further ado, Amos pulls out his latest torture device. Er, sorry, outfit for Percy.

 

Percy’s mouth doesn’t drop open in horror, but that’s only because he’s so desensitized to horrible and/or dumb shit at this point. The outfit looks like the costumes from the end scene of Mamma Mia , with a scale pattern clearly meant to mimic the piranhas from the reservoir.

 

Finnick’s words from earlier ring in his mind, Those fish mutts you encountered, they never even tried to hurt you—that’s a major failing on the scientists' part, and the general public cannot know that . 

 

The outfit feels like waving a red flag at a bull. Percy thinks about Mags, recovering at an unnamed Capitol hospital, and he takes in a deep breath, preparing to throw the tantrum of a lifetime to get out of wearing it.

 

He has more than enough frustration to pull it off.

 

---

 

Two of the three members of his prep team are crying by the time he’s done, and Amos has run off to find the original outfit Percy was supposed to wear, before the piranhas decided they were in love with him and it was broadcasted on national TV. 

 

Percy feels far more satisfied by it than he should.

 

He knows he chose right when he’s standing in front of Caesar Flickerman wearing an ombre suit that turns from a blue to dark green, with glued on starfish all along the blazer. The starfish are stupid, but at least he’s not risking getting murdered for his stylist’s nerve. 

 

Caesar smiles at him, but Percy doesn’t smile back. His hair is still that same, stupid green, but his roots are starting to grow. The audience in front of them is cheering loudly at Percy’s appearance on stage, some even chanting his name, but he couldn’t care less. He feels exactly like he did when Amos was talking earlier. It’s like he’s a husk, all dolled up but filled only with exhaustion and apathy. 

 

Caesar seems off put for the briefest moment before he steamrolls over Percy’s rudeness, gesturing for him to sit on the seat opposite of him. It’s dressed up like a throne.

 

Finnick is sitting off to the side, where the popular and well-known victors and stylists all sit, just past the camera filming Percy’s every move. Despite Percy’s expectations, he doesn’t seem upset that Percy didn’t force a smile for Caesar, which reassures him. He hasn’t messed up yet. 

 

Once they’re both settled into their seats, Caesar opens his mouth. “Well, Percy—can I call you Percy?” Caesar begins with a politician’s smile. He starts his next words immediately, making it obvious the question was rhetorical.

 

But Percy doesn’t let it go unanswered. “No.” he says, miffed. A year ago, everyone called him Percy, but that was a year ago . Now, hearing that name out of Caesar Flickerman’s mouth felt deeply wrong, like poison on his tongue that he can’t spit it out.

 

Caesar stops what he was saying—a generic congratulations, how surprising. “No?” Caesar asks, as if he thought he heard Percy wrong.

 

“No.” Percy repeats, even firmer this time. His voice sounds low, dangerous. Almost like his father’s. 

 

He doesn’t even look in Finnick’s direction to see if this was the wrong move. He’s not budging on this. 

 

Once again, Caesar recovers quickly enough, laughing it off. “Of course, I’m sure you wanted to save that as something special between your district partner and you.” The audience oohs and ahs at this, but Percy says nothing, staring dispassionately at the mention of Annie, and Caesar continues the interview.

 

“How does it feel to be a victor?” Caesar asks, and he makes some weird hand gesture as he does, like a mix of a fist jutting upwards in glory or a hand stabbing someone. Percy watches dispassionately.

 

“Fine,” he says. And as he says it a beautiful thought comes to his mind. He could just… give a shit interview. He doesn’t have to be charming or likable like he did in the tribute interview. Finnick had warned him he couldn’t point out the Gamemakers’ mistakes in the interview; he hadn’t said anything about not answering Caesar’s questions. He smiles internally, while maintaining the same, vaguely pissed off outward appearance. 

 

He can hear the audience muttering, but Caesar asks his next question anyway. “Well, I really want to ask you about your fights in the arena—notably with a certain bear and hog.” At the mention of the mutts, the audience cheers again, screaming like they’re at a concert. Percy resists the urge to cover his ears.

 

“You’re rather strong, aren’t you?” Caesar asks.

 

“Yes,” Percy says. No use denying it.

 

And on and on the interview goes, Caesar doing his best to cover up his annoyance at Percy’s “yes” and “no” gruff answers. Strangely enough, the audience seems to genuinely find it charming. Percy has no idea what to even think about that.

 

Finally, when Caesar’s questions start to lose steam, Percy thinks the interview might almost be over. Then it’ll just be the crowning ceremony, and he’s done for the night.

 

But that’s not the case.

 

“And now, it is time for everyone’s favorite part of the victor interview—the recap video of this year’s Hunger Games!” With that, the previously dark TV screens hung up around the room light up, with a big 70 coming on screen. 

 

Percy’s indifferent mask drops for one of horror. Instinctively, he seeks out the only friendly face in the room. Finnick is staring at the nearest screen, not even looking at him. 

 

Why hadn’t he warned Percy about this? Didn’t he know Percy had never experienced this before? He didn’t know what was going to happen unless someone—i.e. his mentor—told him!

 

As the Panem national anthem plays and the tributes’ faces flash across the screen, Percy glares at Finnick, and wishes, not for the first time, that Mags was here.

Notes:

I was at a coffee shop working on this chapter for so long that the barista asked me to leave, rip. Anyway some comments:

-This chapter starts part 3 of the fic. It'll last until a little after the Victory Tour, and then it's part four, which is the part where Percy/Finnick actually happens. Exciting stuff coming up!

-I know a lot of you picked up on the "didn't get sponsor gifts" thing AND the "Finnick isn't Percy's mentor?" thing, but I didn't see anyone guess what actually happened, so I hope it was surprising. We all knew Mags had to have a stroke at some point before the 75th hunger games, and it's never stated when it happened in the books. So, I decided to make both Finnick and Percy's life harder by having it happen during the 70th Hunger Games. Poor babies, I'm really not giving them a break.

-Wow look! Percy and Finnick finally had a one-on-one conversation, and it's only 63k words in! So fast paced. I swear the ship is actually very relevant to this story lol.

-If Percy's interview tactic at the end seems familiar, it's because that's how Thresh acts in his interview with Caesar Flickerman. I like to think a 14 year old Thresh is watching Percy's interview and thinking to himself, "that's how I'm going to act if I'm ever reaped"

- I made a tumblr to discuss this fic (and my other fics too, if you want), you can find it HERE

-Also important note: I had a couple of people on the last chapter tell me to "not push politics on them" so I want to state very clearly that this is a HUNGER GAMES fanfic (plus Percy Jackson, but in this context, I'm talking about thg). It is going to be political. It's only going to get more political from this point onward. Consider this your warning/disclaimer. Idk why you're reading hunger games fanfic if you don't want to read political discussions, honestly. That one's kind of on you.

Chapter 15: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Notes:

Short chapter today

Staring at the faces of all of the dead tributes—some of which died at his own hand—fills him with a deep sense of dread. This is the most anxious he’s been for a movie since Annabeth and him planned their not-date after his Goode high school orientation.

 

He won’t say he’d kill to be back there, but he understands the sentiment.

 

The Panem national anthem draws to a close as the screens cut to shots of the audience roaring in excitement. The words “The Tribute Parade” flash across the screen, followed by close-ups of the horses and chariots. The whole thing has an eerie blue tint to it, like the Twilight movie the Aphrodite and Hermes cabin teamed up to force the whole camp to watch.

 

And then, one-by-one the Tributes are pulled out onto the path, each wearing an outfit stupider than the last. They spend the most time showing Percy’s face, which he assumed was because he’s the one who survived, but they follow his close-up with cuts to various signs talking about him and what people would like him to do—each worse than the last. The reject me so I can move on! sign was far more tame than the ones the editors have chosen to include. 

 

Percy stares at the corner of the screen he’s supposed to be looking at, keeping his face blank. He will not give these people a reaction. That’s what they want. 

 

In no time, the tribute parade is over, and it moves on to the interviews. They must be on a time constraint, because they cut a lot of people out—really only letting Percy, Andromeda, Trenton, and Will have any screen time. The people who gave them a show , Percy thinks resentfully. 

 

In between each of the four of their interviews, Caesar and Claudius Templesmith give a short commentary. For Andromeda, Caesar tells Claudius that “all the trainers have bet—unofficially, of course—on her as the winner.”

 

For Will, Claudius gushes about how cute he is, “I’m always hopeful that the younger kids will turn into a dark horse, like Finnick Odair five years ago.”

 

Caesar laughs, “Well, I don’t want to dash your hopes, but I do think Finnick Odair was a bit of an outlier.”

 

For Trenton, “Now look, if you don’t want a career pack Victor, this is who you want to bet on!”

 

And for Percy—who despite going 8th in the actual interviews, was saved for last in the recap—Caesar turns to face Claudius before saying. “Perseus Jackson is such a charming young man, and he has the endurance and strength he needs from his work in District 4. But I worry his chances might be negatively impacted by his mentor, Mr. Odair, having two tributes this year.”

 

Claudius hums in agreement, “Yes, Haymitch Abernathy from District 12 has been grappling with that problem for almost twenty years now, and he’s yet to bring a Victor home. I certainly think that’s a hit for both the District 4 tributes this year.”

 

Percy bites the inside of his cheek to stop his lips from pursing. They filmed this after Mags had her stroke. He knows propaganda is a large part of how the Hunger Games run, and Panem in general, but knowing it happens is different from seeing it in real time.

 

No one in the audience notices the lie. Instead, they make empathetic noises for the fabricated hardship Percy and Finnick had to fight through. 

 

Neither Annie’s nor Judy’s interview is included in the recap. Percy doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

 

And then the worst part starts. The camera pans around beautiful scenery Percy knows all too well—autumnal woods, a colorful field, scenic mountains, and a glistening reservoir with a shitty dam. The words The 70th Hunger Games: The First Day flashes across the screen over a backdrop of red and orange leaves. 

 

It’s like he’s about to watch a horror movie he’s seen before—but that he knows will affect him no less than it did the first time. 

 

Finally, the camera settles on the cornucopia, surrounded by drenched supplies and mud. You could hear a pin drop in the room. The tributes come up from their tube, and then they’re off. Percy, of course, reaches the supplies first, but the camera doesn’t focus on him for very long. Instead, it cuts between gorey death to gorey death, with Andromeda’s murder of the District 6 boy getting special attention, followed by Lace stabbing a teenage girl—Percy thinks she’s from district 9. 

 

Strangely enough, it’s easier to watch the violence on TV than it was to live it in person. His mind must’ve decided to treat this just like any other movie—for his own sanity. He doesn’t know if that’s reassuring or horrifying. 

 

Then Percy catches the arrow out of the air, and the camera only has eyes for him again. The freak show, protecting some random girl not even from his own district. Percy has never had the opportunity to see himself in battle before, and now that he has, he hopes he never has to see it again. 

 

Rachel’s painting was right. He is terrifying.

 

On screen, he turns to Lace, who’s charging at Judy and him. Percy doesn’t even have a weapon, and he makes no move to pick one up. People in the audience are laughing and gasping in expectation, loving the spectacle as Percy’s snaps Lace’s neck. Percy watches the movement of his arm as he does it, unable to look away from visual proof of how effortless it was.

 

Someone in the audience wolf whistles, and it takes all of Percy’s effort to not move. The camera shows Judy and him agreeing to be allies. As if foreshadowing Percy’s future alliance with Annie, it cuts to her next as she spears someone through the sternum with her trident. There’s no hesitation. 

 

And then it’s Emerald’s turn to die. Watching the beheading again is horrible, far more bloody and gorey and accurate than any horror movie Percy’s seen. It almost makes him glad Annie wasn’t the Victor. He doesn’t know how she would’ve handled watching this on live TV. 

 

What’s worse is they play the scene for laughs, with a laugh track added on for when Nero misses Trenton and kills Emerald, his ally, instead. A ba dum tss sounds when Annie catches Emerald’s head. The live audience is laughing along with the laugh track. It only gets louder when Nero hits her on the head to knock her out.

 

Percy glares even harder at the TV.

 

Trenton runs away to safety, a large bag on his back, and a bloody Nero turns his attention to Percy. Percy doesn’t know if Nero saw him kill Lace, but he seems angry enough at him that he might’ve.

 

Then they’re on the ground, Emerald’s arrow sticking out of Nero’s throat. Somehow, in all of the chaos and noise, the microphone managed to pick up the gurgling sound Nero makes. Percy allows himself to blink for just a second longer than normal.

 

For Percy, Annie, and Judy, the bloodbath is over. But there are still plenty of tributes left at the cornucopia. The camera shows two more tributes’ deaths before panning around to all of the dead bodies scattered around the field. 

 

Unsurprisingly, Andromeda is the only person left at the Cornucopia—the rest of the tributes either long gone or dead. She has her pick of supplies, though the recap doesn’t allow any time for her to look through it all. 

 

Instead, it’s back on Percy, Judy, and Annie just in time to show their reactions to the cannons sounding for the tributes that died in the bloodbath. 

 

Trenton settles further up the mountain than Percy, Annie, and Judy did, walking through the night until he is high enough to be satisfied. He is lucky enough to find a stream that even had fish in it, though he makes no effort to actually fish for them. Percy guesses he’s never had to do that before and doesn’t know how to even start.

 

Andromeda is still by the cornucopia with a small supply of food and water jugs that’ll keep her going for a week if she’s careful with rationing. 

 

Three different tributes die from exposure at different times throughout the night—lacking the necessary supplies and knowledge to avoid hypothermia. Those are almost harder to watch than the bloodbath deaths.

 

The Second Day flashes across the screen over a shot of Percy gathering crabapples. Percy watches as he grabs Judy and outruns a bear. Yikes , he thinks. Maybe the boar wasn’t such a big deal after the bear. 

 

Then there’s a close up shot of the bear getting eaten by the piranhas. Percy wonders what happened to the piranhas.

 

From there on out, it jumps back and forth between Trenton, Andromeda, and Percy, Judy, and Annie. It isn’t hard to guess who the audience favorites were. Percy watches dispassionately until the camera pans to Will and Daffodil, with The Fourth Day flashing across the screen.

 

He can guess what’s about to happen. He turns away and stares into the audience until the scene is over, watching their reactions. The gamemakers suite is full of predominantly middle aged men and a couple of women, and most of them aren’t paying any attention, instead talking to themselves. 

 

He looks at the middle section of the audience—the “normal” Capitol citizens. A woman in her twenties hides her face in her partner’s shoulder, while her partner just laughs at her. A middle-aged man watches with squinted eyes, as if trying to see the screen better. An elderly lady leans forward in her seat.

 

No one looks disgusted at Andromeda’s actions or empathetic towards Will and Daffodil. Percy can hear the screams now, mixed with mumbles and the occasional cheer from the audience. He pictures putting an iron cage around his emotions, forcing them so deep into his mind, he’ll never have to see them again. 

 

Finally, his eyes settle on the Victors’ section. Most of them look completely emotionless and dead-eyed, if not entirely sober—one older man has an entire bottle of what looks like some kind of white liquor by him, not even pretending to pour it in a glass before taking a chug—and even Finnick is nursing a cup of something no doubt alcoholic. Percy’s eyes flicker up from the cup to Finnick’s face.

 

He’s staring right at him. 

 

Their eyes meet and stay there for what feels like ages. Though Finnick’s face is passive, somehow Percy feels like he’s trying to reassure him in the only way he can. 

 

The scene ends with Andromeda fleeing the crime, and Percy showing up. Caesar says something that Percy can’t be bothered to reply to. They don’t show Percy and Daffodil’s conversation.

 

Finnick looks away first, and the horror documentary continues, showing the remaining tributes’ relieved faces when they see Andromeda’s face in the sky. 

 

Percy feels bad for them. None of them knew he was the Goliath to defeat, not the 18 year old girl who was lied to by everyone. 

 

The camera keeps panning to Judy’s face, and he can’t tell if her indecision and guiltiness is genuine or if she’s playing it up for the Capitol audience. He hates that. He used to be trusting. 

 

They play the scene of Judy grabbing her ax and walking towards Percy and Annie’s sleeping bag in full, wanting to draw out the anticipation. As much as Percy would like to look away again, he can’t. He already knows what’s going to happen, and a twisted part of him kind of wants to see it. Wants to know what Judy was feeling while she tried to kill him and Annie. 

 

He watches as Judy pulls her ax high above her before swinging it down. At Percy.  

 

There’s a horrible scream and a lurching sound as Annie shoves Percy—and by extension herself—out of the way, only half succeeding as Judy slashes at her arm. Percy tries to remember what Annie had told him back in the arena. Something about Judy wanting both of them dead.

 

But it didn’t look like that. It looked like she just wanted Percy dead. Like Annie just got in the way. Percy tries to go over all of Judy and Annie’s interactions in this new light.

 

Sure, Judy had never really liked Annie, but once it was clear the bloodbath affected Annie as much as it did, Judy hardly cared. She had already counted her out of the games. 

 

Just like Percy saved Annie in the bloodbath, Annie saved Percy.

 

He can’t hear anything at this point, blood is pounding in his ears. Annie didn’t even have to kill Percy, she could have just not interrupted Judy’s attempt to kill him. Even with all his powers, he was asleep and would’ve no doubt been easy to kill. Then all Annie would have to do is save herself. Something that would’ve been at least feasible for her to do based on how she fights viciously against Judy on both their behalfs. 

 

Percy numbly realizes that Annie could have been the Victor even without him helping. If he hadn’t been in the bloodbath, would Emerald have even died? Would Annie have suffered her breakdown? Could she be sitting where Percy is now, knowing she can go home to District 4 with her boyfriend and the money she needs to take care of her mother?

 

It’s all he’s thinking about as the rest of the recap flies by—Annie’s “suicide”, Percy’s exhausted sleep, him waking up and realizing what happened. He barely even pays attention to the boy from 10’s death on the ninth day (he was emaciated, it was all too easy for Trenton to bludgeon him to death with a rock). 

 

And then it’s the tenth and final day—the feast. Percy’s eyes are fully glazed over, paying no attention to the recap. Not even on purpose, it’s just as if his brain has shut down, stopped computing entirely. He knows what happened, but only because he lived through it. If you asked him what the recap showed, he'd tell you he has no idea.

 

Then it’s over, and Percy snaps out of it, coming back to himself, more or less. His eyes are uncomfortably dry, like he had over-corrected too much in his desire to not cry. He blinks twice before seeing President Snow walk to the stage. He didn’t even know where he came from. Did he have his own private, presidential room to watch the broadcast in? Or had he been in the audience, somewhere Percy didn’t see him?

 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A young teenage girl is following behind the president, wearing a white dress like a flower girl at a wedding. But instead of flowers, she held an elegant red velvet pillow, and on top of the pillow laid a golden laurel leaf crown. 

 

The President approaches Percy, the girl following behind him, but Percy doesn’t spare her another look. He’s too busy sizing up the President. 

 

He has the same tell-tale signs of plastic surgery the Aphrodite cabin always talked about—skin artificially tight over his face and a strange dimple in his lips from filler. Though, compared to the rest of the Capitol, he looks natural. Percy guesses he can afford to get the best surgeons. It’s certainly helped by the fact that his hair is an undyed white from age, though Percy does wonder if he got hairs plugs. His eye isn’t trained enough to tell. He bets Drew could tell, though.

 

The biggest thing Percy notes is how short and frail he is. Percy’s always been unnaturally tall—most demigods are—but even amongst normal people, Snow would be a good couple inches below average. And he looks like he’s been sick recently, face a bit too gaunt to be entirely healthy. 

 

He reaches out towards the girl, and Percy is stunned to find himself almost jumping in front of her in some attempt to protect her, like Snow might just gut her on stage. But the girl doesn’t look scared at all, instead she looks entirely at ease, and she’s staring right at Percy with wide eyes, like she’s enchanted by him. 

 

Her eyes eerily match the president’s pale blue ones. His granddaughter , Percy thinks faintly. Or maybe even his daughter . He knows a lot of powerful and rich old men often have children with women far younger than themselves.

 

He doesn’t get the chance to contemplate it anymore, however, because then the laurel wreath crown is in Snow’s hands, and they’re making eye contact. Snow doesn’t flinch like he did at the Tribute Parade, so Percy puts all the hate he has into his look—all the memories he has from the arena, and the graphic deaths that were just replayed on screen to thousands, if not millions of people.

 

Snow’s eyes look just slightly to the left of Percy, like he’s staring right past his head, but Percy knows there isn’t anything behind him. He’s just scared of making eye contact with Percy.

 

Good.

 

Snow says some ceremonial words Percy doesn’t pay any attention to, and then he, regrettably, leans over just slightly. Only enough for Snow to put the crown on his head. 

 

They exchange no words. Neither empty congratulations or all too real threats.

 

The audience is cheering, and finally, Percy is done for the night. Finnick is the one to corral him away from the screaming crowds, and Percy wonders how he got down from the Victor’s box that fast. Finnick leads him out the back of the stage and back towards the elevator. 

 

His hand hovers just over the spot between Percy’s shoulder blades, like he’s afraid to actually touch Percy. Percy wonders if it’s a thing that Victors don’t like to be touched, especially so soon after their games. It wouldn’t surprise him.

 

Once they’re in the elevator—alone, Finnick had somehow moved fast enough that Amos and Augustus are nowhere to be seen—Finnick turns his head towards him and says, under his breath, “good job.”

 

Despite himself, Percy feels relieved. He hates the feeling; there’s nothing he would’ve liked more than ruining the whole thing. But he can’t do that. He’s not his father; he doesn’t have the power necessary to cowl whole countries and demand kings listen or face the consequences. 

 

The feeling of relief sours almost immediately though. Finnick’s breath smells like whiskey, and as much as Percy hates to acknowledge it, he doesn’t handle drunk people well. Or even just alcohol in general. It reminds him too much of Gabe. 

 

Scars that have never quite managed to go away, not even with the fancy Capitol plastic surgery.

 

He forces himself not to show how uncomfortable he is. Finnick doesn’t even appear drunk, walking in a perfectly straight line and not acting any different than normal. And even if he was visibly drunk, Percy cannot afford to have any weaknesses right now. 

 

Or maybe ever again. 

 

Finnick walks him all the way to his room, and despite the fact that no parts of their bodies are touching, Percy can almost feel the warmth of Finnick at his side. It’s comforting, like sharing the sleeping bag with Annie was. It’s almost hard to watch him leave. 

 

Percy closes his door and turns to face his room. He has blankets on his bed again. They must not be worried about him doing anything to harm himself anymore. 

 

He goes through the motions of preparing for bed like a zombie, scrubbing the makeup of his face, brushing his teeth, and changing into the supplied pajamas just as a knock on the door sounds. 

 

Percy ignores it, and whoever is at the door knocks again, louder. With a huff, Percy walks over and opens the door. 

 

It’s an avox. Percy immediately feels bad for making them wait. If there’s anyone who doesn’t deserve his shit, it’s the people who were mutilated and forced into subservience for the Capitol elite. 

 

She holds a bottle of pills out to Percy, and he stares down at it uncomprehendingly. 

 

“What is it?” He asks, before immediately feeling both stupid and inconsiderate. 

 

But the avox isn’t phased. She merely holds both her hands together before putting them under her ear and tilting her head to the side, a gesture Percy immediately understands. 

 

They had sent him sleeping pills. 

 

He probably shouldn’t trust any medicine the Capitol gives him, but honestly, he wants to have a peaceful night of dreamless sleep so bad. He takes them gratefully, dry swallowing one immediately. 

 

“Thank you,” he croaks to the avox, feeling all of his emotions from the day catch up to him. 

 

The avox smiles at him before leaving. 

 

Percy feels like he was hit by a truck, taking all of his energy and leaving only pain behind. He stumbles to his bed and crawls under the blankets. He doesn’t fall asleep immediately, mind too fretful. But the pill kicks in soon enough, and he’s reacquainted with oblivion.

Notes:

The title of this chapter is meant to be ironic. The sugar plum fairy represents joy/light/good things, but the dance is, ultimately, a performance.

If you're wondering why Percy isn't reacting more, he will be! But he's kind of in shock right now. This whole part is about Percy's reaction to everything he's been through.

And yes, I did give Snow an extra granddaughter, for reasons. She's fifteen in this chapter and as obsessed with Percy as any fifteen year old girl is obsessed with a cute male celebrity.

Anyway, I have a tumblr account for my fanfic now, you can check it out HERE

Chapter 16: All That Glitters

Percy would call the sleeping pill a god-send, but he’s actually pretty sure Augustus was the one who got it for him, and he doesn’t really want to give the man that much credit.

 

Regardless, he sleeps a bit too well, and he’s still drowsy by the time the same Avox from earlier comes back to wake him up. He blinks his bleary eyes and shuffles to the bathroom, the Avox hanging by the entrance.

 

He barely has the time to brush his teeth and shave before he’s being forced out the door, without any breakfast. No strange strawberry drink in sight.

 

There’s an ominous black SUV waiting for him outside the Tribute Center, and the driver—a middle-aged man wearing a black jumpsuit and a nametag that simply says “District 6”—steps out to open the door for him. 

 

He climbs inside and sees an exhausted Finnick sitting on the opposite side of the backseat. For once, he’s wearing no makeup and his dark under-eye bags are incredibly noticeable. His eyes are closed, and he’s leaning against the tinted window, forehead against the glass. He makes no movement to open his eyes or even greet Percy.

 

Percy doesn’t greet him either, and the car takes off.

 

He’s not entirely sure what’s going to happen today or why he’s been woken up at—he checks the clock in the front of the car—6:00 AM, but he can guess. Finnick had told him he had “interviews and photo shoots” before they could take the train back to 4. He knows a couple of demigods that went into modeling, and they’re always complaining about how early they have to get up for photo shoots, so this must be that.

 

Percy taps his fingers against his knee, anxious in the silence of the car. 

 

Before he can stop himself, he opens his mouth, “so you’re from District 6?” He asks the driver.

 

At his side, Finnick’s eyes blink open before shooting Percy a dirty look. Percy makes a point of not reacting.

 

The driver hums in acknowledgment. “Yep, from up by the lakes.” He has an accent that’s maybe Minnesotan, with long o’s and flat a’s. Percy guesses that must be where District 6 is, especially with the mention of the lakes.

 

“Why are you in the Capitol?”

 

Finnick’s really glaring at him now, but if he wants Percy to shut up, he’s going to have to verbally ask him.

 

“Most Capitolites don’t own cars or know how to drive, so they outsource us from up north.” The driver answers simply. He doesn’t seem upset with Percy per se, but he does act like Percy should already know this.

 

Percy supposes it makes sense. There weren’t very many cars back in District 4, only the buses, taxis for tourists, and private cars for the wealthiest citizens. Despite having infinitely more money, the Capitol seems much the same, with a tram system for a majority of the citizens and only a small amount of cars. 

 

“Neat,” Percy says, for lack of a better answer. He turns his attention to the streets. There’s a flood of Capitolites walking around, and Percy wonders where all of them are going. They must have jobs, but it’s hard to imagine all the people in 6 inch heels, sequins, and colorful makeup going to a 9-to-5 office job. Even compared to New Yorkers, the people on the street look crazy and impractical. 

 

The car turns the corner and they pass a bunch of flickering blue-and-red lights. A whole four blocks seem to be sectioned off, with debris lingering on a torn up road and cracked sidewalks, and paramedics lingering on the scene. Percy can feel a busted pipe a couple hundred feet away. 

 

“What happened here?” Percy asks, and even Finnick seems invested, studying the view outside of his window carefully.

 

“There was an earthquake last night,” The driver answers. “This is the poorer part of the Capitol, so the buildings aren’t made as well—don’t have any aseismic structures. They got hit the worst. All the other buildings in the city seem fine.” The driver tuts. “The district people here with work permits, myself included, live in that old brick building over there.” He gestures to a dilapidated building. 

 

“Some people got injured, that’s what the paramedics are here for. Don’t know how any of them are going to afford the hospital bills, though. They’ll probably end up needing to serve as Peacekeepers to pay off the debt.”

 

Percy’s stomach twists. There was an earthquake last night? How likely was it that it’s a coincidence? Not very, he thinks morosely. Even asleep, he's dangerous. Son of Poseidon, Earthshaker, indeed.

 

He doesn’t have any love towards the Capitol, but it wasn’t even the powerful people who were hurt by it, just the poor. Percy remembers the various apartments he grew up in, before his mom killed Gabe and sold his statue. They were always run down, with poor building structures, mold, and sometimes even cockroaches. 

 

He wonders how they would’ve held up against an earthquake. He wonders how his mom would’ve paid for a hospital bill.

 

Percy forces his eyes away from the windows, instead studying the leather seat in front of him. It’s got good quality stitching, he notes. Red stitching on black leather. Classic

 

Finnick clears his throat, “Today’s going to be a long day,” he starts. “We have a photo shoot with Capitol Couture that’ll probably last until lunch, if we’re lucky. Longer if we aren’t. And then we have a departure party tonight at the President’s Mansion. Once we’re done there, we’re on the train back to District 4.”

 

Percy’s exhaustion makes itself known. “I’m guessing none of that is optional?”

 

The driver snorts.

 

Finnick turns to give him a deadpan look. “No.”

 

“Right,” Percy sighs, sliding down in his seat. In the quiet that settles in the car, he begins to count the stitches.

 

One. Two. Three.

 

---

 

 

The Capitol Couture Building is fucking ridiculous. It’s this gothic looking structure with limestone bricks, stained glass, and gargoyles, but instead of committing to the bit, they painted it hot pink and stuck a giant light up sign on the side. Percy assumes it says Capitol Couture but he can’t quite tell because it’s the most obnoxious cursive he’s ever seen, which is murder on his dyslexia. 

 

It’s the type of building that might have actually made Annabeth cry.

 

He doesn’t get much time to look at the exterior, because as soon as the driver—Percy should’ve asked for his name, he thinks belatedly—parks outside the building, and what looks like guards hot enough to be models come outside to escort Finnick and Percy inside. The driver pulls off without another word. Percy thinks district solidarity must not be a thing. 

 

The inside of the building is thoroughly modern, all sleek white like the best insane asylum. He isn’t sure how good that was for a fashion magazine, though. He thought those tend to be colorful. But what did he know about fashion? All of his opinions were second hand from the Aphrodite cabin.

 

He walks past Capitolites dressed in what he guesses must be the latest fashion, a lot of them have 3D animals glued to their outfits and he notices a lot of purple and green eyeshadow. Idly, he wonders if the fur is real.

 

A paper-thin woman in incredibly tall heels runs up to Finnick and Percy. She’s holding a bright pink clipboard and looks notably haggard. Instead of having eyeshadow where it normally is, she’s put blue eyeshadow where her under eye is, and Percy wonders if it’s an attempt to hide how overworked she is. She’s got antlers sticking out of either side of the sleeves of her dress, but her hair is a bottle blonde, sitting long and straight down her back. Honestly, she’s one of the more normal looking people Percy’s seen in this building so far.

 

“Hi,” she says, out of breath, “I’m Helena.” She extends her head and with hesitation Percy shakes it. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and her long, bubblegum pink nails scratch him as she lets go. Percy is reminded of his old neighbor’s cat. 

 

“Finnick, dear, you already know me.” Helena continues, shooting Finnick a flirtatious look. In return, Finnick shoots her a winning smile. Any exhaustion or irritation Percy saw on him this morning seems gone now. Percy doesn’t know how he does it. It has to be fake…

 

“But,” Helena’s back to smiling at Percy. It is just as flirtatious as the look she gave Finnick. “I’m here to make sure Perseus is okay today. I know you’ve never had a proper photo shoot before. The Districts don’t really appreciate art like that. I’m sure it must be a big change to come here!”

 

Percy nods, but keeps his lips in a straight line, refusing to smile after that comment. She doesn’t look phased, probably used to dealing with irritated models at 6 in the morning.

 

She leads both Finnick and him to the elevator, where their two guards follow them. The elevator is fully glass, letting them see all the floors they pass. At first they’re just offices, but as they go up further they become sets, full of camera equipment and layouts all stranger than the last. Percy is nervous to see what they have in store for him.

 

Finally, the elevator comes to a smooth stop, and the doors open to a gaggle of people whom Percy assumes are stylists and/or prep teams. Finnick is pulled away by half of them, and he glides willingly along, like a fish swimming downstream. 

 

The other half guides Percy down the hall. He guesses he’s the other half of the simile—the poor fucker who has to swim upstream. 

 

They arrive outside a dressing room with a door painted mint green, and a light blue sign displaying his name, “Perseus Jackson, Victor of 70th Hunger Games,” and a Hollywood star under it. Percy’s stomach rolls.

 

He opens the door and steps inside, where he  is immediately blinded by hot pink flamingo wallpaper alternating with black walls. In the center of the room hangs a crystal chandelier with golden chains that’s perhaps a bit too big for the room, but maybe that’s typical of Capitol interior design. It wouldn’t surprise him.

 

In one corner is the stereotypical mirror in pastel pink with lights surrounding it, and in the other corner lies a verifiable buffet of food, with a familiar looking pink drink laying at the edge of the table and a “Victor must drink,” sign. In every empty space, there are cabinets full of makeup and hair supplies. The whole room reeks of floral perfume.

 

The most eye-catching thing, however, are the giant posters that Percy assumes must be past magazine covers—all labeled Capitol Couture . He can’t help but study them.

 

The first one looks like a magazine cover he would’ve seen back home, the model wearing elaborate sunglasses and long nails the Apollo cabin outlawed at camp after an accident tore off Drew’s thumbnail. 

 

 

His eyes flicker to the next one, spotting a familiar face. It must be recent, she looks so similar to how she did last night. Coriolania Snow the magazine cover says. She looks older on the cover than she does in real life. He doesn’t spend long studying that one.

 

 

It’s the final poster that forces him to pause. The model—actress, apparently—must be related to Caesar Flickerman, but Percy doesn’t care about that. 

 

 

Instead, he cares about her controversial role of Hunger Games Escort who falls in love with her tribute . The sheer concept of a movie like that makes him sick. And though the magazine calls it “controversial,” Percy bets it’s not controversial to the Capitol for the same reason it’s controversial to him.

 

His mood, which wasn’t that great in the first place, is now sufficiently soured. He almost pities the people who will have to deal with him for the rest of the day. Almost. 

 

Helena notices where he was looking and explains. “These are our most popular magazine covers from this year. Not to brag,” she says, absolutely about to brag, “but I was involved in inviting Coriolania Snow here. That’s big news! The Snows are so elusive, but their fashion choices are always so culturally classic, very old money. I just knew we had to try and interview one of them.”

 

Percy doesn’t care about what she’s saying, but she doesn’t seem to notice. 

 

One of the stylists shoos him to the seat in front of the mirror, and he follows without putting up a fight only because he is tired enough to want to sit down. Fighting takes more energy than he has.

 

Honestly, Percy thinks he should get some recognition for not punching any of the stylists as Helena pushes the pink protein drink at him, while a man starts on his hair and a woman puts eyeliner on him. 

 

What follows is four grueling hours of plucking and grooming, which somehow seem even worse than every other time he’s gotten prepped. Maybe because he no longer has his imminent death hanging over him like the sword of Damocles.

 

Though if he’s being honest with himself, he gets the feeling something is still hanging over his head.

 

The stylists are constantly entering and leaving the dressing room, Percy can’t keep up with it at all, leaving him off-kilter when a familiar face shows up.

 

“Daphne?” he asks, seeing Annie’s stylist now outfitted in a pink haute couture feather dress from head-to-toe. “What are you doing here?”

 

She flutters around him nervously, flamingo dress swishing around her as she goes like some kind of fairy. “I got a promotion!” She exclaims, voice high and breathy. “Amos got fired, but you still need a stylist, especially now that you’re a Victor. And since I’m used to working with people from District 4, they thought I was the perfect fit! My salary got quite the bump. I bought this dress in celebration—feathers are the new fur!”

 

Percy doesn’t know how to feel about this news. Sure, he hadn’t liked Amos, but he had a feeling that Amos—who less than a day ago had tried to dress him in piranha scales and went around wearing a rosary—wasn’t necessarily fired in the traditional sense.

 

“Oh,” Percy says when Daphne looks at him expectantly. “Congratulations.”

 

“Thanks,” she responds, pushing herself on the tip of her toes in excitement. “Anyway, today’s photo shoot for you is actually really boring, but that’s okay. Sometimes for Victors they like to have more grounded shots, and I think they want it to reflect their last cover of Finnick. The one they released just days ago. Isn’t that cute? They’re making you two, like, a matching set! It’s why they want some pictures of both of you together.”

 

Percy nods dumbly.

 

“Anyway, I’m sure we’ll have loads of opportunities for new and exciting photoshoots in the future! I’m personally holding out for an on location district 4 photo shoot. Maybe even under water.” Daphne squeals. “I’ve never been to Decoris before,” she claps her hands together before turning her attention away from Percy entirely.

 

Daphne grabs the garment bag, starting to unzip it as Percy stares unseeingly. At least getting dressed is easy. And Daphne was right. The clothes are normal, just a sweatshirt and jeans, which Percy feels grateful for.

 

Daphne fiddles around with the way the sweatshirt lays before nodding approvingly, and guiding him out the door. 

 

Once outside the relative safety of his dressing room, a barge of conversations hit him. 

 

“She has 5 posters of Finnick in her room—”

 

“Her nose collapsed after her third nasal touch up, but she had to get it, they don’t let ugly people work for the government—”

 

“I can’t wait until thin eyebrows are in again. I plucked mine to death and now they won’t grow back, but I can’t afford plugs—”

 

“I’m so glad Perseus won. I would’ve been so disappointed if it was Annie, or fuck, imagine if it was that girl from 7?—”

 

“Do you see how much the prices skyrocketed for produce? I tell you what—” 

 

“So, I took this test, and it told me my biological age was 42! But chronologically, I’m only 29. So my friend recommended me this miracle anti-aging pill—”

 

Percy can feel himself getting overstimulated, blood rushing to his head and ears ringing. Something about it must show on his face, because one of the interns says. “He’s looking a bit faint, maybe we should start with the couch set? You know, give him a chance to sit down.”

 

Percy follows Daphne and the unnamed intern, a young man wearing golden eyeliner, all the way through the room to a set that, indeed, has a couch. He collapses on it without waiting for permission.

 

An older man walks right in front of him, sticking his hand in Percy’s face. “My name is Polygnotos Wintour, I’ll be the photographer and director for the photoshoot today.”

 

Percy stares at him blankly, not moving his hands from where they’ve rested on his stomach.

 

Polygnotos’s smile vanishes, and Percy can just imagine him grinding his teeth. Finally, he pulls his hand away, muttering “Victors” under his breath. 

 

He takes a step back towards the light stand before pulling his camera up to his face, trying to see how Percy shows up. “Someone take that earring out. Replace it with a normal, small silver hoop.” He calls, and Percy bitterly thinks he just said it to get back at him for not shaking his hand.

 

The same intern from earlier steps forward, giving him a closed-mouth smile with his hand out, waiting for Percy to take the pearl earring off. 

 

He doesn’t want to, but the reminder of the earring also reminds him of what’s on the line if he doesn’t at least somewhat cooperate. He takes the earring off and passes it over to the intern. 

 

“I’ll keep it safe.” The intern tells him. Percy doesn’t respond. The less people think he cares about Mags, the better. He sits dispassionately as the intern puts another earring in his ear.

 

From there on, Percy halfheartedly follows along as Daphne and the photographer shout instructions at him. “Pull your arm back. Smile. Sit up straight.” And so on and so forth.

 

They move between multiple sets and use multiple props, the most interesting of which are a cigarette—Percy doesn’t smoke, a microphone—Percy doesn’t sing, and a knife—Percy could probably kill everyone in this room without it.

 

“You’ve got a fantastic stare,” a makeup artist tells him between shoots. Percy grunts.

 

The next thing he knows they’re all huddling in an elevator together—two large groups going all the way down to the basement. “It’s a water shoot,” someone tells him. It might’ve been the same intern from earlier, but honestly Percy doesn’t remember. “It’s because you’re from District 4.”

 

And so Percy ends up combining something he loves—water—with something he hates—photo shoots, apparently. At least laying in the water is invigorating.

 

And then it’s the photo shoot with Finnick, which is somehow worse than his solo photo shoot because Finnick just does such a good job and acts like he actually wants to be here. Honestly, Percy can’t tell if it’s true or not. Everything about Finnick feels like a mystery to him.

 

Percy’s also pretty sure that the only editorial direction for that photo shoot is just “put two hot guys together,” and Percy doesn’t feel great about that. 

 

Once it’s done, Finnick leaves for his own dressing room without saying a word. Percy doesn’t care.

 

---

 

He doesn’t get the chance to take a nap before the party he’s expected to attend. Apparently the makeup for a photo shoot and the makeup for a party are different. Percy’s face feels sore from having makeup scrubbed off only to be immediately reapplied.

 

It doesn’t help that he’s, once again, wearing a ridiculous outfit. It’s the equivalent of an elaborately embroidered bathrobe over a blue silk button up. His hopes of having more normal outfits under Daphne’s reign is fading.

 

Finnick never seems to wear anything this stupid , he thinks, eyeing Finnick’s floral suit. People back home would still regard it as strange, but it’s so calm compared to most fashion in the Capitol.

 

The party is loud, crowded, and bright, and the only people he knows are Finnick and Daphne, neither of which seem eager to hang around him for very long. Every other person seems drunk enough to fall over, yelling in boisterous voices that remind him of his old step-father’s poker parties. It’s exactly the kind of thing Percy hates.

 

Even worse, Percy is the guest of honor, meaning everyone keeps trying to talk to him. He feels incredibly grateful that he did his Victor’s interview the way he did. It allows him to shoot people his best bitch face and not get in trouble for it. 

 

They almost expect it at this point. 

 

Their words, however, are an array of baffling and horrifying ways to start a conversation.

 

An older lady wearing bright red lipstick and a red wig to match: “You were very heroic saving that girl from your district.”

 

A Gamemaker: “You have some of the best ratings we’ve seen. We sold 100,000 video units already, and that doesn’t account for the streaming revenue.” 

 

A man wearing a purple velvet suit: “I was at the casino when you killed that career girl, the boys and I went wild. Bought shots for everyone!”

 

A stylist for District 5: “You could make anything look good.”

 

On and on it goes, and Percy gives everyone the same noncommittal hum or blank stare. 

 

It’s halfway through the party that a woman Percy vaguely recognizes approaches him, dragging another familiar man behind her. Percy is apprehensive, wondering where he recognizes them from, when he realizes they both look startlingly normal compared to everyone else at this party. 

 

The woman is starting to go gray, not even trying to dye her hair, and her dress is a simple dark blue silk. The man she’s dragging is also going gray and he has more wrinkles on his forehead and by his eyes than anyone else at this party, despite probably being younger than half of them. He’s just wearing nice pants and a button down. No signs of botox or plastic surgery. 

 

They’re district, and if Percy recognizes them, that means they’re Victors. Specifically, they’re the other Victors from 4.

 

“Hi! I’m Marina and this is Marlin, we’re the other two living Victors from 4.” The woman says. Her voice is high pitched and airy. “We wanted to come over and introduce ourselves since we’ll probably be spending a lot of time together in the future.”

 

The man—Marlin, apparently—huffs, making it obvious he did not want to come over and introduce himself.

 

“I’m Perseus,” Percy manages to respond. His throat is dry. 

 

“How are you holding up?” Marina asks.

 

“Fuck, Marina, don’t ask him that.” Marlin interrupts, half-slurring the words. “Besides, we know the answer anyway.”

 

Percy will give him credit for that. He didn’t particularly want to answer Marina’s question.

 

“Ah, right. Well, there isn’t really much else to talk about. This isn’t really a good place to get to know people.” 

 

Percy’s starting to get the feeling that neither Marina nor Marlin are social butterflies, but that’s okay with him. He doesn’t feel very extroverted right now, either.

 

“Well, we’ll be neighbors. There’ll be plenty of time to bother him once we live within a hundred feet of each other.”

 

“I just wanted to see how he was holding up.” Marina snaps, voice like a whip-crack. Marlin scowls back at her. Percy wonders if the two of them get into a lot of fights. It kind of seems like it.

 

Percy coughs, wanting to break the sudden tension. “I appreciate it,” he says. “This party is… a lot. You’re definitely a breath of fresh air.” 

 

Marina turns back to face him, as Marlin tries to flag down an Avox to get him another drink. “Aren’t you just a doll,” she sends him a small, genuine smile. She looks like she’s thinking about saying something else, but before she can an Avox coughs, gesturing to the line that’s forming behind Marina and Marlin—more Capitol people wanting a piece of Percy. 

 

With an apologetic look, Marina leaves, Marlin once more trailing behind her. Percy’s been compared to a shark more than once in his life, but as he faces the line of Capitolites in front of him, he’s reminded that even sharks are hunted. 

 

---

 

Getting on the train feels like stepping into the daylight or whatever it was Taylor Swift said. Which is ridiculous, he’s no safer on the train than he was in the Capitol. Nowhere in Panem is safe, especially not for him. A teenage boy who’s very existence is rebellious, no matter how much they say he’s from District 4. 

 

Marina claps him on the back. “We’re almost home!” She cheers. Marlin grunts, and Finnick just brushes past them all, grabs a bottle of dark liquor, and disappears further in the train. “He’s always like this on the train ride back to 4,” Marina whispers to him.

 

Percy nods, looking at the ground. Here, with only the Avoxes, train operators, and victors around, Percy can’t summon up the energy to face anyone. The carpet pattern is an ugly geometric red on blue. 

 

“Where’s my room?” He asks Marina.

 

“C’mon, kid, I’ll show it to you.” Marina says, placing a gentle hand over his shoulder. The touch is reassuring, grounding. They leave the main compartment just as Marlin pours himself what looks like four fingers of whiskey. 

 

Percy’s starting to think a lot of the Victors are heavy drinkers.

 

They walk further down the train before coming to a door that looks just like the rest of them. “Here, it’s not the same room you had on the way here, but this one is probably better. Doesn’t have any ghosts associated with it.”

 

Percy gives her a small smile before opening the door.

 

“Oh and Perseus—” Marina starts before he can close the door. “I know it’s hard right now, and this feels like something you’ll never move past.” She pauses, gathering her thoughts. “But you just have to keep going, okay? Take everything one day at a time..”

 

Percy can’t help but notice she doesn’t add anything about it getting better. “Okay,” he tells her. She’s right, he supposes. Taking everything one day at a time really is the only choice now.

 

He’s going to take his medicine and go to sleep. I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow, tomorrow , he tells himself. 

 

Marina gives him an awkward smile before saying, “Goodnight, Perseus.”

 

“Goodnight, Marina.”

Notes:

We're finally out of the Capitol! Percy will have a little bit of time to breath now.

Also you might have noticed this is a series now. This story will be a standalone but as of right now I have two accompanying stories in mind. The first of which is a Finnick prequel/POV of The Shark in Your Water. I won't say what the other story is about right now, because I want to make sure I can finish The Shark in Your Water and the Finnick sequel first

If someone wants to ask me about those Capitol Magazine covers, i would love to explain my thought process lmao

Chapter 17: From the Wound Comes the Salve

Summary:

Percy finally gets the chance to take a break in District 4.

Being back in District 4 is, in a word, strange. 

 

They parade him off the train platform and into a private car to Victor’s Village, Finnick smiling and waving at his side like he’s the Queen of England. 

 

Then it’s over, and he’s standing outside a three-story historic home, light blue vinyl and lava landscaping rocks assaulting his eyes. Because there’s no use putting it off, he goes inside.

 

The house is entirely too large for one person, only serving to remind him of how alone he is. He walks through the entrance hall—dark wood lit with vintage stained glass pendant lights and lined with a long red runner rug—down into the living room, which is furnished with couches, chairs, tables, and lace curtains that would make any grandmother green with envy. 

 

The thing that catches his eyes though, is what’s laying all-too-innocently on the mahogany coffee table. Right where he can’t miss it.

 

There’s a cardboard box that’s been obviously opened, inspected, and half-heartedly reshut. Percy shuffles over to peak inside it. On the bottom of the box is his reaping clothes, a bland gray to match his bland feelings. 

 

But what’s laying on top of the reaping clothes is much more important. To his left is a beat-up, chewed on, ballpoint pen—Riptide! Percy snatches it up before stuffing it in his pocket. It’s a useless relic of his past now, no good for keeping the monsters away any more, but it’s comforting nonetheless. Like a beloved stuffed animal or old nightlight.

 

And that just leaves a small, fancy box that reminds Percy of his mother’s jewelry. He opens it gently, and sure enough, laying on a layer of cotton is Mags’s pearl earring. He closes the box again, telling himself he’ll put it away somewhere safe later. He doesn’t want to put it on. That has too many implications right now, with Mags stuffed away in the Capitol.

 

His eyes shift to the side, away from his pathetic cardboard box that Panem’s excuse for customs undoubtedly rifled through, and spots something leagues worse.

 

70th Annual Hunger Games Collectable Edition the cover reads, with Percy’s own bitter and tired face staring up at him. It was placed just to the side of the box, on the coffee table, like it’s one of those books Percy might actually display for company to ogle. 

 

With shaking hands, Percy reaches out to pick it up. He flips it open to the Table of Contents, eyes drifting down the page with growing horror. 

 

Flip, flip, flip. He comes to Snow’s letter. He rips it out without reading it. Flip. A title page reading The Reaping. Rip. 

 

He can’t rip out the next page, though. Because staring up at him with matching smug grins, are Lace and Emerald. The title District 1’s Shiny Tributes is displayed underneath them, like they’re a commodity. And below that, is a brief biographical blurb for both of them. Part of Percy feels like he shouldn’t read it—like he isn’t allowed to, especially since he killed Lace himself. But a larger part of Percy tells him this is his penance. 

 

Making up his mind, he reads:

 

Favored for his natural strength and winning smile, Lace Throughborrow, 18, comes from a long line of weavers famous for their lightweight and near-transparent luxury muslin. His mother, Burberry Throughborrow, is famous for her ability to weave muslin with 700 counts. In the past, Lace has expressed his desire to go into the family business, citing his proficiency with a loom and enjoyment of colorful fabrics and patterns, but it seems like he has much bigger opportunities in the Capitol now! In his free time, Lace likes to take care of his pet rabbit named Dog.

 

And in the next column: 

 

The name Emerald Smith might sound familiar to any jewelry aficionados out there, but Emerald, 18, has no relation to the Overlands who own the Lab Grown Gemstone Empire. But her mother, who spends all her extra money saving up for jewelry, couldn’t resist naming her first-born daughter after the company when she took on her husband’s last name. Emerald’s father works in a middle-management position in the fur industry, and her mother teaches at the secondary level, with her students receiving some of the highest test scores in District 1. Emerald has received training for sales correspondence for high jewelry and watches with those Capitolites lucky enough to go directly to the source of all things luxury—District 1, itself. She spends a lot of her free time watching her little siblings.

 

He flips the page and sees Andromeda and Nero with the headline, Trained to Become Peacekeepers, Called to Become Tributes. Percy flips to the next page quickly.

 

The tributes from District 3, a girl Percy vaguely remembers was named Peyton and a boy Percy couldn’t name at gunpoint stare into the camera. Looking at their picture after Andromeda and Nero’s is stark. These kids were not trained in any sense of the word. Lambs lead to the altar. Pigs to the stockyard. The headline, The Smartest Tributes! makes Percy sick.

 

His eyes drift down and read:

 

Cache Gonzales, 14, excels at his robotics and coding classes, and is favored by his teachers as the “most promising” student of his grade. Though neither of his parents, nor any of his older siblings work in development, Cache seems like he might change that and join the ranks of Beetee Latier for developing all sorts of new and exciting technology for the Capitol. He’s even cited Beetee as an inspiration in his eighth grade President’s Award speech. He just has to win first! 

 

Percy slams the book shut. He stares at his photo on the cover. He wants to throw this book away. He wants to destroy it.

 

But it’s also the only information he has about the other tributes who entered the arena with him. He can’t do that to them. He sets it back down on the coffee table, leaving everything as is, for now. 

 

He walks over to the window, pushing a cream lace curtain—probably made in District 1—to the side. His house directly faces a lilac, empty mansion just like his. He wishes it was occupied. If he could just see a light in the window or hear the buzzing of people, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone.

 

There’s twelve houses in the neighborhood in total, he reminds himself. Marina, Marlin, Finnick, and Mags take up four of them. If he feels lonely, he can just reach out to one of them. It shouldn’t be hard to stay in contact with people.

 

But it is.

 

The days pass by.

 

---

 

Victors don’t work. Percy didn’t truly understand how much time he spent on the fishing boat or by the docks until he wasn’t allowed to be there anymore. The one time he went down to Portland, everyone there acted like he had the plague. 

 

Without the hoard of fisherman around him, District 4 seems…empty. Quiet.

 

And he is supposed to pick a hobby. They don’t even skateboard or surf here, what is he supposed to do for fun? Most of his life before Panem consisted of running for his life, fighting for his life, teaching other kids how to fight for his life, and school. He doesn’t really want to do any of those anymore, much less make them a commodity for the Capitol to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ at. 

 

He especially tries not to think about how “teaching kids how to fight for their life,” in District 4 means teaching at the Academy—something he hasn’t been asked to do yet, though he knows the invitation can’t be that far around the corner.

 

Mags is still in the Capitol—presumably at the hospital—and Finnick is rarely ever around, so Percy is left to track down either Marlin or Marina. And despite how friendly, if awkward, Marina had seemed at the Capitol, she is, like Finnick, often nowhere to be found. 

 

Which leaves Marlin, a man who Percy quickly realizes is an agoraphobe. Afraid and hateful of everything outside of his own four walls.

 

“Ugh, it’s you again,” the gruff man says, when Percy bangs the fancy brass knocker shaped like an octopus. But he doesn’t shut the door. Instead, he turns around to walk further in the house, calling behind him, “Hey if you’re going to keep stopping by, could you do me a favor and at least bring some groceries?” 

 

Percy barely holds himself back from pointing out that this is only the second time he’s visited Marlin. Though he supposes since they’ve been back for less than a week, it is a bit more often than either of them likely would have expected.

 

“Maybe I’ll grab them at some point,” Percy brushes off Marlin’s question and unwelcoming demeanor, following him into the house. “You’re just the only one who’s ever around. Who else am I supposed to visit?”

 

The house is painted a pastel orange in contrast to Percy’s light blue. He guesses Marlin didn’t choose the color. He doesn’t seem like a pastel orange guy.

 

“No one. Get a hobby. They’ll expect you to have one come winter.”

 

“Well what am I supposed to do? What is there even to do around here?”

 

“I don’t know, paint? Cook? Get into glass blowing?” Marlin shuffles to a worn looking chair, the indent on the cushion a perfect match to his backside. 

 

“I’m serious,” Percy says, leaning against the wall. “What do you do?”

 

Marlin clasps his hands together, laying them on his lap as he rests his head against the back of his chair. “I played chess.”

 

“I’m not joking,” Percy crosses his arms, voice tight with annoyance.

 

“Neither am I.” 

 

Percy studies the middle-aged man in front of him. He’s got a beer belly and a general air of sloppiness about him. Though he seems sober now, Percy knows that often isn’t the case, and his drinking has probably prematurely aged him. He seems more like the kind of man to play poker with his old step-father than to play chess as a hobby. It’s hard to rectify the image in his mind, though he is actively trying. 

 

He doesn’t want to think of any of his neighbors as the kind of people who would’ve hung out with Gabe. And he knows it’s different, anyway. The way they drink and act… it’s a coping mechanism. They’ve been through something way worse than Smelly Gabe could’ve ever imagined. It’s not fair for Percy to hold that against them.

 

It doesn’t mean that works, though.

 

“Well, what did the others do for their hobbies?”

 

Marlin cracks one eye open to look up at him, grimacing as if upset that Percy's still there. But he doesn’t kick him out, so Percy doesn’t leave. 

 

“Mags didn’t really have to do anything. I don’t think the hobby requirement was a thing back then. She worked part time on the fish farms until sometime in 30 A. D. D., I think. Finnick took up photography, but he doesn’t do it anymore. Smashed his cameras years ago, matter of fact. Marina made collages. She did all sorts of stuff for the tourist traps. I think at one point she made a collage for every kind of fish the aquarium had.”

 

Percy’s head snaps up. “There’s an aquarium here?”

 

“Yeah, in the heart of Decoris. Tons of Capitol tourists around, though. I don’t think it’s really your scene.”

 

Percy gnaws at the inside of his cheek. As much as he’d like to go to an aquarium, he doesn’t feel like putting up with more Capitolites saying how much they loved his ruthless murder of Andromeda or talking about his cheekbones. 

 

He opens his mouth, and instead of asking for directions to the aquarium, he asks, “Will you teach me chess?”

 

Marlin laughs.

 

The answer is no.

 

---

 

It’s two days later, as Percy is finally out buying groceries—for himself and Marlin, because he’s a good neighbor and also doesn’t want to risk Marlin kicking him out for good—that he decides what he wants his hobby to be. 

 

He had taken the bus to Midground, the lush landlocked town between Portland and Orville—the capital of District 4. Midground is where the main market is, since it is an even distance from most of the populated regions of District 4. 

 

Well, except for Decoris. But Decoris is singular in a lot of ways, and Percy doesn’t really want to go grocery shopping there, even if he can afford it with the Victor stipend. He doesn’t want to rub shoulders with the wealthy Capitolites. He imagines it would be like going shopping in Erewhon in LA. Only most people who did that were trying to spot celebrities, and in this case Percy would be the celebrity. 

 

No thanks.

 

The market in Midground is large and bustling. It’s the first time Percy has ever been since he’d never actually had any spare money to spend on market food before, much less the extra cash required to take the bus. 

 

He had spent so long in only the dilapidated streets of Portland and the forested arena, that the colorful stalls of Midground feel almost Capitol-like at first. Of course, everything at the market serves a purpose, with luxuries few and far between since not many could afford them. It’s the opposite of the Capitol’s mantra of consumptionism, bigger and better. Now. Now. Now. 

 

Percy walks past all sorts of seafood stands, fruit stands, and vegetable stands, and he idly wishes he was better at gardening. Growing his own vegetables seems like something that he should do, now that he finally has his own backyard and time to kill. It could be his hobby.

 

He buys some duck eggs (the chicken eggs are more expensive) and milk, not really sure what Marlin actually wants and only half-aware of how to cook for himself now that he doesn’t live in the children’s home. He wanders around, trying to find the best looking Pacific mackerel, and somehow he wanders out of the food section entirely.

 

In front of him is a shoe shop with an actual trained cobbler and everything, and directly across from that is a fabric stall, selling all sorts of fabric, or no—those are blankets. 

 

Despite the August heat making the blankets look unappealing, Percy walks towards the stall, intrigued by the bright and lively colors so rare to find anywhere in District 4 that isn’t Decoris. 

 

The woman working the stall—old enough to be either Percy’s youthful grandma or older-than-his-classmate’s mother—looks vaguely familiar, with bright green eyes and two dimples forming as she smiles towards Percy. 

 

“Oh, Mister, I recognize you,” the woman says, voice scratchy but welcoming. She’s got a bit of the Portland fisherman’s accent, almost rural with a blend of the Californian accents Percy is more used to and maybe even a splash of Canadian accents. Not for the first time, Percy wonders what everyone must think of his New York accent.

 

“Would you like a blanket to liven up your new home? Those Victor’s houses are awfully big, and I know they’re fully furnished, but they can still feel a bit empty, can’t they?” She asks, scrunching her nose and making her smile lines look just a bit deeper. 

 

Percy hums in agreement, studying the array of blankets in front of him. They’re all colorful and intricate and incredibly well made, probably using a variety of techniques—though he can’t name what they are. 

 

It’s really impressive, but he's scared to ask how long one blanket takes to make. That’s why it’s a job and not a hobby for the lady working the stall.

 

That’s when it hits Percy. He knows exactly what he wants to do for his hobby. He thinks back to Lace’s blurb in that book. “ Lace has expressed his desire to go into the family business, citing his proficiency with a loom and enjoyment of colorful fabrics and patterns.”

 

But Percy doesn’t want to make 700 count muslin for Capitolites, whatever that even means. He wants to make burial shrouds for the tributes who died—and for Annabeth. 

 

He puts his eggs and milk on the ground before gently picking up a beautifully woven blanket. Unlike the others, this one doesn’t have much of a pattern to it, just a simple maroon color with black stripes of thread popping up throughout. 

 

The lady’s eyes are lighting up, as if excited that Percy is actually going to buy one of her blankets. If Percy were anyone else—or himself at any other stage of his life—he’d worry about the woman up-charging him. 

 

But instead, he asks, “Can you teach me how to make this? I mean, I’d pay you for lessons, but I think I want this to be my hobby or whatever, for the Capitol.”

 

“I—” the woman stumbles over her words, her maternal act faltering in confusion, “I’d love to. What do you have in mind?” She asks. “I know all sorts of fabric arts. But if I’m using time to teach you instead of making my own blankets, it might be expensive.”

 

“That’s okay,” Percy says. “Oh and, uh, by the way, I’m Perseus Jackson,” Percy introduces himself, despite knowing the lady already knows who he is. He wants to forget that his face was plastered all across Panem just over a week ago, so the introduction is good for pretending.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks, extending his hand.

 

The woman grabs it, giving him a weak shake, “I’m Lyssa Odair, sweetie. I’m Finnick’s mother.”

 

Percy feels his mouth drop open in shock. That’s why she looked so familiar. 

 

She has the exact same smile as her son. 

 

Percy voices that much out loud and earns the same smile again. “You’re sweet,” Finnick’s mom says. 

 

There’s a lull in the conversation, as if neither of them know what to say next, and then Lyssa asks, “How is Finnick doing, by the way?” Her tone is light, casual.

 

“Oh,” Percy says, intelligently. “He’s, uh, doing okay.” 

 

Percy gets the sudden feeling that maybe Lyssa actually isn’t that close to her son, if she’s asking Percy how he’s doing. Finnick hasn’t even talked to Percy since they got to District 4. He wonders if Finnick hasn’t seen his family since then either.

 

But even if Percy had wanted to answer honestly, what would he even say? Would he tell her that her son seems really messed up about his girlfriend’s death and mentor’s stroke? In public, with who knows how many people—both normal District 4 busybodies and spies alike—listening? No.

 

But Lyssa is still looking at him expectantly, big eyes the exact same shade of green as her son’s. So begrudgingly, Percy continues. “We haven’t actually, like, talked much since we came back from the Capitol.”

 

Lyssa exhales, long and slow as she leans back against her stall. She fiddles with one of her blankets absentmindedly. “Finnick’s never that social when he gets back from the Capitol,” she says. 

 

“Even when he was a boy, he wanted to go to the Capitol so bad. He couldn’t even wait until he was eighteen to volunteer—had to do it at fourteen. And once he won, well, we were never exciting enough for him any more. After all, what does District 4 have to offer that the Capitol—”

 

“Wait, wait, he volunteered? At fourteen?” Percy asks, gobsmacked. His heart is racing, as if he’s scared for the fourteen-year-old Finnick who stood up on that reaping platform years ago and signed his life away. 

 

No one had told him Finnick volunteered; they actually seemed to imply the opposite. Leaving Percy to assume he was reaped, and there weren’t any careers who wanted to take his place. Percy can practically feel his perception of Finnick turn on its axis. The photoshoots, the adoring fans, the wealthy Capitol lovers… he really did want all that. 

 

And he wanted Annie. But you can’t have it both ways. 

 

Percy turns his attention back to Finnick’s mom, who looks flighty after Percy’s question.

 

“Yes, he volunteered. Everyone would’ve much preferred he waited until he was eighteen, but I guess he wouldn’t change it now even if he could. He tied for the record of youngest Victor, you know. I’m told a lot of Capitol girls had his poster up on their bedroom walls. I think they still might.” 

 

She laughs, and it sounds hollow. Like maybe in another life, she would be crying, but in this life, it’s an old wound. Scabbed over. Her little baby went off to war, but he didn’t come home in a box. So, she doesn’t get to mourn.

 

“And they still all find him handsome. He gets all these invitations to go to the Capitol. He goes, what, four times a year, now? I guess. He loves their parties, and between you and me, I think he loves their women far more than he likes District 4’s ladies.”

 

Her voice drops. “You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders.” Percy vaguely wonders where she got that assumption from. Most people assume the opposite. “Would you look out for him? Make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble?”

 

Percy’s not sure that’s a promise he can make, so instead he makes an excuse about needing to get home with his sad grocery haul. “Marlin can’t wait much longer for his… milk.” 

 

Lyssa lets him off easy enough, just giving him her workshop address and telling him to meet her there on Wednesday at 9 in the morning, and guiltily, Percy thinks she might be used to being blown off. 

 

---

 

Meeting Finnick’s mom lit something inside him that he can’t quite verbalize, so once Percy has his duck eggs and milk put away in his—at this point, still mostly empty—fridge, he heads over to pound on Finnick’s door. Finnick lives in a jade house one over from Marlin’s. The color reminds Percy of a peacock. 

 

He doesn’t even feel bad about the comparison after his conversation with Lyssa.

 

After four separate loud knocking sessions where he bangs a bronze rainbow trout against the pastel pink front door of Finnick’s house, the man himself finally deigns to acknowledge him, throwing the front door open.

 

“What are you doing?” He says, grouchy and grimacing against the afternoon sunlight shining in his eyes. Despite the fact that it’s two in the afternoon, he looks like he just woke up. “And why did you have to knock so loud?”

 

Percy squints, studying Finnick’s face. He’s not used to seeing him without makeup, but something about his face looks puffy, swollen.

 

“Are you hungover?” 

 

Finnick runs his hand down his face, scratching at his morning—or afternoon—stubble. “I wouldn’t say hungover.”

 

“Well, let’s hope not because you’re going to take me grocery shopping in Decoris.” Percy says, staring Finnick down. 

 

Finnick meets his eye, just looking at him for a long moment. “You need help grocery shopping?”

 

Percy doesn’t flush. He doesn’t need help grocery shopping, especially not from Finnick. The truth is, something about his conversation with Lyssa rubbed him the wrong way, and he wouldn’t be able to understand what it was until he actually talked with Finnick again. 

 

Percy’s empty fridge is just a convenient excuse. “I’ve never been grocery shopping in Decoris,” Percy answers simply. “I wouldn’t know where to go.”

 

Finnick huffs, “whatever, give me five minutes.” He slams the door shut, not waiting for Percy’s response.

 

Percy spends the time studying Finnick’s front porch. For a teenage bachelor, it’s pretty nice and homey. He’s got two old wicker chairs, a porch swing, and multiple wind chimes made of sea glass. One of them is so wonky, it almost looks like a child made it. 

 

Percy smiles to himself, briefly charmed at the idea of some mystery child making Finnick a wind chime and Finnick deciding to not only keep it, but display it in front of his house. It’s a stark difference from what his mom implied about Finnick earlier, but Percy supposes people are complex.

 

He’s lost in thought, staring at the sea glass, when Finnick opens the door again, wearing what passes as sweats in District 4. He sees what Percy is looking at and explains, “It’s from my niece. She made it for me years ago.”

 

Percy opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s going to say, but Finnick doesn’t give him the chance. He’s off down the street like a rocket. Or a hooker leaving church, as Will told him once.

 

Percy has no choice but to follow along.

 

They weave through coastal shops and restaurants and little cottages Capitolites can rent. Percy studies his surroundings quietly, as Finnick speed walks ahead of him on the cobblestone path.

 

They’re just passed a sign reading, “Decoris, the only beaches that are both safe and beautiful!” when Percy spots a tall brick building. There’s no sign advertising what it is, but Percy knows anyway. 

 

This is the Academy, where children go to be trained to die. 

 

He comes to a stop, studying the innocuous building in front of him. Despite his mental comparison of Annie to Percy’s fellow demigods, it doesn’t remind him of Camp Half-Blood or New Rome at all.

 

Somewhere ahead of him, Finnick realizes Percy is no longer following, and he traces his steps back. 

 

When Percy feels Finnick by his side again, he asks—voice quiet, “That’s the Academy, huh.”

 

Percy doesn’t look, but he gets the feeling Finnick is studying him instead of the building. 

 

“Yeah.” Finnick says simply, like it isn’t a big deal. And Percy guesses it isn’t for him. 

 

Percy’s hands clinch at his sides. “Are they going to expect me to train them?”

 

He hears a small tap, tap, tap and looks over to see Finncik is tapping his pointer finger against his pendant necklace. “Eventually.”

 

Percy breathes in and out. He can’t handle all of this at once. This trip was just supposed to be about figuring Finnick out. He can’t have a crisis about the Academy right now. That’s a tomorrow problem, at the earliest.

 

He coughs, “Right, well, let’s keep going to the grocery store or market or whatever Decoris has.” He says, voice gruff in a way that says too much about how he feels. He’ll have to work on that. 

 

Luckily, Finnick doesn’t point it out or stop him, and they’re at the grocery store—and it is a grocery store, not a corner shop or market—in no time. 

 

It’s strangely domestic, and Percy is realizing that he’s never gone grocery shopping with anyone but his mom or Paul before. Finnick makes some… interesting shopping decisions, which Percy tries not to judge him too hard for. Though as he watches him put a $100 bourbon next to low-fat blueberry yogurt and coffee protein shakes in their shopping cart, Percy worries he failed. 

 

He makes the much more responsible decision of buying all of the supplies to make his mom’s cookies, toast, and oatmeal. He even throws in some salad mix and potatoes last minute. He totally knows how to take care of himself. 

 

He doesn’t actually learn anything productive about Finnick on the grocery trip, though. He doesn’t particularly want to bluntly ask why he volunteered for a gladiator fight at fourteen, and that’s not the sort of thing that comes up naturally in conversation. Nor does, “why don’t you talk to your mom?”

 

Overall, he fails at all of his goals, but as he looks to the side and sees Finnick looking more alert than he has since before Annie died, Percy thinks maybe it wasn’t a total waste.

 

Plus he got bread, so Marlin should be happy.

 

---

 

Weaving is hard. That’s the first thing Percy learns about weaving, actually. 

 

He goes to Lyssa’s workshop, which is actually just her house, exactly when she says. And it’s a trip, standing in the arched entrance of Finnick’s childhood home. They have a porch swing, but unlike Finnick’s, it’s in rough condition. The porch roof is slouched where it’s connected, as if it might collapse if someone so much as thinks about sitting on it. 

 

Overall, the house is small and humble, something Percy doesn’t associate with Finnick. Especially once Lyssa starts talking about her eight kids. Finnick probably had to share a room with one or two siblings growing up. It’s strange to think about.

 

But he keeps going, taking the bus from Decoris to the edge of Portland four days a week, and he watches Lyssa as she weaves before taking over on the loom. He weaves rows upon rows of fairly simple patterns that make him want to tear his hair out in frustration. 

 

He has no idea how Lace made muslin. He thought it sounded impressive before, but now Percy is pretty sure Lace must have some divine blood of his own in him because this shit is hard.

 

It’s during the second week that Lyssa finally breaks Percy’s stalemate with her loom. “Are you sure you want to learn weaving, dear?” She asks, strange melting pot accent heavy in her tone. Percy is kind of curious about it. Finnick doesn’t have that accent. 

 

“We could always knit or crochet instead.”

 

Percy stares down at the red woolen warps wrapped around the loom and the long tapestry needle, then up at Lyssa’s knitting supplies—two knitting needles and black yarn. They look much less intimidating. 

 

“Yeah,” he says admitting defeat. “Let’s learn how to do that.”

 

From there, Percy learns that there is a difference between crocheting and knitting. Lyssa explains, “Crocheting just uses one hook, while knitting uses two needles. The types of stitches they do are different too. Knitting gives you a uniform V shape, while crochet gives you a sort of knot, but it can vary based on what stitch technique you do.”

 

Percy listens to her talk, wide eyed and slack jawed, and when she asks which one he wants to learn, he manages to mumble out, “crochet, I guess.” 

 

He’s a natural born sailor, so he’s good at knots. He’s hoping the skill will transfer. 

 

Lyssa passes a ball of yarn over his way and a crochet hook. It feels unnatural in his hand, but he tries to push past it as he listens to Lyssa’s instructions. 

 

She corrects the way he’s holding the hook. Knot, she says. Chain, chain, chain. Yarn over. Half-double crochet stitch. Chain. Percy doesn’t fully understand it, but it’s easier to follow than weaving was, so he tells himself to stick it out. Everything gets easier with practice. 

 

By the time that lesson is done, Percy has a small square of off-white yarn in half-double crochet stitches. It’s no burial shroud, but it’s a start. Percy’s chest feels lighter than it has since he fell into Tartarus, even as Lyssa unravels the whole thing to save money on yarn. 

 

They exchange smiles—easy on Lyssa’s part and somewhat forced on Percy’s side, but that’s okay. He’ll get better at that with time too.

 

Lyssa hands him a casserole on his way out. 

 

“What is this?” he asks, staring down at the green beans, corn, and potatoes in confusion. 

 

“Oh my family always makes a big meal for the beginning of September, and I wanted to share some with you.”

 

It’s September already? August is already gone? Percy blinks in confusion. That means he’s eighteen. 

 

His birthday passed and he didn’t even know it. He tries to wrap his mind around this, but it feels like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.

 

And Lyssa is still talking. He waits for a pause, not even listening to what she’s saying, before saying, “Thank you,” as sincerely as he can. 

 

Lyssa reassures him that it’s nothing, and she just wants to make sure someone’s taking care of him. Percy tries to leave as soon as he can without being rude.

 

He’s eighteen. He’s an adult. It feels just like seventeen, but it’s not. He’s an adult, and he’s all alone now. The closest thing he has to a mom is someone he co opted from Finnick and pays for lessons in fabric arts. This isn’t how he thought his life was going to go.

 

When he gets back to Victor’s Village, he looks over at Finnick’s jade green house only to see no lights are on. It’s the same for Marina’s yellow house, so Percy steals himself and walks up to the pastel orange home.

 

He thinks it’ll do both Marlin and himself some good to share this casserole.

 

He doesn’t tell anyone that he’s eighteen, and when he gets back to his own house, he finds a new bottle of sleeping pills laying on his kitchen counter.

 

He takes two and goes to bed.

Notes:

Wow misunderstandings driven by talking to someone's mom, here we go! I know misunderstandings can be frustrating for readers, but Finnick doesn't strike me as the kind of person to be open about what's happening to him. I've always thought he would hide it from the people he loves until he can't anymore (like how he doesn't tell Annie about the Capitol essentially being made into another arena in Mockingjay).

Anyway, some comments:

-I am so excited to reveal more about the Odair Family and Finnick's relationship with them. I'm also super excited to reveal more about the other, as of now, unnamed tributes AND Marina and Marlin. Literally so much of part 3 and 4 is just character exploration.

-Orville is inspired by George Orwell

-Keep an eye out on my tumblr because I'm going to post a Finnick prequel/POV snippet soon 👀

-I also wanted to take the time to thank everyone who's left kudos on this work. 2,600 Kudos is insane! Thank you so much!

-Edit 2/5/2025: If you saw my tumblr post about nail polish names and how I was thinking about renaming some of the stuff in this fic after them, this chapter title is named after a nail polish lol

Chapter 18: Stagnant Water

It’s already halfway through September when Percy decides to do something he hasn’t done since before he was reaped—he goes to the beach. 

 

Something about the ocean has felt off limits ever since he got back from the capitol, and he has a sneaking suspicion it’s a subconscious form of punishment or maybe even fear. Maybe he’s scared the blood on his hands will wash off in the ocean and turn the whole thing red. 

 

But that’s ridiculous, and he’s not going to allow it anymore. He’s taking care of himself now—or trying to at least—and the ocean is a big part of that. 

 

He thinks this is what his mom and friends back home would want him to do.

 

So, on the cloudy sixteenth day of September, he walks to the beach closest to Victor’s Village. It’s not technically a beach for tourists, but it’s also significantly nicer than the beaches in Portland ever were, which he feels both grateful for and guilty about.

 

Percy takes off his shoes and walks barefoot on the sand, stopping to pick up and look at seashells every now and then, only to put them back where he found them. 

 

After so long away, the ocean's waves lapping on the shore feels almost novel. He wonders if this is what it feels like to come home from college in the summer. To come back to your childhood home and feel like it fits differently now, like you’ve changed so much while the house has stayed the same. He’ll never find out now, he supposes. 

 

He just feels grateful the waves don’t reject him. 

 

When the sun reaches its highest peak, he goes into the water and just lays there, eyes closed and feeling the water pass over him. 

 

Everything about his life feels deeply foreign to him now, but the ocean is still comforting. It still welcomes him. He doesn’t even really notice the lack of his father anymore. It seems to be filled up with every sea creature within a ten mile-radius, none of which are trying to actively talk to him, but he hears some of their thoughts anyway. 

 

They’re refreshingly simple compared to what Percy is used to. 

 

The peace is nice. He’s comfortable in the water, but more importantly he feels safe. It’s a rare feeling in Panem. He basks in it right up until he feels something land on his leg and he hears a strange, vaguely familiar squeak. 

 

With hesitation, he peels one eye open and comes face to face with a giant black-footed albatross, head tilted with brown eyes staring down at him. Its wings are half-tucked in, but even so, Percy can tell its wingspan must be massive. 

 

Percy stares back, and the albatross squawks again, like it wants something from him. For the life of him, Percy can’t imagine what.

 

He closes his eyes again, hoping the bird will go away on its own, but it doesn’t. It stays there, perched on his leg, until Percy finally gets up—dislodging it.

 

“Sorry, buddy.” Percy says, not really sorry. It comes out hoarse. It’s the first thing he’s said all day. “I’ve got to go.” 

 

The albatross stares at him, and maybe Percy is finally lonely enough that he’s projecting human emotions onto animals, but he thinks it might be sad to see him go.

 

Somehow, it makes Percy feel bad enough that he says, “Maybe I’ll come back in a couple of days, though,” as if making a peace offering with the bird.

 

The albatross makes a low, braying sound before taking off, massive wings stretched all the way out.

 

Percy goes home and does a good job of not thinking of the bird. That is, until the next morning, when he wakes up to it sitting on his porch. He passes it and gives it a side-eye on his way to the market. 

 

It doesn’t follow him, but it does make a habit of showing up regularly. When Percy’s at the beach, when he leaves his house to run errands, and even when he meets with Finnick’s mother. He knows it's the same bird because it has the same scar down the side of its face. 

 

The whole thing is strange. He’s pretty sure Albatrosses don’t actually spend that much time on land, normally.

 

He’s crocheting on the same beach by Victor’s Village when he finally gives in and talks to the albatross again. “If you’re going to keep following me everywhere, I should name you. It’s getting annoying to keep thinking of you as ‘the bird’,” Percy says. 

 

The bird blinks slowly, which Percy takes as permission.

 

“Hmm,” he playfully taps his finger on his chin. “What should I name you?” Percy thinks of possible names, but it’s surprisingly hard. The last time he named someone was when Iapetus lost his memories and Percy told him his name was Bob. Not his best work.

 

He almost settles on naming the bird Nigel after the pelican in Finding Nemo, when the perfect name comes to him. “Coraline,” he says, and saying it outloud only makes the name settle even more. The name’s connection to the coral reefs feels like it fits, making it just feel right for the albatross.

 

The bird even puffs up—half spreading its wings, as if agreeing with his suggestion. “Yeah,” Percy says. “I think Coraline fits you.”

 

He looks back down at the yarn in front of him. He’s got two skeins in front of him—one a bright red and the other a black. He’s trying to crochet a simple checker pattern. Wattson, the 14 year old male tribute from District 5, had apparently been an avid chess player, and he loved the color red. Percy thought it would make for a simpler design to start with than some of his other design ideas, like the purple coneflower for Tillage from District 11 or the rabbit for Lace.

 

Unfortunately, simpler doesn’t necessarily mean easy. Switching between the colors is even harder than he thought, and his Mollymawk audience member is somehow making him even more stressed. 

 

Irrationally, he thinks Coraline is judging him for being bad at crocheting. After several frustrating minutes, he ends up unwinding the whole thing and starting again. I’m going to make this good for you Wattson , Percy promises.

 

Overall, it’s not the worst way to spend his day.

 

---

 

He finishes the shroud for Wattson and starts one for Sebast, the 17 year old male tribute from 10. According to the book, he had a favorite cow he got up to milk every morning, so Percy gets out a paper to draw a grid pattern of a cow’s face on. He’ll show it to Lyssa later for feedback.

 

---

 

Marina and Finnick went to the Capitol two days ago. The only reason Percy even knew about it was because Finnick’s mom told him.

 

“Finnick won’t be coming to family dinner this Friday,” Lyssa had sighed from where she is using a yarn ball winder to make a skein of blue yarn for her latest blanket. “He’s going back to the Capitol, probably invited to some important party by some rich Capitolite.” 

 

She continued, “I wish he wouldn’t do that. Those people in the Capitol are changing him. He rarely ever plays with his nieces or nephews anymore, and everytime he comes to family dinner he starts a fight with someone.” 

 

“Last Friday, he called his brother a jealous moron who didn’t have the balls to volunteer for the hunger games or the emotional intelligence to get over it.”

 

She pauses for a long moment, as if wanting Percy to say something—maybe refute Finnick’s insult to a man Percy’s never even met. It feels a lot like she wants him to condemn Finnick’s actions, to say that even though he’s a victor, that’s not acceptable. 

 

Percy doesn’t particularly want to get involved in family drama, so he says nothing, letting the silence drag on. 

 

She starts talking again. “You haven’t gone back to the Capitol since you won.” 

 

She stretches the word you, making the comparison between Finnick and himself very obvious. Her voice is full of longing, and Percy is suddenly very uncomfortable with how much it sounds like she wishes Finnick was more like him.

 

And, he only knew Marina went too because of something offhanded Marlin had said while Percy was dropping his groceries off at his house. 

 

Percy couldn’t help but feel frustrated with how left out of the loop he was. He hadn’t felt comfortable meeting up with Lyssa again after their last conversation, and Marlin was still as antisocial as ever, only talking to Percy when Percy reached out and forced him to.

 

Gods, he needed actual friends. 

 

He was pacing around his living room, anxious for something to do—some social interaction—when someone knocked on his door. Percy looked down his entryway hallway, and sure enough someone was standing outside his door, casting their shadow in the window. 

 

Percy slinks down the hallway to look through the peephole, only to see a man he doesn’t recognize. He huffs before opening the door and stepping outside, shutting the door behind him. Ever since he’s started getting a monthly unannounced delivery of his sleeping meds, he doesn’t like the idea of strangers in his space. It’s a false sense of control at best, but he likes feeling like he has some power over his house.

 

The man, tall and buff and starting to go prematurely gray, straightens up in his presence. “Good morning,” he says. 

 

It’s early afternoon now, but Percy doesn’t correct him. Instead, he nods and says, “Morning.” 

 

“My name is Cillial Callahan. I’m the principal of the Academy here in District 4, and I wanted to extend an invitation for you to come and teach a class. We think the students could learn a lot from you, especially in hand-to-hand combat.”

 

Percy feels his heart race. He had known this moment was coming, but that didn’t make it any less stressful. 

 

Ever since he had walked past that building with Finnick weeks ago, he had been thinking about the possibility of teaching at the Academy, and he found himself thinking back to something he had told Annie. About how it was admirable that she volunteered over someone who didn’t have a chance. 

 

Was it fair for the kids at the Academy to be trained, when others like Daffodil and Will weren’t? Well, the answer, Percy knew, was no. But was it even really about that? Did District 4 not have a duty to make sure the kids they’re sending off have the best chance of winning?

 

If Percy didn’t agree to train them, would their blood be on his hands? Would he have to walk past their families every day knowing he could’ve brought their kid home, but didn’t?

 

On the other hand, isn’t training them encouraging them to volunteer? If he trains them and tells them it’s to make sure they have a fighting chance of winning, would they take that as an implicit recommendation to do it? Would they look at him, in his nice house and his nice clothes and think that made it worth it?

 

Percy thinks about it as Cillial stands there patiently. In the end, Percy doesn’t think it’s even a real choice. He can’t imagine an untrained Annie in the arena, and he doesn’t want to. 

 

Percy swallows. “When would you need me?” 

 

---

 

The inside of the Academy is bright, with white fluorescent lights shining down on every corner of the building. Some of the younger kids are gathered in the hallway, watching him pass with wide eyes and muted whispers. Percy purposely tries not to make out what they’re saying.

 

There are some things you don’t need to know, he thinks to himself.

 

As he walks further into the building he starts seeing the older groups—the oldest of which are his age. They’re better than the younger kids at hiding their reactions to him, but they’re by no means good at it. Percy doesn’t like seeing the awe on their faces. He doesn’t deserve it. 

 

They don’t wear uniforms at the Academy, meaning it’s easy to tell where in district 4 the kids are from. All the kids from Portland wear some variation of work boots, with quick-drying long sleeve shirts and half of them are wearing fisherman overalls on top of that. The kids from Decoris wear nice jeans with the touristy shirts the Capitol citizens expect to see 4’s population wearing—like Hawaiian pattern shirts or hoodies with the District 4 resort logo on them. 

 

The Midground group is somewhere between the other two. Worn jeans with holes in them that Percy can tell isn’t necessarily a stylistic choice, and plain t-shirts. 

 

He can’t help but notice there don’t seem to be any kids from Orville here.

 

“Ah, Mr. Jackson!” The Principal, Cillial, greets him, extending his arms wide, but dropping them before he gets within touching range of Percy. He must be used to dealing with victors and their common aversion to touch.

 

“Welcome to the Academy,” he continues, gesturing for Percy to follow behind him. “Come along, today we have you scheduled to teach hand-to-hand to the 5th years. They’re all very excited to study under you.”

 

Percy barely holds back a wince, reminding himself that he signed up for this. And it isn’t the kids fault that they idolized him. They don’t know any better. They were born and raised in Panem. This is normal for them.

 

The principal turns around to look at him expectantly, as if making sure the plans are okay with him. Percy responds with a simple, “cool,” just to satisfy him, but Cillial looks confused and Percy briefly worries “cool” isn’t in use anymore before ultimately deciding he doesn’t care.

 

He’s led to what must be the gymnasium, and it’s strangely similar to every school gym he’s been in before. It’s got lines on the ground to mark distances for games and bars on the lights to make sure they don’t accidentally break if they get hit. There’s even bleachers off to one side. If it wasn’t for a wall of weapons on his far-right side, Percy could almost convince himself he’s back at Goode. 

 

He forces his attention away from the gym and towards the group of teenagers standing by the entrance to what must be the locker rooms. They look like they’re all around sixteen or seventeen, which makes sense with being “5th years.” The Academy enrolls kids when they’re twelve, he remembers.

 

They’re all standing around awkwardly in a way only teenagers can. Percy belatedly realizes he is mimicking their posture, back slouched and hands in his pockets. He straightens up and clears his throat, “hey, guys,” he begins, cringing internally. What’s wrong with him, he’s taught classes at camp before. This is no different. 

 

He pushes onward. “I was told we’re going to be working on your hand-to-hand combat today, but first I need to know what experience you all have with it. What kind of stuff have you learned before?” 

 

A girl with brown skin and curly hair raises her hand, and Percy nods in her direction. “We’ve been learning hand-to-hand since second year, but this is the first year where we’re supposed to be getting personalized attention to how we fight, rather than all learning the same moves.”

 

“Thank you…” Percy trails off, asking for her name.

 

“Leda,” she answered the unvoiced question with a half-smile.

 

“Leda,” Percy smiles back. “Well then, since I don’t know any of your fighting styles yet, I think it’s best to have you come up two at a time to demonstrate what you know in a spar.”

 

The teens agree readily enough and pair up on their own, which probably isn’t the best, Percy supposes. They’re likely just partnering up with their friends, but he’ll work on that later, get them out of their comfort zone. 

 

For now he wants to correct their form, and try to give each of them individual feedback.

 

As they each take turns trying to pound their partners into the wrestling mats, Percy fondly remembers all the times Clarisse did the same to him. 

 

Man, if she could see him now, she’d be laughing. No doubt saying how these kids would be better off learning how to fight from a cat, or something. She likes insults like that.

 

Percy misses her. He misses everyone.

 

---

 

Percy finishes the burial shroud for Sebast, and he’s starting to feel almost dizzy with how many stitches he’s done sitting at his kitchen table or at the nearby beach. He’s had to shake more sand out of his project than he’d care to admit.

 

He looks in the cow’s eyes. It’s, admittedly, not realistic, but it was always going to be cartoonish. He hopes Sebast, wherever he is, likes it. He gets out the yarn and starts plotting the design for Rye, the 18 year old tribute from district 9. 

 

He hasn’t talked to Lyssa Odair since Finnick went to the Capitol two weeks ago. He feels guilty being held up and compared to Finnick; he knows if he was in FInnick’s place he wouldn’t like it. This means he’s on his own designing this shroud, but he tells himself if he really messes up, he can just unravel it and start again. 

 

Finnick and Marina still haven’t come back from the Capitol.

 

---

 

Percy is staring out his window at the two albatrosses gathered at the apple tree by his house—Coraline and her friend she’s started bringing around, a strangely scrawny albatross Percy named Gideon—when Marlin barges in. He doesn’t bother to knock, which seems in character for him, but it doesn’t balance out how out of character it is for him to leave his house in the first place. Much less willingly seek Percy out. 

 

“Hey Marlin,” he greets anyway, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, “What’s up?”

 

“Get dressed,” he says instead of greeting Percy. “We’re going somewhere.”

 

In record time, they’re out of his house and walking down the path towards where the merchants in Decoris live. 

 

“Where are we going?” Percy finally asks, tucking his hands in his pockets. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but this whole thing is throwing him off.

 

“You’re lonely,” Marlin says, as if that explains anything. “We’re going to get you a friend.”

 

Percy opens his mouth before deciding against saying anything. He’s not quite sure what Marlin means by a friend and honestly he’s a bit scared to find out. “Are we getting you a friend too?” He settles on after a silence a bit too long.

 

Marlin huffs, “no, I’d end up killing it.”

 

Percy decides not to comment on that.

 

And on they walk down paved roads, which turn into gravel the further into the merchant neighborhoods they get. Some people, like Annie’s family, live above their shops, but most don’t. Instead, living out in cottages right on the edge of Decoris. 

 

They’re quaint and cute, Percy thinks as they walk by them. Though they all look very similar. He remembers hearing a sailor at his old job talk about Decoris, what feels like a lifetime ago. They have restrictions on what your houses can look like, he had said. His family had needed to move out of Decoris when he was little because of it. They couldn’t afford the legally required renovations. 

 

Percy wondered if they had walked past the sailor’s old home, or if it even existed anymore. Maybe it was torn down years ago. If there was one lesson Percy had learned during his time in Panem, it’s that the world continues. 

 

It’s up to everyone else to continue with it.

 

“This is it,” Marlin says, gesturing towards a cottage that looks just like the two next to it. They walk up to the front door, and Marlin pounds his fist in a way that could politely be called knocking but was really much more forceful than needed. 

 

“Who is it?” An old lady calls from somewhere inside the house.

 

“It’s Marls.” Percy shoots him a side-eye at the nick-name, but Marlin carefully avoids eye contact. Or maybe he just does that enough that it’s second nature now. 

 

The door in front of them is thrown open in a manner almost as aggressive as Marlin’s knocks.

 

“Oh Marls,” the old lady sighs before throwing herself at Marlin. 

 

Percy watches, baffled, as Marlin half-hugs her in return. “You don’t come around enough anymore.” The lady complains, wiping her hands on the apron she’s wearing. “Come in, come in.”

 

“Ma,” Marlin starts, answering Percy’s question of who the old lady is. “This is Perseus. Perseus, this is my ma.”

 

Marlin’s mother turns in his direction and shoots him a weak smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. “How are you holding up?” She asks. “Are you getting out of the house? Socializing enough?”

 

With the way the comment was phrased, Percy is uncomfortably reminded of Lyssa Odair. Finnick goes to the Capitol and parties, and Lyssa speaks about Percy’s virtues of staying in 4. Meanwhile, Marlin turned into an agoraphobe, and now his mother is trying to tell Percy he needs to socialize in front of her own son. 

 

Something about it feels insidious, cold, like they’re just using Percy as an excuse to complain about and insult their own children. 

 

Percy can’t help but think his own mom would never do that.

 

“I’m doing alright,” Percy says. It is as truthful as he feels like being. She doesn’t seem to actually care much about what he’s saying anyway.

 

“We’re here for the dogs,” Marlin interrupts his mother before she can say anything else. 

 

His mother rubs her hands together, looking at Marlin intensely. “You want a dog?” She says, as if she heard wrong. The way she says you is sharp with judgement, like she doesn’t think Marlin would be a good dog owner. 

 

Percy remembers what Marlin had said on the walk here. “I’d end up killing it.” And belatedly realizes Marlin wants to get him a dog. “You’re lonely,” he had said. 

 

Proving his conclusion right, Marlin points to him and says, “It’s for the boy.”

 

“Well, come along, then.” Marlin’s mother leads them around to the backyard of the house, which has a small, run-down shack in it. Marlin gestures for Percy to go first before following behind at his own slow pace, like he doesn’t actually want to be here. Which, knowing him, he doesn’t.

 

Marlin’s mother opens the shack door, revealing an exhausted looking dog laying on an old, worn blanket with two puppies climbing over her back. Ah, motherhood .

 

“Pick whichever one you want. We already gave the third one to a Peacekeeper who came asking about them. Said he wanted a guard dog.”

 

Percy shivers a little about the idea of Peacekeepers having guard dogs. The puppies look cute and harmless now, but they look like some kind of german shepherd mix. He bets they’re going to grow up to make fierce guard dogs. He doesn’t like the idea of the Peacekeepers having one of those at their disposal. 

 

He pushes the thought aside. “Thanks,” he says, stepping forward towards the dogs. The mother watches him wearily, making sure he isn’t going to hurt her pups. He keeps his movements slow as he holds out his hands for the puppies to sniff. 

 

They’re really rather cute, Percy thinks to himself. One is a solid black, while the other has brown splotches scattered throughout its body, and is noticeably smaller. Probably the runt of the litter. 

 

“What gender are they?” He asks, turning his body just slightly towards Marlin’s mother. 

 

“Both boys. The whole litter was. Which is lucky, the worst thing about this dog has been trying to get rid of her puppies. She’s downright mean when they’re first born, too.”

 

Percy zones her out as he messes around with the puppies. 

 

The problem is, he’s having trouble deciding between the two. Just as he gets attached to the smaller one with brown splotches, the other one climbs over his brother, pushing him into the wooden floor of the shack, to get Percy’s attention. He lets out a huff of laughter as he pets its head. The brother starts whining for his attention too, and Percy can’t help but smile. 

 

“You shouldn’t bully your brother,” he chastises the larger puppy.

 

They’re nothing like Mrs. O’Leary, much too small and defenseless for that, but he gets the same feeling around them that Mrs. O’Leary gave him. He wonders how Marlin knew a pet would be good for him. 

 

He hesitates, before opening his mouth and saying, “Can I have them both?”

 

Marlin shoots him a judgmental look, which Percy doesn’t really understand since this was his idea in the first place, but he elects to ignore him, looking at his mother instead.

 

“You want both of them?” She asks disbelievingly. 

 

Percy coughs, unsure, “yeah, I do.”

 

She hums. “Well, I suppose you’re one of the few people around here who could afford to take care of two of them. If you want them both, they’re yours. I’ve been having trouble trying to find someone to take the other one anyway.”

 

“Thank you,” Percy says, genuinely grateful. He’s not quite sure if he’s saying it to Marlin or Marlin’s mom.

 

He scoops one puppy up in each arm, and their dog mom looks relieved to finally have some peace and quiet. Without any further ado, Marlin and him start to trek back to Victor’s Village.

 

“What are you going to name them?” Marlin asks once they’re out of hearing distance from his mother’s house. 

 

Percy thinks for a long moment. He doesn’t want to give them district 4 names, and anything from Greek mythology will just sound like it's honoring the Capitol. 

 

He thinks back to when he was really little—before his mom met Gabe—and his mom would get off work. They’d curl up together on the couch, his mom still smelling like candy, and his mom would turn on some kids TV for them to watch together. That, Percy thinks to himself, was a religious experience all on its own, and he’s going to honor it.

 

“I’m going to name them Zach and Cody,” he says.

 

When they get back to Victor’s Village, they notice that two houses have lights on—Finnick’s and Marina’s. They’re finally back from the Capitol.

 

Marlin gives him a half-hearted gesture that Percy interprets as a wave goodbye as he heads towards his own house. As Percy walks past FInnick’s house, he sees smoke coming up the chimney, and sees Finnick furiously scribbling something on a piece of paper before crumbling it up and throwing it in the fire.

 

Feeling like he just saw something he wasn’t supposed to, Percy hurries towards his front door, Zach and Cody wiggling in each of his arms.

Notes:

I literally spent so long deciding on the various names in this chapter. Specifically with the dogs, I kept trying to find mytholgoical/symbolic names for them only to decide that Percy wouldn't use any of them, and ultimately named them after the Suite Life of Zach and Cody.

Anyway, sorry for all the original characters/new names you have to keep track of. I know a lot of people hate that in fanfiction, but we really just don't know enough canon characters in district 4 to avoid it.

And Finnick and Marina had to go to the Capitol :( poor babies. On the bright side, Finnick did get to see Mags while he was there...

Plus the cracks in the Odair family are starting to show. If you read the snippet from the Finnick POV fic on my tumblr, he got in an argument with Waylen.

Chapter 19: The Olive Branch

Summary:

Some more Finnick and Percy interactions + the start of the Victory tour

The next time Percy sees Finnick, it’s the first week of October. The trees further inland have started to change color, a sight Percy would’ve found beautiful a year ago. Now, it just unsettles him, reminding him of the arena. He’s even more fidgety than normal, but there’s not actually anywhere to escape. Or anything to escape from, for that matter.

 

He’s taken to staying inside more often than not, and he keeps the curtains closed in all of the windows. He thinks if it wasn’t for Zach and Cody, he’d never leave his house. As it is, he hardly leaves the neighborhood, and when he does, it’s only to the beach to walk the dogs or to the market for food and yarn. He doesn't even really meet with Lyssa anymore, though the season isn't the only reason for that.

 

But he can’t stay like this forever. It’s not tenable. Plus he misses his Albatross buddies. So on a miserable, stormy day of October, he gets up and drags himself to the Academy for his promised second lesson, smiling when he sees them flying just below the rain clouds. The smile lasts all the way to the Academy, where he runs into Finnick.

 

No one told him it was a joint lesson.

 

Finnick has the same emotionless expression Percy has gotten used to seeing on him right up until the students enter the gym, and then he’s all smiles and encouragement. It looks natural. He looks happy.

 

It’s… disturbing.

 

Percy feels bad as soon as he thinks it. How rude is it to find someone smiling weird? But still, he can’t quite shake it off as he listens to Finnick explain to the students—and Percy—what they’re doing today.

 

It’s a weapons lesson. Specifically tridents, which the students from Portland look particularly excited about. Percy scratches mindlessly at his tattoo. He notices what he’s doing and stops, hoping no one else spotted it.

 

“So, Perseus,” Finnick begins. “How well did you say you can use a trident?”

 

Percy flexes his fingers. “Well enough, I guess.” He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He’s done mock fights with people plenty of times, with a bunch of different weapons. This shouldn’t be any different. 

 

Something possesses him to add, “But I’m better with swords.”

 

Some of the campers—students—laugh at that and it’s only after a moment that Percy realizes why. They think he’s scared of Finnick, the trident-wielder extraordinaire. They think he’s trying to get him to turn a trident spar into a sword spar. 

 

It’s kind of embarrassing, but after a moment, he decides it’s actually a good thing. After how preternatural he acted during his games, maybe it’s good for them to think he’s scared of another Victor. Percy grins belatedly.

 

“Alright, sword-boy. We can fight sword-to-trident then. Swords are in the back room over there,” he gestures toward a half-open door. 

 

Percy doesn’t spend a long time picking his sword. He knows none of them will fit him as well as Riptide did, and he is cognizant of the class of teenagers waiting for him in the gym. He knows how short their attention spans are. He picks one that’s halfway decent and is back in the gym in less than a minute. 

 

It’s only as he’s standing in front of Finnick, who has grabbed a trident of his own that Percy realizes he grabbed a fucking rapier. He feels fucking stupid with the ridiculous handle, but he forces the emotion down. Besides, the Hunger Games don’t lend themselves to helping tributes pick good swords anyway. 

 

Finnick takes the lead in the pre-spar lecture, which is just fine with Percy. “I know at the Academy we tend to give you and your sparring partner the same weapon, but oftentimes, that’s not the case in the games. So pay attention to the different strategies Perseus and I will be using. Obviously you can’t fight the same way with a trident and a sword, and likewise, you don’t defend against them in the same way.”

 

With that, Finnick turns back towards Percy, indicating that the lecture is done, for now.

 

The spar starts, and Percy waits for Finnick to make the opening move. He doesn’t want to be too aggressive in the fight. He wants to let Finnick set the pace. Finnick seems to recognize he’s waiting for him to start, and lunges forward with the trident. Percy blocks it, and the fight is off.

 

It’s the first time Percy has used a sword since he got to Panem, and he forgot how invigorating the feeling is—especially in a fight where no one is going to die. Even his poorly balanced, ridiculous, pirate-ass rapier sword feels good to use. 

 

Percy honestly hasn’t fought against many trident-wielders in his time, and when he did, he was usually using a trident himself. So the experience is interesting.

 

And look, Percy really was planning on letting Finnick win, but then it turned out that fighting Finnick actually was at least somewhat of a challenge. Much more so than fighting the careers was, at least, and Percy ends up getting a little caught up in the emotions of the fight. 

 

His slashes and blocks might get a little too ambitious for “teaching a bunch of mortals how to fight, oh and also they think you’re mortal.” Sue him. 

 

Finnick seems genuinely surprised by how good Percy is as Percy forces him on the defense, and irrationally, Percy is kind of annoyed at that. So, he catches his sword right where the prongs and the shaft of the trident connect and forces the trident to veer off to Finnick’s side. Before Finnick can recover, Percy throws himself forward, dropping his sword and pinning Finnick onto the ground, one knee on his stomach. 

 

Finnick’s face turns green, and Percy reflects that he might’ve kneed him in the stomach a bit too hard, as he hurriedly gets off him, extending a hand to help him up. Strangely, when he stands up he doesn’t seem hurt, but he does look deeply rattled. Percy wonders if it’s really that rare for Finnick to lose. Then again, maybe he doesn’t fight people who aren’t students—people who have real experience fighting—that often. 

 

Either way, Percy takes over, asking the class what they noticed about the fight and what openings—if any—Finnick and him missed. 

 

Finnick comes out of his funk quick enough for the class, but once the students are gone and they’re walking back to Victor’s Village, he falls right back into it.

 

Percy doesn’t ask him what’s wrong.

 

---

 

The burial shroud for Wool, the sixteen-year-old female tribute from District 8, is easy. She loved llamas and said she wanted to work with them and their fur in the future, making various textiles out of it. Percy isn’t entirely sure how much of that is true and how much was edited as propaganda, solely because her dream of working with textiles in the textile district seemed a bit too convenient, but without meeting her family and asking them directly, it was the best he had to work with. 

 

Percy found some yarn made out of llama fur and some fluffy yarn, and began working on Wool’s llama themed burial shroud. 

 

He was actually really proud of it.

 

Cody is very interested in the llama yarn, though, so Percy puts it in one of his closets on the top shelf. It’s the only thing in that closet.

 

---

 

Not long after finishing Wool’s burial shroud and starting one for Loree, the female tribute from District 6, Percy’s brain decides that he’s done crocheting for a while. Percy, who still has 8 burial shrouds left to do, tries to fight it, but fails. Instead he lounges uselessly around his house, looking for something to do, while Zach and Cody alternate between taking naps and watching him pace. 

 

The Capitol supplied him with a TV. It looks different from the TVs Percy is used to—looking kind of like a slab of tinted glass, thin and with no cords connecting it to the wall. But the living room layout, of a couch and some chairs facing a black box, is familiar enough for him to guess what it is. 

 

From there it’s only a matter of finding the remote control, which takes much more effort. In the end, it turns out there isn’t a control—instead, in the drawer of the side table, Percy finds a user manual. He flips through the manual and is disturbed to learn the way to turn the TV on is to say, “Hey Dory,” which is far too similar to the technology back home. Uncomfortably, Percy realizes that for the TV to hear him say that, it has to always be listening.

 

It shouldn’t surprise him; he’s suspected before that his home isn’t as private as he would like, and it’s certainly in character for the Panem government. But the thought is still unsettling. 

 

He slumps down on the couch, pulling a blanket he bought from Finnick’s mom onto his lap. Hesitantly, he says, “Hey Dory,” and immediately, the TV lights up a light blue. Idly, he wonders why he’s never seen Marlin watching TV before. He knows he has one.

 

“Dory” doesn’t verbally greet him, instead the TV turns automatically onto a channel—some sort of broadcast from the Capitol. Percy can’t help but wonder if District 4 only gets the one channel. It’s easy to censor that way, he knows. Less media to control.

 

Two familiar faces greet Percy—Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Smith. Or, maybe it’s Claudius Temple? Percy doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t actually care, either. 

 

The volume comes on delayed, making Percy miss the first part of the conversation between the two. Caesar—his hair a neon orange—starts, “Now this is the tribute all the young ladies in the Capitol have their eye on, Claudius.” 

 

Percy’s stomach swoops as he realizes what he’s watching. This is a rerun of a past Hunger Game, and as the camera cuts to a fourteen-year-old Finnick wearing a cloak of fish scales, Percy knows he should turn it off. There is no way Finnick would want him to see this. Percy knows if the tables were turned, he wouldn’t want Finnick watching his Hunger Game.

 

But despite all his logical reasoning, he’s frozen on the couch. Tiny Finnick is smiling right at the camera, waving to the crowd. He’s got baby fat on his cheeks, and he looks a couple inches shorter than the nineteen year old Percy knows. Even his muscles are less developed, and Percy has no idea how this thin, young boy is supposed to win. The girl beside him—Laura (18), according to the screen, and no doubt an Academy graduate and career—looks like a better bet than Finnick. 

 

When his mind finally starts working again, instead of turning the TV off like he should, he turns the volume down. His hands are sweaty, and his heartbeat is fast. Even his breathing is low, like he’s trying to be quiet. He feels like a teenager watching porn and scared to death his parents will find out. 

 

The TV plays on. Finnick is charming in his interview. Nowhere near as charming as he is now, but the fourteen year old cuteness and naivete makes up for it. He has a very “golly gee” attitude about everything, which contradicts everything his mom told Percy. 

 

Percy, in a peculiar desire to know the real Finnick better, both morbidly wishes he could have seen him volunteer at the reaping and is glad he didn’t. He’s not sure he wants to know which part of Finnick is true. He’s not sure either is.

 

He scores a 10, like Percy did. It is the highest score of the set, no one even ties with him. Caesar and Claudius don’t talk about that much though, everytime they talk about Finnick, it’s to talk about how beautiful he is. How he’s got such nice bone structure, how he could grow to be so handsome if he wins, and how if he makes it to the final eight, maybe they can see if the rest of his family is as beautiful as he is.

 

“Maybe I should dye my hair copper,” Caesar jokes.

 

Somehow, that makes Percy sicker than the violence. It reminds him of the feeling of watching the kids from District 12 come out to the parade virtually naked. It’s not just physical violence at that point. With every comment, Percy becomes more and more aware how thin the line is between the physical violence of the Hunger Games and the sexual violence it’s just holding back from.

 

Kids aren’t kids in the Hunger Games. They’re dolls to play with, and sex sells.

 

Then, it starts. It’s an island setting, surrounded entirely by salt water—a good omen for Finnick. The camera pans over the supplies in the cornucopia, and Percy is surprised to see there isn’t a trident in the stack. He knows Finnick used one—everyone talked about his skills with a trident during his game, but Percy doesn’t know where or when he got it. And he might be imagining things, but when it cuts to Finnick’s face, he looks almost disappointed. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. 

 

The timer ends and the bloodbath breaks out. There’s a small girl who’s quicker than the rest, grabbing a backpack and getting the hell out. But everyone else reaches the cornucopia at roughly the same time. It’s a mad dash for the limited supplies and weapons. As much as Percy hates to admit it, the smart ones go for the weapons first—you can’t fend off an attacker during the blood bath with a sleeping bag. 

 

Just like with his games, the careers are brutally efficient, and just like with his games, it becomes immediately obvious the male tribute from District 4 is not a part of the pack. The boy from District 2—Porcius, a name Percy immediately knows was used for people who sacrificed pigs to the gods, an uncomfortably accurate name in these circumstances—lurches his spear towards Finnick, who in turn grabbed a long knife. Not Percy’s personal preference to fight off a spear, but it’s an okay choice in a high stress situation. 

 

The fight between them is quick, Finnick slashing at Porcius’s spear, trying to damage it bad enough to force a retreat. After three tries, it works. The spear, obviously meant to be a throwing spear, was made of wood, and once Finnick gets a good strike into the side of it, the integrity of the spear is compromised. 

 

Porcius realizes it at the same time Finnick does, and as he starts to retreat, Finnick lunges forward, drawing a fairly shallow slash in Porcius’s side. It’s not deep enough to kill. But in the bloodbath, when any weakness is dangerous, it could nonetheless mean his death. 

 

Percy can’t tear his eyes away from the screen, as it shows Finnick running off with his supplies and weapons. The girl from 2—Leni—tries to chase after him, but is stopped by the girl from 1—Tiffany. The camera just manages to catch her saying they need to all stick together over the sounds of the dying children. 

 

It’s morbid. It’s gorey. It’s horrible. Percy doesn’t once look away, and he feels vile for that.

 

The editors manage to compress the next week—and the careers hunting down and killing four different tributes—into ten minutes. And most of it is actually focused on Finnick, who kills two tributes with the spears and knives he grabbed from the cornucopia, and gets seemingly endless sponsor gifts.

 

But then the editing changes, and all of the focus is back on Finnick, dramatic instrumental music plays, mounting into a crescendo right as Finnick gets another sponsor gift. It’s obvious this gift is different from the others, just from its special introduction.

 

The box is huge, floating down from the sky. The leftover twilight glow from the now set sun makes it look like a gift from the heavens, and Finnick’s face when he opens the box only furthers the impression. The expression he makes looks like a painting of a man seeing god.

 

Before the camera even shows what it is, Percy knows it’s a trident. The game didn’t start how he thought it would, but he knows how it has to end from his old fishing job. Finnick guts the rest of the tributes, “like a fish,” one of his coworkers had said. “That’s how you know he’s from Portland,” he had told Percy. Percy had thought he sounded proud.

 

Sure enough, the camera cuts to the gift, and lying in a rich, red velvet cloth is a flawlessly polished trident. Percy has seen plenty of tridents in his time in Panem, but the finery of the sponsor gift reminds Percy a bit too much of his father’s trident.

 

Doing what he should have done immediately once he realized what he was watching, Percy turns the TV off. 

 

---

 

Percy spends hours thinking about Annabeth’s burial shroud. It isn’t like Judy’s or Daffodil’s burial shrouds where he kind of knew them but only under extreme circumstances. He’s been friends with Annabeth since he was twelve. They’d fought a war together, they walked through hell together, and they did normal teenage things like movie dates together. 

 

He has no idea what to put on her burial shroud. 

 

He bought a bunch of yellow yarn—her favorite color—but that’s as far as he’s gotten. He sketches out a design for an owl before wading it up and throwing it away. It’s too much her mother, not enough her. Then he tried to do her reworked main temple on Olympus, but it was too complicated for him to crochet.

 

Nothing’s good enough. He isn’t good enough. Not for this.

 

---

 

It’s a brisk November afternoon when Finnick knocks on his door to give him the rundown of the Victory Tour. “We’ll go to every district,” he says. “Starting with District 1 and going all the way to 12, skipping 4. Then we’ll go to the Capitol for a Victor’s Party before finally having the last stop be here, as a sort of homecoming.”

 

“When is this?” Percy asks, leaning against his door frame. It hasn’t even started yet, but just the idea of what he’ll have to do drains all the energy out of him. He feels like he's about to collapse like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

“Every stop is one day, including the kick off day, so fourteen days in total. The final stop is the Victor's home district which always falls on the last Thursday of November. Of course, the prep team will get here even before that.” 

 

Thanksgiving? Percy thinks incredulously. He didn’t really expect Panem to celebrate Thanksgiving, but having a morbid celebrity tour around the districts in place of it is a bit too much. 

 

Finnick tries to make eye contact to convey the importance of what he is about to say, but Percy isn’t paying attention to what he’s doing. Instead, he’s biting his nails and staring at the floor. Finnick huffs. “You’ll be filmed more or less the whole time, so be prepared for that. You’ll also be expected to give a speech at every stop, but you don’t have to write it—it’ll be provided. Just don’t mess it up, okay?”

 

“And one more thing, be careful about what you say and do. You don’t necessarily do anything technically wrong, but sometimes… you just do things that make you the odd one out. Don’t do that with this.”

 

Percy winces remembering all of the strange things he’s done in front of the camera, already imagining all the other things he could do wrong. 

 

Regardless, he nods, trying to picture the next month in his mind. Fourteen days before the last Thursday of November was just six days from now. Percy has gotten through a lot of terrible things in his life, but as he’s facing down the idea of a tour of all the places with children he’s killed, he’s a bit concerned about how he’s going to get through it. 

 

Finnick hesitates on his porch before reaching out, and patting Percy on the shoulder. The gesture is awkward and slow, like he’s not used to doing it. It’s strange, Percy thinks. Finnick seems so comfortable everywhere except Victor’s Village. And with his family. Percy isn’t sure what to make of that.

 

“You're such a youngest child,” Percy jokes. Finnick gives him a halfhearted smile. It makes Percy think that they could be friends, one day. If they both give it a chance.

 

---

 

“Okay, to start us off, just talk a little bit about your hobby,” a young interviewer named Cressida tells him. She’s bald and has vine tattoos extending all over her scalp, but Percy finds her kind of comforting. There was a sapphic daughter of Demeter who had similar tattoos and demeanor back at camp. 

 

She waves him on, and Percy breathes, suddenly camera shy. He looks back at the burial shrouds scattered around his living room. There’s 22 of them. He hadn’t made one for Annie or Annabeth yet. But that’s okay. He’s not sure he wants the entirety of Panem to see those anyway.

 

“I, uh, made blankets,” Percy says, with all the confidence of an awkward 18-year-old boy. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about how he actually made burial shrouds for the other kids who died. It feels… too personal to talk about in a Capitol interview. He doesn’t think the people in charge of the Hunger Games deserve to know that.

 

“What inspired the blankets?” Cressida asks. 

 

“I dunno,” Percy says intelligently. “Vibes, I guess.”

 

The cameraman mouths ‘vibes’ incredulously to himself, and Percy can see Finnick put his head in his hands just off to the side of the camera. Percy takes that as a sign that he messed up, and he quickly backtracks. “You know, like the aesthetics of them. They’re pretty.”

 

Finnick’s head is still in his hands, but Percy can’t think of a better save. So he tries to gesture to Cressida that he wants her to ask the next question. Mercifully, she does. “How long do they take to make?”

 

“Well, when I first started out they took forever because I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I can do one in about a four days now. If I can focus on it.” Percy almost brings up his ADHD, but at the last minute, thinks better of it, keeping his mouth shut. Inaccessible hospitals. No doctors. No diagnosis, he tells himself.

 

“Castor, get some close ups on them. I want to emphasize the colors.”

 

“Sure,” The cameraman—who Percy assumes must be Castor—says, pulling up closer to the various furniture Percy has laid the burial shrouds out on. 

 

The sound guy stays off to the side fiddling with his microphone, while Cressida walks up towards him. Keeping her voice low, she says, “Perseus, you’ve got to give us a little more to work with here. If you really don’t have anything else to say about the blankets, we can give you a script. I know it’s uncomfortable, but we’ve got to have something to broadcast.”

 

Percy nods, thinking about what he is and is not willing to say. “I can talk a bit about how I make them.”

 

Cressida gives him a light smile. “That’d be great.”

 

And so once Castor is done with his shots of the burial shrouds, the sound guy comes back over and Percy talks about learning from one of the merchants at the market—carefully omitting the fact that it was Finnick’s mother from his narrative. Percy notices Finnick seems visibly relieved at that. He talks about his graphing process to create the pictures, and which stitches he used where. It’s very technical talk, and by the end of the interview, he’s honestly surprised about how much he learned about crocheting in the past couple of months. If Athena could see him now, he thinks bitterly.

 

Once the interview ends, he goes to rub his eyes, already exhausted, and Finnick’s arm reaches out almost unnaturally quick to stop him. “Eye makeup,” Finnick reminds him.

 

“Ugh,” he groans. 

 

“We’re going to the town square next to film the send-off. There will be more cameras there, so make sure to be careful with your expressions.” Finnick whispers to him. “Not all the cameramen are as forgiving as this crew has been.”

 

Once he steps back, Percy is crowded once again by his stylist and her team. They’ve been following him like ducks all day, and Percy knows why, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find it irritating. 

 

Cressida and her team shuffle out to the car brought all the way from the Capitol. Or maybe just District 6. 

 

Percy, Finnick, and their gaggle of stylists—Finnick has even more than Percy—all go out to enter their own cars. Percy isn’t used to car rides anymore. Something about it feels alien now, and his stomach flips the whole ride to the Capitol building, where just five months ago, Percy was reaped. 

 

The building looks nothing like it did for the reaping, though. There’s people in the square, but most of them are there for a reason—work or errands. A couple of teenagers flock together in groups and watch as Percy, Finnick, and their entourage go to the Capitol building to greet the mayor. 

 

Percy sees more than hears some of the teenage girls giggle as they walk past. 

 

The mayor gives him what can only be called a speech, despite the fact that there’s maybe twenty people in the room in total and most of them are film crew. He says something about being proud, and proving the qualities District 4 has to offer Panem. Percy doesn’t really pay attention, to be honest. Percy supposes the whole show is because they’re being filmed, so maybe that’s why he gave a speech. Percy still finds it annoying, but he remembers Finnick’s warning and keeps his face carefully neutral for the cameras.

 

Then Finnick cracks a joke, and they’re off to the train station.

Notes:

Some comments:
- Subvert the "sexual tension in a fight trope" by giving one of the people in the fight trauma
- Wool's llama burial shroud in my mind looks like the llama sweater from gravity falls. Wool really does like llamas. She just was being realistic about her dream job in her district.
- I honestly don't know that much about crochet, and am worried that's coming across in the writing. I hope I've gotten everything right so far, most of my crochet knowledge is second-hand
- I imagine Caesar did dye his hair copper the year after Finnick's game
- Castor is there but Pollux is not, as I imagine this is before Castor was able to buy his ability to work above ground.
- Marlin is watching Zach and Cody. If you were wondering lol

Anyway, I'm so sorry for the long delay of this chapter. The real reason it took forever is that I feel headfirst into the Star Trek fandom. Don't worry though, this fic still lives rent-free in my head!

Chapter 20: Flowers for a Narcissist

Summary:

The Victory Tour

“So you have dogs now.” Finnick begins, walking over to the bar to make himself a drink. “What are their names?”

 

Finnick and Percy had boarded the train, and instead of going off on his own to do his own thing like Percy expected, Finnick had hung around the common room with Augustus, Daphne, Finnick’s own stylist Pompey, and Percy. 

 

Percy was honestly relieved Finnick wasn’t leaving him alone with the three Capitolites. Daphne was okay, but he couldn’t stand Augustus and he didn’t know Pompey.

 

“I do,” Percy says. “I named them Zach and Cody. Marlin’s watching them for me while we’re gone.” Percy watches Finnick move around the bar. He’s making some kind of cocktail, Percy guesses, but he doesn’t know to say which one. “I got them from his mom, actually,” he adds.

 

“Aww how cute,” Daphne gushes. “I myself recently bought a teacup maltipoo, and she’s just the cutest thing ever.”

 

Finnick walks towards the group with five glasses, offering a drink to everyone. Percy turns his down, and Finnick keeps it right next to his drink, downing both of them in less than ten minutes before going back to the bar for another. 

 

Everyone else isn’t very far behind, and soon, the train car is full of loud laughter and embarrassing stories most sober people wouldn’t share.

 

Percy excuses himself to his room. The group is getting a little rambunctious for his tastes.

 

---

 

Their first stop is District 12, and it’s apparently the longest train ride of the whole trip. Percy keeps himself locked in his room before taking a sleeping pill and going to bed. He wakes up during the middle of the night to hear someone drunkenly stumble down the hallway. There’s a loud thump and cursing. Percy recognizes Finnick’s voice.

 

He waits one moment and then two before deciding to get up and check on him. By the time he opens his door and looks out the hallway, Finnick is gone.

 

---

 

Percy spends the next morning watching the scenery pass by the train window. Unlike when he was twelve, he doesn’t spot any centaurs or mythical lions, but the view is beautiful nonetheless. Especially when they hit the Appalachian mountains, where 12 is apparently located. 

 

Daphne and the prep team blessedly dress him in much more normal clothes than they did during his time in the Capitol, albeit bundled up in layers, with a nice wool coat to top it off. 

 

“12 is always snowing this time of year,” Daphne tells him cheerfully, “gotta make sure you don’t freeze.”

 

Finnick slides up next to him as the train rolls to a stop. He’s been preened to almost perfection, if it wasn’t for his eyes looking just the tiniest bit red at the corners.

 

“You doing okay?” Finnick asks, extending a hand out and letting it hover an inch away from Percy’s back.

 

“Fine,” Percy says. “What’s the game plan, here, anyway?”

 

“The mayor will be there to greet us when we arrive, and then we’ll have lunch at the mayor’s house before you give a speech in the town square, Augustus should be getting his notecards to you soon.” 

 

Finnick turns to look at him, his normally bright eyes dark with an emotion Percy doesn’t want to place. “The families of the tributes will be there—in places of honor, and the image of tributes will be displayed behind them. If you need to, look at the ground in front of them or the sky behind them, but you will be expected to look in their direction.” 

 

Percy hears his jaw click as he closes his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Finnick says, voice low. Finally the hand that was hovering behind his back, falls on his shoulder, and Finnick gives him a quick, reassuring squeeze.

 

Percy doesn’t know what to say in response, so he ends up saying nothing. He stares blankly at the door of the train as Augustus joins them, passing him a stack of notecards. Percy pockets them without bothering to read them. 

 

“Why is it taking so long for the doors to open?” Percy asks.

 

“The camera people are getting set up. 12 doesn’t have any photographers of their own to offer, so Cressida and her team have to get off and set up before we can leave.” Augustus says primly. 

 

He’s looking down at his nails. He had been bragging about them last night, right before Percy left for his bedroom. Apparently, they’re temperature changing nail polish or something, Percy wasn’t fully paying attention. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

Percy looks down at his nails and hides a smile. You can tell Augusuts had been drunk while he was painting them—they look like a mess. He watches, amused and trying to hide it, as Augustus pulls out some gloves from who knows where and puts them on. 

 

He sees Percy watching, and seems excited to talk about them. “They’re pink when they’re warm, and purple when they’re cold.” He explains. “Of course, with how cold District 12 is right now, I imagine they’ll be purple the whole time we’re here.”

 

The doors finally open, and Percy tunes Augustus out as blinking lights block his vision. Finnick steps forward, practiced and unintimidated by the paparazzi. Percy goes to follow him, and trips while stepping off the train onto the platform. Luckily, he catches himself before he can faceplant, and he looks up. 

 

The cameras, of course, caught his stumble, but his eyes met Cressida’s. She mouths, “we’ll edit it out,” and Percy relaxes. As his eyes adjust to the flashes of light, he realizes Augustus was right—he recognizes all of the camera people on the platform from the group back in 4. 

 

But there are a couple of new people. A group of Peacekeepers flank a middle-aged man, who stands directly in front of Finnick. This, Percy guesses, is the mayor. 

 

Unlike the mayor from District 4, this man stands tall, but he seems noticeably tired and rundown. Percy knows, if the mayor from 4 were here, this man would look small and sad in comparison. 

 

They say their greetings and embark on the short walk from the train station to the mayor’s house, and Percy can’t help but think the difference in their mayor’s demeanor actively reflects the difference in their districts. 

 

If Percy had thought District 4 was rundown and poor, it was nothing compared to District 12. Percy could tell the Capitol building in the center of the courtyard was once grand, but it had been neglected for so long that some cracks had started to show, and the market buildings all had peeling paint. Even the District itself was small—practically a village.

 

The mayor’s house was one of the few things that looked to actually be in good shape, and even then it was no elaborate mansion like the buildings in Orville were.

 

There are cameras trained on him the whole time he’s in the mayor’s house. The mayor has a little girl, and she’s genuinely one of the few highlights of the day for Percy. 

 

Her name is Madge, and she stands quietly behind her father, except when she absolutely has to speak. When the mayor takes Percy on a tour of his house, he sees Finnick talking with Madge out of the corner of his eye. Finnick has his best charming smile on as he says something to Madge, and she blushes a bright red like a schoolgirl with a crush. Percy has to suppress a smile. 

 

Eventually, they settle down for dinner at a large dining room table. The dining room is the most elaborate room of the house, with a mahogany table and crystal chandelier, and Percy wonders if the dining room is so nice because of events like these. Regardless of if they have a Victor, they have to host for the Victory Tour. 

 

Percy wonders if it gets exhausting. 

 

They’re joined by a man Percy recognizes as the man who sat next to Finnick during Percy’s Victor interview. He’s introduced as Haymitch Abernathy, the Victor of the 50th Hunger Games. 

 

He’s very obviously drunk, slurring his speech and smelling strongly of alcohol, even across the room from Percy. 

 

Percy makes a point of not looking in Finnick’s direction when Haymitch stumbles on his way to sit down at the table. 

 

Percy sits to the mayor’s right hand-side, and when Augustus looks like he’s going to try and grab the seat next to him, Percy’s arm reaches out and tugs Finnick towards him using a bit more strength than he perhaps should. He can’t feel any regret for it, though, when Augustus disappointedly has to pick another seat. 

 

Lunch passes, and they talk about nothing important during the first two courses, but for course three—dessert—the local baker comes in loading a cake with his three sons helping.

 

The youngest of the three stares at Percy for just long enough to be impolite, but Percy doesn’t call him out on it.

 

Instead, he wonders how old he is. Madge is twelve, Percy knows. The mayor had said so. Old enough that she could be reaped. She could be a Daffodil or a Will or a Judy. Percy feels vaguely nauseous, he doesn’t end up eating any of the fancy cake. 

 

There’s beer passed around afterward, and Finnick and Haymitch both accept, while the mayor and Percy decline. Percy is all too aware he’s about to give a propaganda speech in front of a District that has just lost two of its children. He wants to be sober for it.

 

He thinks Finnick should be too, but he tries not to judge him for it.

 

The square is smaller than the one in 4, but 12 also has fewer citizens, and it looks like they managed to shove all of them in the courtyard for his speech. Percy’s hands are sweaty and shaking, despite the fact that the air is cold enough he sees his breath when he exhales. He shoves them into his coat pockets to hide it.

 

Snowflakes flutter down into the dreary crowd, and Percy can see the two cleared spots in the crowd, with TVs stationed behind them showing the dead tribute's faces. Daffodil’s family—a father and mother and four kids, all of which look young enough to be reaped—stands to the right, and Matthew’s family—an older woman, who is probably his mother, standing alone—to the left. 

 

Finnick is unmoving at Percy’s side—tall, proud, and seemingly unaffected. Like neither the dog-and-pony show of dead kids or the three beers he had at lunch are enough to shake him. 

 

The mayor speaks first, and then it’ll be Percy’s turn. He thanks Matthew and Daffodil’s families, for having such wonderful children and for giving them to Panem. He says they’ll forever be in the hearts of District 12. Percy tastes bile on his tongue, and he swallows it back.

 

When it’s time for Percy to step forward, he pulls the notecards out of his pocket, and stares down at them. He stands in front of the mic uselessly for what must be a full minute because there’s a major problem with the cards. 

 

He can’t read them. Augustus had apparently handwritten them, and he has perhaps the worst handwriting known to mankind. It’s not only a borderline calligraphic cursive, but it’s also plain sloppy. Honestly, even if he didn’t have dyslexic, Percy isn’t sure it’d be legible. 

 

He squints his eyes, and vaguely makes out some generic “Thanks for having me today,” opening. But past that? It’s just a bunch of squiggles with a word Percy can make out maybe once every other sentence.

 

The crowd stares mindlessly up at him. They all want to leave, Percy knows. He wants to leave, too. 

 

He shoves the notecards back in his pocket.

 

He clears his throat. Best get this over with, he tells himself. 

 

“I want to thank you for having me,” he says into the microphone. He pauses and the words echo over the clearly outdated speaker system.

 

Percy has no idea what a Victor is supposed to say at these things. Unlike everyone here, he’s never even witnessed a Victory Tour before, but as he stands in front of hundreds of District 12 citizens—most looking starved and beaten down, like the poorest families in Portland—he finds that he doesn’t particularly care about the propaganda Augustus wrote him. 

 

He can’t offer comfort; there’s nothing he could say that would make what these people are going through better. But he can at least be honest.

 

He avoids looking at Daffodil’s or Matthew’s family, and instead his eyes catch on the baker’s son he saw earlier. He’s staring up at Percy, eyes wide, like Percy is some kind of hero. 

 

Percy doesn’t like it. 

 

“As you all know, I was the tribute from District 4 this past year,” he improvises. “I never thought I would be reaped,” because the Hunger games aren’t a thing where I’m from , he mentally adds. 

 

“And it was an experience that made me question a lot of things about myself. I’m not sure I  knew the Perseus that entered that arena, and I definitely don’t know the Perseus that left it.” Percy pauses, thinking where he wants to go with this line of thinking. “But I’m taking things one day at a time. Trying to get to tomorrow, next month, next year.”

 

“And I’m sorry Matthew and Daffodil can’t do that with me.” Percy says, looking at the two tribute’s families for the first time. He makes eye contact with both their mothers. Matthew’s stands tall and emotionless, unwilling to break down—maybe because there’s no one left to lean on—but Daffodil’s mother is crying, looking up at him with watery eyes.

 

Briefly, Percy debates adding something about Daffodil, but when he goes to open his mouth, he finds that there’s a lump in his throat. Hating himself, he swallows and decides his speech is finished. 

 

“Thank you for your time,” he concludes, stepping away from the mic and turning his back to the camera. 

 

Daffodil’s little sister looks a lot like her, he notes.

 

---

 

“Why didn’t you read the notecard?” Finnick asks. Percy looks over at him in the silent train car. He’s sober, Percy notices, and though the bar cart is feet from them, Finnick makes no move to get a drink. 

 

Everyone else has gone to bed, citing exhaustion or illness. Percy doesn’t know why, but he’s starting to suspect it’s so Finnick could have this conversation with him and they don’t have to get involved. 

 

“I couldn’t read the notecard,” Percy says truthfully. “Augustus’s handwriting is illegible.” 

 

To prove his point, he pulls the notecards back out from his pocket and passes them over to Finnick.

 

Percy puts his hands in his lap and stares at them. “And I’ve always had a bit of trouble reading anyway, so that doesn’t help.”

 

He hears Finnick shuffling the notecards. “You can’t read?” He asks. 

 

His voice is neutral, but the question riles Percy up anyway. Years of getting bullied for his dyslexia makes his response snappish. “Of course, I can read. It just takes me a bit longer than some other people. Some letters get flipped around in my head.”

 

His back is arched, muscles taut like a wolf getting ready for a fight. He’s defensive.

 

Finnick finally looks up at him, and they make eye contact. “Relax,” he says, voice calm and smooth like butter. Against his will, Percy thinks that he can see why so many people like him. 

 

“I’m not going to make fun of you or anything. I just wish we had known that before you went out there and had to improvise a speech.”

 

Percy’s shoulders drop. 

 

“Did I…” he trails off, worried to even put it into words. “Say something I wasn’t supposed to?”

 

Finnick puts the notecards aside, and clasps his hands in front of him. “No, you didn’t say anything you weren’t supposed to. You talked a little bit and very vaguely about how the games affected you and then apologized to the families who lost their loved ones. That’s fairly common in Victor’s speeches anyway. Honestly the biggest issue with your speech was how short it was. It wouldn’t be good if the Capitol thinks you're ungrateful, or worse, unwilling to do the tasks they assign you.”

 

Percy messes with the bottom of his shirt—a nice, green knitted sweater—just to give his hands something to do. He keeps his eyes carefully averted from Finnick.

 

“I didn’t mean to.” He says. It’s almost apologetic, though he isn’t quite sure why he wants to apologize to Finnick, or why he even feels the need to justify himself to Finnick.

 

Maybe, subconsciously, he values Finnick, as one of the few people who can understand what happened to him. Even if he can’t understand everything. 

 

He wants Finnick to like him.

 

“I know,” Finnick says. He sounds tired. Percy risks a glance at him, and sees he’s running a hand through his hair, making the copper waves look disheveled. Percy kind of hates that Finnick’s stress is his fault.

 

“I’ll tell Augustus he needs to type the rest of the speeches for you.” He gets up and moves as if to leave the train car—maybe to tell Augustus he needs to type his speech up right now. But he pauses in the doorway and looks back at Percy. 

 

“Do you still take those sleeping pills?” He asks. The non sequitur confuses Percy.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Finnick seems to catch on to his confusion and explains. “Just wondering. You look tired every time I’ve seen you since you got back to District 4. I thought you might be having nightmares. If you need to… talk about anything, you can come to me, you know?”

 

Percy nods.

 

Finnick stands there for a long moment. “Alright,” he says finally. “Get some sleep.”

 

And then Percy is alone. He looks out the window, admiring the view as they leave the Appalachian mountains and head south to District 11, where they’ll be meeting the mayor for brunch. 

 

Cover and Tillage were the tributes from 11, Percy remembers. He didn’t know either of them, but Cover was one of the tributes he drowned at the end. Eventually, he gets up and gets ready for a long night of no sleep, even with his sleeping pills.

 

---

 

District 11 is highly policed, a fact that makes Percy particularly uncomfortable since this District seems to have a majority black population. The homes themselves look like one strong wind will blow them away, and the fields they pass are full of overworked farmers. 

 

True to Finnick’s word, Augustus hands him a notecard with a typed speech on it. It is much longer and much more insincere than the one Percy gave 12, but Percy tries his hardest to follow it. He gets words mixed up and skips whole sentences, but Finnick doesn’t seem overly concerned so Percy doesn’t care either. 

 

Panem will probably just—correctly—think he’s a shit public speaker.

 

District 10 passes much the same way. They’re in charge of livestock, Percy knows, and the tributes were Sebast and Bessie. Percy has to refrain from nervously talking to Finnick about Bessie the Ophiotaurus. 

 

District 10 is also just as poor as District 11 and 12 were. Percy forces his way through Augustus’s speech, which is barely modified from his speech to District 11. He stumbles less this time, but he sounds even more mentally checked out than he had been in 11. 

 

Finnick pats him reassuringly on the back, and when Percy goes to his room that night he almost cries. He’s back to what he tentatively thinks is his new normal in the morning.

 

Then comes District 9, the grain district, with Rye and Harvest being the two unlucky kids sent to their death. District 9 is still worn down, and despite growing grain, the population looks underweight. 

 

On the train ride to District 8, Percy knocks on Finnick’s door after the rest of their group has gone to bed.

 

Finnick opens the door, holding a drink of some kind of dark liquor in his hand. Percy ignores his instinct to leave anytime someone around him is drinking and asks if he can come in. Reluctantly, Finnick opens the door wider and lets Percy enter. 

 

“You want a drink,” he asks, holding up a bottle of expensive looking bourbon. 

 

“No, I’m fine.” Percy declines, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

 

“So, why are you here?” Finnick moves towards his bed, but instead of sitting down on it, he plops to the ground in front of it, and pats the floor next to him. 

 

Percy slowly shuffles to sit next to him. He picks at the carpet as he starts to talk. “I had a question about the other districts,” he says. “I’ve noticed all the ones we’ve seen so far are pretty…” 

 

He hesitates, wondering how to phrase his question delicately. In the end, he decides to be blunt. “Poor.” 

 

Finnick sips at his drink, staring at the wall in front of them. “District 4 is pretty wealthy in comparison to a lot of the other districts,” he tells him, dragging the words out deliberately.

 

“As a general rule-of-thumb, the higher the number, the poorer the district. There are some exceptions—District 3, for example, isn’t very wealthy—but District 1 and 2 are the wealthiest, followed by 4. Everyone else is struggling to put food on the table. I guarantee you, even that baker back in District 12 worried about food—at least a little bit.”

 

Silence settles between them as Percy absorbs what Finnick told him. He never would have thought of District 4 as being wealthy—except for Orville and maybe Decoris—but to hear that the other Districts were falling far behind that? Hell, there were kids in Portland starving to death. How many kids in District 12 died of starvation? How many in 11?

 

Finnick puts his drink down suddenly, and the movement jostles the liquid in the cup, a bit of bourbon spilling over the side of the glass and down onto the carpet. Percy blinks up at him, wondering why Finnick, who seemed calm a moment ago, suddenly seems emotional.

 

“Questions like those are what I meant when I warned you to be careful about what you say.” Finnick tells him. He sounds almost angry—or maybe upset. Percy can’t tell.

 

“You keep saying things you shouldn’t know or asking about things you should know. You can’t be doing that, Perseus.” He almost hisses his name out, like he’s trying to force Percy to understand the seriousness of what he’s saying. 

 

“It is dangerous to be different. It is dangerous to know things. I just need you to play a normal District 4 citizen who is grateful he survived the Hunger Games just until we get back to 4, okay? There’s so many eyes on us right now, and every time you do or say something—it’s just not good! There are a lot of consequences in Panem if you don’t follow the status quo—” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Percy interrupts before Finnick can continue. “I’m not doing it on purpose,” he says, and then, mindful of all the technology in the room, he adds, “it’s my amnesia. I just don’t know certain things.”

 

Finnick stares at him, and Percy stares back. Percy’s eyes flicker back down to Finnick’s drink. “I should be going,” he says. “We’ll be in District 8 soon, and I need to get some sleep in before then.”

 

Finnick looks around the room, and Percy thinks he might be realizing that this is an ideal place to be spied on. Percy looks at the bottle of bourbon, trying to remember how full it was yesterday, and how much Finnick must’ve drank today. 

 

“Of course,” Finnick says eventually. “That’s a good idea. We both need some sleep.”

 

Will was from District 8, Percy remembers, and Wool, the girl who loved llamas. It’ll be a long day.

 

---

 

District 7 is just as cold as District 12 was. The only good thing about this stop is that everyone expects him to be weird here. It’s the home of the girl who betrayed him, Augustus says. Of course he’s a little off.

 

Percy does not look at Judy’s family, and he barely remembers the stop at all.

 

Districts 6, 5, and 3 fly by in the same awful pattern. Percy didn’t personally know any of the tributes from those Districts, and as far as the citizens of Panem know, he didn’t even kill any of them. Percy knows better, though, and he sees the girl from 5—Amelie—and the boy from 3—Cache—drowning when he closes his eyes.

 

He’s almost grateful to get to District 2. There’s only 3 stops left before he can put this nightmare tour behind him. 

 

But any gratitude he feels vanishes quickly. This is Nero and Andromeda’s district, and Percy learns the people here do not like him. 

 

They don’t like that he killed both their tributes and that he did it easily. They think he embarrassed the whole district. 

 

How does Percy know this? Because the fucking mayor said it to him while he was getting the customary “I’m the mayor of this district and I’m going to show my mansion off to you” tour every mayor on the Victory Tour had given him so far. 

 

“You’ll have to forgive us if we don’t seem excited to see you,” he had told him. “You made a bit of a mockery of our district, boy.” The man, who must’ve been in his late sixties or early seventies, turned to look at him, his face full of disgust. 

 

Percy bristles at the word, “boy,” and he’s ready to bite back when Finnick, who had thankfully decided this was the one district where he wanted to see the mayor’s house, steps forward. 

 

As genial as can be, he says, “District 4 has to have some cards up our sleeves, don’t we Catullus? It’d be boring otherwise.”

 

Turning his attention away from Percy, the mayor eyes Finnick. “Did you train him yourself?” 

 

“A little bit,” Finnick smiles, “Though most of it was the Academy trainers. As much as us older Victors like to claim the younger Victors’ successes as their own, it’s not completely true.” 

 

Like magic, the anger and disgust on the mayor’s face is gone and they arrive back in the dining room for an early dinner. The mayor puts an arm around Finnick and says something to him under his breath that Percy can’t hear. 

 

He survives dinner with that scumbag, and afterward, they bring him to District 2’s own Academy. Neither Finnick, their team, nor the mayor accompany him, meaning it’s just Percy, a bunch of Peacekeepers, some Academy professors, and a ton of students littering the building. 

 

When Percy walked into the Academy, he was expecting a lot of the same hostility the mayor gave him, and while some Professors don’t seem overly happy he’s there, the students look at him like he’s the second coming of Christ, dogging his steps and pointing at him as he passes. 

 

He had thought the students at the Academy back in 4 were bad, but it’s nothing compared to the students here. 

 

“We train future Peacekeepers here,” one of the professors tells him. They both politely ignore the fact that two graduates from here will volunteer for the Hunger Games come next July. See? Percy can have decorum.

 

This is the one District where they are spending the night before giving the speeches tomorrow morning, and instead of walking back to the train station to sleep on the train, the Academy graciously provides rooms for Percy and his entourage. 

 

Before he can hit the hay for the night, one of the professors asks if he would be willing to have a Q&A with the students, and Percy debates saying no before seeing a girl who looks all too much like Clarisse shove her way to the front of the crowd. 

 

Percy folds. What’s the difference between the kids here and the kids back in District 4, after all?

 

They bring him to an auditorium already packed with teenagers, all of them talking excitedly among themselves. When Percy walks on stage, a hush falls over the crowd. He’s handed a microphone, and one of the professors ends up picking which students get to ask their questions. 

 

“What’s your best advice to win the Hunger Games?” A buff teen asks. 

 

Percy almost says don’t get reaped , but he stops himself, exercising his much doubted self-control. “Make sure you know how to get food and water. If you don’t have food and water, you’re not going to be able to fight.”

 

“How do you fight off a mutt?” A gangly boy asks. 

 

“It depends on the mutt.” Percy answers. “Try to remember everything you know about the animals it’s engineered from, and use any of the weaknesses those animals have. But also know when it’s time to run away.” 

 

“Do you think beauty is important to win?” A blond girl asks. 

 

“I’m sorry what? I don’t understand quite what you’re asking.”

 

She blushes and elaborates. “Well, your mentor was Finnick Odair, who famously got a lot of sponsors, meaning he got food, water, and supplies sent to him in the arena plus his trident. None of that was cheap, and when we analyse those games, everyone always says if he wasn’t attractive, he wouldn’t have gotten nearly that much sponsorship money.”

 

“And you yourself are handsome,” the girl she’s sitting next to shoves her elbow in her friend's side, jeering her lightly, and Percy is reminded of how young and innocent these kids are, even if they’re being trained to kill. 

 

“Basically, I’m asking if you think tributes should put time and effort into their appearance so that potential sponsors are more likely to donate.”

 

“Uhh,” Percy bluescreens. 

 

He knew Finnick got a lot of sponsorships because people found him attractive, and Percy knew people found him attractive as well. But being asked about it point blank, was throwing him off. He didn’t know how to answer the question.

 

“I’m not really sure. I guess it couldn’t hurt?” His voice tilts up into a question. “I mean, if you only have a limited amount of time to prepare, I would probably use that time for other stuff like learning to scavenge or use a knife or something.”

 

The next student the professor lets ask a question, is tall and buff, looking much older than 18, though Percy knows he couldn’t be. The Academy doesn’t teach anyone too old to volunteer or be reaped. “How did it feel to win?” He asks.

 

If Percy was thrown off by the last question, it is nothing compared to this one. He doesn’t want to answer it. He doesn’t even want to think about how he would answer it.

 

Bad is probably the truthful answer, but he knows better than to say that.

 

“I’m sorry, I think that’s all the time we have today.” Percy says, turning his mic off and exiting the stage. 

 

The students look disappointed, but Percy couldn’t care less, forcing his way out of the auditorium. 

 

He’s shown to his room, and the only good thing about the night is that he runs into Finnick right before heading to bed. 

 

“How did the tour go?” Finnick asks.

 

“Fine.” Percy looks down and sees Finnick is holding an entire bottle of whiskey. It’s new and unopened. “Where did you even get that?” 

 

Finnick holds the bottle up like he forgot it was there. “Oh, I grabbed this from the train before coming here. You want some?”

 

Percy shakes his head.

 

“Ah well, more for me,” Finnick says, shooting Percy his charming megawatt smile. The one Percy suspects is fake. “Night.”

 

“Good night,” Percy says, but Finnick is already walking away to his own room. He doesn’t think Finnick hears him.

 

He takes his last sleeping pill that night. He hopes he can get more in District 1.

 

---

 

Augustus has a fresh set of notecards printed for him in the morning. “I changed the speech a bit more for the next two stops,” he tells Percy. “Districts 1 and 2 like to hear different things than the rest of the districts.”

 

Stomach sinking, Percy looks down to read through the new speech. The beginning is more or less the same as the other districts: he thanks District 2 for hosting them, talks a bit about the importance of the games, and his responsibilities as a Victor. 

 

But the section about the tributes is completely changed. 

 

In the other districts, his speech had said something to the effect of “thank you for giving us your child so we could lead them like a lamb to the slaughter and please the gods (government of Panem) and bring safety and prosperity to the whole country.” 

 

The speech for District 2, however, has a completely different tone. He thanks the dead tributes directly for bravely sacrificing themselves. Most worryingly, he thanks them for putting up a good fight. 

 

“They put up a good, strong fight,” the notecard in front of him says, “and brought honor upon District 2 and, in turn, all of Panem.”

 

The shift is minor but noticeable, and it makes Percy feel sick. This is the difference between the districts that have volunteers and those that don’t, Percy knows. 

 

They get a ride from the Academy to the courtyard the assembly will be held in, and like all of the others, the mayor gives his speech first. 

 

He, like all the other mayors, sounds sure of the necessity of the Hunger Games. When he gives his speech, he stands tall and speaks clearly. 

 

The only palpable difference between his speech and the rest that Percy has been forced to listen to is the way the audience reacts. They cheer when he pauses between sentences, and goad him on, like they genuinely agree with what he is saying. And not only do they like it, they love it.

 

The sickness Percy felt earlier comes roaring back. And, at the end of his speech, the mayor thanks President Snow and thumps his hand against his chest and throws his arm out in an enthusiastic Nazi salute.

 

Percy's knees give out, and he stumbles backward into Finnick, who catches him just before he can fall on live TV.

Notes:

Comments:
- Yes the end is inspired by Elon Musk doing the Nazi Salute on live TV at Trump's inauguration. And people are defending it/saying he did it accidentally. I genuinely cannot believe they're saying the quiet part out loud now. Like HE DID THE NAZI SALUTE!
- Also follow up to the above comment. If anyone says anything to the effect of "Trump isn't that bad" or "It wasn't a Nazi salute" or god forbid, "don't make this fic political" I will just delete your comment and block you. I am not engaging in any conversations like that on my fic
- On a lighter note, I actually love temperature changing nail polish.
- Augustus's handwriting is based on my mom's. She used to leave me to-do lists and I would have to text her to ask what they said because I genuinely could not make them out.
- A lot of people really want Percy to be openly rebellious, but that just isn't going to happen yet. Percy is still in shock and trying to go unnoticed. I promise he will eventually get over this, but not yet.
- The reason Finnick sat on the floor instead of the bed is trauma. He doesn't like being on a bed with anyone else in the room.
- Also, if you didn't see it, I wrote a one-shot interlude about the tik-tok ban. it has some in-universe hunger games fanfic/memes if you want to check it out. And if you read it earlier, I did add a couple sentences at the end. You can read it here
- Next chapter will be the last one in this part. And then it's part 4
-Edit 2/5/2025: This chapter is also titled after a nail polish (petals for a narcissist)

Chapter 21: Tomato Plant in a Gully

The only thing keeping Percy in the here and now is Finnick’s grip steadying him. Off to the side he can see Cressida gesturing wildly at the mayor to keep talking, giving Percy time to recuperate.

 

To say he feels off-center is an understatement.

 

“Are you okay?” Finnick whispers, just loud enough for Percy to hear him over the cheering crowd.

 

“Just… give me a minute.” Percy says, trying to reorient himself. 

 

He breathes in and out and in and out before finally patting Finnick’s hand where it’s still wrapped around him, ready to catch him if he faints again. 

 

Slowly Finnick lets go, and Percy shuffles to the front of the stage. 

 

Unlike their other stops, Finnick follows a step behind him like a shadow. Percy must’ve really spooked him, and he guesses it makes sense. From Finnick’s point of view, Percy had no reason to collapse like he did. 

 

Percy pushes those thoughts aside and does his best to compartmentalize. He checks out emotionally, paying only enough attention to read the card. 

 

It’ll be over soon , he tells himself, repeating it like a mantra. 

 

At some point, he finishes talking, and goes to leave the stage. He can tell the exact moment the cameras stop focusing on him because Finnick reaches out to grab his arm, supporting him down the steps and off the stage. 

 

Percy doesn’t need the physical support, but he doesn’t push him away. 

 

People gather by the edge of the stage, trying to meet him or otherwise get his attention. The mayor goes to direct him towards a group of wealthy looking people, but Finnick cuts in telling him they’re running behind schedule. 

 

“We really need to leave,” he says. “We’re supposed to be in District 1 in time for dinner tonight. You know how the Victory Tours are. Barely even time for bathroom breaks.”

 

The mayor looks down at Percy, and though he didn’t—couldn’t—have seen Percy’s collapse since he was facing the crowd, he sees the way Finnick holds him and can make an assumption. His eyes are judgmental. Percy can practically hear him sneer about how Nero and Andromeda lost to him .

 

The train ride to District 1 almost feels like a gift.

 

---

 

District 1, in contrast to 2, is actually fairly tame. 

 

The district itself is absolutely crazy, with the tourist section having streets covered in rhinestones and faux gold, and the people seem just as Capitol loving as District 2 did, but the mayor isn’t aggressive towards Percy and his speech is pretty similar to the speeches Percy heard in Districts 3-12. The only gesture he makes at the end of his speech is a brief wave. 

 

Percy feels stupid for how grateful he is. Afterall, that mayor does the Capitol’s bidding just like the one from 2 does. None of these people are his friends, he reminds himself. 

 

They join the mayor for dinner, and Percy fills up on beef stew and buttery bread. Finnick is still sticking close to his side, and when offered some whiskey, he politely turns it down. 

 

Percy side-eyes him, wondering if he genuinely doesn’t want anything to drink or if he’s still worried Percy might collapse again. Percy wants to reassure him, but he can’t do that without saying what happened to make him collapse, which involves a history lesson the District 4 schools (probably) never taught.

 

Finnick had already warned him about saying things that make him stick out, and there was no way to explain how he grew up watching black-and-white videos of World War II for class and was stunned to see it play out directly in front of him.

 

They socialize with the upper class of District 1, who practically drip diamonds, for a couple hours after dinner before finally being released. 

 

Percy finds the sight of the train and the promise of his own room enchanting until he remembers he’s out of sleeping pills. At first, he only worries about what nightmares he’s going to have, worried he might see his family and friends as zombies or something, but as he lies in bed with his eyes closed he realizes something else. 

 

He’s grown dependent on his sleeping pills. Without them, he’s wide awake, and with his ADHD it’s hard for him to sit still. He wishes he had bought some of his crocheting supplies. 

 

He’s pacing around his room for long enough he worries the carpet might begin to show wear and tear when he finally decides to leave his room. 

 

The train is dead in the early hours of the morning, and he doesn’t see anyone on his way to the main compartment, which is a good thing. He’d be embarrassed if someone saw how frantically he dug through the cabinets looking for supplies to make his mom’s blue cookies. He finds some chocolate easy enough, but there’s nothing else in the cabinets that he needs. 

 

Where are they cooking all the food they serve them? Where do they keep their supplies? He wonders. Not here, obviously.

 

He grabs one of the chocolate bars and slinks over to a nearby couch in defeat. He eats the chocolate bar as slowly as he can, needing it as something to occupy him more than to satisfy any hunger or sweet tooth. 

 

When he finishes, he folds his arms over his chest and stares at the ceiling. It’s got golden engraving on it, a total waste of money when all the buildings in the far-out districts seemed to be an inch away from collapse. 

 

At some point, he must manage to doze off at least a little bit because the next thing Percy knows, he’s underwater. He’s deep enough that no sunlight shines through the water, and he has to rely on his natural ability to see even in the darkest depths of the ocean and the small amounts of bioluminescence around him for light. 

 

He stretches out his senses as far as he can, trying to figure out why he’s here instead of on the train, and almost immediately, he feels her. 

 

Her half-human half-fish form sticks out to him like a beacon, and he swims towards it. He’s almost close enough to touch her by the time she spots him—she wasn’t made for deep waters, and likely can’t see very well this far down. 

 

“Annie,” Percy says. She startles and squints in his direction. “It’s me, Percy.”

 

She looks briefly baffled, twin tails flicking behind her, before her face lights up. “Percy!” She screams, “is that really you? How are you here?” 

 

“I’m dreaming. I’m not really here, not physically at least,” he explains. Annie’s brows furrow, but Percy pushes onward. “Are you okay? Did you escape the arena all right?”

 

Annie is right up next to him, studying him as carefully as she can with what little light she has. 

 

“Yeah, it was the craziest thing. I grew these fish tails, and then I was just gone.” She looks up from where she was examining Percy’s bare feet. “It was just like that story you told me. Only in reverse.”

 

Percy rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that feels far too human out in the middle of the ocean. “Well, it’s not as fictional as I made it sound.”

 

“I figured,” Annie says. “I’m guessing you won then?”

 

Percy swallows. “As much as anyone ever wins.” 

 

Percy regrets it as soon as he says it, Annie’s eyes turn dark and sad, any joy she had earlier at seeing him is gone.

 

“Is Finnick doing okay? Are my parents?” Annie asks. 

 

Fuck, Percy still hadn’t talked to Annie’s parents. He had stopped by their restaurant once about a month ago, but he hadn’t gone inside, too scared to talk to them. He was afraid of what they’d say to him. That they’d blame him for Annie’s death.

 

There had been a man who looked a lot like Annie waiting on tables, and when he looked out the front window where Percy was, instead of saying hi, Percy left. Like a coward. 

 

“Finnick is doing okay,” Percy says. “And your parents' restaurant seems busy. I’m planning to talk to them soon…”

 

Instead of asking why he hasn’t talked to them already, Annie guffaws. “I’ll bet all those Capitol tourists love to visit a restaurant owned by a dead tribute’s family.”

 

Percy doesn’t fully know how to respond to that. Annie, it seems, has gotten over whatever career brainwashing was left, and is openly bitter towards the Capitol now. And she’s not wrong, Percy thinks. 

 

“Annie, listen,” Percy starts. “Where are you? Do you think we could meet up somewhere? Like somewhere off-shore from District 4?”

 

Annie bites her lip, thinking. “I don’t know; the Peacekeepers patrol the District 4 shoreline pretty brutally.”

 

“Yeah, but they’re probably looking for boats, aren’t they? Not mermaids like you.”

 

“I mean, yeah.” Annie blinks. “But there’s still loads of fishermen. Plus you’ll be in a boat.” 

 

Percy grins. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, but can you get there? Like if we planned to meet up about a mile or two out from the Victor’s beach, could you do it?”

 

The doubt melts off Annie’s face. “If you can get there without being caught I can. What day?”

 

“I’m on the Victory Tour right now, heading to the Capitol. I should be back in District 4 two days from now; we can meet that night, after the sun sets.” Percy says, smiling just slightly.

 

“It’s already the Victory Tour,” Annie mumbles under her breath. Percy wonders if she’s been having trouble keeping track of time in the ocean. 

 

“I can do that, but you have to promise me that if it's too dangerous, you won’t go.” Annie sounds worried, and for a second, Percy feels like he’s back in the arena: Annie at his side, worried for both their survivals.

 

“Only if you promise the same. You know, watch out for those fishermen and Peacekeeper patrols.”

 

Annie reaches out to grab his hand, but she slips right through him and Percy feels the tell-tale sign of waking up. This demigod dream, he knows, is over. And in between one blink and the next, he’s staring back up at the golden engraved ceiling, Finnick standing off to the side.

 

“Why are you out in the common room?” he asks. He hasn’t had a chance to be made-up yet this morning. He’s wearing an old baggy t-shirt, and his hair is a mess. When he leans in towards Percy, he even swears Finnick still has morning breath. 

 

“Oh, I just fell asleep out here by accident.” Percy smacks his mouth, imagining he can still faintly taste the ocean. He’s already got a headache from withdrawal from his sleeping pills. “You need to brush your teeth.”

 

---

 

Daphne and Percy’s prep team pull him into the hair and makeup room an hour earlier than they had for all of the other districts. 

 

“You have to look a lot nicer for the Capitol than you can for the districts, Perseus.” Daphne informs him primly. “That means we need more time to do our magic.”

 

I wouldn’t call it magic, Percy thinks but wisely doesn’t say. They’re no children of Aphrodite. 

 

But he sits through the make-up and the hair curler, and puts on his blue velvet suit without complaint. It’s got golden embroidery running all the way down it in beautiful swirls, and he’s even wearing a normal dress shirt under it. It’s the least offensive outfit the Capitol has put him in for one of their events to date.

 

When they finally unleash him, he finds Finnick already waiting for him in the main car. He, like Percy, is wearing a suit, though Pompey wasn’t kind enough to give him a dress shirt. 

 

Percy makes a mental note to thank Daphne later. 

 

“We’re heading straight to the President’s Manor,” Finnick tells Percy, quickly debriefing him on what to expect. “The President will give a speech, but you don’t have to. Everyone in the Capitol has already watched your last eleven speeches, and they’ll watch the one you’ll give in 4. After the President’s speech, there’ll be a dinner party. It’s going to suck, but just stick it out.”

 

Percy side eyes him, as they move in front of the train door, getting ready to disembark. “I thought you liked Capitol parties?”

 

Finnick swallows, and doesn’t look at him when he says, “some of them aren’t so bad.”

 

Percy wants to ask more about that—he feels like there’s a story there—but he doesn’t get the chance. 

 

The train doors open, and he’s met by bright flashes from the paparazzi and screaming from fans. It’s all he can do to not frown as his headache rages against his skull. He, once again, feels grateful that he immediately established a straight-faced persona when he had his Victor interview, even if he did it accidentally.

 

There’s security here. They’re not Peacekeepers like they were at the district events, Percy notices. Peacekeepers are armed, and these security guards aren’t. They’re holding the Capitolites back with just their arms and some weak metal barriers, and honestly they’re not doing a very good job of it. 

 

Some of the Capitolites are bent all the way past the security guards to hold out pens towards him, hopeful Percy will give them an autograph, while others cry for his attention, and yet more hold signs that Percy refuses to read. One of them manages to touch him, and Percy gives her his most scathing glare. She shrinks away, scolded like a child.

 

Finnick, once again, paves the way forward, and Percy follows him without complaint. Behind them, their entourage of Capitol employees basks in the attention. Percy is pretty sure he sees Augustus blow a kiss out to the crowd. 

 

---

 

President Snow’s speech is boring. He stands off the balcony of his manor and looks down at Percy and the other Capitolites standing on the lawn with him. 

 

Somehow, the old man looks even more frail now than he did the last time Percy saw him. He doesn’t even look in Percy’s direction. Percy doesn’t know if he’s scared of him or if Snow just genuinely doesn’t care about the latest Victor. 

 

He’s not sure which option he’d prefer.

 

From there, Percy is led inside the manor, where the party seems to already be in full swing. There’s tables upon tables stacked high with food. Percy spots some sort of blue covered dessert and makes a b-line towards it, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. 

 

He stiffens up immediately, all too aware he’s in enemy territory, but he looks back and sees it’s just Finnick leaning towards him to whisper, “I have to get going. I’m meeting with someone privately, and you probably won’t see me until after the party is over. Daphne and Augustus are in charge of getting you back to the hotel for the night, and if they’re too drunk to do that, the Avoxes will take care of you.”

 

Finnick closes his mouth as if thinking about what he’s going to say next. “Don’t say anything stupid. I’m sorry I can’t be here to fend off questions.” 

 

And just like that, he’s off. Percy is too stunned to ask anything before he’s completely out of sight, and Percy is left to the wolves. 

 

A private meeting? Percy thinks. More like an excuse to dip. 

 

He feels annoyed and almost betrayed, but he forces it down. There’s already multiple people approaching him. He wants to compare them to sharks but he shakes off the thought. 

 

If anyone here is a shark, it’s me , Percy thinks. 

 

The next hour flies in a wave of artificially colored hair, couture gowns, and insensitive questions Percy doesn’t bother answering. There’s a single girl pushing her way through the crowd towards him. Percy only notices her because her hair is a golden blond and her dress is a pristine white color with a simple cut. It stands out starkly amongst the loud colors.

 

Percy spends half a second admiring the Capitolite who disregarded the latest fashion trends before he places who she is. 

 

It’s old money herself, Snow’s granddaughter. Percy doesn’t remember her name.

 

The other Capitolites move out of her way as if she’s royalty—further proof the whole presidency is a scam—and when she finally reaches Percy she shoots him her best smile. If she were anyone else, Percy would think she was cute. 

 

As it is, her grandfather shoved him and twenty-three other children into a death match, so he doesn’t much care for her.

 

Her eyes are just as vibrant of a blue as they were the last time he had seen her, and they’re focused entirely on him. “Hi,” she practically gushes. Percy isn’t sure how she can put so much emotion behind one syllable. “I’m Coriolania Snow. The President’s granddaughter.”

 

She tucks her hands behind her back when she’s done speaking, like she’s been trained to do it. Percy just nods at her ever so slightly. “I’m Perseus,” he says uselessly. She already knows his name.

 

“I know! I’m a big fan. I would’ve bought a poster for you to sign but my parents said that was tacky.” 

 

Percy coughs, more so to give him something to do than anything else. “Well, it’s good to listen to your parents, I guess.” 

 

“Yeah,” Coriolania says unsurely. It’s clear she isn’t usually the one who has to try to make conversation. “Have you tried any of the food yet?”

 

“A little bit,” Percy answers. He ignores the urge to rub his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pounding in his head. 

 

“I tried some of the miniature sandwiches from that table over there,” he gestures off to his right. The sandwiches had been pretty good, but not worth the experience of getting cornered against the table by a crowd of middle-age men dead-set on congratulating him on his combat skills. 

 

“Only the sandwiches?” Coriolania sounds aghast. “You have to try way more stuff, then. My favorite are the desserts over there,” she points to the blue cookies. 

 

“They’re cotton-candy flavored cookies. That’s why they’re blue. I’ve been obsessed with them ever since I was a little kid.” She looks at him through her lashes, batting her eyes.

 

Percy swallows a sudden knot in his throat at the mention of the blue cookies he spotted earlier. “Aren’t you still a kid?”

 

There could not have more obviously been something Coriolania wanted to hear less from him, and irrationally, Percy kind of feels bad for her. It’s very obvious she has a crush on him.

 

“I’m sixteen.”

 

Percy doesn’t grace that with a response. “Are all the drinks here alcoholic?” He asks instead.

 

“All the drinks in gold cups are alcoholic, everything else is non-alcoholic,” she says before briskly moving on, “and, in the Capitol, sixteen is the age of adulthood. I’ll be starting University this upcoming fall. I know the law in the districts is that you have to be eighteen before you can make any of your own legal decisions, but it’s different here.”

 

Percy just grunts because he actually hadn’t known that, and it was probably good information to have. 

 

One of the servers walks by, holding a tray of silver champagne glasses. Thirsty, Percy grabs on and downs it without a second thought. 

 

“You shouldn’t drink that in here—” Coriolania starts, too little, too late. 

 

Percy just barely manages to avoid vomiting on her.

 

---

 

“You vomited on the President’s granddaughter?” Finnick asks him disbelievingly the next morning as they board the train. 

 

They’re joined once again by their Capitol team, but more importantly, Mags. Her recovery was good, though according to her doctor, she would likely have speech problems for the rest of her life.

 

“I didn’t vomit on her.” Percy corrects him, holding his new pack of sleeping pills. “I just vomited in front of her. And frankly it was probably for the best. She was acting like she had a crush on me, and I bet that’s gone now. Besides, how was I supposed to know they had drinks specifically meant to make you throw up?”

 

Finnick just laughs, and when Percy asks him how his night was, Finnick waves him off, explaining what he can expect at the final stop of the Victory Tour: District 4.

 

According to Finnick, District 4 will not only be hosting an assembly for Percy but also a party, full of free food provided by the Capitol, entertainers, and lots of cameras. The only upside Percy sees in it is that there’s no way it can be as bad as the Capitol party was. 

 

Though, the end of the party was better than the beginning. People gave him some space after he threw chunks.

 

For one last time, Percy gives the speech Augustus gave him, and strangely enough, it’s the hardest speech he’s had to give so far. Because the female tribute’s family he’s expressing his condolences to are Annie’s parents. The ones he told her he’d check in on. 

 

The only thing getting him through it is the fact that, where the Victor’s family normally stood is Marlin, Marina, and Mags. Mags gives him a smile, with one side of her lips a little lower than the other. 

 

That, combined with the albatrosses he can see flying overhead, gives Percy the strength he needs to finish his speech. And when he’s done, he does something he should’ve done months ago—he seeks out Annie’s parents. 

 

Her mom is easy enough to spot in the crowd, with bright red, short hair and a light blue dress. Percy dodges some well-wishers and some people he vaguely recognizes from the Academy before finally reaching her. 

 

“Mrs. Cresta,” he says. He sounds out of breath, but it’s more to do with nerves than any strenuous activity. 

 

Annie’s mom's face pinches, and she looks like she’s about to cry. 

 

Percy reflexively takes a step back, and Mr. Cresta takes one forward. “Look,” he starts, and Percy shrinks down inwardly. “Congratulations on your win, but my wife and I really don’t want to talk to you.” His voice is gruff and harsh. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

 

“Right, of course,” he says. They retreat into the crowd, and Percy watches them go. “Sorry Annie,” he mutters under his breath. “I tried.”

 

---

 

That night, when the moon is high in the sky, Zach whines pitifully from his spot on the shore, and Cody tries his best to follow Percy into the water. But Percy brushes him off, making the waves wash him gently back to shore. 

 

He needs to see Annie alone, and his dogs only increase the chances he’ll get caught. 

 

The water is cold, but Percy doesn’t mind, and he hopes Annie won’t either. He wonders if she’s been following the migration patterns so many other aquatic predators take. 

 

He swims out, further and further into the ocean, but he still can’t feel Annie anywhere nearby. He remembers cautioning her only to come if it’s safe. Were the Peacekeepers patrolling the nearby water? Was it too dangerous for her to come?

 

Was the dream not even real? It’s a question Percy hasn’t been allowing himself to ask, but as the moon crosses the sky, it burns deep in his throat. 

 

He floats in the water listlessly, near where Annie had told him to meet her, and he tries not to let his worry overtake him. He submerges himself and breathes in the water. Deep breathing had always been a hit or miss relaxation technique for him on land, but the feeling of seawater in his lungs calmed him immediately. He drifts in and out, feeling the ocean water move around him.

 

That’s when he feels the boat coming. 

 

It’s gotten far too close, far too fast. If he hadn’t been trying to calm his anxiety, he would’ve noticed it coming ages ago.

 

He’s getting ready to sink further down in the water when he hears familiar barking coming from the boat. He freezes. 

 

The boat stalls, and someone jumps in without wasting a second. It’s too dark to see any colors properly, but Percy just knows the man swimming towards him has copper hair. Percy doesn’t try to swim away, knowing Annie isn’t coming today, and when Finnick finally gets to him, he lets him pull him upwards, towards the boat.

 

Their heads break the water and Finnick splutters, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

He sounds angry. He sounds worried. For a long moment Percy wonders why before he realizes what this must look like for Finnick. 

 

Oh no.

 

One of his dogs—Zach, from the looks of it—somehow fetched Finnick from his house in Victor’s Village and got him to go out on his boat into the ocean in the middle of the night in the freezing cold, where he found Percy, completely submerged and not even trying to swim towards shore. 

 

He must think—

 

“I’m fine,” Percy tells him quickly, trying to sound reassuring. “I wasn’t trying to…” He trails off, unable to say it. Not when he had thought about it for so long. 

 

At Percy’s words, Finnick doesn’t calm down; if anything, he seems angrier. “What were you trying to do, then?”

 

Percy can’t answer that. There are no lies that sound convincing, and the truth is absurd. “ Yeah I was trying to visit your girlfriend you think is dead because I’m pretty sure I turned her into a mermaid and she’s living her best life free in the ocean now. ” 

 

That’d be a quick way to find out if Panem has mental institutions. 

 

Percy swallows, tasting salt water on his tongue. It keeps him grounded. “I was just… trying to go for a swim.”

 

“In the middle of the night, miles from shore.” Percy doesn’t respond. Finnick doesn’t believe him, and Percy can’t blame him. It was a shitty lie. 

 

“Unbelievable,” Finnick mutters under his breath.

 

Finnick pulls them both through the water so they’re right up next to the boat. Zach looks down at them with his big puppy dog eyes. “Get on the boat,” Finnick says, pushing him forward and up so Percy can grab the edge and pull himself aboard. 

 

Zach, who is really a much smarter dog than Percy thought, realizes what Finnick is trying to do and reaches overboard to gently clamp his jaw down on Percy’s shirt and pull upward with all his might. Percy hears a light tearing sound and internally mourns for the sweatshirt he’s wearing. He pulls himself up, turning around to offer Finnick a hand. 

 

Finnick ignores him though, pulling himself onto the boat easily. Once he’s aboard, they both stand and stare at each other. Finnick is still breathing harshly, and Percy can’t tell if it’s from exertion or anger. Maybe both.

 

Finnick breaks the silence first. “Listen Perseus,” he says, voice heavy. “I know it’s hard, and I can’t lie to you, it’s going to stay hard. The first couple of years after I won were rough.” His voice breaks on the word rough, but he pushes onward. “But we have to keep going. We don’t have a choice.”

 

He runs a hand down his face, exhaustion shining in his eyes. “Us Victors, we’re a family. And I know we’re a pretty shitty one, but when Riptide died…” Finnick shakes his head and starts again. “The point is, living on is the best thing we can do. Because if we don’t, they win. In a lot of ways our existence is...” 

 

Finnick’s eyes flicker all around the boat, and Percy gets the feeling that there’s some kind of recording device on the boat. Whatever Finnick was going to say is something that shouldn’t be overheard. 

 

Finnick runs out of steam, and his speech was honestly kind of sad, but it touched Percy nonetheless.

 

And Percy wants to tell Finnick that he’s got this all wrong. He should tell Finnick that he's got it all wrong, that he misunderstood what Percy was doing out here. It’s selfish to not correct him. But as Finnick takes a slow step forward, like Percy is some kind of frightened animal, he doesn’t say anything.

 

And he doesn’t say anything when Finnick puts his arms around him and pulls him into the tightest hug Percy has had since Annabeth and him fell into Tartarus together. 

 

Instead, he wraps his arms around Finnick in return, squeezing with all the emotions he’s held back ever since he was twelve and thrown into a new, deadly world for the first time. 

 

The once calm sea rattles underneath them, rocking their tiny boat like Percy’s emotions rattle around inside his chest. Percy clamps down on them again, scared the unruly ocean will cause Finnick to pull away from the hug too soon. 

 

He buries his head into Finnick’s shoulder and cries, thankful they’re both still wet from the ocean. Finnick won’t feel his tears, and Percy’s always been a quiet crier.

 

“I don’t want to die,” he whispers. For so long, he had wanted to join Annabeth, had longed for it—if only so he wouldn't be alone anymore. But it felt good to want to live.

 

Finnick just holds him tighter, tucking Percy’s head under his chin. “Good.”

 

---

 

In the Woods Somewhere 

Hozier

 

My head was warm

My skin was soaked

I called your name 'til the fever broke

 

When I awoke

The moon still hung

The night so black that the darkness hummed

 

I raised myself

My legs were weak

I prayed my mind be good to me

 

An awful noise

Filled the air

I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

 

A woman's voice!

I quickly ran

Into the trees with empty hands

 

A fox it was

He shook, afraid

I spoke no words, no sound he made

 

His bone exposed

His hind was lame

I raised a stone to end his pain

 

What caused the wound?

How large the teeth?

I saw new eyes were watching me

 

The creature lunged

I turned and ran

To save a life I didn't have

 

Deer in the chase

There as I flew

Forgot all prayers of joining you

 

I clutched my life

And wished it kept

My dearest love, I'm not done yet

 

How many years

I know I'll bear

I found something in the woods somewhere

Notes:

Me, starting and ending the chapter with Finnick holding Percy: :)

Anyway, that's the end of Part 3. The next chapter is a short interlude that should be up soon.

Edit 2/5/2025: Once again, title is from a nail polish lol

Chapter 22: Interlude 2

Summary:

Meet Leda, a girl from Portland.

The first time in Leda’s life a tribute from District 4 wins, she’s only six. 

 

She doesn’t remember it very well anymore. The whole thing is covered in those hazy layers old memories sometimes have, where nothing’s clear. But she does remember her dad’s rambunctious cheering and her mom’s relieved face as the trumpets sounded. 

 

Everyone at school is excited, the energy palpable in the air even to her six-year-old senses. Marina is a celebrity in District 4—their fourth Victor ever. The second one since the Academy was established. She’s met with enthusiastic cheers and congratulations everywhere she goes.

 

Marina moves into one of those big houses in Victor’s Village—the yellow one—and every time she’s on TV, she’s wearing the fanciest gowns and most beautiful makeup. 

 

Not fully understanding what she’s seeing, Leda promises herself she’s going to be just like Marina when she grows up.

 

She’s going to be a Victor, just like Marina.

 

---

 

She’s eleven the next time District 4 brings home a Victor. It’s more special to Leda this time for two reasons: 1. She’s old enough to understand what’s happening around her and to remember it, and 2. Finnick grew up right down the street from her. 

 

They hadn’t interacted nearly as much as Leda would’ve liked, mainly because Finnick was three years older than her, which at eleven was a lot of time, and because he went to the Academy. 

 

The Academy might as well be the Capitol for eleven-year-old Leda. Everything she knows about what happens behind it's closed doors is a rumor—a myth.

 

Starting at twelve-years-old, you can enroll and get a paycheck that seems awfully hefty to a kid from Portland. You get trained with all sorts of cool weapons, like swords and maces, but they only accept 20 students a year.

 

It sounds like a fever dream.

 

But there’s a part of her that says if Finnick-from-down-the-street can not only go to the Academy but also go the whole way and become a Victor, why can’t she?

 

Finnick packs up his belongings the week after he gets back to District 4. Leda stands at the window, watching him leave their little street for the much nicer house that awaits him in Decoris. 

 

His family doesn’t follow him. They stay rooted right in that same house only a couple down from Leda. She doesn't know why. She would take any excuse to live in Victor's Village.

 

Regardless, she goes with her mom to congratulate them on having a Victor in the family—though her mom phrases it a bit differently, saying she’s glad Finnick didn’t die. 

 

Finnick’s mom seems relieved. “I’m just grateful he’s back home in District 4,” she says. “I can’t protect him in the Capitol.”

 

Finnick’s older brother—Waylen, Leda remembers—snorts, and Finnick’s mom glares at him. 

 

Leda doesn’t feel the tension in the room, but her mom does, and she excuses them both shortly after handing off a casserole she made for the Odairs. Leda is pretty sure Finnick never eats any of it.

 

She stares at her ceiling that night, and wonders why Waylen acted like he did. 

 

---

 

The application for the incoming class at the Academy always opens January 2nd, just a little over a month after the Victory Tour ends. 

 

They pass out the forms in her morning class on the history of Panem. Leda stares intently at hers before turning to ask her friend if she is going to apply. Her friend isn’t standing next to her. Instead, she’s walking towards the nearest trash can, where she unceremoniously dumps the form. Her form joins countless others in the garbage. 

 

“You’re not going to apply?” She asks.

 

Her friend gives her a questioning look. “Why would I?”

 

Leda thinks of Finnick-from-down-the-street, and how everyone thinks he’s so cool now and how he lives in one of those fancy, Capitol built mansions. She says nothing, but tucks the form in her bag instead of throwing it away.

 

She’s going to be a Victor, just like Finnick.

 

---

 

“I couldn’t be more proud,” her dad tells her when he signs the application. 

 

Leda smiles. It’s rare she makes her dad proud. The smile lasts all the way until she tells her mother what she’s doing.

 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Her mom screeches. Leda shrinks back. Her mom never gets upset, but as she paces around their kitchen, her anger seems to seep into the air like a miasma, sinking deep into Leda’s bones and weighing her down.

 

“How could you even think about doing this?”

 

“Dad approves,” Leda says, head hung low. 

 

Leda’s mom turns sharply towards the living room, where her dad is tucked into his recliner, watching the scene impassively. “You what?”

 

“C’mon, sweetie,” her dad says, holding up a hand to calm his wife down. “Here in Portland, we’re nothing. She could actually become someone at the Academy. People all around Panem could know her name.”

 

Her mom grabs a nearby vase, a wedding gift from Leda’s paternal grandmother, and smashes it on the ground. Leda jumps and takes three large steps backward until her back hits the wall and she can’t retreat anymore.

 

“And will they mourn her when she dies, you unfeeling asshole?” Her mom fumes. Leda watches as drops of spit fly from her mouth. 

 

She’s never seen her mother like this. She doesn’t like it. 

 

“That was my mother’s!” Leda’s dad stands up now, marching towards his wife. 

 

“Like you give a shit about your mother!” Her mom bites back. “You don’t care about your parents, you don’t care about your siblings, you don’t care about me, and you definitely don’t care about Leda! Otherwise, you’d be putting a stop to this.”

 

Leda slips through a nearby doorway and goes to lock herself in her room. Her parents yell for a little while longer before everything suddenly goes quiet. When she wakes up later that night, she swears she can hear sobs coming from the bathroom.

 

---

 

The Academy accepts her.

 

Her mom comes to make peace with it. Or at least, Leda hopes she does.

 

---

 

Leda keeps close tabs on Finnick, like every teenage girl in Panem and all the students at the Academy do. Leda had always known he was handsome, but he seems to grow more into his beauty every day. 

 

Leda doesn’t talk to her old friends anymore, but her new friends at the Academy giggle with her every time they see Finnick. 

 

In fact, they all pay such close attention to him, they could write a list of exactly how he changes when his father dies. 

 

It’s a fishing boat accident. Tragic, but unfortunately common in District 4. But Finnick does a 180 in the aftermath of it.

 

He stops smiling so much, seeming much less carefree. He had been flirting with this one girl two years ahead of Leda at the Academy—Annie—but Finnick stops that dead in its tracks. 

 

He starts going to the Capitol more, and always comes back looking solemn. (Some of the kids at school start the rumor he loves the Capitol so much he can’t stand being in District 4 anymore. It spreads like a wildfire until even her dad's coworkers pass it off as truth.) According to one of her classmates who lives in Decoris, he’s started drinking too. 

 

But the most concerning thing is something Leda learns from Finnick’s mom. 

 

Her and her family still live in the same neighborhood as the Odairs, and her mom has actually become good friends with Mrs. Odair. Sometimes, when she’s bored, Leda goes with her when they meet up for tea.

 

“I cannot believe how he’s been acting recently,” Mrs. Odair says over a cup of tea. Leda’s mom hums in sympathy. 

 

“He’s been going to the Capitol for these long trips, and he won’t tell me what they’re for. And when he’s home, he always gets in a fight with his siblings. And after my husband’s death…” Mrs. Odair pauses. “We don’t need anymore fighting in this family.”

 

Leda tries her best to mind her own business as her mom comforts Mrs. Odair. She drinks her tea and thinks over what she’s learned. She feels bad for Finnick. It can’t be easy losing a parent, and grief can change a person.

 

---

 

Eventually, Finnick starts smiling again, and he flirts with Annie like he never stopped, though he doesn’t quite seem as suave as he was beforehand. Leda chalks it up to grief. His flirtations get better everyday, anyway.

 

Finnick and Annie’s relationship is the source of a lot of gossip at the Academy, mainly because Finnick keeps going to the Capitol and allegedly hooking up with some Capitolites while he’s there. 

 

Annie refuses to talk about it, which is basically confirmation it’s true.

 

---

 

The professors choose Annie as District 4’s representative for the 70th Hunger Games. Irrationally, Leda feels jealous. She had never quite gotten over her crush on Finnick, and now Annie gets both the guy and the glory? 

 

The voice sounds irritatingly like her father, and she feels bad as soon as she thinks it.

 

Besides, she still has two years before it’s even a possibility the professors will choose her. It’s not like Annie was her direct competition or anything. 

 

They don’t announce who was chosen to be the male volunteer that year.

 

Leda goes to the reaping, like required, and watches as some poor guy is reaped and pulled on stage. No one volunteers as tribute, and Leda looks at Perseus like he’s a walking corpse.

 

---

 

She’s wrong, of course. The Academy hosts a watch party every year to discuss the games in real time, which means Leda is there with about half of the other students at the Academy when Perseus proves he’s the one to beat. 

 

Right at the start of the blood bath, he takes down the boys from 1 and 2 easily before saving Annie and allying with some random girl from District 7. Leda knows she isn’t the only one with her mouth dropped open.

 

And it only gets crazier from there. 

 

He kills a bear and figures out how to take advantage of the mutt fish in the reservoir. As bad as it sounds, by the time Perseus is hunting down Andromeda, no one is rooting for Annie anymore. 

 

Leda still feels bad when she dies though. 

 

---

 

Where people roared about Finnick’s accomplishments to anyone who would listen, they whisper about Perseus’s. Something about his victory feels like it wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

Leda is guilty of the whispered gossip, too. How did Perseus learn to fight like that? He hadn’t gone to the Academy, obviously. 

 

She walks by Victor’s Village any chance she gets, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive Victor. Some of her friends say they saw him at the market or the grocery store, but Leda isn’t so lucky. 

 

In fact, the first time she sees him outside of the official homecoming parade is actually when he comes to teach at the Academy. 

 

As much as she hates to admit it, the lesson is kind of lame, actually. They don’t even get to see him in action. Leda wants to see him fight up close. She wants to know what makes him tick, so she can know how to fight like him. 

 

And how to defeat people who fight like him.

 

---

 

Apparently, Finnick’s mom already knows Perseus. “He’s a great kid,” she says. “Finnick could take some pointers from him. Party a little less.”

 

Leda looks down at her tea, and tries to ignore her. 

 

Will her mom talk about her like that one day? When Leda thinks about the glorious life of a Victor, Capitol parties play a big role, and she's honestly morbidly curious about them. She wants to go to one. Maybe multiple. But she doesn't want her mom to think poorly of her.

 

---

 

Leda goes on her first ever date with a boy from Portland. He’s not handsome like Perseus or Finnick are; he’s more cute in an innocent way. And he doesn’t go to the Academy. Instead, he spends all his time apprenticing under a local shipwright. 

 

The calluses on his hands are in different places than the ones on Leda’s own—from building things rather than wielding weapons—but Leda really likes him. She likes how his hand fits in hers

 

They keep going on dates.

 

---

 

The first time she sees Perseus fighting in real life, he’s sparring against Finnick.

 

And he beats him. Leda's eyes are wide.

 

She’s going to be a Victor, she promises herself, just like Perseus.

Notes:

Wow Finnick's dad died in a fishing boat accident. That's not suspicious at all.

Anyway, I actually love Leda a lot, and I've had this partially written for a while, hence the quick update.

Chapter 23: Guard Your Heart (Part 4: Hymn to Aphrodite)

Part 4: Hymn to Aphrodite

 

Finnick spends the next week living in Percy’s house, worried about leaving him alone for too long. His toiletries cover the bathroom counter, and he never folds the blanket when he gets up from the couch. The guest room he’s staying in is constantly a mess.

 

Percy kind of loves it. It makes the house feel used in a way it never had before, like it’s being lived in instead of just inhabited. 

 

Finnick also loves Zach and Cody almost as much as Zach and Cody love him. It’s clear Finnick’s never had a dog before with the awkward way he pets them, but they don’t mind. He feeds them scraps from the table, and Percy worries they’re going to end up liking Finnick more than they like him.

 

The albatrosses have started hanging around even more now, too, and somewhat irrationally, Percy feels like they saw him in the water that night too and came to the same conclusion Finnick did. 

 

The first time they come around, Finnick ignores them, but by the fourth time, Finnick’s curiosity is eating him alive. “Do you feed them when I’m not looking or something?” Finnick asks, nodding towards the birds. “I’ve never seen an albatross hang around on land this long.”

 

“No, I just talk to them. I think they just like the attention.”

 

Finnick looks doubtful, and Percy continues, “I named them Coraline and Gideon.”

 

Something flashes briefly over Finnick’s face, but it’s gone too soon for Percy to place what it was.

 

“How’d you decide on those names?”

 

Percy shrugs, “I don’t know. They just felt right.”

 

Finnick doesn’t say anything in response to that, just staring out the window at the birds. 

 

Cody whines, pawing at the glass. For whatever reason, Zach and Cody love the albatrosses, but Percy never lets them out of the house to see them, scared they might attack the birds. They might seem strangely attached to Percy, but he’s sure being chased by dogs would be enough to keep them away forever.

 

Coraline just preens while Gideon stands vigil over the house.

 

---

 

After wavering back and forth for weeks, Percy finally decides what to put on Annabeth’s burial shroud. He gathers the red, white, and green yarn and starts to plan the design. It takes him two weeks to finish—he spends more time than he would like just staring down at the shroud instead of actually crocheting. 

 

But, eventually, it’s done. 

 

He rubs his fingers over one of the strawberries. When he closes his eyes, he can picture Annabeth in the camp’s strawberry fields so clearly. It’s almost like he’s there with her. 

 

---

 

December comes with a gust of cold wind. The sun sets before 5 now, but the winter solstice is soon. Percy goes to the market to buy a couple of oranges, determined to keep his family tradition of making orange garlands alive, even if his mom isn’t here with him. 

 

He passes Finnick’s house before changing his mind and doubling back. The living room lights are on, and when Percy knocks, Finnick swings the door wide open, letting him in without a word.

 

“Hey,” Percy greets.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Sorry to barge in unannounced, but with the winter solstice coming up, I was going to make some orange garlands to celebrate. Do you want to help?”

 

Percy leans against the doorway to the kitchen, trying to act casual, like he doesn’t care if Finnick helps him. But he really wants Finnick to say yes. He’s always made the orange garlands with his mom in the past, and the idea of making them alone feels unspeakably sad. 

 

“Orange garlands?” Finnick asks. 

 

“Yeah, like you dry the oranges in the oven, and put them on strings, then hang them up. It’s to celebrate the return of the sun.”

 

Finnick blinks slowly but agrees. Percy leads the way to the kitchen and starts pulling out the supplies he’ll need—a baking sheet, a cutting board, and a knife. He had used Finnick’s kitchen once before to cook, but it still takes some trial and error to find everything.

 

“How does it celebrate the return of the sun?” Finnick asks as Percy slices the oranges. 

 

Percy holds up an orange slice. “See how it’s orange and round?” He says. “It represents the sun.”

 

Finnick hums, looking at Percy strangely, but he puts the orange slices in the oven without complaint, and when they’re dry, he pokes the string through them, until they have two long orange garlands. 

 

Percy leaves one with him. “I only needed the one,” Percy tells him smiling. 

 

The next time he’s at Finnick’s house he almost deflates when he doesn’t see the orange garland anywhere. Had Finnick just thrown it away? The thought makes him sad.

 

But as he passes Finnick’s bedroom to get to the bathroom, he spots the orange garland hung right over Finnick’s bed. 

 

---

 

Christmas Eve comes a lot quicker than Percy expects. 

 

He sits in his backyard with twenty-three burial shrouds at his side. Twenty-two for the tributes who died in the 70th Hunger Games, and one for Annabeth. 

 

He didn’t make one for Annie because Annie is still alive. He hopes. He still hasn’t heard from her since his dream weeks ago, but he’s trying to be optimistic.

 

The fire pit is roaring, orange flames reaching towards the sky. Percy stares, mesmerized. There was something about fire, he thinks. It’s powerful; it’s comforting. The heat from the fire makes his face flush. 

 

It reminds him of camp; their nightly campfires set to the soundtrack of whatever the children of Apollo decided to sing. 

 

Zach sits at his side, while Cody lays his head on Percy’s lap looking up at him with big puppy dog eyes. Percy mindlessly scratches behind his ear before his hand falls to his side again as he looks at the stack of burial shrouds next to him.

 

He reaches out to grab Emerald’s shroud, but instead of throwing it into the fire like he should, he places it on his lap right next to Cody’s head, fiddling with the yarn. 

 

His fence gate creaks open, and Percy looks up as Zach gets up to greet whoever their guest is. 

 

It’s Finnick. He’s dressed for the colder weather, bundled up in a puff jacket and wearing a beanie pulled low over his forehead, making his hair stick to his forehead.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, closing the gate behind him. 

 

“I’m going to burn the…blankets.” Percy traces the design on Emerald’s shroud, waiting for Finnick to ask his next question.

 

But instead of questioning it, Finnick just says, “Oh.”

 

Percy blinks. “Are you not going to ask why I’m doing that?”

 

Finnick shrugs, taking his gloves off to warm his hands in front of the fire. “Well, it’s not any of my business,” he starts. “But I think I understand. I have a habit of burning things myself.”

 

“What?”

 

“I write poetry,” Finnick explains. “Helps me get stuff off my chest, but you know what it’s like to be a Victor. We don’t have very much privacy. So, when I don’t want anyone else to see it, I just write it and then burn it afterwards. The blankets are like that, aren’t they? You had to make them for your Capitol-sponsored hobby, and they were exploited on camera and you didn’t like it.” 

 

“The best way to keep something to yourself is to destroy it.” Finnick finishes, a dark look in his eye. But then he looks up at Percy and gives him a soft look full of understanding.

 

Percy bites his cheek. He wants to tell Finnick they’re burial shrouds, and that burning them releases the spirits to the afterlife, but he doesn’t know where and how they’re being monitored. He shouldn’t risk it. The gesture is inherently religious, and that’s dangerous here.

 

Percy hesitantly returns Finnicks smile. “Yeah,” he says. 

 

A comfortable silence settles over them, and Percy bites back the impulse to ask to see some of Finnick’s poetry. He had just told Percy he likes to keep it private; it’d be rude to ask about it.

 

“My parents invited me over to dinner for my birthday tomorrow.” Finnick says. “All of my siblings will be there. It’s a big potluck. Would you want to come with me?”

 

“Tomorrow’s your birthday?” Percy asks, feeling his eyebrows raise. Finnick nods, staring at the fire.

 

Percy hesitates, thinking the invitation over. “Are you sure I won’t intrude? If it’s a family thing…”

 

“Please, my mom loves you. Probably more than she loves me. And besides, it’s my birthday party. I think I can bring a plus one.”

 

The instincts Percy’s mom taught him kicks in, and he says, “I’d love to.” He ignores the first part of Finnick’s statement. He doesn’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

 

Finnick’s smile widens into something more genuine, and Percy looks down at the shroud on his lap. Taking a deep breath, he picks it up and tosses it into the fire pit.

 

The flames roar, engulfing the soft yarn quickly. Finnick watches him with a heavy gaze. Without saying anything else, Percy picks up the next shroud—Lace’s—and does the same thing. Down the stack he goes, until he finally gets to Annabeth’s on the bottom. 

 

He stares down at the strawberries he just finished days ago. He should burn the shroud; if Annabeth were here, that’s what she would want. It lets restless spirits move on to the afterlife, and didn’t Annabeth deserve that?

 

But Percy was selfish. This shroud was the last thing he had of Annabeth, and he didn’t want to let it go. He picks up the shroud, but instead of throwing it in the fire, he tucks it to his chest protectively, like a kid with a stuffed animal.

 

“I need to put out the fire,” he tells Finnick. “I’ll see you tomorrow. What time should I come? And is it at your parent’s house?”

 

Finnick studies him, staring down at the shroud in his arms, “it starts at 6:00pm. Why don’t we meet outside my house at 5:40 and we can go together?”

 

Percy agrees, and Finnick gets up, dusting off his pants.

 

Percy watches him leave.

 

---

 

Apparently, Finnick has a car. And it’s a nice one, too. Percy knows all the Victor’s houses have garages, but he kind of just assumed they were all empty.

 

Percy stares in bafflement at the red sports car in front of him, but instead of asking where it came from or why he didn’t know Finnick had a car, he blurts out, “You know how to drive?” He sounds disbelieving, and Percy blushes in embarrassment as soon as he realizes how rude he sounded, but Finnick just laughs.

 

“Yeah, I know, not many people in 4 who can. But I got this car as a gift from an acquaintance of mine for my sixteenth birthday. Figured this was as good an excuse as any to use it.”

 

Finnick unlocks his door, and Percy piles in. Despite the car apparently being four years old, it still has that new car smell. Percy wonders how often it actually gets driven.

 

He decides to keep the cookies he made in his lap, scared they might turn over if he puts them in the backseat. It’s the first time he’s made his mom’s cookies since he landed in Panem, and he feels strangely protective of them.

 

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Finnick says as he starts the car. He stares down at the covered plate in Percy’s hands.

 

“You said it was a potluck,” Percy counters. “Plus I didn’t get the chance to get you a gift or anything since I didn’t know it was your birthday until yesterday. It was the least I could do.” 

 

Finnick pulls out of the driveway, and waits until they’ve passed the entrance gate of Victor’s Village to say, “You don’t need to get me a gift. I actually hate getting gifts.”

 

“Really? Is it because of the car?” 

 

“A little bit, yeah.” Finnick’s fingers tighten on the wheel as he says it, but Percy doesn’t notice. He’s too focused on staring out the window as they drive through Decoris.

 

Last night they had gotten a thin layer of snow—not enough to stick to the roads or anything, but enough to cover all the roofs and grass with the white powder—and the view was breathtaking. A white Christmas. Not that that meant anything in Panem. 

 

The house is packed by the time they arrive—Percy suspects Finnick purposefully wanted to be the last to get there—and while Percy had known Finnick had a large family, it was nothing compared to seeing them all gathered in one house. 

 

Finnick has seven older siblings, with four of them already having kids of their own. That, plus spouses, made for tight space in the living room. 

 

At the sound of the front door opening, Finnick’s mom glides around the corner and spots Finnick immediately. “Happy Birthday, baby!” She greets. “I can’t believe my youngest is already twenty. Oh, I’m getting so old.”

 

Her eyes slide over to Percy, and her mouth opens in shock. “Perseus, I didn’t know you were coming today.” Realizing how that sounds, Lyssa quickly continues, “Of course you're always welcome; it’s so good to see you again. And it’s nice that Finnick brought a friend.”

 

Lyssa has a certain tone when she says the last part, and Percy wonders when the last time Finnick brought home a friend was. Based on the way the Odair family acts, it’s been awhile. 

 

She reaches over to hug him too, and Percy awkwardly hugs back.

 

When she pulls away, she reaches out to grab the plate from him. “What did you bring?”

 

“Cookies.” Percy answers, putting on his best mild-mannered smile. It’s been awhile since he’s seen Lyssa, but their last interaction still leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He still feels kind of bad about his sudden abandonment of their lessons, though.

 

One of the children cheers at his answer, and her dad throws her over his shoulder to swing her around—a dangerous activity given how close everyone is. But it’s also so painfully familial, and the gesture makes Percy’s heart ache. 

 

“Wonderful. I’ll just put these in the kitchen, then. Finnick, introduce everyone to Perseus.”

 

Finnick rolls his eyes but doesn’t verbally object, and a girl only a little older than Finnick comes up to them next, reaching out to hug Finnick and wish him a happy birthday. “This is Aggie,” Finnick tells him. “Aggie, this is Perseus.”

 

And one-by-one everyone in the living room comes up to wish Finnick a happy birthday and meet Percy. It’s overwhelming and there’s no way he’s going to remember everyone’s names, but he tries his hardest, mentally repeating the names to himself over and over again.

 

They move to the kitchen for dinner soon enough, and Percy spots a six person dining table that has had four extra chairs pulled up to it, but even then that’s still not enough spots for everyone. 

 

“We need some volunteers to eat in the living room! Maybe the kids can eat there and the adults can all have the table, hmm.” Finnick’s mom suggests. Percy can’t believe the concept of the adults’ table and the kids’ table exists even here in Panem.

 

Her plan still requires a couple of adults to sit in the living room with the kids, and Percy starts to volunteer, but Finnick stops him. 

 

“The birthday person always sits at the head of the table, and you’re going to sit with me.” He tells Percy. Percy mentally shrugs and goes along with it.

 

Soon enough everyone’s spots are sorted out, and they start to pile their plates high with food—mainly seafood, Percy notices. 

 

He’s no exception, grabbing salmon and shrimp and some bread and vegetables, too—though he’s mindful not to take too much. He’s not sure how much the dinner cost, and he wants them to have leftovers. They hadn’t been planning for him to come, after all.

 

It’s once they’re all settled at the table with their food that the most difficult part of the night begins. Everyone had seemed congenial earlier, but once they’re sitting, the atmosphere shifts as they all try to make stilted conversation with Finnick. 

 

Their questions feel unnatural and strange, and Percy gets the vibe that Finnick’s family isn’t quite comfortable with him. Percy thinks about his unprompted—and unannounced—last minute invitation and thinks that maybe Finnick isn’t quite comfortable with his family either.

 

After all, how do you recover from watching your brother kill people on a glorified reality TV show? How do you move on from knowing your family watched you kill people on TV? 

 

Percy’s starting to think you don’t. 

 

“How is your photography going?” Aggie asks Finnick politely, and Percy has to stop himself from choking on his food. 

 

He remembers learning about Finnick’s photography, but the most important thing he learned about it is that Finnick destroyed his camera and hasn’t done any sort of photography since. He thinks he remembers Marlin saying that was years ago, but if his family doesn’t know about it, maybe it was more recent? Or maybe Marlin was misremembering?

 

“It’s going well,” Finnick answers, unperturbed at the direction Percy’s thoughts had gone. “I got a lot of good shots the last time I was in the Capitol, if you want to see them.”

 

“I think we’re okay, but thank you for the offer.” Lyssa cuts in before Aggie can respond, her face troubled. 

 

He’s lying , Percy realizes as he studies everyone around the table. 

 

The idea that Finnick would feel the need to lie about his hobbies is sad, but Percy understands it. Victor’s aren’t allowed to work, which means there’s months of the year filled with monotony, and most of the Victor’s Percy had met didn’t seem to actually do anything substantial. Except for maybe Marina, but he still didn’t know where she went most of the time. 

 

But that wasn’t a good thing to tell your family. If Percy’s mom were here, he’d probably lie too.

 

Finnick quickly turns the conversation towards his family, and the gesture seems almost practiced. He asks his oldest brother—Beo—how his job is going. Apparently, he’s a first responder. Then it’s on to Beo’s wife—Brina—who works as a mortician. 

 

“It’s brutal work,” she tells Percy. “But it pays well. And that’s actually how Beo and I met.”

 

But most of Finnick’s family works in the fishing industry, using the boat they inherited from Finnick’s dad. 

 

Percy wisely doesn’t ask what happened to him.

 

“Weather’s been unpredictable,” Jasplin, the second oldest, says when Finnick asks. “But that’s typical for this time of year. You were a fisherman for a while, right, Perseus?”

 

Percy nods. “Yeah, just for a little bit. I worked for Trident.” 

 

“How was that?” Jasplin asks. At his side, Aggie grimaces.

 

“Well, based on your face, you can guess. But honestly it wasn’t that bad. I like going out on the ocean, and I never would’ve gotten that chance otherwise.” 

 

Trident was one of the two large fishing companies in District 4, and they were infamous for their poor treatment of workers. Long hours, low pay, and dangerous working conditions. Percy had been spared from the worst of it thanks to the sea making the long hours bearable and his natural skills on a fishing boat making accidents rare when he was around, but the low pay had been endlessly frustrating.

 

A subtle tension settles over the table, and Percy mentally sighs as he realizes he alluded a bit too much to his mysterious appearance. 

 

In a typical motherly fashion, Lyssa changes the subject. “How are your blankets coming along?”

 

Percy doesn’t look at Finnick when he answers.

 

“I finished them,” he says. 

 

“Are you going to start a new project?”

 

Percy shrugs, “I don’t know. I might, but only if I get the motivation, you know?” Once the burial shrouds were done, Percy hyperfixation faded, leaving him unmotivated to pick up crocheting again. 

 

He did kind of miss it though.

 

“What have you been up to, then?” Lyssa sounds polite enough when she says it, but Percy can’t help but feel like he’s being judged.

 

He clears his throat. “I mostly spend my time with my two dogs, Zach and Cody. I take them down to the beach a lot, let them chase the seagulls. And Cody really likes to swim in the water.”

 

At the furthest edge of the table Waylen laughs, “Maybe we should get Finnick a dog. It might make him go partying in the Capitol a little less.”

 

Beo frowns, and Lyssa balls her hands up into fists as the air grows hostile. But Percy doesn’t pay attention to them because at his side, Finnick slams his utensils down on the table.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Waylen.”

 

“What, can’t handle being called out for how much of a traitor you are?”

 

“You don’t know shit about me!”

 

Lyssa cuts in quickly, “Finnick is just doing his duty and representing District 4 in the Capitol.” She tells Waylen. 

 

Finnick’s siblings share looks around the table, and Percy knows none of them believe that.

 

Waylen just groans, “maybe that’s true when he has to mentor, but he goes there all the time. He’s outgrown us lowly fishermen.”

 

Percy’s heart pounds fast. He wants to step in—to defend Finnick, though he doesn’t even know what he would say. He does go to the Capitol a lot.

 

Besides, him getting involved would only make everything worse.

 

“Waylen please,” Lyssa says, voice firm. “It is your brother’s birthday and we have a guest. Let’s not do this here.”

 

Waylen’s mouth slams shut, eyes flickering over to Percy, but Percy only has eyes for Finnick who is still as a statue. His muscles are taut, like a bow string pulled back.

 

“Sorry,” Waylen mutters. 

 

Finnick says nothing.

 

The conversation doesn’t flow very well after that, and Percy’s cookies that he had been so excited about taste like ash in his mouth.

 

As they’re going to leave, Finnick is invited over to his mom’s house again for New Year’s Eve, and Percy takes one look at his tight expression and cuts in. “I was actually hoping to host something for New Year’s. Just for us Victor’s. We haven’t done anything since Mags got back from the Capitol hospital, and I thought it would be a good time to celebrate her recovery.”

 

Percy pretends he can’t see how relieved certain members of Finnick’s family look. 

 

“That’s a great idea, Perseus.” Finnick says. “Sorry, mom, maybe next time.”

 

Lyssa just smiles lightly. “Next time.”

 

Percy and Finnick get into the car, and they drive in silence. When they reach Victor’s Village, Finnick finally speaks up, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

 

“Don’t be,” Percy tells him. “Family is complicated. I get that.”

 

He parks in the driveway, and Percy climbs out before pulling out the last cookie he saved and holding it out towards Finnick. 

 

“Happy birthday, Finnick.” 

 

Finnick accepts it and gives him a small smile. “Thanks, Perseus.”

 

---

 

While the New Year’s Eve party was a weak excuse to get Finnick out of a miserable night with his family, everyone actually seems really excited about it. Even Marlin, which is saying something. 

 

Percy doesn’t make his mom’s cookies again, but he goes to the market in Midground and buys a bunch of food. Mags comes over early to help him cook, and everyone else arrives at ten, Marlin carrying a bottle of some kind of white liquor and another bottle of tonic. 

 

Percy grimaces just a little bit when he sees it, but he gets his expression under control quickly.

 

Percy lays out the food he and Mags made—mostly finger food—as Marlin pours drinks for everyone. Percy politely turns his down, and Marlin doesn’t even offer one to Mags. 

 

When Marlin offers a second drink to Finnick, Finnick looks over briefly at Percy and Mags before declining.

 

The gathering is quiet, especially for something that is technically a New Year’s Eve party, but Percy gets the feeling that’s how they would all like it. They’ve had more than enough excitement in their lives.

 

Everyone looks more relaxed than Percy has ever seen them, and as the clock strikes midnight, Percy picks up an orange and splits it into roughly equal sections, passing one out to everyone.

 

“Happy New Year!” He cheers, and everyone repeats it before eating their orange slice. 

 

As he basks in the calmness of the moment, Percy remembers a poem a demigod daughter of Apollo wrote. 

 

And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do… I love you. I’m glad I exist.

 

---

 

“The Academy has nominated some of their students to get special training. I’ll be going in every Monday to meet with them, if you want to join.” Finnick says. 

 

It’s the middle of January, but the Academy didn’t give their students a winter break. Percy looks over at Finnick from where he lies on the couch. Finnick’s relaxed and stretched out, like he couldn’t care less if Percy agrees or not.

 

“What does it mean? For students to be nominated for special training?”

 

Finnick opens one eye to look at him briefly before shutting it again and saying, “It means they’re one of the most promising choices for the upcoming games.”

 

Percy swallows, “They pick them that early?”

 

“Honestly, you can usually tell who the best choices are by the time they’re fifteen. But they only start doing the special training in the last year and a half of their education.”

 

Percy mulls it over. “What does it involve?”

 

“Any advice we can offer. Mags does a lot of teaching them how to forage and find water and things. But the Academy views you and me as fighters. It’ll probably be a lot of 1-on-1 sparring for us.”

 

Percy’s hands jitter, and he thinks, once again, about picking crochet back up. “Let me think about it,” he says finally.

 

Finnick shrugs and changes the conversation, telling Percy about the latest gossip in Orville, which he is always strangely knowledgeable about. Percy settles into his seat and listens to Finnick talk about the latest affair the Capitol ambassador for District 4 is having.

 

And the next Monday, Percy shows up to the Academy, walking up to Finnick who shoots him a blinding smile. 

 

“So who are we training?” Percy asks.

 

Students rush through the halls, and not wanting to be overheard, Finnick leans over closer to Percy and keeps his voice low. “Today is the students who’ll be seventeen this reaping ceremony, so they have over a year left to prepare. There’s four of them—two boys and two girls.”

 

Percy thinks back to the handful of classes he’s taught at the Academy, and he thinks he taught that age bracket before. As the hallways clear, Finnick leads Percy to the principal’s office, where the students will be meeting them. 

 

“They don’t know they’ve been selected yet,” Finnick cautions him, and Percy’s steps falter. The teens are about to be told they’re being seriously considered as volunteers for the Hunger Games. How will they react? Will they be excited, honored, horrified?

 

Percy doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know which reaction would be the best, either.

 

The first student to come into the office is Leda. Percy recognizes her because she had always been so excited and energetic in his lessons. Her eyes light up when she sees him and Finnick, and Percy thinks she can guess why she’s been called her.

 

The other three students arrive one after another, and while Percy doesn’t have any of their names memorized, he does recognize each of their faces. The realization is painful.

 

Whichever of you volunteer, I’m going to do my best to get you home, Percy promises. 

 

---

 

Sleets of frozen rain pour down on February 14th. District 4 doesn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, but Percy knows what day it is anyway. Any other year, he’d be spending today with Annabeth. 

 

He kind of hates Aphrodite, Percy decides. Because this love thing sucks. She’ll make his love life interesting , she had said. As Percy lays on his bed, he remembers that all of Aphrodite’s favorite love stories were tragedies.

 

Maybe he should learn how to play the lyre. Or go to a ten year long war with his lover at his side.

 

He spends the next five minutes feeling sorry for himself before he hears one of his dogs scratching on the downstairs door, needing to go out.

 

Percy groans, dragging himself out of bed. He grabs Annabeth’s burial shroud, and wraps it around his shoulders. As terrible as it is, he’s started using it as a blanket. It’s an awful misuse of what it is, but having it near him offers him more comfort than he can explain. 

 

He opens his back door and lets Zach and Cody run around in his backyard. They’ll no doubt be back at the door as soon as they're done with their business; they don’t like the cold rain any more than Percy does.

 

Percy rubs his eyes. As much as he would like to go back to bed and wallow the whole miserable day away, he’s up, and his sleeping pills have already worn off. 

 

He lets Zach and Cody back inside, and checks to see if Coraline and Gideon are around anywhere. Unsurprisingly, they aren’t.

 

In a bout of desperate boredom, Percy turns on the TV, only to see his own face staring at him through the screen. Annie is at his side, looking out of it. The logo for the Hunger Games is nestled in the bottom right corner of the screen. 

 

Percy quickly turns off the TV and decides what he actually needs is to leave the house. 

 

He debates the merits of going to the beach, but ultimately decides against it. Anyone seeing him outside in this weather will think he’s crazy, and that’s the last thing Percy needs after his already long string of look-at-me-I’m-not-from-District-4 mess ups.

 

Instead, he tugs on his jacket, puts a leash on Zach and Cody, and hauls them all over to Finnick’s house. 

 

If Finnick is surprised to see him, he doesn’t show it. Once they’re inside, Zach and Cody shake themselves off, flinging the cold water on Percy and Finnick. Finnick drawls out a sarcastic “thanks,” before getting over his faux anger and petting them. 

 

Percy tugs his boots off and hangs his coat to dry as he follows Finnick to the living room. Finnick, as usual, lounges on his sofa, leaving Percy to the reclining chair. 

 

“What’s up?” Percy asks, more out of habit than anything. He saw Finnick just yesterday. It’s more often than not that they spend their days together, now.

 

But Finnick surprises him with news. “I just got a phone call right before you came over. I’ll be going to the Capitol in a week,” Finnick tells him, carefully keeping his eyes on Zach, who’s sniffing the hallway rug like it’s the most intriguing thing he’s ever encountered. “Capitol Couture wants me to be on their March cover.”

 

Percy hums in acknowledgement before his curiosity gets the better of him, “Do you like modeling for them?”

 

Finnick shrugs, before pulling a blanket over himself. “I don’t mind it. Apparently when I’m on the cover, they sell a lot more magazines.” He throws his head back pompously, and Percy grins.

 

“Well, you are pretty handsome, I guess.” 

 

“It’s good to know your eyes work.” 

 

Percy smiles to himself.

Notes:

Some comments:
-The idea for Annabeth's burial shroud came from dreambluequeen-blog on tumblr, so shout out to them :)
-There will be a lot of "montages" this part since it spans such a long time period (71st games through right before the 74th games)
-With that being said, there's a lot of plot points and conversations this part that I'm really excited for!
-The poem is "The Orange" by Wendy Cope. It's possibly one of my favorite poems ever, and when Katniss mentioned her dad bought an orange to celebrate New Years, I couldn't not include it in my fic
-I made Finnick write poetry because in Catching Fire during his interview, he recites a poem he wrote for Annie, and I thought that would make a good hobby for someone who can't ever really express himself honestly.
-Finnick's birthday is Christmas because he's a gift. The only holiday mentioned in this chapter that Panem celebrates is New years. They know what the winter solstice is, but they don't celebrate it. Christmas and Valentine's day are not celebrated either and if Percy mentioned them by name, Finnick wouldn't know what he was talking about.
-Percy was causing the rain on Valentine's Day

Chapter 24: The Final Girl

The day before the reaping ceremony is hot and dry, with the oceans eerily calm. Percy walks back from the beach with Zach and Cody’s leashes in one hand and his latest crochet project (a sweater for Zach, which he probably couldn’t have made at a worse time of the year) in the other.

 

When he reaches the gates of Victor’s Village, he stops. Someone is waiting for him outside his house. 

 

As he gets closer, he can tell who it is, but he can’t figure out why she’s here, visiting him outside of Academy hours.

 

“Leda,” he greets when he finally reaches his front yard. “What are you doing here?”

 

Zach and Cody approach her cautiously, noses squiggling in the air as they smell someone new. 

 

“I wanted to talk about the reaping ceremony tomorrow.” Leda has never looked unsure about anything before, but something about this situation—standing in front of Percy’s house and asking him about things he does not want to talk about—makes her look small and nervous.

 

Percy has to stop his shoulders from tensing up. He’s spent the last couple of months ignoring the looming date and all it meant for both him and Panem. Percy has the fleeting thought of sending Leda away, of telling her he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

 

But she’s staring up at him hopefully, and even though she’s only a little younger than him, she seems like just a baby. He folds.

 

“C’mon inside, then.” 

 

Leda follows him in the house, and Percy notices she keeps a wide berth of space between herself and Zach and Cody. He doesn’t comment on it. He gestures towards the living room, and Leda walks into the room, settling right into the couch Finnick normally occupies. Percy puts his crochet project away in the hallway linen closet before he joins her.

 

“What did you want to talk about?”

 

Leda’s jaw moves minutely, and Percy waits for her to gather her thoughts. 

 

“I wanted to know what it was like. To be reaped, I mean.”

 

Percy’s eyebrows raise. He didn’t know what she would ask, but he definitely hadn’t seen that question coming. “Why do you ask?”

 

Leda rubs her hands over the sofa, picking at some of Zach and Cody’s shed fur. “I’ve been thinking about the games a lot recently—even more than normal. And I know that here in 4 we’re very lucky to consistently have volunteers, but the guy who was supposed to volunteer for you—Levi—backed out.”

 

Percy doesn’t react to finally learning the name of the person who was supposed to compete in the games instead of him. He doesn’t blame him, honestly. And even if he had volunteered, the government would’ve found some other way to hurt Percy.

 

It was inevitable.

 

“And my boyfriend—he doesn’t go to the Academy—and I were talking about it. it’s just weird to think about. That you didn’t sign up to go into it. You didn’t have time beforehand to strategize, to meet with Victors and Academy trainers.” 

 

Percy scratches the five-o’clock shadow on his chin. He really doesn’t want to talk about this. “I mean, it wasn’t fun.” 

 

Leda sits quietly, waiting for him to continue. Percy clocks the technique as the same one his mom used to use when he didn’t want to talk about his quests. He turns it around on her, “Are you having second thoughts about the possibility of volunteering? I know you have a whole year in between now and your reaping day, but—”

 

“No,” Leda cuts in. “My boyfriend and I were talking, and he thinks the whole concept of careers is really strange, especially when I tell him what it’s like at the Academy. He wants me to drop the program, but I don’t want to. I was telling him careers are way better than the alternative. You know, reaping random kids. I was hoping you could talk about it. Tell me if I’m right.”

 

Percy carefully considers his words. “Personally, I think I was one of the better options to be randomly selected for the games,” he refrains from mentioning his strong suspicion that it wasn’t random at all, “I knew how to fight, and I was able to adapt to bad circumstances. If you want my opinion, the truth probably lies somewhere in between your boyfriend and your arguments.”

 

“You’re right that it’s probably better for trained eighteen-year-olds to volunteer than for random reapings that might pull a twelve-year-old, but how do we know you all are volunteering because you genuinely want to?”

 

Leda moves to speak, and Percy holds a hand up, signalling he isn’t done yet. “You’ve been told for most of your life that what you’re doing is honorable, and that someone has to do it. And while I don’t know what happens if you back out, I can imagine Levi wasn’t treated very well.”

 

Leda looks off to the side, answer enough to Percy’s unasked question about what happened to Levi.

 

“If you’re worried about being judged and ostracized and told it’s your purpose in life, is it really your choice at all?”

 

Leda doesn’t say anything in response, and Percy offers her an orange.

 

---

 

The town square is packed and Percy wonders again how they managed to corral all the kids ages 12-18 into the cobblestone street. The kids shuffle around, unsettled and unusually quiet for a crowd this large.

 

“They’re nervous this year,” Marina whispers to him from where she stands to his left side. “No one volunteered for you last year. They’re scared it might happen again.”

 

Percy looks at her from his periphery. “Will it?” He’d briefly met both the teens the Academy chose to volunteer—Cordelia and Galley—but he doesn’t know anything more than that. He had spent most of his time at the Academy working with the students who might be chosen next year, for the 72nd games. Leda and her ilk.

 

“No,” Mags says. She stands closest to the stage, with Finnick beside her. Her speech has improved leaps and bounds since she first came back to District 4 in November, but it’s still noticeably garbled, leaving her speaking less than she had before. 

 

She won’t be mentoring this year—instead it’ll be Finnick and Marina, and Augustus has already told them he’s planning to send any interviewers or questions Finnick’s way instead of Mags’s. Mags seemed frustrated by it, but hadn’t pushed the issue. 

 

District 4’s mayor approaches them. “Ready for another exciting year?” He asks. Finnick is the only one who can muster any excitement in response. It’s understandable why Augustus said he’d send interviewers to Finnick. 

 

Without further ado, the Mayor greets everyone and thanks them for coming—as if it isn’t legally required—and starts a speech that sounds a lot like the speeches Percy heard on the Victory tour, the only difference is he thanks people for sacrificing themselves before they die instead of after.

 

Augustus flaunts up to the podium next, and Percy forces himself to stay visibly relaxed as he pulls names. Everything goes according to plan as Galley volunteers for a fifteen-year-old boy and Cordelia takes the place of a fellow eighteen-year-old girl. 

 

Marlin and Percy move to go straight to the train station, while Mags, Marina, and Finnick stay behind to escort the tributes. Finnick shoots Percy a sharp smile as they leave, and Percy’s stomach swoops. 

 

He’s surprised it hadn’t happened earlier, during the reaping, but Percy knew he wasn’t going to handle anything about this well. He forces his stomach to behave, as he waves goodbye to Finnick. Technically, they’ll both be in the Capitol, but from what Marlin and Finnick have told him about what to expect, they won’t interact much. 

 

Something about that makes Percy feel even worse.

 

---

 

Experiencing the Hunger Games as a Victor who isn’t even mentoring is… interesting, to say the least. Mags is sticking with Finnick and Marina despite not technically being a mentor, but Marlin and Percy are expected to be seen amongst the Capitol with the other Victor’s.

 

This boils down to Percy, Marlin, and some other past Victors—mainly from Districts 1 and 2 because apparently career districts stick together—watching the reaping in an upscale Capitol club. They’re served by a bottle girl, which is a painful experience that makes Percy wonder who’s picking up the check. 

 

Luckily, Percy learns very quickly that the Victor’s are not at all like the Capitol clubbers—even the prettiest one from District 2, Clytemnestra, only pretends to be happy when a particularly influential Capitolite stumbles across their table. 

 

Percy’s nursing a fruity mocktail, while Marlin’s got a vodka and coke. Whatever happened to make Panem, Panem—Coca Cola survived it. Percy tries not to think too hard about that. Pastel and Brutus are splitting a bottle of whiskey, and Clytemnestra just has a glass of water in front of her. 

 

They have hushed conversations about the chances of their tributes—only all their tributes this year are careers, so they all think they’ve got a good shot at winning, and, as Pastel so beautifully put it when Brutus asked, “If our tributes had a secret, I wouldn’t tell you anyway. You might not be mentoring this year, Brutus, but I know what lengths District 2 will go to to bring home a new Victor.”

 

Brutus laughs it off, and Percy doesn't know what to make of it. Brutus seems a bit too excited about everything for his taste.

 

When the rerun of the reaping ceremony comes on, they all quiet down, even though they were never that loud in the first place. It’s a stark contrast to the deafening music and screams in the rest of the club. 

 

Right now, the tributes are being made over by their prep teams, but this is the first time Percy—and most of the districts with him—will be seeing them.

 

It starts with District 1, and despite Percy knowing logically that he met all the mayor’s and escorts during his Victory Tour, he’s still surprised that he recognizes the man who steps on screen and drones on and on about the importance of remembering the war and how many children were lost to it. The way to remember it is, of course, to kill more children.

 

Percy ate dinner with that man. They shook hands.

 

A pretty brunette girl is pulled on stage, and though she’s dressed in a delicate dress, Percy can see the muscles that shift as she moves. Even if he didn’t know she was a career, he would know she was a dangerous opponent. 

 

Then the male tribute for 1 is picked, and he reminds Percy of Frank. He’s got that same body that is way too tall and muscular for his face, still round with baby fat. 

 

And then down the line it goes. Percy would like to say he memorized everyone’s name and face, but he doesn’t. As more names get called, they all just blur together in his mind. In the end, they’re all the same: teenagers getting dragged into something they have no business in. 

 

Percy’s stomach twists at the thought. Weirdly enough, the kids (and he shouldn’t call them that—he’s the same age as the oldest ones) he remembers the best are the ones who cry. Mainly because Brutus sighs and complains about every one of them—the boy from 5, the girl from 7, the girl from 9, and both tributes from 10. 

 

Percy takes a large gulp of his mocktail. Whoever plans the schedules has it down to a science because after the reaping is over, it cuts to Caesar who stands beside a made-up Finnick. Percy’s grip tightens around his glass as they shake hands. 

 

“Ladies and gentleman,” Caesar begins, voice too cheerful, “I’m standing here with the pearl of District 4, Mr. Finnick Odair. Finnick, dear, how are you feeling about the start of another Hunger Games season?”

 

Finnick flashes his publicity smile, the one that’s hollow, as he answers, “I’m feeling great about it, Caesar. District 4 has two very competitive tributes this year, and Marina and I are expecting great things from them.”

 

“Do you think they have what it takes to win?”

 

“Of course, District 4’s tributes always do. We’re practically trained for it.”

 

Caesar laughs, like Finnick hadn’t blatantly just waved the career system in front of his face.

 

The interview continues, just like the music in the club. The conversation amongst the Victors, however, is done.

 

None of them really want to be here, after all.

 

---

 

Watching the tribute interviews is by far the most painful part of the pre-Hunger Games process. Watching the tributes walk up on stage after having their names called is different from actually listening to them speak.

 

Especially because they’re all trying so hard to make everyone like them. 

 

Percy cringes as tributes laugh, joke, try to sound threatening, and—in the girl from 7’s case—cry. 

 

It’s painful. It’s dehumanizing. Percy can’t look away. 

 

And throughout it all, they keep cutting to Finnick a disproportionate amount compared to other mentors. Percy had known people liked Finnick, but watching it as an outsider without his impending doom to distract him makes it painfully clear. 

 

Finnick acts like a natural in front of the cameras. He flirts with Caesar and smiles with Claudius. It’s all fun and games with him, until the topic of sponsors comes up, and then he’s as serious as Percy’s seen him, rattling off the number to call to donate funds to the District 4 tributes. He’s promising he’ll make one of them a Victor. 

 

That’s another thing Percy’s noticed. There’s two different ways to say the word Victor. There’s the Capitol way, mimicked in the Academy. They say it like it’s an honor, like it’s an award. It’s a veneration. 

 

And then there’s the district way. When they say someone is a Victor, they don’t mean they’re a hero or strong or powerful. They mean they’re a survivor. They mean it’s a miracle they’re here.

 

Finnick says it the Capitol way.

 

His on-screen interviews are the only time Percy sees Finnick since they left District 4. He’s busy, Marlin tells him. “That’s why he likes to be a mentor. He doesn’t have time to do anything else when he’s trying to keep a tribute alive.”

 

There’s a certain weight to Marlin’s words, like there’s something Percy should get from them, but he doesn’t. It’s frustrating. He wants to ask Marlin to explain it to him—to remind him he isn’t actually from Panem, but that’s such a terrible idea so Percy lets it go.

 

On the morning the games start, all of the non-mentor Victors are invited out to a fancy brunch place. They serve bottomless mimosas and breakfast foods Percy has never even heard of before.

 

Percy lasts all the way through the pre-game discussion, but when the tributes are shot up their tubes into the arena, he cracks and flags the waiter down for a mimosa, all too aware of what he’s about to watch. He forces the mental image of Gabe away, despite the fact that a small part of him thinks his old-step father might be preferable to Hunger Games. At least he could do something about Gabe.

 

The orange juice hits his tongue just as the camera pans to show the whole arena. It’s modeled after the Grand Canyon, and Percy winces as he wonders where the tributes are going to get food and water. Is it blistering hot there? 

 

The countdown ends, and the tributes are off their pedestals, running for either safety or supplies, and in the case of the careers, to limit the competition.

 

Percy doesn’t watch, instead he stares at the bottom of his champagne glass. Without asking, the waiter refills it.

 

---

 

The boy from 6—Cab—is climbing down a canyon when a boulder shifts, pinning his arm between the boulder and the canyon wall. He screams in pain, and Percy grips Marlin’s arm. Marlin doesn’t push him off. 

 

Cab doesn’t die. Not immediately, anyway.

 

Percy becomes a bit obsessed with Cab, which is a contrast to the hosts who couldn’t care less about him. It’s five days in and all of the careers are still alive, plus seven tributes from the outlying districts. The cuts to them are rare, though. The tributes from 7 get the most screen time out of the non-careers, if only because they’re the best climbers. But Tim, the male tribute from 7, can’t find a source of water outside of the bottle he had in the backpack he took from the cornucopia, which ran out days ago, and the dehydration is getting to him. 

 

Claudius comments it’s only a matter of time for him, just like it is for Cab. And for Tim, he’s right. He dies on the sixth day. 

 

But Cab doesn’t. 

 

A Capitolite—a forty something year old man with coiffed hair—had asked Percy to dinner, to which he agreed on the stipulation he could bring Marlin with him. The man seemed unhappy with this, but Percy refused to budge, and something about his eyes made the Capitolite back off. 

 

Marlin seemed even more unsettled about the dinner invitation than he is when watching the games, which must speak to his anti-socialness, Percy thinks.

 

He’s eating some kind of fancy tortellini when it happens. Cab, stationary for the last five days, has enough of waiting around for something to happen. 

 

The Capitolite, whose name Percy didn’t bother to memorize, is asking Percy what he thinks of the Capitol, if he’s been to such-and-such bar, if he’s met so-and-so. Percy bluntly replies that he hasn’t been to said bar, and that, if he met so-and-so they didn’t leave enough of an impression on him for Percy to remember them. 

 

Marlin laughs into his drink, and Percy takes another bite of the tortellini. It’s in some sort of creamy white sauce, and it makes the whole painful dinner event almost worth it. But when Percy looks up at the screen, it’s to see Cab, the focus of the broadcast for the first time in days. 

 

Normally Percy has to look for the side broadcasts to check in on him. 

 

It doesn’t take long for Percy to realize why the camera has decided to focus on him now. He’s torn a strip of fabric off his shirt with one hand—already an impressive feat—before tying it around his bicep, tight enough to block off the blood flow to his forearm. He adds a broken rod from his tent he only used one night, twisting it in the fabric. 

 

Percy recognizes a tourniquet when he sees one, and he knows what Cab is trying to do before even Claudius Templesmith does. 

 

Percy puts his fork down. His hunger is gone, and his whole attention is on the screen as Cab throws his whole weight against his arm, trying to break it. When that doesn’t work, he picks up a nearby rock and brings it down again and again. He’s got his shirt in between his teeth, but it isn’t enough to fully muffle the whimper he makes.

 

The mics in the arena are too good.

 

The Capitolite isn’t paying attention to the TV, instead he’s asking Percy something. But Percy doesn’t even pretend to listen, and Marlin responds in his stead. 

 

The knife Cab uses is dull. It’s obvious the gamemakers didn’t want to put a good weapon in a backpack as far away from the center of the cornucopia as Cab’s was, so it’s slow going when he cuts through his flesh. The boulder is painted red, and people in the restaurant cheer.

 

Percy doesn’t know why. Cab is free, sure. But there’s still eight other tributes out there.

 

(It’s only later that he’ll learn that there’s actually only five left. That, with few outer district tributes left and unable to find them, the career pack broke off. Cordelia and Galley are both dead already, plus the female tribute from 1. The broadcasters had to edit the sounds of their canons out so the audience wouldn’t get spoiled.

 

Cab’s shout of joy is all too well disguised as happiness to be free from the boulder.)

 

Appetite gone, Percy leaves, dragging Marlin with him and leaving a spluttering Capitolite in their wake. 

 

---

 

With both their tributes gone, Marina and Mags join Percy and Marlin in the non-mentor Victor housing that night. Finnick doesn’t, though, and no one gives Percy a straight answer when he asks why. 

 

Marina just tells him he takes these things hard, before patting his hand and heading to bed. Percy’s stomach flips, and he wishes even harder that Finnick were here. They’re friends, and friends are supposed to comfort each other. It’s not a one-way street like Finnick seems to think it is. 

 

And Percy misses him. When he closes his eyes to go to sleep, he can see Finnick stretched out on his couch back in District 4’s Victor’s Village. Percy tries to reach out for him, but the image fades as he doses off. 

 

At dawn the next morning, Johanna finds the abandoned supplies of her fellow district 7 tribute. All of the food and water is gone, but he had also managed to snag an axe from the cornucopia. Tim was deadly with it, and Johanna will be even moreso. It, along with Cab cutting himself free, is the defining moment of the 71st games. 

 

Johanna’s eyes light up, and any victor can tell you it’s because she sees a possibility of winning. She doesn’t cry once after that. 

 

At least not during the games. 

 

---

 

Even with the tourniquet, Cab dies of blood loss. There’s four tributes left. Three careers and dark horse Johanna Mason from District 7. 

 

In the final eight interview, her dad had said she was emotional but strong. Parents, Percy finds, tend to know their children better than anyone.

 

---

 

Finnick still doesn’t join them the next day, but at least they all get to stay in. Apparently, mentors are allowed to mourn their tributes for one day, and their fellow district Victors can keep them company. 

 

Percy brings out his yarn and works on something new. His sweater for Zach was sad and misshapen, but instead of redoing it, Percy pushes on, trying to make a sweater for Finnick. It won’t be done in time before he sees Finnick next, but he hopes nonetheless it will serve as a reminder that Finnick has people he can lean on. That he isn’t alone. 

 

It takes ten hours, and one time of unwinding it half-way through, but Percy finishes the back panel of the sweater that night, just in time to watch Johanna make her first kill of the games—the male tribute from 2, Ajax. Her axe buries itself in his head. 

 

According to the statisticians, Ajax was favored to win, so watching him be taken down by the crying girl from 7 was a shock to the Capitol. In the quiet of their Capitol accommodations, the Victors from 4 watch the attitude around Johanna do a 180. 

 

She was more or less ignored beforehand—the only nice thing anyone had to say about her was her climbing skills, but with this kill, Caesar and Claudius interview gamemakers who all claim she was hiding her skill on purpose. That her tears were fake, and she always knew she would win. 

 

Percy’s shock comes when they interview Finnick. He’s perfectly made up again, no sign that his tributes’ deaths affected him at all. Percy fiddles with his half-made sweater before unraveling the last row of stitches he did, unhappy with how they look.

 

“I think it’s a brilliant strategy,” Finnick says. “She played down her strengths, and now the rest of the tributes think she’s a non-issue. And it’s gotten her to the top three, so it can’t be that bad.”

 

Caesar laughs, but Percy tunes them out. Watching the change of attitude towards Johanna live was crazy, and Percy doesn’t know if she is actually some teenage mastermind faking all of her tears or not, but the way everyone just accepts the idea that she is, is… well crazy.

 

Percy feels crazy. 

 

He wants to talk to Finnick face-to-face. He wishes Finnick was beside him now. Finnick makes everything more tolerable. Something about that thought itches as Percy’s mind, causing a sort of deja vu, but Percy brushes it off.

 

---

 

Johanna kills both the remaining tributes. The girl from 2’s death is messy. She started a fire specifically to drag the two remaining tributes to her, and Johanna, in a sudden wave of adrenaline, meets her challenge. 

 

They’re both fairly evenly matched, axe against spear, but Johanna is mad, lit with a type of fury the girl from 2 just can’t match. It takes five axe strikes for her to stop fighting back, and five more to kill her. 

 

Johanna strikes her with her axe a total of fourteen times, and Percy wonders if she heard the cannon and kept going or if the emotions of the fight deafened her to it. Either way, the Capitol uses it as more evidence of her blood-thirsty nature.

 

There’s two days of nothing in between her death and the final showdown. Apparently, this is common. It gives the Capitol time to make merchandise for Johanna, who has quickly surpassed the tribute from 1—Diamond—as the favorite to win. An interview with a university student frames it as a feminist issue. Percy doesn’t know what to think about that. 

 

It also gives Johanna and Diamond time to recuperate from earlier fights. This is beneficial to Johanna, who has found and camped by a stream plentiful with pinyon pines, which offer edible nuts. Plus, she is apparently very good at catching lizards. 

 

It is not so beneficial for Diamond, who is running low on the cornucopia provided food and water. 

 

Finnick still doesn’t make an appearance in the District 4 accommodations.

 

And on the third day, the gamemakers force an encounter. There’s a controlled rock slide near Johanna’s stream. It doesn’t get close enough to her to actually hurt her, but it sends a message she understands well. She needs to move. One way or another, today is the last day of the 71st Hunger Games. 

 

She’s got a good head on her shoulders and moves so that she’s returning to the cornucopia, where Diamond still waits. 

 

But her pace is either too slow or the audience is too bored. One way or another, from the rock slide, scorpion mutts crawl out. The screen says they're based on bark scorpions, but larger and more venomous. Percy is uncomfortably reminded of Luke’s betrayal, but he forces himself to watch as Johanna breaks into a run.

 

She was only about a mile out from the cornucopia, so she doesn’t run for very long, but it is long enough that she’s winded. The disadvantage makes Percy wince, and the people around him in the bar yell insults and encouragement in turn. 

 

This bar, unlike the bulk of the Capitol, actually leans heavily pro-Diamond. According to Marina, the people in this part of town love District 1. Percy looks down at the crystal glass holding his water and doesn’t wonder why.

 

Diamond hears her coming and meets her at the mouth of the cornucopia holding an honest-to-gods mace in his hand. Despite how serious the situation is, Percy has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

 

The scorpions back off, forming a circle around the cornucopia, and Percy doesn’t have to wonder why—they’re venomous and the Capitol wants the tributes to kill each other, not a mutt. 

 

Johanna stays about ten feet from Diamond, sizing him up, and Diamond looks genuinely surprised that she’s the one who made it to the final two. Percy wonders if he even remembered who she was before this. If he paid any attention to her during training. 

 

But Diamond brushes the surprise off easy and rushes her.

 

Johanna is tall and skinny, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t muscular. She ducks one swing of his mace and blocks the next with the flat of her axe before sprinting a good twenty feet away. When Diamond moves to follow her, she lets out a yell and throws her axe at him. It just grazes his arm, and Percy winces at the stupidity of her move. 

 

Diamond is still alive, and while his right arm is weakened enough that he moves the mace to his non-dominant hand, he’s armed with his weapon of choice and Johanna isn’t. 

 

But then Johanna dives for something out of frame, and Percy realizes he underestimated her. Because standing just out of reach from where she was, was another axe. She grabs it without any pomp as Diamond rushes her again. 

 

Using his left-hand turns out to be a major handicap for him, and Johanna dodges his swing and makes a swing of her own. The gesture is powerful and precise, an ode to her lumberjack origins, and she scores a deep cut to Diamond’s wrist. The weight of the mace combined with his injury makes his wrist wobble, and Johanna pushes the advantage, taking a swing right at his neck.

 

Diamond moves just enough that she doesn’t decapitate him, but she does manage to hit his artery. Blood drips from his neck like a waterfall as Johanna swings again, this time at his head. It’s the same place she killed the boy from 2 with. And just like with the boy from 2, it works. 

 

Johanna Mason, blood-stained and sweaty, but almost entirely uninjured is declared the Victor of the 71st Hunger Games. 

 

---

 

Finnick finally makes an appearance the next day, and Percy rushes him like a dog greeting its owner.

 

At the last moment, Percy refrains from the hug he was going for, and instead reaches out to throw his arm around Finnick’s back. Finnick squeezes his hand and gives him a half-hearted smile. He looks tired, but just seeing him is enough to make Percy light up. 

 

“How are you handling it?” Percy asks.

 

Finnick’s eyes go wide and he blurts out a “huh?” It's so undignified compared to the Finnick Percy had seen on screen over the past couple of weeks.

 

“Galley’s death,” Percy clarifies. Technically Galley was Finnick’s mentee, though Percy has a sneaking suspicion he did a lot of work for Cordelia, too. 

 

Finnick’s eyes fall to the floor. “Oh,” he says, “as well as I can, I guess.”

 

Percy debates his next words before finally deciding to just come out and say it. “I wish you had come here. After he died, I mean. We’re friends… I want to, you know, support you with stuff like this.”

 

Finnick’s eyes met his, and Percy has never felt particularly poetic before, but he feels tempted to compare Finnick’s eyes to the ocean’s depths. Percy’s heart beats fast at the thought; he loves the ocean. He could look at them forever. 

 

Percy’s thoughts grind to a halt. Oh fuck, he says mentally. Before he can unpack that, Finnick is speaking, “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, voice soft. “But I just wanted to be alone this time.”

 

His eyes flicker over the empty living room. Everyone else hasn’t woken up yet—taking advantage of not being expected to make an appearance until later tonight. “Hey, you’ll be a mentor next year, though, so we’ll be by each other’s side throughout the whole thing.”

 

Percy’s arm is still around Finnick’s back, and Finnick’s hand is still gripping his. Impulsively, stupidly, Percy moves his hand to entwine their fingers. 

 

He changes his mind a second later out of embarrassment and he turns the hand-hold into a brief squeeze—a gesture of support—before dropping Finnick’s hand like he was burned. 

 

Finnick looks at him for a long moment before crossing his arms in front of him. 

 

Percy changes the subject. “What do we do now?”

 

Finnick sighs, “Now we just hang around until after the Victor’s Interview. It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

 

---

 

When they board the train back to 4, they board alongside two plain coffins. They’re both closed, but Percy knows what—who—they hold.

 

Percy stares as the Avoxes put them in their own, separate compartment, and he feels a hand slide into his. At his side, Finnick stares stoically at the coffins.

 

Neither of them let go until they’re settled into their own compartment.

 

---

 

Notes:

Was Johanna Mason just pulling a long con? It's up to you to decide.

And Percy's got a crush!

Cab is based on Aron Ralston's story, thought I actually haven't read his book/watched the movie based on it.

Not gonna lie, I wasn't super happy with this chapter, but eventually decided to leave it as is. I think I just struggled to like it because it's, fundamentally, a filler chapter.

Chapter 25: Who Mourns for Adonis?

Summary:

A lot of stuff happens

Notes:

Click here for trigger warnings for this chapter (minor spoiler)

This is the first chapter that actually discusses the forced prostitution Victor's endure. Also Percy briefly alludes to his reliance on sleeping meds

Going back to District 4 takes a weight off Percy’s shoulders he didn’t even know was there. That’s the good news.

 

The bad news is something has shifted between Finnick and him, and it wasn’t for the better. Try as he might, Percy can’t get it to shift back. They both seem hyper aware of each other and where their bodies are, and Finnick is careful to not touch Percy at all anymore. 

 

Embarrassingly enough, Percy has spent hours thinking about it. He’s run through all of their interactions with a fine-tooth comb, and while they were never particularly touchy feely beforehand, they had never shied away from touching each other. 

 

It was common for Finnick to put his hand on Percy’s upper back to guide him through the Academy, just like it was second nature for Finnick to pull him into a hug when Percy showed up at his door late at night and visibly shaken. 

 

Percy didn’t think anything of it until it was gone. And now he’s second guessing everything. He still hasn’t even given Finnick the sweater he made for him weeks ago; he was too worried that Finnick wouldn’t like it. That it would upset their dynamic even further.

 

One late night with Zach and Cody on either side of him on the bed, a sudden thought douses Percy like ice water. Does Finnick know Percy has a crush on him?

 

Percy tries hard to not fall into the woe-is-me teenage angst his age requires, and usually he would be able to talk himself out of doom thinking about a crush knowing about said crush. 

 

But there’s one major problem Percy can’t brush off. How does Panem feel about same-sex relationships? It’s a question he had never even had a reason to ponder before, but he’s biting his nails to the quick thinking about it now. 

 

Percy’s previous experience with homophobia was mostly second hand—he had never been attracted to a man before, at least that he knew of. But even if he had, he lived in New York City and surrounded himself with a bunch of Greeks Gods and Demigods. And while the Ancient Greeks might have been homophobic in their own, unique way, their modern counterparts had more or less left any of that in the past. 

 

Percy’s thoughts drift to Kayla Knowles not for the first time in the past couple of weeks. She had two biological dads—Apollo and her mortal dad, and Percy knows she isn’t the only one at camp. The Greek gods had never avoided same-sex love.

 

But none of that helps him here and now. Panem doesn’t even know who the Greek gods are, much less their relationship history.

 

All of that to say, Percy spends a lot of time roaming the market and docks, keeping his eyes peeled for any men holding hands or women kissing. He even walks by the courthouse a couple of times, trying to spot the newlyweds and see if any of them are queer.

 

He doesn’t have any luck. 

 

His next (obvious) option is to just ask someone, but that’s the exact kind of thing Percy shouldn’t be doing. If Panem really is homophobic, people would wonder why he was asking. They still have the gallows down in the center of District 4, and Percy is uncomfortably aware of how often queerness has been deadly—both at the governmental level and amongst peers.

 

Plus, would his weak cover of amnesia even help at all? He doesn’t think amnesia makes you forget biases, and if Panem was overtly homophobic, shouldn’t he still remember that at a subconscious level? But he also barely knows anything about how amnesia actually works, maybe it would make him forget that. 

 

The whole thing functions as a frustrating reminder of how out of his depth Percy is. 

 

Once, Percy turns on the TV to see Caesar talking about some Capitol singer. Percy studies his lilac hair and elaborate makeup and thinks that surely the Capitolites can’t all be straight if they dress like that. But then he mentally slaps himself. He’s approaching everything like a 21st century New Yorker and his preconceived notions are not helpful here. 

 

And all of that doesn’t even touch on the subject of Annie. Unlike Annabeth, Annie is still alive, out there somewhere. And, Percy remembers guiltily, he hasn’t even tried to contact since his Victory Tour. He feels terrible about it, but the idea of skipping his sleeping pills makes him nauseous. It’s not a good excuse, he knows, but he can’t force himself to do it.

 

A part of him wonders if the problem isn’t the medicine at all. Maybe he’s just scared to face Annie again. Especially now.

 

The best thing he can do, he decides, is to pretend like nothing has changed. His feelings for Finnick are purely platonic. That’s easy enough to do, he decides.

 

Zach licks his face, pulling him from his morose thoughts, and Percy is sufficiently distracted for the next hour.

 

---

 

September dawns with news that Finnick is being called to the Capitol. 

 

“Can I come with you?” Is the first thing Percy asks. He’s aware he sounds pathetic. He doesn’t sound like a friend asking to tag along, and he doesn’t even sound like a lover begging for attention either. He sounds like a puppy being abandoned on the side of the road. Like a cat scratching at the door. All it needs now is to be raining. A crack of thunder sounds and Percy curses both his luck and his poor control of his emotions.

 

“No,” Finnick says. It lacks any of the patience he would’ve shown Percy just months ago. Before he messed everything up. 

 

“Why not?” Percy says, pushing the issue. Finnick is walking away from him, through the Victor’s Village street, but Percy won’t let him get away that easily.  “I wouldn’t get in your way or anything.”

 

Finnick turns around, irritation plan to see in every line of his face. He leans forward just slightly to enunciate his words, “Because I don’t want you to.”

 

Percy forces himself not to react visibly, but it feels like he was slapped. Percy has always been particularly delicate about his friends—it’s a side effect of not having an actual, real friend until he was twelve—but he’s even more sensitive to what Finnick thinks of him. Both because of his crush and because his support network was completely annihilated when he came to Panem. 

 

At almost the two year mark of being here, Percy has a very small circle of people he likes and trusts, and he doesn’t want any of them to be mad at him. 

 

Percy digs his feet into the ground. If Finnick wants him to back off, he’ll back off. If you love them, let them go and all of that. 

 

“Right, okay, sorry.” He says. 

 

Finnick’s eyes soften just briefly, but he doesn’t say anything in reply. Instead, he marches on home, and Percy slouches in the middle of the street. He can see Coraline and Gideon’s shadows circle above him, but he doesn’t look up at them. He’s too raw right now.

 

He forces one foot in front of the other and goes home.

 

---

 

The first Monday Finnick is absent is a strange adjustment, and Percy kind of just wants to wallow at home. But, whoever is selected as the tribute this year is Percy’s responsibility—his mentee. He could quite literally be the difference between their life and death. 

 

So, he forces himself up and out of bed. He pulls on his only clean pair of sweats—that’s another thing he has to do today—and is out the door and walking towards the Academy in record time. So much so that he actually gets there too early.

 

He’s tutoring Leda in hand-to-hand combat first, but she’s still at lunch right now, and he’s not enough of an asshole to pull her from her lunch break early—god knows if a teacher had tried that with him, he would’ve been pissed. 

 

So, he spends about ten minutes meandering through the Academy hallways. It’s the first time he’s had a chance to explore the whole building without distractions, and he’s actually surprised about how much there is and how much he’s missed in all his past visits. 

 

Through the side entrance to the gym—the one that hosts district-wide sporting events during the spring, though they’re really only attended by Academy students and the wealthier district citizens—they actually have a wall of awards that reminds Percy painfully of Goode High School’s trophy wall. 

 

Back in New York, he had an award sitting on that wall for his swim team. His coach used to tell him he was Olympic material. Not that any of that matters now.

 

The awards the Academy gives out aren’t for swimming. They’re for sparring: sword fighting, hand-to-hand, and spear throwing. The most prominent awards on the wall, though, aren’t for sparring at all. They’re plaques for all of the students who have become tributes. In the center of the wall, in a place of honor, are the largest plaques. There’s four of them, each labeled for the four Victor’s the Academy put out: Marlin, Marina, Riptide, and Finnick, in that order. 

 

And below them are the smaller plaques for the tributes who didn’t become Victors. There’s a lot of them. 

 

In morbid curiosity and a sense of owing them something, like a witness to a crime, Percy goes down the line, reading their names one by one. All of the plaques display the student’s first and last name, the year they volunteered for, what part of District 4 they’re from, and a couple of parting words they said, reminiscent of a senior yearbook quote. They start in the year 40 A.D.D. Twenty-one years worth of tributes.

 

Julia McGregor, 52 A.D.D., from Decoris said, “The only loss is not trying in the first place.” Given the context, Percy doesn’t quite agree.

 

Harper Russo, 61 A.D.D., from Portland thanked her parents for all the support they’ve given her, and Xander Russo, 64 A.D.D., also from Portland, promises to make Harper proud. 

 

Down the wall he goes and the years climb higher and higher until he gets to 69 A.D.D. and he comes to a sudden stop. Because he recognizes those names.

 

The two tribute’s for 69 A.D.D. have shiny plaques that hang side-by-side, but more importantly, they have the exact same names Percy gave to the two albatrosses that follow him around—Coraline and Gideon. 

 

Percy’s stomach clenches, brain whirling. How likely is it that he just accidentally named the albatrosses the same name as the dead tributes from the year before him? 

 

Percy’s heard before that seabirds hold the souls of dead sailors and fishermen, but that was back home, where gods and monsters and all sorts of supernatural stuff existed. None of that exists here though. Seabirds were supposed to be just… seabirds. There’s no afterlife in Panem.

 

But he eyes the plaque again. Both Gideon and Coraline were from Portland, meaning they probably were fishermen. There’s not much else to do in Portland. 

 

Does that mean the people who have died here aren’t as dead as he thought? Without his permission, his thoughts turn to Annabeth. Was she out there somewhere, soul being carried in some kind of owl or something? 

 

And what about everyone who died in the arena? Are they all still alive, just in a different way now? 

 

He takes a step back, meaning to turn around and go outside—to find the two albatrosses who seem irrationally attached to the land for their species. But before he can, the bell rings, and a group of students exit the gym. The Academy students are a lot more used to Percy now than they were a year ago, but they still treat him strangely. Like he’s a teacher to be looked up to. Like if they go in the arena, he might actually be able to get them out.

 

A couple of them wave and Percy nods back, abandoning his idea to hunt down the two birds that dog his steps, at least for now. He can’t really do much for them. He’s not Nico, and he’s definitely not his uncle Hades.

 

He’s not really sure he can do much for whoever ends up being his tribute, either, but at least he can try.

 

He walks away without looking at the last three plaques for Annie, Cordelia, and Galley. In the rush of reading Coraline and Gideon’s names, he forgot that they were there. He’ll remember it later that night, and think it was probably for the best.

 

---

 

Finnick looks like shit when he gets back from the Capitol. And he must feel like shit too because, for the first time since they got back from the games, he accepts Percy’s hug without complaint. 

 

That just makes Percy hold him tighter.

 

“How are you?” Percy asks, somewhat rhetorically. He doesn’t expect an honest answer.

 

And he doesn’t get one. “I’m fine,” Finnick tells him. 

 

But a moment later, that vulnerability sneaks back in. “Can I crash at your house tonight?” he asks. Percy just nods because he would never turn Finnick—a friend—away.

 

“Do you have any alcohol here?” Finnick asks him later that night, voice deceptively light. 

 

“No,” Percy says. “I don’t really drink.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Finnick tucks his hands in his pocket, trying to make himself smaller than he is, and the movement grabs Percy’s attention. There’s a ring of bruises around his wrists. 

 

---

 

The next time Finnick is invited to the Capitol, Percy gets an invite too. 

 

News of this causes Finnick to get upset. Even more upset than he was with Annie during the 70th games. His rage is an almost palpable thing. 

 

Percy tries to tell him he doesn’t have to go if Finnick doesn’t want him to, but that only seems to enrage Finnick more.

 

For the first time, Percy realizes that it isn’t so much an invitation as it is an order. But… an order for what? He wonders. The answer is so close he can practically taste it, but it stays frustratingly out of his reach until the next night, when Finnick drags him to the beach.

 

The ocean is beautiful, as always, and Coraline and Gideon stay right at the edge of Percy’s vision. A week after Percy had first read the plaques at the Academy, he tried to interrogate them—to ask if they were the tributes who died in the 69th games, but the birds just blinked up at him blankly. It made Percy feel kind of crazy. 

 

The peaceful atmosphere of the beach, however, is broken by Finnick’s visible anger. A vein stands prominent on his arms from where they’re crossed in front of them, and his face is flushed an indignant red. If Percy were that angry, there would probably be a hurricane.

 

Percy thinks of breaking the silence, but at the last minute, thinks better of it and stays quiet. It’s a feat for him.

 

But when Finnick finally speaks, Percy knows he made the right choice. “You know that I go to the Capitol a couple times a year,” Finnick starts, his voice is remarkably calm considering he is literally shaking in anger. Percy hums in agreement, waiting to see where Finnick is going with this. “They’re… work trips.”

 

Victors don’t work. They’re only “job” is to stand there and look pretty when the Hunger Games require it, and the Hunger Games only technically require Victor appearances twice a year—during the Games and during the Victory Tour. 

 

And based on how Finnick says it, Percy gets the feeling he’s not doing casual interviews and photoshoots during his trips to the Capitol. He stays silent.

 

Finnick pulls a rope from his pocket and starts to tie it nervously into knots. It’s not the first time Percy’s seen him do it, but it is the most frantic he’s ever seen him with it. He’s almost tying the knots faster than Percy’s eyes can track, a feat given his demigod status.

 

“Some Victors who are deemed attractive are…” he stops, as if carefully thinking of how to phrase his next words. “Sold,” he says finally. His voice is low and flat, like it’s a fact he’s accepted ages ago.

 

But this is the first time Percy has ever heard of this. Past interactions click in place with a disturbing clarity. Finnick’s love of Capitol parties and women. The way Finnick came back from the Capitol tired. The absence after the tributes died. The drinking. The bruises. Percy hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions. Some people like doing stuff like that, and he wasn’t going to judge his friend if he did—he got enough of that from his family. But knowing what he knows now…

 

Percy feels something in him crack. The clouds gather overheard, and the wind picks up speed.

 

How could he have been so blind?

 

Rain pours down on them, but neither Finnick nor Percy make any effort to move. There is a reason Finnick had wanted to have this conversation here, after all. Listening devices can’t weather the shore very well.

 

“Can you say no?” Percy asks, already half-knowing the answer.

 

Finnick gives him a long look. “I said no once and when I came back to District 4, my father was dead.” 

 

With that, the pressure around them drops, and Percy knows exactly what is about to happen. He clamps down on his emotions—the last thing District 4 needs is an unforeseen hurricane; there’d be no time for the fishermen to get to safety. 

 

It won’t hurt anyone who deserves it.

 

Finnick’s eyes, blessedly, turn away from Percy to look out to the ocean, now standing still. “Do you remember Haymitch Abernathy from District 12?”

 

Percy doesn’t respond, but Finnick continues anyway. “They use him as the example of what happens to Victors who don’t do what they’re asked. He had a family—a mom and a brother and a girlfriend before he was reaped. Before 52 A.D.D. they were all dead, and now he just rots in District 12 self-medicating.” 

 

There’s a certain aggression as Finnick says the last part, and Percy wonders how much of himself Finnick sees in Haymitch. Percy remembers his sleeping pills and wonders how much of himself Percy can see in Haymitch, if he looks. 

 

Percy reaches out, as if to touch Finnick to reassure him, but he pulls his hand back as soon as he realizes what he’s doing. 

 

Does Finnick even like being touched? He must have a complicated relationship with it, Percy reasons. He tries to remember everything he knows about sexual trauma and sexual assault and—he belatedly remembers that Finnick was only fourteen when he won the Hunger Games—childhood sexual abuse. 

 

But he comes back frustratingly blank. The fact of the matter is that he doesn’t know very much about it. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to reassure Finnick. How to protect him. He doesn’t even know if he can.

 

Percy looks up to find Finnick studying his reaction carefully, and he realizes something else that makes his stomach drop. Finnick isn’t confiding in him as a friend. He’s telling Percy this because he thinks the same thing is about to happen to Percy. 

 

Percy can’t actually bring himself to worry about his own wellbeing—he isn’t like Finnick. He doesn’t have a family here to threaten him with, and if the Capitol wants to torture him or kill him for his refusal to play along with their game, they can. Percy doesn’t care.

 

But the idea of them hurting Finnick—and any of the other Victors, who have all already been through enough—is inconceivable. For so long, Percy had been told that he was powerful, that he was a child of prophecy, destined for great (or terrible), world-changing things. But here, he feels exactly like he did when he was eleven, before any of that. 

 

Useless, powerless. 

 

What could he do? He could go to the Capitol with Finnick and wave his sword around, maybe kill some of the people who think they can buy Finnick. But the Capitol has a heavily armed police force. He wouldn’t get far at all before he was shot, and then he couldn’t be there for Finnick at all. 

 

He’s not a god. He’s just as easy to kill as anyone else, and his wrath isn’t enough to cow corrupt rulers.

 

“It’s hard,” Finnick says, when minutes go by and Percy still hasn’t said anything. “It is, but you’ll get through it. We both will.”

 

Something about Finnick trying to comfort Percy just makes him feel worse. 

 

“I’ll do everything I can to protect you. To help you,” Finnick promises him, and, quietly. Percy promises the same, though he doesn’t know if he can honor it. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Percy says. 

 

“I don’t want your apologies,” Finnick tells him, “You’ve done nothing to apologize for. And I don’t want people to feel bad for me—to pity me. It’s why I don’t tell anyone. I have to have some pride.”

 

Percy studies him, and Finnick’s words seem to ring true. Despite the heavy conversation, he stands tall, like a prisoner standing proud until the legs swing. “Okay.” Percy says.

 

This, at least, he can do.

 

---

 

The first thing Percy does after his talk with Finnick is he plants lettuce in one of his cooking bowls, and puts it right out in the middle of his lawn to sit under the burning sun. 

 

It’s a compromise he made with himself. He can’t mourn Finnick, so this is the closest he can get. Growing a plant to watch it wither, and grieving when it does, like the festival of Adonia. Though he doesn’t plan on tearing his clothes and beating his chest like they did in ancient times. 

 

The second thing Percy does after his talk with Finnick is he tries to talk to Annie again. They have a week before they’re set to travel to the Capitol, and Percy uses the second night after his talk with Finnick to skip his sleeping pills in the hope that he’ll be able to see Annie in a dream again. 

 

That night gives him no such luck. Without the medicine, he can’t even fall asleep and ends up laying in bed listening to the sound of Zach snoring the whole night. It’s not pleasant. 

 

And the day after that is a Monday, meaning Finnick and Percy walk to the Academy together for special 1-on-1 training. Percy has a pounding headache, and exhaustion is written plain on his face.

 

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Finnick doesn’t look convinced, but he lets the subject drop as Leda and the other female student still in the running for consideration for the 72nd games—Felicia—walk in.

 

That night, Percy doesn’t take his medicine again. This time he falls into a light, restless sleep. Only it isn’t Annie waiting for him in his dreams.

 

It’s Rachel. She doesn’t look in his direction, and when he tries to speak to her, she just acts like she can’t hear him. 

 

She’s situated in her cave, a canvas and easel in front of her, and on a paper plate are an array of paint colors, though the gold paint is significantly more plentiful than the handful of other colors. Percy walks around to try and see what she’s painting. 

 

It’s his dad, wearing a flowy robe and holding a golden apple. He’s cradling it like the renaissance paintings of Madonna holding her baby, and on his head rests a radiate crown, which strikes Percy as odd. Those are associated with sunlight, he knows. Why would his father be wearing it?

 

That’s when Nico walks in. Nico has never looked particularly healthy to Percy, but he definitely doesn’t look well now. His eyebags are a deep shade of purple, and his skin is sallow. Any weight he gained after the Titan War is gone, and he didn’t have any extra weight to spare in the first place. Worry burrows deep in Percy’s chest.

 

“Nico,” he calls, but Nico doesn’t respond. He, like Rachel, doesn’t seem to be at all aware of Percy. 

 

“I’m here for a prophecy,” Nico tells Rachel. “I need to find Percy.”

 

Rachel places her paintbrush down. “I couldn’t give a prophecy the last time he disappeared, what makes you think I can give one now?”

 

Nico fidgets with his skull ring. “Because it’s a quest.”

 

Rachel looks up at him from her seat on her stool and raises a judgmental eyebrow. “And who assigned you that quest?”

 

“Myself.”

 

Rachel lets out a huff before sending Nico a pitying look. “We’re all worried about Percy, but I can’t force a prophecy. I’m sorry.”

 

Nico takes a step forward to look at what Rachel is painting. “Is that not a prophecy of its own?” Nico asks.

 

“What—” Rachel begins before turning to look at the canvas like she’s never seen it before. Percy doesn’t know why. It’s just a painting of his father, how could it possibly be prophetic?

 

She seizes up in a way Percy immediately recognizes and a green mist floats from her mouth. 

 

“To the world without gods, two shall go / Sky’s daughter and death’s son find the gallow / Where rests a burning fire’s draw / The shrike bequeath lover’s call / A map to the ocean’s son, now his own / The wrath of Justice shall not stand alone / At her side, ten will stride.”

 

With the end of the prophecy, Rachel collapses, starting to fall off her stool only for Nico to catch her at the last moment. Percy hears her ask, “What did I say?” right as the dream starts to fade around him. 

 

He wakes up feeling not at all rested. He remembers Nico’s worried face and Rachel’s painting, but the words of the prophecy blur together. He can’t recall it at all, except for the ominous feeling it caused. He shakes himself out of it—it was just a dream, he reminds himself.

 

As he goes about his daily chores, his hands shake—his withdrawal hitting him even harder today than it did yesterday. It’s bad enough that he can’t crochet at all and he forgoes Zach and Cody’s leash in favor of putting a bit too much faith in their training. 

 

By the end of the night, he’s sweaty and anxious in a way he’s never felt before. In a moment of weakness he claws the sleeping pill bottle open and takes twice the daily dose. It’s only as he’s falling into a dreamless sleep that the regret takes hold. I’m sorry, Annie, Percy thinks.

 

Percy will try again after his trip, but he needs to be well rested for whatever is waiting for him at the Capitol.

 

---

 

The train ride to the Capitol unlocks emotions Percy has never felt before. Finnick and Percy hadn’t talked about everything since that afternoon on the beach, partially because of the constant surveillance of everything they do and partially because neither of them particularly knew how to broach the subject. 

 

But nevertheless, sharing with Percy what he does in the Capitol seemed to allow Finnick to take off a mask Percy hadn’t even been fully aware he was wearing. Finnick was like that, sometimes. Percy often thought about him and his acts as Russian nesting dolls. Even when Percy sees through one of them, Finnick has three more on.

 

As the train gets closer and closer to the Capitol, Finnick seems to wilt. Percy swears even his tan skin seems to get pale and sickly looking. It reminds Percy of his lettuce—blooming so fast only to wilt.

 

When they finally pull into the Capitol, they’re taken to the same Victor housing they used during the 71st Games. Being back puts Percy off-foot, and he watches as if through a mirror as Finnick gets ready to meet with god-knows-who.

 

Finnick, right before leaving, turns around to make eye contact with Percy. “It’ll be over soon,” he tells him. Percy gives a tight nod, wishing he had anything he could offer Finnick as comfort but coming up blank. 

 

And he doesn’t want to tell Finnick what he is about to do.

 

Percy himself is going to the President’s Manor. Presumably to be told about the prostitution, and upon the news being delivered, Percy will not-so-politely say no. Percy isn’t like Finnick. He doesn’t have any family in Panem, and the only friends he has are Victors, which are protected in their own right due to their celebrity status. 

 

It’d be national news if a Victor died, Percy knows that much from what he’s heard about Riptide. 

 

About ten minutes before the driver tells him they need to leave, Percy changes his button up into a turtleneck. He hopes it sends a message.

 

The driver—it’s always a different one, and Percy wonders if they do that to avoid district comradery—drives him to the President’s Manor in silence, and when he gets there, an Avox leads him to what is, Percy assumes, President Snow’s office. 

 

It’s got huge double doors made out of mahogany, and engraved in each one is the symbol of Panem. It looks disconcertingly like the U.S. Seal, Percy notes. He wonders, not for the first time, how much time has passed between the 21st century and now. 

 

Suddenly, the Avoxes at either side of the door move to open them in sync. Percy tries to think of what signal they were waiting for to let him in, but he finds none.

 

The massive desk in the President’s office serves only to make President Snow look smaller and frailer. 

 

“Mr. Jackson,” the President greets, and despite his old and frail appearance, his voice sounds strong. Percy doesn’t like that. “Take a seat.”

 

Putting on his best bitch face, Percy does so. He doesn’t want to be here and he isn’t going to hide that, but it’s best not to come out swinging. 

 

Snow folds his hands in front of him on the desk. “Do you know why you are here?” He asks.

 

“No,” Percy says, only half truthfully. He doesn’t want the President to know how much he does or doesn’t know. There’s power in knowledge, and Snow doesn’t need anymore power than he already has.

 

“Did you know the Hunger Games brings in roughly a billion dollars annually? Particularly popular years, such as yours and Mr. Odair’s can bring upwards of two billion.” 

 

Percy can see where the conversation is going, and he doesn’t like it. “I didn’t know that.”

 

“Yes, well, as you can see, the Hunger Games are not just important for morale but also for our economy.” He pauses. “And after the Games themselves are over, the Victors can offer additional ways of turning a profit. I know you are aware of the modeling business many Victors do, as well as merchandise and interviews.”

 

Percy nods, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“Some Victors, usually the younger, prettier ones, also take part in escort work.” 

 

Percy knew it was coming, but hearing him say it out loud reignited his anger. “You mean prostitution?” 

 

Snow gives him a small smile that pulls strangely at his lips. Percy clocks it as lip filler, but the idea of an eighty-year old man getting lip filler is strange to him. The split-second distraction lasts until Snow confirms, “if you want to be crass about it, yes.”

 

“And do you give them a choice? Can they say no?” Percy asks, repeating the words he asked Finnick a week ago. 

 

“You can always say no,” Snow tells him, “but of course, we have incentives.”

 

“Like killing family members,” Percy finishes for Snow.

 

Snow’s smile stretches wider, and the dip in the middle of his lower lip caused by too much filler becomes even more pronounced. “So you have been talking with your fellow Victors.”

 

“They might’ve warned me.”

 

“So you lied, earlier. I don’t appreciate liars, Mr. Jackson.”

 

Percy stretches up to his full height. This man wanted to call him to his office to pimp him out and now had the audacity to say he didn’t appreciate being lied to. 

 

“It wasn’t a lie. They had their own thoughts about why I was invited here, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. That was, I can see now, my mistake,” Percy keeps his voice level, but he feels himself sneer with the word ‘mistake’.

 

“Yes, it was your mistake,” Snow says plainly, pulling back. Some part of Percy recognizes he’s put more distance between them, and he hopes that means he’s scared.

 

“We’ve had many very wealthy people express interest in you, Mr. Jackson, and we’ve informed a handful of them that you’d be in the Capitol this week—”

 

“No,” Percy interrupts. An indignant expression briefly takes over Snow’s face, telling Percy he isn’t used to being interrupted, but he hides it quick enough. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You said we can say no. This is me saying no.”

 

“I also, if you recall, told you we have incentives to make you cooperate.”

 

“And I don’t have any family, so I don’t care.”

 

Snow sits back in his seat. He’s acting too relaxed now, and Percy doesn’t like that. “Do you know what you’re saying, Mr. Jackson?”

 

“Do you know what I’m saying?” He spits back. “In case you don’t, let me rephrase my answer: Fuck. You.”

 

Without waiting for a response or dismissal, Percy is up and out of his seat, opening one of the giant mahogany doors. The swing of the door hits the Avox standing in front of it, and Percy almost stops to apologize before thinking better of it. It’s best he doesn’t talk to anyone right now. Everyone he passes jumps out of his way.

 

He rounds a corner, and runs right into someone. They hit the ground, but when Percy sees who it is, he just keeps walking.

 

From her spot on the ground, Coriolania looks up at his retreating back with confusion in her eyes. She was just about to visit her grandfather.

 

Horribly, Percy thinks that Snow probably doesn’t care about his family at all. Coriolania could die tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be phased. Like Agammenon and Iphigenia. 

 

Notes:

- To reiterate: Percy will not be prostituted in this fic.
- Percy was definitely attracted to Luke when he first came to camp, though he didn't know it. He thought it was just hero worship.
- I don’t think Percy would freak out about being attracted to men, but I do think he would worry about what Finnick thinks about it
- The Festival of Adonia is a festival that mourns Adonis. Despite never outright saying it, Percy sees Finnick as an Adonis-like figure, so by mourning Adonis, he is in a way mourning Finnick without breaking his promise to him. Women would plant quick growing plants and set them under the sun in the middle of summer so that they would bloom quickly and then pretty much immediately die. They would then publicly mourn them (and Adonis). The title of this chapter actually comes from a Star Trek episode, though it has pretty much nothing in common with that episode.
- Felicia’s name means “happy” and “lucky” because, in case it isn’t obvious, she isn’t going to be chosen for the 72nd Hunger Games. Good for her.
- Percy’s conversation with Snow was so hard to write. He’s such an interesting character, but we only really see (President) Snow interacting with Katniss, and I don’t think he talks to all of the Victors like that. Especially because Percy isn’t a symbol of rebellion. Hope I did it justice.
- Needless to say, cursing at a dictator’s face isn’t a smart thing to do
- Oof there's a lot of stuff in this chapter, and there will be a lot in the next chapter too

Chapter 26: Iphigenia's Lament

Notes:

Trigger warning for this chapter (spoilers)

Animal death, and somewhat graphic depiction of an animal corpse. I know, I'm sorry.

When Percy comes home, it’s to a desolate Marlin. His eyes are red and scratchy, and he struggles to look at Percy. It takes all of two minutes to find out why. 

 

The first warning sign is that his dogs don’t greet him. 

 

“It’s Zach,” Marlin tells him. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Percy knows exactly what has happened. Time seems to slow around him.

 

Percy lurches towards the backyard as he wonders how he could’ve been so stupid. How could he have not seen this coming? How could he have forgotten about his two most loyal companions when thinking that he had no one for the Capitol to hurt?

 

He reaches the back door and all but throws it open to see Cody standing vigil in the backyard, looking every inch a vicious guard dog ready to attack anyone who moves wrong. He’s blocking Percy’s view, but when Percy walks outside, the scent of copper hits him like a punch to the face. 

 

It’s a scent he hasn’t smelled since he was in the arena. The reminder is almost as repugnant as the scene in front of him.

 

Laying on the ground in the middle of the backyard is Zach. His face is grossly disfigured—they had tried to shoot him—presumably wanting to put him down with one clean shot, but Marlin’s mom hadn’t given their siblings away to Peacekeepers for nothing. Zach put up a fight. The result was a bloody mess in his backyard. Percy almost thinks that sends more of a message than a clean shot to the head would’ve. And wasn’t that the point?

 

It’s probably the same reason they didn’t kill Cody. They still needed a bargaining chip. Look at Haymitch—they couldn’t threaten him with anything any more. Surely that was a gross miscalculation they wouldn’t want to repeat with their newer, shinier Victors.

 

It’s too much for Percy. The back to back hit of learning what happens to Victor’s in the capitol and being unable to help his friends—his family—who have to deal with it, and now Zach’s death. He’s grinding his teeth, gnashing them almost like Cody. He feels practically feral at the injustice of it all. 

 

He turns around, blowing inside with all the caution of a hurricane. And isn’t that a thought? It’d feel so good to let a hurricane loose on the Capitol , Percy thinks. Maybe cause an earthquake right below that fancy Presidential Manor of Snow’s. Hell, he could cause a storm, make it rain for days on end until the whole city is flooded. It would be just like in the arena—the sky would cry with him.

 

He deflates before his thoughts go anywhere, remembering all the people stuck in the Capitol who would be affected and who don’t deserve it. He still remembers what the destroyed buildings looked like on the drive to the Capitol Couture meeting. Any damage he causes wouldn’t be felt by the people who are actually responsible for anything wrong with Percy’s life. 

 

Because even natural disasters aren’t fair when shelter and infrastructure look so different.

 

No, Percy wishes he could hurt Snow like Snow has hurt him. But Percy doesn’t know how to do that. His situation hasn’t magically changed with his reignited rage. He’s still just a demigod, and maybe he could kill Snow, but how much good would that do in the long run? Surely, Panem has another dirty politician lined up to take his place. Maybe Snow even has a son ready to step up and continue his corrupted legacy.

 

Percy comes to a stop halfway up the stairs—he thinks he might’ve been going to his bedroom to do who knows what, but it doesn’t matter anyway, really. Because Percy doesn’t know if Snow has a son, but he does have a granddaughter.

 

Coriolania Snow, Percy remembers. He can picture her clearly in his mind. She doesn’t look all too much like Snow except for the pale complexion and too blue eyes, but she’s ultimately the only real thing he knows about Snow. 

 

He can’t send a natural disaster the Capitol’s way, and he can’t kill Snow because, ultimately, that won’t do anything. No, he needs Snow scared. And Coriolania might just be the best way to accomplish that. 

 

Percy feels mildly guilty at the thought, but then he remembers Finnick’s face when he told him about what happens to Victors at the Capitol. He remembers sitting in a bar watching tribute after tribute die. He remembers Zach’s body, freshly killed and still warm. His anger smothers any guilt.

 

His fists clench at his side as he thinks back Annie’s transformation in the arena. I need to do that again, Percy thinks. But , he wonders, how did I do it in the first place?

 

He tries to remember those days at Annie’s side by the reservoir. They’re all blurry now, some kind of effort from his mind to suppress his bad memories to keep him sane, but he remembers reaching out to something deep in his gut. He had given her a promise, he knows. But no one’s here to hear his promise to the Snows now. 

 

He doesn’t want to kill Coriolania. He just wants her… gone. Maybe he can even give Annie some company. Wherever she is.

 

His hands wrap tightly around the staircase railing, the wood digging into his palm. He thinks it might be splintering under his grip. 

 

Unconsciously, Percy focuses on a generic painting hung up in the entryway by whoever designed the house. It’s a painting Percy swears he’s seen done a hundred times before—an isolated lighthouse hit by the rushing waves of a raging storm. Of course a Capitolite interior designer stuck it in the District 4 Victor’s house. 

 

Under his focused gaze, the waves seem to almost move, the water growing higher only to angrily crash down on the lighthouse.

 

Percy wonders if Coriolania has ever even seen the ocean before. He wants her too—but not the beautiful beaches of Decoris. No, he wants her to see its depths and feel its darkness. He wants her far out of reach of her grandfather. He wants Snow to worry. He wants Snow to hurt.

 

Marlin clears his throat, and Percy looks down. He had completely forgotten he was still there. Marlin is staring up at Percy from the bottom of the stairs, looking more worried than Percy has ever seen him look before. Even Cody has followed him inside, and his big dog eyes look almost wet in the dim light of the hallway.

 

“It’s fine,” Percy says, unconvincingly. “We’ll carry on. We don’t have a choice.” 

 

He doesn’t know if he’s saying that for his own sake or Marlin’s. But Marlin doesn’t verbally respond. He just stands there and watches Percy walk up the stairs, like he doesn’t know what to say.

 

And an hour later, when Percy finally comes down from where he locked himself in the bathroom, Marlin is sitting quietly in the living room, Cody at his side.

 

“I’m going to bury him,” he tells Marlin.

 

Without a word, Marlin follows him to the backyard. It isn’t until Percy’s standing right in front of Zach’s corpse that he realizes he doesn’t have a shovel. He tells Marlin as much, and Marlin volunteers to go grab his own. 

 

As the gate swings closed behind him, Percy looks up to see Coraline and Gideon fighting off a couple of vultures. It doesn’t quite make him smile, but it does make him feel less alone.

 

---

 

The next day, Percy meets up with Finnick outside Finnick’s painted green house. It looks a darker shade than normal under the heavy clouds Percy is pretty sure he’s causing. 

 

Percy pays it no mind, though. Instead, he stares at the wind chime made by Finnick’s niece. It’s a stark contrast to the soulless lighthouse painting hanging in his hallway. He wonders if Finnick ever had a matching one.

 

“Marlin told me about Zach,” is the first thing Finnick says to him as they start their walk towards the beach.

 

“Yeah,” Percy responds, not wanting to say anything more about it.

 

Finnick is smart enough to get the memo but stubborn enough to ignore it. If it were about anything else, Percy might’ve appreciated that about him. “Was it because you turned him down?” Finnick doesn’t say who the “him” is, but he doesn’t need to. 

 

“Probably,” Percy picks up the pace, wanting to reach the beach already. He had left Cody behind at the house. The poor dog was morose at the loss of his brother, and when Percy picked up the leash this morning, he didn’t move from the sofa, not even looking up at him. Percy decided it was best to leave him be for now. 

 

Against his will, Percy was reminded of Castor and Pollux. Both the ones from myth and the ones from camp. Twins separated by death, and not taking it well.

 

“I’m not going to tell you you should’ve said yes,” Finnick tells him. Percy feels a drop of rain touch his nose. The water does nothing to calm him. “But I want to make sure you know what you’re choosing. You’re going to be a mentor this year. If… you’re called again, and you still refuse, there’s no chance you’re going to bring your tribute home.” 

 

Percy’s steps pause. He had been so caught up in Zach’s death he hadn’t even considered that. He’s beginning to realize there was a lot he didn’t account for with his hasty refusal. He can’t bring himself to fully regret it though, even as he mourns for Zach. 

 

“But…” Finnick continues, “that isn’t necessarily the worst thing for your tribute. Sometimes it’s better to die than to become a Victor,” Percy looks at Finnick, whose face is still as stone. But Percy is starting to be able to read him, even when he’s like this. He’s telling Percy it’s okay if he doesn’t want to sell himself. Percy doesn’t need permission, but he’s giving it regardless. Percy wishes he didn’t find it as reassuring as he did.

 

Percy remembers Leda, who was the clear choice for a female tribute this year and undeniably a pretty girl. He remembers training her, and he remembers her coming to his door, asking for his input on the morality of encouraging people to volunteer for the games. He thinks about how she would take being called to the Capitol—he doesn’t quite know her well enough to know exactly how she would respond, but he can guess she wouldn’t like it. 

 

But he also thinks about how she would feel dying. He doesn’t think she’d like that either. He’s not sure there’s a good option. He thinks that might be by design.

 

“Do you ever feel like you’re not even a person?” Percy asks once they reach the relative seclusion of the beach. “Like you’re not a living thing at all?”

 

This was something that had haunted Percy last night, when the immediate anger of what had happened to Zach faded and he remembered what he had tried to do to Coriolania—who was, by all means, a sixteen year old girl who just so happened to be born into a shitty family. Cody had been cuddled up flush to his side, both of them missing the extra heat Zach offered. It was the only comfort to be found last night.

 

“What do you mean?” Finnick asks, though his voice seems to imply he knows exactly what Percy means. 

 

“I mean, when I was a kid, I always thought I was an individual, you know? I had at least some importance, and someone in the world would miss me if something happened. And then I was reaped…” Percy’s voice catches. This is something he’s never said out loud before, and he finds it difficult to admit. “And I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.”

 

“That first night in the arena,” he says, forcing his voice to steady. “There was this bird above me. It had a mouse in its beak and it was trying to impale it on a thorn.”

 

“A shrike,” Finnick cuts in. Percy vaguely remembers hearing about a shrike before. The word butcherbird comes to mind, and it certainly seems to fit the bird Percy saw.

 

“A shrike,” Percy agrees. “Well, I saw a shrike trying to kill a mouse, and I remember thinking that it was hopeless, and that I was going to die for other people's entertainment. I remember thinking I was like the mouse.”

 

Finnick’s face does something weird, like he’s remembering how easily Percy killed the other careers and how obviously outmatched all the other tributes were, but he doesn’t contradict what Percy says. 

 

“And then I had a dream, and in the dream I was the bird—the shrike. And that came with its own set of problems. I didn’t want to be the shrike. I’ve never wanted to be violent, even though I do have a... storied past.” Percy stumbles over these words, wondering if he’s said too much. He wasn’t referring to the arena, and he worries that Finnick might pick up on that. 

 

But Finnick says nothing, so he continues. “And now I feel like I don’t have any control over anything at all anymore. Like maybe I’m just a weapon—not the shrike but the thorn, you know?”

 

They’re both quiet for a long moment. Percy looks out towards the waves, and maybe he’s projecting his own feelings on them, but they seem almost sluggish, tired. 

 

“I—” Finnick says, and Percy waits for him to continue. But the silence holds. Percy refuses to take his eyes off the waves of the ocean to look at Finnick. He’s afraid to see his reaction.

 

Finally, Finnick responds, “I’m sure the shrike loves the thorn.”

 

Percy laughs humorlessly at the pitiful response. The bitterness burns in his throat like stomach acid. “And who’s the shrike in this metaphor?” He thinks of the cheering Capitol crowds and can guess who it is well enough.

 

Finnick doesn’t answer his question. Instead they sit again in silence for what could’ve been hours or minutes before they finally leave. 

 

“Can Cody and I stay at your place tonight?” Percy asks on the walk back to Victor’s Village. "Last night was hard for both of us."

 

“Of course,” Finnick responds, like it wasn’t even a real question. And when the sun starts to set, Percy tugs Cody off the sofa and out of the house, thinking a change of scenery will be good for both of them.

 

Finnick has already cooked dinner—fried fish, some sauce that wasn't quite tartar sauce but close enough, and roasted potatoes—by the time they arrive, and they sit at his too-large wooden table eating it. Percy can only stomach a few bites, and slides the rest to Cody, who finishes it, but at a much slower pace than he normally would.

 

Finnick looks concerned but says nothing. 

 

A knock sounds from the front door. It’s Marina. 

 

“Turn on the TV,” she says without any greeting. 

 

Finnick complies, and the three of them watch in rapt silence as a news anchor Percy has never seen before talks about the disappearance of the President’s granddaughter. His hair is an almost natural blond, and he wears minimal makeup. Percy wonders if they replaced Caesar Flickerman for someone more serious looking to deliver this news.

 

Coriolania’s face flashes across the screen, and Percy’s stomach rolls. He’s not sure he regrets… whatever has happened to her, but he certainly feels guilty about it. For all he knows, he trapped her out at sea to drown, just like Annabeth. The comparison only makes him feel worse.

 

“Head Peacekeepers are currently exploring the most pressing leads,” the news anchor says, without elaborating on what the leads are. They have nothing, Percy knows. “If you have any information, you are encouraged to call the number on the bottom of the screen. The President is offering a $100,000 reward if your information leads to her recovery.”

 

Finnick lets out a heavy breath, leaning back into the couch. His shoulder touches Percy, and the warmth from the small touch spreads through Percy. His hand rests on his thigh, just inches from Percy’s own. 

 

But even Finnick isn’t enough to distract him from how Coriolania’s disappearance unsettles Percy. He’s struck with doubt of if what he’s done to Coriolania was justified. Percy didn’t know her, and the only reason he wanted her hurt was to hurt Snow in turn. But when he had been leaving the Presidential Hell House, he had compared them to Agamemnon and Iphigenia, hadn’t he?

 

And hadn’t Agamemnon sacrificed Iphigenia willingly? Sure Euripedes might’ve said he wept, but he still killed her. The dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn't, and all that. He wasn’t the one hurt by her death. If anyone, it was Clytemnestra who really mourned her. 

 

Percy has the terrible feeling that his anger has once again manifested in such a way that it only hurt bystanders, just like the earthquake he caused in the Capitol all those months ago.  

 

Marina doesn’t say anything about the news, and neither do Finnick or Percy. They all know their houses are monitored, and there’s nothing that isn’t blatantly insensitive if not treasonous any of them could say about Coriolania’s disappearance. Percy certainly isn’t going to volunteer what he knows.

 

That night, instead of Percy sleeping on Finnick’s couch or in one of his guest rooms, Finnick invites him to sleep in his own bed. Percy, stupidly grateful for the gesture, accepts. 

 

With Finnick on one side of him, and Cody on the other, it’s almost like Zach is still there. Percy tells Finnick as much, and Finnick replies, “I’m sorry about what happened.”

 

Percy shrugs it off. “It isn’t your fault.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t still be sorry,” Finnick tells him. “I don’t like seeing you sad.”

 

“Anymore, I feel like I’m always sad.” Percy says, the exhaustion mixed with the moonlight coming in through the open window making him say things he would never say during the day. 

 

“I know,” Finnick says, voice rough. Percy turns around in the bed, so they can make eye contact. He regrets it as soon as he does. Finnick is so close to him, and his eyes almost burn into Percy, making him feel raw.

 

Finnick reaches out to grab Percy’s hand. “I care about you a lot Percy. I know you don’t have a family here, but with what you said earlier, about the shrike and the mouse. You called yourself the thorn, and I told you that the shrike must lo—like the thorn, and you asked who the shrike was.”

 

His finger caresses the calluses on Percy’s hand. Percy doesn’t know if those are the ones he got from sword fighting, or if they’re the ones he got from fishing. He isn’t sure it matters to Finnick.

 

“I am,” he says. “If you’re the thorn, I’m the shrike.”

 

Percy’s breath is caught in his chest. He thinks he knows what Finnick is saying, but he doesn’t know if he quite believes it.

 

In the dark, Finnick’s voice comes out in a low whisper, like he’s telling Percy a secret. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“Yeah,” Percy breathes out. 

 

Finnick slides across the stupid 600 thread count sheets the capitol interior designer chose, and kisses him. It’s chaste, just a peck of the lips really, but it warms Percy up from inside to out. 

 

He thinks, not for the first time, that he’s glad he survived the Hunger Games. There might just be a light at the end of the tunnel after all.

 

It isn’t until the sun has come up the next morning that he realizes the implications of what he’s done. So much for loyalty being his fatal flaw. Now, more than ever, he needs to talk to Annie.

Notes:

Shorter chapter than normal but I really wanted to end it where I did. Some comments:
- I know. I'm sorry. It'll get better I promise, but not for a little while
- The next update will be a separate one-shot from Coriolania's point of view, where you can find out what happened to her. It'll be called "The Lament of Coriolania Snow" and it'll be added to the series tag.
- Haha another dirty politician ready to take Snow's place. Haha foreshadowing
- Yes, I did almost name Zach and Cody "Castor and Pollux" because of this plot point but I thought Percy would never do that, so ended up cutting it
- "The dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn't" is a quote I have run into multiple times on tumblr/pinterest/instagram, but I have been unable to find the actual source. Here's the tumblr post I first found it from though.
- With this chapter, you have a big clue on what Finnick's fic is going to be called. If anyone guesses it right, I will confirm it :)

Chapter 27: Horn of Plenty

Summary:

Percy has a talk with Annie, and the 72nd Hunger Games begin

Notes:

Trigger warning for this chapter (spoilers)

Cannibalism. If you're familiar with Hunger Games lore, you can probably guess what I'm referring to.

It’s laughably easy to find Annie once he starts looking. The Peacekeepers—for all the land-dwelling District 4 people talked them up—don’t have nearly as good coverage over the shore as Percy does. And this time, he doesn’t tell Annie to meet him near the shore—he’s meeting her out in the open ocean.

 

His powers have adapted to the ocean near District 4, and if he stretches it, he can just feel Annie about 300 miles out. He swims on. 

 

His swimming is supernaturally fast and boosted by his powers forcing the water to push him onward, but it still takes a little while to reach her. And during the trip, creatures keep coming up to greet him—sharks, octopi, whales, etc. Their awe and confusion is palpable, and more than one of them address him as lord. Percy doesn’t like that, and he doesn’t want to think about its implications. Reaching Annie is a blessing. 

 

“Annie!” He calls, a couple hundred feet out. The water naturally carries his voice further than normal.

 

“Percy?” Annie asks. Her voice has changed since she was in the arena, and even since Percy’s dream of her. It’s higher now, melodic. Like some kind of operatic primadonna. Percy can’t help but think of sirens—not the bird ones from Greek mythology—but the pop culture mermaids that drown sailors. Percy wonders if Annie could do that if she tried. 

 

He decides against mentioning it to her. They have bigger things to talk about. 

 

“I have so much I need to tell you,” Percy starts, but before he can continue, Annie cuts him off.

 

“Did you, like, turn some girl named Coriolania into a sea monster?”

 

Percy reels back. He had no idea what had actually happened to Coriolania, and the news that he had turned her into a monster was shocking to say the least. 

 

“Maybe.” Percy says. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Because there’s a sea monster who keeps crying and telling me her name is Coriolania Snow and that she shouldn’t be here. It’s really annoying honestly.”

 

Percy winces. “Yeah, then I think I did. Turn her into a sea monster, I mean.” 

 

“Oh,” Annie says, and quiet settles between them as she stares at him intensely. “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while, but how do you do that?” Her voice is baffled, and Percy can only imagine how confusing all of this has been for her. 

 

Sure Percy was thrown into the godly world with minimal explanation, but at least there was some of it. 

 

“That’s… a long story.” He tells her.

 

Annie shrugs, her hair flowing out around her like a mermaid from fairytales. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

 

Hesitantly, Percy starts his story, telling her how isn’t from this world. He expects more pushback, but Annie gives him none. He supposes having her world turned upside down by being turned into a fish was enough to help her have an open mind. 

 

“And in this world I’m from, there’s this pantheon of gods, and sometimes, they would mingle with mortals. And to put it bluntly, have kids with them.” Percy breathes in the cold ocean water, something about telling his story—even a very edited down version of it—was exhausting. “These kids were called demigods, and they could do remarkable things—inhuman things.”

 

“And you’re one of them,” Annie fills in. Percy nods. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

 

Percy looks up at her, a vulnerable look spreading across his face. “It does?”

 

Annie swishes her tails. “Yeah, I mean, at first I thought you were a merman, like the ones from the story you told me, but then I couldn’t find any merpeople colonies, much less one named Atlantis , so I threw that hypothesis out that window. But I knew there had to be something about you…”

 

At her assessment, Percy feels himself blush. He’s never liked feeling special, and being compared to a Disney princess was a strange experience. 

 

“Do you…” Percy hesitates, “do you like being a mermaid?”

 

Annie’s face lights up, “I love it. When I was a kid, I wanted to live underwater, but I never thought it would happen! And I can talk to fish—well, some of them. Sharks are my favorite.”

 

Percy grins lightly, “Sharks are my favorite, too.”

 

Annie launches off on a story about how a tiger shark was telling her his woes about finding a mate this mating season. “He told me he had trouble dancing,” Annie laughs. “If you told me one day I could’ve talked to sharks and you asked me to guess what they would talk about, I never would’ve gotten it right.”

 

“And I’ve befriended another tiger shark. She’s expecting this summer. She said I could help and meet her baby if I wanted.” And on and on Annie goes, talking about coming across a pod of sperm whales sleeping vertically, upsetting a squid and getting ink shot at her and even coming across a city of ruins. “I think it’s from before the dark days,” she tells Percy in a hushed whisper. “The old skyscrapers are crazy to swim through.”

 

With a rock in his stomach, Percy wonders what city she came across. He wonders what happened to all the people that lived there. But most importantly, as her excited ramblings come to an end, he wonders how he’s going to tell her about kissing Finnick.

 

She doesn’t give him anymore time to wonder before she’s asking in a low, cautious voice, “And what have you been up to? Have you been okay?”

 

“I’ve been fine,” Percy tells her, true enough. “I have a dog. His name is Cody.”

 

“That’s a cute name,” she smiles. Percy elects not to tell her about Zach, not wanting to ruin the moment. He debates telling her about Leda, but vetoes it for the same reason. 

 

“I tried to talk to your parents,” he says instead. Which is equally as sad, but could potentially be solved. “Did you… want to meet them? I could probably get them on a boat and take them out here to see you—”

 

Annie cuts him off, “no,” she says, eyes wide. “I think it’s best that my parents think I died.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Percy you’re a… demigod,” her mouth moves unsurely around the new word, “it’s a lot easier for you to sneak out to see me. My parents can’t do that. I don’t want them to get caught. It’s not worth it.” 

 

“And honestly,” she bites her lip, eyes flitting around. “I’m not sure I’m ready to see anyone else from my old life. Being in the hunger games messed with me a lot more than I was expecting, and being in the ocean really helped, but honestly not seeing anyone from District 4—except you of course—was equally helpful. That first month, when I wasn’t having nightmares about the arena, I was having nightmares about meeting my parents again and them looking at me disgusted. I killed someone, and if I hadn’t seen Emerald die, I would’ve killed more people. I didn’t realize how terrible that felt until I was there, doing it.”

 

For the first time, Percy thinks about who Annie killed. He honestly doesn’t know, he hadn’t seen it during the blood bath, and they didn’t show it in the recap. He wonders if it keeps her up at night. 

 

“I killed people,” he tells her, and when Annie moves to tell him it’s okay, that he didn’t have a choice, he continues, “even before the games. In my old world, there was a war. I had to fight against other demigods, like me. And it wasn’t even in an arena. Sure it was a war, but sometimes, I wonder if I could’ve just incapacitated some of the people I killed.”

 

Annie starts to braid her hair. It’s a gesture that is painfully familiar. Annabeth used to do that late at night when she was thinking. 

 

“But my mom welcomed me home with open arms after, and my step-father, too. Your family is your family, they'd be happy to see you. But…” he tells her, “if you’re worried about them being caught that’s understandable. I hadn’t fully thought that through.”

 

Annie smiles gratefully, letting go of her hair as the water gently unravels it. 

 

“What about Finnick?” Percy asks her in a low voice. “Do you want to see him?”

 

Annie’s smile turns rueful. “Finnick is even more closely watched than my parents.” She tells him. 

 

Knowing Percy needs to tell her what happened, but unsure how to address it, Percy asks, “Do you miss him?”

 

“Of course I do,” Annie says.

 

Percy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He’ll pull it off like a bandaid, he decides. “I have to tell you something.”

 

Annie straightens up at his serious tone. “What is it?”

 

“I’m so sorry,” he starts. “Finnick and I kissed.”

 

Annie’s face goes through a mix of emotions, before settling on a tired resignation. “Is that it?” 

 

Unsure of how she is reacting to the news, Percy nods. “Finnick took me under his wings after the Victory Tour, and we just grew closer, and as far as he knows, you’re dead. But I should've known better—”

 

“Percy,” she says before he can finish. “It’s okay.”

 

“It is?” He asks, sounding unsure.

 

“I’ve been gone for over a year. I can’t exactly expect Finnick to be faithful to a dead girl, can I?” 

 

“But you could expect me to not make a move on your boyfriend.”

 

“Percy…” Annie says, and it sounds painfully like those early days in the arena. “I’m not going back to District 4. Which means, Finnick and I are done—I guess that’s the way to phrase it—if you want to kiss him you can.” 

 

There’s a note of longing to her voice, but Percy doesn’t point it out. He knows if Annie had been the Victor, they’d still be together, and Annie seems to know that too. But still, she said she didn’t want to win. She didn’t want to go back to District 4 and face everyone. Percy hopes she was being truthful and not just saying that to make him feel better.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah, oh.” she smiles. She’s mocking him now, Percy knows, and it gets a real smile from him.

 

“What else has been going on?” She asks. “I know that can’t be all you’re up to.” 

 

Percy settles in to tell her how he’s picked up crochet, and his friendship with Marlin. He edits heavily to make everything sound happier than it is, and he thinks Annie knows that, but she doesn’t call him out on it.

 

They both need this, he knows.

 

And when Percy gets back to District 4 that night, he digs out the sweater he made Finnick and heads over to his house to give it to him.

 

---

 

The newest Victor—Johanna Mason—stops by District 4 on a crisp November day for her Victory Tour. The mayor invites the current Victors from 4 to come have dinner with her and her mentor—a guy named Blight that Percy has seen before but never talked with. 

 

Victors don’t work, but her body is still built like she’s chopping down trees everyday—muscular in a way that reminds Percy of some of the girls from cabin 5. Her eyes have a haunted look Percy recognizes from veterans, but she hides it by being mean and aggressive. If her violent and angry persona really is a persona, it’s one she plays well.

 

Percy congratulates her on not dying, and when she asks, “not for winning?” He says no. She doesn’t say anything to him after that, but Finnick pulls her aside and whatever they talk about seems to put a glimmer of respect in her eyes. 

 

“Her parents died in a logging accident,” Finnick tells Percy under his breath. Percy remembers that her parents were interviewed during the most recent games, and understands what Finnick is trying to tell him.

 

And when he lies in bed later that night, his mind takes him back to all of his spars with Clarisse. 

 

---

 

The 72nd Hunger Games arrives with a subdued surety that Percy isn’t going to be bringing a tribute home. Snow hadn’t contacted him since he stormed out of his manor, but Percy is just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and unfortunately, as he’s set to become Leda’s mentor, the perfect opportunity is presenting itself. 

 

Finnick and Percy spend the night before the reaping at Percy’s house, as has become a tradition everytime Finnick has to go to the Capitol. Percy isn’t sure if accompanying him will make it better or worse, and Finnick isn’t in the mood to talk about it.

 

He’ll be taking on the male tribute—Char. Finnick doesn’t seem very optimistic about Char’s chances either. 

 

But tonight they’re doing their best to not think about it. They’re layered under a blanket—a real one, not a shroud—that Percy made, as Finnick scribbles something on some spare paper. Percy makes a point of not looking, and Finnick scrunches it up and puts it in his pocket to burn later, switching it out with the rope he’s been carrying around more and more often lately. 

 

Percy tucks his head on Finnick’s shoulder, and watches how his hands move rhythmically. This is the closest Finnick and him will get tonight. Percy has spent a lot of the recent months learning Finnick’s ticks when it comes to intimacy and relationships, and he’s almost got it down to a science now. Finnick doesn’t want to kiss him before going to the Capitol, but it’s the first thing they do when Percy sees him get back. They never have sex, and most troubling for Percy, is that they never say, “I love you.”

 

Percy’s understanding, trying to meet Finnick where he’s at, but they’re both delicate people, and their tentative relationship is filled with hairline fractures. Percy doesn’t push at all, and Finnick rarely moves them forward. Percy doesn’t care about sex, but the avoidance of the L word is deeply frightening.

 

“I’m going to turn on the TV,” Finnick tells him, drawing Percy from his thoughts. 

 

Finnick likes to do that sometimes—keep up with the propaganda the Capitol broadcasts, and the night before the reapings are likely prime-time for it. Percy keeps his mouth shut and watches the TV flare to life. It’s strange to think how much he had enjoyed watching TV just a couple of years ago. It was an easy way to turn his mind off, but now, it just makes his mind swirl. Finnick watches with rapt attention, and Percy wonders if he’s catching anything Percy isn’t. 

 

To him, it sounds much the same to what the mayors tell the districts every year—solemn words about how this is necessary, sprinkled with entertainment factor. 

 

The piece of paper in Finnick’s pocket falls out in between the seat cushions of the couch.

 

---

 

“I volunteer as tribute!” Leda’s voice rings out confidently. An eighteen year old boy looks to be on the verge of tears. Percy has spotted him hanging around Leda a couple times before, and he wonders if that’s her boyfriend. 

 

He can’t help but draw comparisons between him and Finnick when Annie volunteered. He wonders if that’s how his mom felt when he went on yet another quest. Your loved one is involved in something horrible for them, but they can’t be talked out of it. So all you can do is watch and hope they come home. 

 

Is my mom still waiting for me to come home? Percy asks himself. 

 

---

 

“Do you think I have a chance of winning?” Leda asks.

 

Percy thinks back to all of the training he’s giving Leda. She knows how to fight, how to hunt and gather, and how to best get sponsors. Her biggest weakness is whether or not Snow is deciding to take his anger at Percy out on her. 

 

“Yeah,” he says instead of voicing that. “I think you have a chance.”

 

---

 

The mentor’s room immediately makes Percy feel like he’s part of the FBI. There’s screens everywhere all zoomed into various parts of the arena, and a large screen in front of every mentor chair that’ll exclusively be focused on their mentee. 

 

He’s glad he’ll always be able to have an eye on Leda, but the layout creeps him out and makes him wonder what embarrassing things Mags—and then Finnick—saw him do. 

 

And in the very front of the room is a movie theater screen showing what’s actually being broadcasted.

 

The tributes should be in the stockyard right now—a morbid, but accurate term he’s picked up from Finnick—and the mentors get to see the arena earlier than everyone else, and tension in the room audibly spikes when they see it. 

 

“Not another fucking winter arena,” a mentor, Percy can’t tell who, mutters. At his side, Mags grunts in agreement. She’s promised to help him out, since it’s his first time mentoring. Though Percy thinks she’s also there to support Finnick. 

 

“I thought cold arenas stopped happening because audiences thought they were annoying. 

 

“They have shelter,” Mags says, keeping her reply short, as has become her M.O. in the recent months. 

 

And as the tributes are sent up the tubes and the cameras pan to show the arena, Percy understands what she means. They said in the last cold arena all the tributes froze to death, so this time, they’ve given them housing—literal housing. 

 

The arena looks like it’s a defunct ski resort, all the houses are covered in snow, and underneath that they look worn down from age and disuse. The whole shot has an eerie feel. There’s even an abandoned ski lift. It’s the exact kind of place Percy would expect to be haunted. Maybe after this, it will be.

 

The tubes stop rising, revealing twenty four kids all suited up in what Percy thinks are real fur coats—though much less fancy than the mink coats they always showed on TV when he was a kid. The fur coats are fluffy and abnormally large on all of the tributes, making the younger tributes look even smaller than they already are. The twelve-year-old from District 5 practically looks four feet tall. 

 

The screen in front of Percy cuts to Leda’s face, as she fiddles with her gloves. She’s debating if she should take them off, Percy guesses. It’ll give her more control of her weapons, but the temperature must be biting—if she takes them off, the coldness might affect her ability to use her hands.

 

She looks around, first at the arena, and then her competitors. Her eyes meet Char’s, and she nods. Char, in turn nods at the female tribute from District 1 across from him. Percy doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Leda will be joining an alliance and hunting the weaker tributes down. He doesn’t like it, but he also feels like it’s not the time to judge. 

 

The countdown is only a minute, but it feels like ages. Percy scrolls through the list of things he can buy with sponsor money, though they won’t know how much money they have to spend until the games officially start. 

 

Percy comes to a stop when he gets to some canned beans. He looks again at the Cornucopia. There’s a bunch of sleeping bags, weapons, and backpacks that could contain anything, but Percy has a bad feeling. His mouse hovers over the beans right as the timer sounds, and the games begin. The tributes are off like a bat—some towards the cornucopia and others away.

 

Titus, the male tribute from District 6—and favored to win—is surprisingly fast for his size, and reaches the weapons first. Percy knows from Leda that the careers have invited him into their group, though Percy himself was hesitant for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate to Leda—or even himself. 

 

But, he is undeniably a major asset in the bloodbath. Especially when the boy from 2 is taken out by the girl from 10, who isn’t a hard-hitter but knows how to use a knife. District 10, Percy remembers, deals with livestock. He wonders how many animals she’s butchered with a similar knife.

 

There isn’t anything the mentors can do during the bloodbath but watch, and watch they do. Percy and Finnick’s seats are right beside each other, and Enobaria—a scary looking woman with fangs for teeth, but surprisingly chill—pulled up a seat for Mags on Percy’s other side. 

 

Finnick and Percy decided before this they wouldn’t act at all affectionate in the Capitol because they were both worried about what might happen, but Mags reaches out and grips his hand in hers as Leda barely dodges a slash from an axe-wielder from District 7. Percy thinks he’s trying to imitate Johanna, and he’s doing a fairly good job of it, but when Leda holds her own, he books it with his axe and his bag. 

 

Soon enough, the bloodbath is over, and the careers—plus Titus—are the only ones left at the cornucopia. They rifle through their supplies, finding a surplus of weapons, hiking gear, blankets, and water bottles. But they quickly grow frustrated because there isn’t a crumb of food to be found. 

 

Before Percy’s eyes, the price of beans doubles. Mags squeezes his shoulder. 

 

In return for giving the tributes shelter (and heated houses Claudius Templesmith will later clarify), the game makers have decided they have to find their own food in the dead of winter.

 

---

 

“Historically, when food is scarce, the outer districts tend to win,” Finnick tells him in a hushed voice as the careers start going from home to home to hunt tributes down, which Percy struggles to watch. “The tributes from the outer districts are a lot more resourceful when it comes to finding food.”

 

“Is it a good thing Titus is in the alliance then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Finnick says. “District 6 is transportation. Not exactly foraging material, but we’ll see I suppose.”

 

---

 

He isn’t a help. Leda finds some chickweed hidden under some snow, and the girl from two manages to catch a rabbit, but between seven of them, it’s not enough. 

 

The mentors—including Percy, Finnick, and Mags, plus the District 1 and 2 mentors and a mentor from 6 named Thomas, who seems a little out of it—huddle up and decide to send them some food, but food prices are abnormally high compared to past games, Mags tells him. The most they can do are a couple of unimpressive meals.

 

---

 

When Johanna’s tribute dies, she stops briefly by Percy on her way out of the mentoring room. “Surprised your girl lasted this long,” she says. 

 

“She’ll see it through,” Percy says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels as he watches her clutching her stomach from hunger pangs. 

 

Johanna doesn’t respond. 

 

---

 

A side effect of giving the tributes actual houses to hide in is that a lot of the tributes do, in fact, hunker down and hide. And since food is scarce, even the careers are careful to preserve their energy. This means that halfway through the games the game makers decide to start a fire, and with it, the wind picks up, pulling the fire from house to house until smoke turns the sky gray and the tributes even out of the way of the fire are coughing. 

 

Char is badly burned in the fire, hardly able to walk, and the rest of the careers share a look before leaving him behind. He’s not dead, but Finnick already looks like his job is done. He won't be bringing his tribute home this year. 

 

Titus is the one who suggests the rest of them break up officially. “The fire already caused two deaths,” he says, “we’re over halfway through the tributes. It’s time.” There’s some grumbling, but ultimately, once one person has decided the alliance is done, it’s only a matter of time before the rest do. They split up.

 

Percy’s eyes are glued onto his screen, which focuses on Leda marching further down the mountains to escape the lingering smoke, but the sound of a cannon and Finnick’s low voice cursing catches his attention. 

 

And he’s not the only one, Haymitch loudly proclaims, “that son of a bitch,” which is what finally makes Percy look towards the big screen. Various mentors are gathered around all looking horrified as Titus kneels next to Char, whose head has been caved in with a rock Titus had thrown to the side. And before their eyes, Titus starts cutting off the burnt pieces of Char’s flesh. 

 

And he eats them.

 

Percy has run into plenty of monsters and creatures that like to eat humans, but watching a seventeen year old boy resort to cannibalism is something else. Finnick is green in the face, and quietly Percy turns to ask Mags, “is this common?’

 

“No,” she says, and she doesn’t need to say anything else. With the horrified faces of years of Victors surrounding the big screen, Percy knows even for Panem this is unprecedented.

 

---

 

They taser Titus to get Char’s body, but not until he’s taken a good chunk out of his leg. And even after being electrocuted, he gets up with more energy than any of the remaining tributes. He just had a good meal, Percy thinks. Of course the cannibal is doing better than the half-starved competition. 

 

Finnick gets up slowly to leave the room, and the Peacekeepers who keep watch of the mentors make no move to rush him out, even though he has clients waiting for him—likely they’re as shocked as the Victors are. He pats Percy’s shoulder as he leaves. 

 

Leda actually gets an influx of sponsors after the debacle though, likely rich Capitolites who feel bad for Char being partially cannibalized. Percy doesn’t complain, and now that the career pack has split up, he only has to feed her. He sends her the beans he was eyeing earlier. It’s not an appetizing meal, but it’s filling and cheap. His mom and he used to eat rice and beans all the time when money was tight. 

 

Percy watches her eat the can in morose silence, while the big screen covers Char and Titus—once again. Though for once, they don’t broadcast the whole thing—cutting it off right after Titus takes a rock to Char’s head. It seems they’ve finally found a barrier the Capitol won’t cross: cannibalism. 

 

Still, Flickerman and Templesmith sit down and discuss it with a sociologist from the Capitol’s University. Percy tunes them out.

 

---

 

The next person Titus kills is the girl from two. Enobaria cuts her lip with her sharp teeth as she stares at the scene in front of her. Whoever it is that picks up the bodies has learned from Char, and they taser Titus before he can get the chance to eat the poor girl. Titus howls like a man possessed. Percy almost feels like he’s watching a werewolf horror movie right before the man shifts into a monster. 

 

He’s hungry, and the mentors whisper that the Capitol has cut off sponsorship money for him. 

 

They must be expecting him to die on his own, Percy suspects, but it doesn’t happen. The boys from District 1 and 2 face off, with the District 1 tribute emerging injured but alive, which is more than the District 2 tribute can say, and the girl from 1 hunts down another outer district tribute. They’re down to the final eight, and the interviewers are sent out to the districts.

 

Percy doesn’t pay attention to most of them, but he tunes in for Leda’s and Titus’s. Leda’s father is proud, claiming she’ll make it the whole way. He sounds much surer than Percy was when he told Johanna the same thing, and her mother just nods, wearing a fake smile.

 

Titus’s parents are upbeat, and they—as well as the interviewers—carefully dance around his cannibalism. It was just the once, after all, Flickerman had said. 

 

Still, his sponsorship money remains frozen, and Thomas, who Percy is fairly sure is actively high right now, is little help. 

 

Titus hunts down another outlying tribute—the girl from District 9, who has had the most luck finding food—but despite being better fed, Titus is stronger and larger, and pins her down easily.

 

Only, he doesn’t immediately go for the kill. He seems to have realized they’ll stun him after he kills someone, so he’s decided he’s going to eat before he kills her. Watching it is even worse than what happened to Char, and she screams and screams and screams. The game makers don’t do anything to stop him, probably because he hasn’t actually killed her yet, so there is the (very unlikely) chance she might get away. It doesn’t happen.

 

The cannon sounds.

 

---

 

Leda is the next one to kill a tribute—the girl from District 12, meaning Haymitch is done with mentoring this year—and she leaves the body undesecrated for the hovercraft to pick up. It’s stupid how proud Percy feels of her for that. 

 

And he’s not the only one, Templesmith comments on how much of a “good sport” she was. The expectations for this game have been entirely tainted by Titus. It’s all anyone can talk about.

 

As the tribute numbers go down and down, it’s looking more and more like he might be the next Victor. Percy feels nauseous at the idea of rubbing elbows with the guy. 

 

---

 

It’s down to the final three when the game makers finally do something. It’s Leda, Titus, and the boy from 1. Percy is growing more and more nervous that when he brings Leda’s body home, it might be missing a chunk. 

 

But he didn’t need to worry about that. Various Capitolites are interviewed on the streets, and the overwhelming consensus is that no one wants Titus to win. 

 

“He’s freaky,” a teenage girl says. 

 

“He’s fucked up,” an older man says. 

 

“He needs to die,” says a third.

 

And the game makers prove how important ratings are—and how important it is to keep the Capitol audiences happy. 

 

Titus is prowling between the few unburned buildings left, trying to hunt down the remaining tributes and get his next meal, when Percy feels the ground underneath the arena—which must be miles away—shift. It’s just enough to make the snow piled on top of the cliff near Titus begin to fall. As it moves, it picks up more and more snow until it’s a full avalanche. 

 

Titus didn’t stand a chance. Unconsciously, Percy looks over to the District 1 station, where Gloss is manning his screen. They make eye contact, and a feeling of relief passes between them. The cannon is like music to their ears. 

 

---

 

As Percy sends one last can of beans to Leda, he thinks back over this year’s game so far. He was so sure Leda would die; that Snow would use her to punish Percy. But she’s still in it—even making it to the final two.

 

He wonders how much of it came down to the game makers being distracted by the Titus fiasco. Then he thinks about what Leda might have waiting for her if she wins. A pit seems to open up in his stomach as he watches her eat. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the boy from 1 won. 

 

Maybe Leda winning was Snow’s plan all along. More leverage over Percy.

 

---

 

They get twenty-four hours in between the avalanche and the final fight. The game makers send in a pack of wolves to chase them both to the ski lift. The lift looks oddly new for what is supposed to resemble a ghost ski town, and when Leda, the last one to arrive, finally comes to the location, huffing and puffing from being chased over a mile through the snow, it groans to life. 

 

Leda takes one startled look at the man running at her and jumps onto the seat of the ski lift. Perhaps it’s not objectively the smartest thing to do, but the boy from 1 doesn’t have a range weapon, meaning the best he can do is hop on the seat behind her and wait to get to the top of the mountain. This gives Leda the chance to catch her breath and pull out her weapon—a long serrated knife. It’s not the ideal choice to fight against the boy’s choice of a spear, but it’s what she has and it’s served her well so far. They get to the top of the mountain, and Percy watches the fight unfold in silence.

 

Leda goes on the defensive, as she should when her opponent's weapon has a longer stretch. Percy taught her that. She dodges and runs as her opponent gives chase, until finally Leda falls to the ground, and he goes to plunge his spear straight through her gut. 

 

She rolls away at the last minute, so that the spear just grazes her side. It cuts a large hole in her fur coat, and a familiar red begins to seep out, but she looks like she didn’t feel it at all. Before he can pull his spear back, she grabs hold of it on her end, causing a high-stakes tug of war, and before her opponent can win and pull it back for another stab, Leda rolls up and pushes her knife right in between his second and third ribs.

 

In moments, the horns sound, and Percy is bringing home a Victor.

 

He wishes Finnick were here. For both their sakes.

Notes:

Some comments:
- Annie isn't totally happy, but she's also realistic that she can't expect Finnick to wait for her. Break ups suck
- I’m a firm believer that Enobaria was actually pretty chill, and the teeth and everything are a persona
- Katniss says that Titus happened “a few years" before the 74th game, so I decided it was the 72nd game or never. Also, I totally thought he was from District 2 (because of the name) but according to wikipedia, he’s from District 6
- Thomas’s name comes from Thomas the train
- Time jump in Percy and Finnick's relationship, but honestly part 4 is getting way longer than I wanted it to and there's still other stuff that has to happen so... We'll still see a lot of important developments between them happen :)
- I was hinting pretty heavily that Leda was going to die, but that was, of course, misleading and proof that Percy doesn't always know everything (despite him guessing a lot of stuff correctly, like the cornucopia having no food). She has a story I really want to tell
- "Horn of Plenty" is a song from the Hunger Games soundtrack, plus an ironic reference to the fact that the cornucopia had no food this year

Chapter 28: Doll Parts

Notes:

Remember when I said my most political chapter hasn't happened yet? This is the most political chapter.

Click here for trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS)

Back alley abortion and it's associated danger/mortality rates. Additionally, Percy assumes someone died by suicide, but this is not true. Also, minor non-consensual body modification (plastic surgery without receiving permission from patient).

They take Leda to the main, expensive Capitol Hospital immediately after she’s airlifted into the Hovercraft. Someone orders a car to take Percy to the hospital to meet her—leaving Finnick and Mags behind—and once he gets there, it’s radio silent for hours. No one tells him what’s happening to Leda, and there’s no workers even walking through the waiting room he can ask.

 

The wound hadn’t looked that bad, but she was practically being swallowed by her oversized coat, so maybe it was worse than Percy thought. Or maybe she had frostbite. Or the starvation had long lasting effects they were trying to counteract. Percy wishes he had paid more attention to the Apollo kids.

 

Eventually, someone shuffles out into the waiting room to meet him. According to the badge on her shirt, she’s a nurse, and she looks strangely normal for a Capitol citizen—wearing scrubs and no crazy long nails or elaborate makeup. The only thing that sets her apart from a district citizen is the uncanny valley look to her face, a sure sign she’s had a bit too much plastic surgery. 

 

“She’s in surgery now,” the nurse tells him. 

 

“Surgery?” He asks. He could’ve sworn the spear hadn’t hit anywhere vital. It looked like just a graze. He thought it would’ve just been stitches.

 

“Yes,” the nurse confirms. “She lost a lot of weight in the arena, and they’re trying to rectify that.”

 

Percy’s brows furrow trying to think what surgery could add weight back onto someone’s body. It must be a newer development. Panem is technically in the future for him. “How long will the recovery time be?”

 

“It depends a little bit from person to person, but she should be fully recovered in six to seven weeks. She’ll be interview ready in two—three at the maximum.”

 

Six to seven weeks feels like an abnormally long recovery time, and Percy is left with the uncomfortable realization that he doesn’t actually know anything about mortal healthcare. He was so used to the Cabin Seven kids working miracles and shoving ambrosia down his throat. 

 

“When can I see her?” 

 

The nurse smiles for the first time, and something about it makes Percy uncomfortable. He realizes it’s because she’s looking at him like he’s stupid. She’s not the first person to, and she won’t be the last, but it rankles Percy nonetheless. 

 

“When she gets out of surgery, dear.”

 

Percy mumbles an acknowledgement, and the nurse turns around primly to head out of the waiting room, leaving Percy alone again.

 

---

 

The “weight” surgery, Percy learns, was in fact a boob job. Leda’s chest is wrapped in bandages far above where the spear grazed her. Leda doesn’t seem upset by it, but only because she’s in a weird post-traumatic haze and on pain meds. She probably doesn’t even realize what they did to her, but that’s okay because Percy is plenty upset on her behalf. 

 

He yells at the doctor, who doesn’t rise to the bait and instead mimics the nurse in treating Percy like he’s stupid. “It’s standard procedure for female tributes unless there’s extenuating circumstances,” he says, and Percy nearly blows a gasket. 

 

He knows that they give the Victors plastic surgery, Finnick had told him as much when he was in the hospital, but for Percy they had just gotten rid of his scars. It was freaky and violating, but it was also nowhere near on the same level as a breast augmentation . 

 

In Leda’s place he can't help but see various of his past friends, Annabeth, Rachel, Hazel, his mom . 

 

Percy feels like a failure. He didn’t even know he was supposed to protect Leda from stuff like that. She’s barely been a Victor for a day, and he already feels like he’s failing her. 

 

It’s not a good sign of what’s to come, Percy thinks.

 

---

 

When Finnick shows back up, Percy is tempted to compare it to the second coming of Christ—that’s how desperate he was for help. For someone who knows what they’re doing. 

 

“She’s not handling it well,” he whispers to Finnick. “I don’t know how to help her.”

 

Finnick places a hand on his back, and rubs back and forth in a calming gesture. Percy idly wonders how freaked out he must seem. 

 

“I’d be surprised if she was okay,” Finnick whispers back. His hand lowers to the small of his back. It’s habitual; that’s where Finnick always rests his hand—since they started dating. But when he realizes what he’s doing he drops it from his back as if burned, and Percy has the uncomfortable realization that they’re being watched even in the hospital.

 

Finnick pulls back from him, “I’ll talk to her.”

 

With a distinct feeling of uselessness, Percy watches Finnick comfort Leda. 

 

---

 

The rest of their time in the Capitol varies from being annoying to genuinely upsetting. All of them, except for Mags—and Marina and Marvin, who have already gone back to District 4—are dragged to the Capitol Couture building for photos. Percy is forced into both group photos and individual ones. They even make sure to get some of just him and Finnick.

 

He’s pretty sure he looks pissed in all the photos they got, but the Capitol has grown to expect that of him.

 

And when they finally get on the train to go home, Leda doesn’t handle the return very well, which—while not surprising—is deeply upsetting for Percy. He doesn’t know how to help her; honestly, he’s pretty sure leaving her alone in her new pale pink house might be the best course of action, at least for a little bit. 

 

Her boyfriend comes around a lot, and Percy’s pretty sure he’s helpful, at least. 

 

It doesn’t feel like Percy gets any breathing space before the Academy is asking him to train the possible recruits for the 73rd and 74th games. He doesn’t have the words to express what he is feeling to the principal, but he goes anyway, swallowing whatever he might’ve said. 

 

He’s still not sure if it would’ve been better for Leda to die in the arena or not. Snow hasn’t called for her yet, but he has the uncomfortable feeling it’s only a matter of time.

 

When it’s one month before the Victory Tour, all the District 4 Victors gather up to talk to Leda in a quasi-intervention. She needs a hobby, and more importantly than that, she needs to get used to going out in public again. Otherwise, Mags tells her darkly, the Victory Tour will be impossible.

 

---

 

Leda comes to him three days after their intervention holding a wonky cup in her hand. “I made it,” she tells him, “for my hobby. I wanted you to have it.”

 

“Oh,” Percy says, not really sure how to react. “Thanks. Are you sure you don’t want to keep it for the video feature? They’ll want examples of your work.”

 

Leda shakes her head. “No, it’s the second one I made, so it’s not very good. I doubt they’ll want to record it. And anyway, I wanted to give it to you as thanks for helping me. I don’t think I would’ve survived without you.”

 

Percy smiles, oddly touched, before it falls from his face. “I think you would’ve been just fine without me.” Honestly, if anyone, Titus helped her survive by taking all of the game-makers ire onto himself, but Leda was extremely disturbed by Titus’s cannibalism in the rewatch, so Percy wasn’t about to say that. 

 

“That’s not true,” she tells him. “I don’t think I would’ve beat Rhine if it wasn’t for your lessons.”

 

Rhine was a nickname for Rhinestone, the boy she had fought in the finale. She had held her own remarkably, and he had noticed she used some moves Percy taught her, but instead of saying any of that, he just shrugs awkwardly. He’s never liked praise, especially when he feels like he hasn’t deserved it. 

 

“What can I expect from the Victory Tour?” she asks after a long moment of silence.

 

Percy has the belated realization that he’s still her mentor. That he’ll probably be her mentor forever. He almost says nothing good , before thinking better of it and giving her a stilted explanation of the train schedule and what dinners with the mayors are like. 

 

“You’ll meet some of the other Victors, too,” he says.

 

“Will I like any of them?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Leda shuffles on her feet. Her time in the arena destroyed any confidence she had, which Percy hates for multiple reasons. One of which is that she needs it now more than ever. 

 

“My mom wants to meet you.” She says at last. Her voice is shy, and she looks like she expects Percy to say no, but this whole situation just reminds him of when Finnick had invited him to his parents house for his birthday. He remembers how uncomfortable that was—he remembers the wedge the games drove between Finnick and his family—and agrees without a second thought.

 

Leda’s eyes light up, as she tells him where her parents’ house is. “My dad wanted me to host it here, but I told my mom I don’t really feel up to hosting a dinner, so she agreed we could have it at their place.”

 

Percy’s eyebrows furrow as he recognizes the address. “Isn’t that near where Finnick’s parents live?” 

 

“Yeah, we were neighbors when we were kids.” She looks around, and some of the excitement leaves her eyes. “Well, I guess we’re neighbors now, too.”

 

Percy grunts, and leaves Leda with the promise that he’ll be there.

 

---

 

Dinner with Leda’s parents is, in a word, terrible. Leda’s dad is a vile man, Percy learns, and Leda’s mom seems to hate him even more than Percy does. Leda’s boyfriend—an eighteen-year-old named Aidan—just seems deeply uncomfortable with the tension at the table. Leda and Aidan, Percy notices, are holding hands under the table, and it’s almost enough to make Percy smile.

 

He’s glad they have each other.

 

“So, Leda,” Mr. Wayne starts. Percy watches the way Mrs. Wayne’s knuckles turn white from how tight she is gripping her silverware. She’s expecting him to say something insensitive. “I notice we still haven’t been invited to visit your new house.”

 

“She doesn’t need to invite us, Harry,” Mrs. Wayne says in a faux calm voice.

 

Percy is slowly realizing that the Wayne family drama is even worse than the Odair drama. 

 

“Nonsense, we raised her. We ought to be able to see her new place.”

 

Aidan grabs his water and takes a large gulp. Aidan, Percy knows, has been to Leda’s house. Multiple times a week, actually. If Leda weren’t a Victor, they’d probably be engaged by now. People in District 4 tend to get married young.

 

“I told you earlier, dad,” Leda cuts in, “I just haven’t felt up to hosting visitors. I haven’t even been going to the Academy recently.” 

 

The meaning of her words are clear, but Mr. Wayne—Harry—seems to completely ignore them. “And why not? You ought to be giving back to your community.”

 

And now Percy is pissed. Giving back to them? Percy thinks incredulously. For what? For telling her it was honorable to volunteer? For a 1/24 chance of getting a nice house and a stipend and having your life ruined forever?  

 

Percy thinks back to the 72nd games, and remembers Leda’s family’s interview. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time—too distracted by Titus’s cannibalism—but Leda’s dad had been weird. A bit too excited about the games, perhaps. 

 

“I just haven’t felt up to it,” Leda reiterates. 

 

When her dad opens his mouth to say something else, Percy cuts in, “It’s an adjustment, being a Victor.” He sounds authoritative, like it’s his house they’re all in. It’s a mask, but it’s one he wears well after leading troops in the Titan War. His tone is enough to make Mr. Wayne close his mouth. “And it’s up to the Academy to reach out to the Victors for help, anyway. That’s not our job.”

 

Leda mouths him a thanks when no one else is looking, and Percy shoots her a wink. It’s only when Leda huffs out a laugh that Percy realizes he picked the gesture up from Finnick. It’s a weirdly comforting thought. He looks down into his dinner to hide his smile.

 

---

 

To say Percy didn’t enjoy the Capitol stop of his own Victory Tour would be an understatement, but somehow the Capitol stop of Leda’s tour was worse.

 

It started out… okay, Percy guesses. He stuck to Leda’s side like glue, scared Snow would pull her away and prostitute her before Percy could do anything. But Snow didn’t come within ten feet of them. He showed up to give a speech before—for all intents and purposes—disappearing. Good riddance.

 

Percy was almost starting to think it would be okay, when a reporter came up to him. “Perseus,” he greets with a grating voice. “What do you have to say about the rampant rumors of a romantic relationship between Finnick Odair and yourself?”

 

The noise around him seems to come in and out of focus as Percy processes what the reporter said. 

 

“What?” he asks, praying he heard wrong.

 

“For the last couple of months, there have been those in the Capitol who say you and Finnick Odair are in a relationship. Teen girls are heartbroken at the idea that you’re both off the market. Are the rumors true?”

 

Percy’s mouth goes dry, and his eyes search frantically for Finnick in the crowd. But of course, he isn’t there. Finnick had told Percy he would be expected to “work” during this event—it was the main reason he was allowed on the Victory Tour, actually. Percy had planned to be there the best he could for both Leda and Finnick’s sake, but as he wonders how Finnick would want him to answer this question and spots Leda being bombarded by Capitolites, he gets the terrible feeling he’s failing both of them. 

 

“It’s not true, of course,” he says, thinking that’s how Finnick would answer. “Finnick and I, as fellow Victors from District 4, are good friends, but nothing more than that.”

 

The words feel like ash in his mouth, and the reporter prattles his thanks before dashing off to talk to Leda. Percy remembers what Aphrodite said to him all those years ago: that his love life would be “interesting.” She’s a whole world away, but Percy feels like she’s right over his shoulder.

 

Percy is left feeling like he’s trapped in a whirlwind, even when Finnick reappears towards the end of the party, with a larger, older blond man wearing a purple robe with a fur-trimmed collar—a game-maker. Percy glares at him, but Finnick is smiling, as he bids farewell. Even when Percy tells him what the reporter says, his fake smile doesn’t drop from his face. 

 

Percy doesn’t know how he does it. 

 

Finnick waves him off to go help Leda, and wishing he could be two places at once, but knowing he can’t, he listens. 

 

When he approaches Leda, her face flushes in relief at seeing him. “Perseus, thank goodness, I need to find the bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick.” 

 

With a sudden flashback of his own Capitol party, he frantically asks her if she drank any of the drinks in the little champagne flutes. Leda says no, but with how she looks like she might throw up, Percy questions if that’s true. 

 

Regardless, he hauls her to the bathroom just in time for her to throw up what little food she forced herself to eat.

 

Well, Percy thinks. At least it wasn’t in front of everyone.

 

---

 

On the train ride back to District 4, Finnick slips Percy a Capitol Couture magazine. Exclusive Issue , the cover advertises over Percy and Finnick’s faces. “Rumors of their illicit affair… ” the byline reads, and Percy rolls his eyes so hard, he’s almost concerned they’re going to fall out of his head. 

 

“This is ridiculous,” he tells Finnick, half-joking, but Finnick's face tells him this isn’t a joke at all. 

 

Percy frowns. “A reporter asked me about it,” he says. “I denied it.”

 

“Good,” Finnick says, “But I don’t know if that’s enough.”

 

Percy folds the magazine in his hand, gripping it tight as a make-shift sort of anchor for the bad news he can feel coming. “What do you mean?” 

 

Finnick’s voice is quiet and pained when he tells Percy, “The safety of my family is reliant on people thinking I’m single.”

 

With a sinking feeling, Percy knows where this is going. “He told you to break up with me didn’t he?”

 

Finnick’s lips tighten, and Percy has his answer. “Excuse me,” he says, and Finnick doesn’t stop him from heading to his private room on the train. 

 

And when he gets there, he rips the magazine into tiny little pieces and lets out a sob. Panem takes and takes and takes, he thinks. Did he not deserve one nice thing? He wishes he had Annabeth’s shroud here with him—or Cody or the Albatrosses. Anything. 

 

He’s busy wallowing in his perceived loneliness when he hears retching from his shared bathroom. Leda, he remembers. As much as he feels like wallowing in his own pity, he has a job to do, and a survivor to look after. 

 

He wipes his face before knocking gently on the door. Leda calls a soft, “come in.” 

 

He pushes the door open and sees Leda curled over the toilet, looking terrible. “I’m sick,” she says.

 

“I can tell,” Percy says, not unkindly. He walks forward, and when she retches over the toilet again, he pulls her hair out of her face.

 

“Is it food poisoning?” He asks. 

 

She shakes her head, “it must be the flu or something. Maybe you should keep your distance.”

 

Percy huffs. “I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re sick and we just left the Capitol.” And selfishly, Percy thinks this is a good distraction.

 

Leda doesn't respond, sitting miserably over the toilet. Percy does his best to comfort her.

 

---

 

They settle back into District 4 as best as they all can, but Percy feels like there’s a hole in his chest. He spends a solid week doing nothing but lounging on his couch cuddling with Cody. Cody, Percy learns, is a very smart dog and knows something is wrong. He does his best to comfort Percy, but Percy doesn’t take as good of care of him as he should, and inevitably, Cody has an accident on the couch after Percy didn’t take him out when he should’ve.

 

“Ugh, I’m sorry buddy,” Percy tells him, feeling terrible, as he opens the back door to let him out. He pulls up the couch cushion to clean it and grimaces at the dirt and crumbs left behind on the couch frame. He needs to clean more.

 

Something catches his eye as he takes off the pillow cushion, though. It’s a bright white torn piece of paper and with a heavy heart, Percy knows what it is—it’s one of Finnick’s poems. 

 

He should burn it immediately, like Finnick does, but his morbid fascination gets the better of him, and he unfolds the paper. It’s a short poem, only three small stanzas, but the lines themselves make Percy’s breath catch in his throat.

 

Doll Parts

 

I am doll eyes, doll mouth, doll legs

I am doll arms, big veins, dog bait

 

They really want you, they really do

They really want you, and I do too

 

I want to be the one with the most cake

I love him so much, it just turns to rage

I fake it so true I am beyond fake

Someday you will ache like I ache

 

Percy knows Finnick writes poetry about his own life—about the feelings he can’t risk sharing, and this poem tells him far more than he ever should’ve known. He shouldn’t have read it—it was a violation, a gross breaking of trust.

 

But nonetheless, the words “I love him so much ” are burned into his eyelids, and he sees them every time he blinks. He shoves the poem into his pocket to burn later. 

 

He can’t be alone right now; he needs to talk to someone.

 

He shows up on Marlin’s doorstep blubbering like a whale, and Marlin gives Percy a scared expression that would almost be funny in any other circumstance.

 

As it is, all Percy can do is cry more. “Finnick and I are over,” he finally manages to get out, ignoring the likely fact that their conversation is being recorded and that the rest of the Victors probably already knew anyway. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

 

Marlin pats his back awkwardly, and when he offers Percy a beer, Percy only hesitates for a second before accepting it. 

 

He takes a large swing of it. “This is disgusting,” he says, making a face. He can’t believe Gabe actually liked this stuff. 

 

“Well,” Marlin starts. “It got you to stop crying for a couple of seconds, so that’s good in my book.”

 

And it’s true. The beer had managed to pull Percy—at least partially—from his funk, but it didn’t last long, and they were once again left in an awkward silence as Percy wiped his nose and Marlin searched for something to say.

 

“You know, it’s not the end of the world,” he finally settles on, and when Percy gives him a disbelieving look, he backtracks. “I only mean, you’re still friends, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” Percy mumbles. “We haven’t talked since the cameras left.”

 

Marlin fumbles awkwardly with his own beer. “Well, maybe you should.”

 

“I’m not sure I want advice right now, Marlin,” Percy tells him. “I think I just want company.” He takes another sip of his beer and grimaces. 

 

“I can do that,” Marlin nods, happy to not need to reassure Percy anymore. 

 

He cracks open his beer, and they settle down into a long silence only broken when a frantic knocking comes from Marlin’s front door.

 

Marlin curses and goes to open the door to find a distressed Marina, shaking. “What happened?” Marlin asks, instantly alert. 

 

“It’s Leda,” Marina responds.

 

Marlin looks like he knows what she’s talking about and he’s out the door faster than Percy ever could’ve thought he’d move. Not quite sure what’s happening, but knowing it can’t be good, Percy follows him, leaving his mostly full beer behind. 

 

There’s a group of Peacekeepers surrounding Leda’s house, and Marlin asks in a hushed whisper. “Is she there?”

 

“No,” Marina says. “Her body's at the morgue.”

 

Percy stumbles, and it’s all he can do to not fall to the ground.

 

---

 

The funeral and visitation is packed. As a recent Victor, Leda’s death shook the community. It hadn’t even been a full year since the 72nd games.

 

Her mom stands by the open casket, provided by the Capitol, and accepts the condolences of strangers. Her father stands just off to the side so as to talk to the least people possible. There’s a pack of cameramen from the Capitol hovering over everyone’s shoulder. Percy does his best to ignore them.

 

Aidan sits in the front row, and Percy sits right next to him. He looks shocked, and Percy doesn’t know what to say to him. He knows exactly what he’s going through, but he can’t mention that without talking about Annabeth, which is absolutely not something he wants Panem, or even District 4, to know about. 

 

He still feels like he should say something, though. So he starts a broken, “I’m sorry for your loss. I should’ve seen the signs.”

 

Aidan looks at him, his eyes a watery red. He looks around the room, eyes scanning where Finnick and Mags stand by Leda’s parents and where the cameras are stationed. “It wasn’t suicide,” he tells Percy in a low voice. 

 

Percy almost jerks in shock. No one had said how Leda died, but he had just assumed. Everyone danced around it exactly the same way they did when they talked about Riptide's death years ago.

 

He almost wants to ask Aidan what it was that killed her then, but he holds his tongue. Now isn’t the time or place, and besides, Aidan looks fragile enough that Percy doesn’t want to ask him. He thinks it might break him if he did. 

 

Instead, he goes up to offer Leda’s mom his condolences and waits until the funeral and showing is over to get his answers. 

 

His answers come in the form of Marina. She’s the Victor Percy has talked with the least, but that doesn’t stop him.

 

“Marina,” he says, sliding up to her side. 

 

She shoots him a look he can’t decipher and replies, “Perseus.”

 

“Would you be willing to come with me on a walk on the beach? I need to take Cody on a walk, and I think it’ll do us both good to get some fresh air.” 

 

Marina understands what he’s asking immediately, and nods her agreement. It takes awhile to get out of the crowd—plenty of District 4 citizens have taken to expressing their condolences to any Victor they see—but eventually they’re back in Decoris. Percy grabs Cody as quickly as he can, and they’re on their way.

 

When they finally reach the private beach, Marina asks in a low voice, “What did you want to talk about?”

 

Percy opens his mouth, but hesitates, wondering how to best phrase his question. He studies Marina’s face, and remembers that she’s a Victor, just like the rest of them. He cuts to the heart of the matter.

 

“How did Leda die?”

 

Marina stops walking. “She was pregnant,” she says, her voice soft. 

 

Percy connects the dots immediately. “Was it, like, a back alley—?”

 

“Yes,” Marina cuts him off. “I suppose no one has told you this, but Victor’s children are almost certain to be reaped. It’s part of the reason why we’re all childless here in 4.” She starts walking again, pace slow. “I would’ve liked to be a mother, otherwise.”

 

Percy’s mind whirls as he wraps his head around what Marina told him. He had never had cause to wonder about the situation regarding children and pregnancies in Panem. It had never affected him before, and now the thought makes him sick. Once again, he failed Leda because he didn’t even know what he needed to protect her from.

 

“So Leda,” he starts, not quite sure how he’s going to finish the sentence. Marina looks at him, eyes heavy with grief. 

 

Percy says nothing.

 

---

 

Part 4: End

 

A husband waits outside

A crying child pushes a child into the night

She was told he would come this time

Without leaving so much as a feather behind

To enact at last the perfect plan

One more sweet boy to be butchered by man

 

But the gateway to the world

Was still outside the reach of him

Would never belonged to angels

Had never belonged to men

The swan upon Leda

Empire upon Jerusalem

 

A grandmother smuggling meds

Past where the god child-soldier Setanta stood dead

Our graceful turner of heads

Weaves through the checkpoints like a needle and thread

Someone's frightened boy waves her on

She offers a mother's smile, and soon she's gone

 

The gateway to the world

The gun in a trembling hand

Where nature unmakes the boundary

The pillar of myth still stands

The swan upon Leda

Occupier upon ancient land

 

The gateway to the world

Was still outside the reach of him

Would never belonged to angels

Had never belonged to men

Notes:

Yeah. This chapter is very heavy, but I've wanted to include this topic ever since I started this fic. I think birth control/abortion access in the districts is a very interesting and relevant subject. Especially when Katniss tells us point blank Victor's children are more likely to get chosen. I really hope I did this topic justice. Song at the end is Swan Upon Leda, and it is, of course, where Leda's name comes from. It was released shortly after Roe v. Wade was overturned.

Some comments:
- Recognize the man Finnick was "working" with at the Capitol party?
- Special thanks to the tumblr ask who sent me the photo I used in the Capitol Couture cover
- Finnick's poem is an edited version of "Doll Parts" by Hole

I'll see you next time. Part 5 is Prometheus and the Gift of Fire

Chapter 29: Interlude 3

Summary:

A short interlude before part 5

Katniss stokes the fire in front of her as her mom cleans a rabbit she brought home. The 73rd games will likely end tomorrow, and the whole district is anxious for it to be done. The kids from 12 both died within twenty-four hours this year—one to the bloodbath and one to the arena itself—but they were still forced to show up and watch the rest of them kill each other.

 

There were only two tributes left—the boy from 4 and the boy from 2. It’s a career’s year either way, which some people in the Seam grumble about. It’s not surprising though. The boy from 4 is being mentored by Perseus Jackson, the Victor from a couple years ago, who seemed almost inhumanly skilled in his games. And he’s already brought home one Victor, though she died shortly afterward. Now, he might bring home a second.

 

Katniss wouldn’t think anything of it—that’s how things are in Panem—but Prim loves him. She is young enough to not fully remember the way he hunted down the girl from 2, but she’s heard the stories the people around the Seam tell of him, all of which are fairly generous. Katniss herself is more hesitant to think anything kind of him. It’s a game. It’s a show. He’s an actor.

 

His tribute this year was the one who killed the boy from 12 in the bloodbath after all, but no one else seems to hold that against him. 

 

Still, the game ending always feels like a huge exhale, a sigh of relief that the pain is over. At least for this year.

 

Katniss knows she’ll be relieved. She’s made it through another year; only three more to go. She tries to ignore that her sister will be twelve next year and has all of her reapings to look forward to. Her sister never took out any tesserae, and she never will as long as Katniss has anything to say about it. She’ll be fine. Katniss will make sure of it.

 

The fire glistens brightly in front of Katniss, heat spreading through the summer air, making her uncomfortably hot, but she doesn’t move. Not until her mom comes over with the pot to cook the rabbit stew in. Katniss reluctantly releases her vigil. 

 

When she gets up, there’s coal dust under her fingernails. Almost impossible to avoid in the Seam, but Katniss remembers how much her father hated it and tries to wash it away anyway. This happens every time she messes with the fire.

 

Prim comes in, carrying a fresh jug of goat milk. Katniss knows she’s going to ask their mother to put it in the stew. Prim likes the thicker taste it gives. Katniss lets her; it’s her goat after all. 

 

In no time, they’re gathered around their table. Katniss is mildly mournful that she wasn’t able to catch any squirrels—she could’ve gotten some bread from the baker, but they’re already indulging. They probably would’ve just saved the bread for tomorrow anyway. 

 

“How’s Gale?” their mom asks.

 

Katniss shrugs, “He’s fine. He’s upset that a career will be a Victor, but that’s not actually that surprising.” 

 

Saying that Gale was upset a career will be the Victor was a bit of an understatement, but the words Gale used were unfit for repeating outside of the woods. Gale has always been much more rebellious than Katniss. 

 

She understands where he was coming from. Watching the girl from 9 have her throat slashed by the boy from 2 was hard—especially after watching her parent's final eight interview, but the careers win roughly 50% of the time, and District 4 has been on something of a winning streak, bringing home three Victors in the past nine years. There is no use complaining about it—especially when complaining about it could get you in trouble. 

 

Conversation at the table is stilted after that. No one wants to talk about the games, but it seems to be the only thing that’s happening. Prim talks a little bit about her friends from school, but they—like Gale—seem to be caught up in the latest happenings of the games. 

 

“They’ll end tomorrow, won’t they?” Prim asks, voice soft. The games ending is almost a double edged sword. It’s great for them to be over, but the finale is usually gruesome enough to be almost impossible to watch. And Prim has always been soft. 

 

“Probably,” Katniss replies, “if it follows the pattern of past years.”

 

Katniss has done her best to make sure Prim never watched any of the reruns that were occasionally broadcasted in the main square, which means Prim doesn’t know nearly as much about the normal game patterns as the rest of them do. It’s a blessing, and Prim knows it.

 

They finish their dinner in silence, savoring every last drop. And when Katniss heads to the bathroom to wash up, Prim asks their mom to tell her the story of the little mermaid again. Katniss finishes her bath just in time to hear the end of it. The dying embers light up her mom’s and Prim’s faces, making the story seem even more fantastical than it already is.

 

Katniss never really got the story the same way the rest of the kids from 12 did. She couldn't understand why a mermaid would ever want to leave the ocean to join them. 

 

---

 

Gale and Katniss stand next to each other in the square. They’ve been let out early from school to watch the finale. The Gamemakers must have some way of communicating when exactly it’ll happen to the District leaders, but Katniss doesn’t pretend to know how that works. 

 

To Gale’s chagrin, Madge is at Katniss’s other side, looking just as unhappy that he’s there. 

 

The boy from 4’s face shows up on the big screen, and Gale scowls. “What’s the chance that they’ll both die and we don’t have any Victor?” 

 

“The Capitol would never allow that,” Madge replies, matter-of-fact. 

 

“And I’m sure your father knows all sorts of things about the Capitol, doesn’t he?”

 

“I’m just as much District as you are.” 

 

Katniss tunes out their argument, looking around the square. She spots the group of market kids in her year. Their blond hair shines in the sunlight, but that isn’t what catches her eye. The baker’s boy—Peeta—looks to be in a heated argument with his brother, Rye. For a brief moment, Katniss wishes she knew what they were arguing about, before she pushes the urge away. She’s never been a gossiper, she doesn’t know where that thought came from.

 

The arena this year was a swamp, and against her will, Katniss is interested. She had never seen a swamp before, and the last swamp arena was before her time. 

 

The tributes were given gloves and helmets with mesh that fell down over their face and connected at their collars. Some of the tributes were stupid enough to take it off, thinking it did nothing only to learn the arena was full of deadly mosquitos whose bite was venomous. A good chunk of the tributes were taken out by them, including the girl from 12, and another few were killed by so-called alligator mutts. The Gamemakers ended up calling the mutts off so that there would be enough actual tribute murder to keep the Capitol happy. 

 

But the mutts are back now.

 

The boy from 4 has taken refuge in the more watery portions of the arena, sure he could out swim any of his fellow tributes. It was a smart decision, but he didn’t see the mutts coming, and, according to Claudius Templesmith, the alligators liked the water.

 

With no warning, a nearby log starts to move, and the tribute is a second behind the crowd of District 12 in realizing it’s a mutt, but a second is too long, and the gator snaps its jaw down on his arm.

 

Katniss is pretty sure the animal could’ve easily tore his arm off, but then he wouldn’t make for much of a finale. Instead, the alligator lets go, and the tribute is left with a bleeding arm and the adrenaline it takes to dart out of the water and into the trees. 

 

The alligator—and four more just like it—follow him, chasing him down to the cornucopia, where the other remaining tribute is waiting. It’s a common strategy to force a final confrontation. Katniss thinks if she were ever in the arena, she would start towards the cornucopia as soon as she realized there were only two tributes left. 

 

Madge reaches over and grabs Katniss’s hand, nervous. At the reminder, Katniss looks through the crowd and spots Prim, with her face buried in their mom’s neck. She’s fine. With Prim taken care of, Katniss squeezes Madge’s hand in comfort. 

 

Katniss doesn’t think they’re friends per se, but Madge is an only child and is quiet at that. So, they’ve kind of gravitated together, two lonely people sharing a table every lunch period. Katniss doesn’t mind comforting her when she clearly needs it. 

 

Madge’s grip only gets tighter as the confrontation happens. The boys are pretty evenly matched, and the fight is brutal. They both lose more blood than Katniss thought a person could, and she’s seen some pretty gory injuries from her mother’s job. She only looks away from the screen once, when the boy from District 2’s eye is clawed out by the other tribute’s bare hands. Gale, she notices, looks at the screen the whole time.

 

In thirty minutes, the boy from 2—Hercules according to Claudius Templesmith—is declared the Victor. Looks like Perseus Jackson wouldn't be getting back-to-back Victors after all.

 

Gale grumbles, but Katniss doesn’t know what he wanted to happen. Was he expecting someone to blow up the arena? For two Victors to be declared? Did he think one of the kids from 12 would miraculously be resuscitated? 

 

This is just how it is. The Capitol makes it that why—they keep the districts blind in the dark, cold and fearful of whatever the Capitol might do next. 

 

One more year down, and three more to go before she’s free.

Notes:

I personally am a firm believer that Madge had a crush on Katniss. Is this projection? Maybe. Also in terms of fun headcanons, I've seen multiple fics where Peeta has a brother named Rye and it cracks me up so much that of course I had to add it

Anyway, a short interlude to connect part 4 and part 5, plus a (very brief) look at what District 12 thinks of Percy. There's some Prometheus imagery in this chapter, including the Capitol (Zeus) keeping the Districts (the humans) in the cold dark without any fire :( I sure hope someone shows up soon to change this...

Chapter 30: Project Artemis (Part 5: Prometheus and the Gift of Fire)

Summary:

The 74th Reapings

Notes:

Me, when I finally get to tag Katniss and Peeta: :)

Part 5: Prometheus and the Gift of Fire

 

Percy sits in the quiet of his room, head in his hands. It’s the morning of the 74th reaping, and he had his first dream about his old life in years. He had thought he had moved past that, but apparently not. Ghosts linger.

 

Maybe it was his fault. His latest prescription fill still hasn’t come yet, and he had the brilliant idea to start rationing his sleeping pills. He technically took one last night, but only a quarter of the pill. Practically negligible. 

 

Of course his weird dreams would come back.

 

In his dream, he was back home. Or, well, what he assumed to be home. It was an apartment that seemed to belong to his mom and Paul, but it was different from the apartment Percy knew. It was a pre-war building, with genuine wood floors, an out of date bathroom, and wallpaper from the previous tenants. It even had a mantel and fireplace, though the actual hearth is filled with books, no longer meant for fires.

 

Percy would’ve thought it was a random place his mind made up if it wasn’t for the familiar furniture and photos on the wall, not to mention his mom’s book propped up on the bookshelf in a place of honor. She had published it shortly after the Titan War, and Percy had been so proud. It was the culmination of all the work she put into her night classes to get her degree.

 

But next to her novel lay another book. Hardback and looking brand new, Bury Me , was embossed in gold foil on the cover, and underneath that—Sally Jackson-Blofish. With trepidation, Percy reaches out to pick it up and flips to the inner cover, looking for a summary. 

 

Children should bury their parents. Alice knew that well, which is why it was almost a relief that there wasn’t a body to bury when her son was presumed dead. Well, when he was presumed dead by everyone else. But Alice held out hope that one day her baby would come back to bury her instead. 

 

Alice was 23 when her son was born, and 40 when he “died.” And when she was 45, the doctor told her her days were numbered. Instead of living out her last days knocking out her bucket list, she’s going to find her son. 

 

Percy doesn’t finish the summary, instead closing the book to stare down at his mom’s name. The story is eerie, and the ages scratch at something in the back of his brain. With a sudden clarity, Percy remembers his mom was 23 when she had him, and she would have been 40 when he disappeared. 

 

Placing the book delicately back where it was, Percy thinks this must be the worst dream he’s ever had. Even worse than the ones with Nico and Thalia. He always knew he was going to die young, and probably leave his mom behind. But he thought that when he died, he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the consequences, and here fate is proving him wrong. Right in front of him was a documentation of his mother’s grief. He backs up, as if the slim book might reach out and bite him.

 

It’s just a dream , he tells himself. But that doesn’t console him when it might be true, for all he knows.

 

That’s when the front door opens. To his relief, it’s Paul. Percy doesn’t know what he would have done if he had to see his mom after reading the book summary. 

 

Paul looks visibly aged from the last time Percy saw him; his normal salt and pepper hair looks much more salt than pepper now, and he’s grown a beard. His handsome face looks tired. 

 

He reminds Percy strangely of Finnick. 

 

Paul drops his keys into a little dish by the door and takes off his shoes. He makes no acknowledgment of Percy; it’s like he’s an apparition. It makes sense, Paul can’t see through the mist, but it still feels odd. He feels like an intruder. He shouldn’t be seeing this. 

 

Paul places his bag on the sofa before flopping right next to it, and looking over at the book Percy had picked up earlier. He lets out a sigh, and turns on his phone, staring at his home screen. 

 

Percy creeps over slowly, not sure if he wants to know what Paul is looking at or not, but eventually, he stands over Paul’s shoulder looking down at his phone. 

 

It’s a picture of the three of them—Paul, Percy, and his mom. It’s one of the few they have of all of them together, and Percy gets a lump in his throat just staring at it. 

 

“Sally’s book is getting released tomorrow,” Paul says to the seemingly empty room. “A shame you’re not around to see it, Percy.”

 

Yeah, Percy thinks, it is a shame.

 

He knows why his mind conjured this dream up today—he’s about to watch parents get ripped from their kids. Of course his subconscious reminds him of his own parents. And when he wakes up in the early hours of the morning of the reaping, the nightmare only seems worse. Because it doesn’t end.

 

---

 

Percy isn’t mentoring this year; he’s too upset after the back-to-back hit of Leda and Colle’s death last year, so Marlin had taken pity on him and volunteered. This year, Marlin and Finnick would be mentoring, with Mags “tagging along,” since the Gamemakers don’t allow her to technically mentor, though they all know she is helping.

 

Percy is honestly relieved. In his opinion, there is next to no possibility of 4 producing a Victor this year. Neither of the tributes from 4 stood much of a chance. They could throw a spear and wield a trident, but they lacked the cleverness needed to survive. 

 

No one asked his opinion, though, so he didn’t share it. There was no point in killing hope. 

 

Percy keeps his eyes down the entire walk to the city square, and if anyone notices, they don’t ask. It’s reaping day, after all, no one’s having fun. At least not in the districts.

 

The day is overcast, as every day seems to be lately. Percy refuses to take responsibility. Besides, the clouds are nice. It gives a reprieve from standing under the direct heat of the sun for hours while they wait for the reaping ceremony to end.

 

Augustus primly walks up to the microphone after the mayor gives his speech. “Happy Hunger Games,” he starts, “And may the odds be ever in your favor!” Percy tunes everything else he says out. He’s gotten very good at ignoring Augustus in more recent years. 

 

Without fully meaning to, Percy looks out into the crowd, eyes catching on the girl sitting at the front of the stage, nearest to the aisle, so she can easily get up when she volunteers. Her name is Gretel, pearl , Percy knows, and she is practically jumping up and down in her seat, like a much younger kid. It takes all of Percy’s willpower not to shake his head in disappointment. 

 

He doesn’t know if it’s better for the kids to be excited or to go in with eyes wide open. He thinks the excitement might be kinder, though it feels a lot like lying.

 

Percy looks over at Finnick, like he always seems to, even after they’ve been broken up for so long, and he finds that Finnick is looking at him too. They stare for a brief moment before Percy breaks eye contact, turning to look back out above the crowd, so he doesn’t accidentally make eye contact with any scared kids. 

 

( The kids are always scared a volunteer will fall through. Percy knows his experience really freaked them out, and he wishes he could explain to them all why what happened, happened, but it’s useless. )

 

Finnick has a family to protect, Percy berates himself. He shouldn’t have looked at him in the first place.

 

The female tribute is called first, and Gretel volunteers like it’s the easiest thing. She walks on stage and when Finnick, her mentor, shakes her hand, she blushes. Percy wonders what Finnick thinks about that, or if he thinks about it at all anymore. It seems like everyone is in love with him. 

 

River is the other volunteer this year, and unlike Gretel, he does seem nervous. Percy doesn’t know if it’s stage fright or second thoughts. He hopes it’s stage fright. 

 

Augustus smiles and urges the two to shake hands. Another smooth reaping for District 4. The anthem plays, and after the camera stops filming, they all walk off stage.

 

The tributes get their hour to say goodbye to family, but the District 4 Victors head straight to the train. None of their families have come to say goodbye before they go. Percy wonders what the Odairs are up to, before reminding himself it doesn’t matter.

 

The train ride to the Capitol is an odd sort of silence. Not quite uncomfortable, but definitely not peaceful either. It’s him and Marina in the back of the train, away from the tributes and their mentors. Marina and him get along well enough, but they certainly don’t know each other nearly as well as Percy knows the other Victors from 4. 

 

Regardless, they will be spending at least the next week, if not longer if the District 4 tributes do well, in each other’s company, so Percy sucks it up and decides to try to make conversation—even if it is stilted.

 

There are things he knew he shouldn’t ask Marina. He could ask where she goes in the day, but he could never ask where she goes at night. The problem is he most wants to know where she goes at night. Percy is pretty sure she goes to see a lover. They had never gotten close enough for her to confide that in him, though.

 

Marina, like Finnick, is sold at the Capitol frequently, but somehow she manages to do what Finnick couldn’t—keep a lover out of sight of the Capitol. Or at least, out of sight enough that they don’t care. Percy and Finnick had been broken up now longer than they had been together, but a large part of Percy still clings onto hope. And he can’t lie and say that he wasn’t jealous of Marina and her mystery lover. 

 

Needless to say, Percy has no idea what to actually say to Marina. He, like the expert conversationalist he is, talks to her about the soup they’re having for lunch.

 

Luckily, when his conversation on the train food runs dry, Marina takes pity on him. “Have you made any more crochet projects recently? Any blankets?”

 

In the wake of Leda’s death, Percy had made another shroud, and then one more for Colle. After he finished Colle’s he started another fire and burned it, but shamefully, Leda’s shroud sat hidden away in his closet on top of Annabeth’s. Seeing another albatross join Coraline and Gideon was as comforting as it was guilt inducing.

 

He wondered if Coraline and Gideon never got a proper send-off either.

 

“I made a sweater vest,” Percy tells her, instead of voicing any of this. “It’s hot pink. It’d probably be a hit in the Capitol.”

 

Marina laughs. It’s strained in the way that tells Percy she’s feeling the same stress and sorrow he is. Marina opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Panem’s national anthem blasts over the speakers of the room. It’s time for the recap of the reapings. 

 

The TV in the corner of the room is turned on, volume up, with no visible way for Percy or Marina to change the settings, but they both do their best to ignore the TV anyway. 

 

“What were we talking about?” Marina asks, half turning her back to the TV. But it’s mainly for show, she can still see it out of the corner of her eye.

 

“I was telling you about the pink sweater vest I made.”

 

“Ah, right. Did you make it for yourself?”

 

Percy grins, self-deprecatingly. “Do you think I would be rude enough to make it for anyone else?”

 

As the reaping ceremony for District 1 plays, Percy tells Marina about the latest drama in the textile business in District 4. “We get most of our yarn from District 8, of course, but some of the really nice stuff comes from District 1, so it’s a big thing where some of the merchants will try to lie to you about where it’s from…”

 

The drama itself isn’t interesting—it never is, but that’s what makes it a nice story to tell. He certainly isn’t about to talk about any of the interesting stuff that’s happening in his life. It’s all either depressing or illegal. With that being said, the drama is long and needlessly complicated, involving Finnick’s mom, the local seamstress who works for the Capitoline tourists in Decoris, and the merchant who sells wool yarn. By the time he’s finally done explaining it, they’re on District 10.

 

Without thinking about it, Percy’s eyes drift towards the screen, exactly as they reap a teenage boy with a limp. “Jesus,” Percy whispers under his breath. It looks like he has a bad leg. He won’t be able to run away. 

 

Marina turns to the side to see what made him react like that. She looks upset as soon as she realizes why he cursed. 

 

“I don’t know why I looked,” she tells him. Percy hums in agreement and empathy. It’s the need to know what’s happened contrasted against the desire to remain uninformed. Painful either way.

 

Biting the bullet, Percy delves into more unpleasant topics. “Do you have anything… you have to do in the Capitol?”

 

Marina’s lips flatten into a straight line. “Not yet,” she says, as the screen switches to District 11. 

 

With Percy’s question the suspense of what is happening is gone, and Marina and Percy pause their conversation, watching a little girl named Rue get called to the stage. Percy doesn’t react this time. He’s braced for it.

 

“District 2 seems strong this year,” Marina says, breaking the heavy silence. The unspoken agreement to not talk about the games is over. “Especially compared to us.”

 

Marina teaches at the Academy too, Percy belatedly remembers. She must see all the same things he does. If he thought their tributes didn’t have a chance, of course the others would think the same. 

 

“I wasn’t paying any attention to District 2,” he tells her.

 

“Big, rough, and tough. A lot like the tributes from 2 in your year.” 

 

Percy cringes; he tries his hardest not to remember his games—especially the kids he killed. It’s hard. Especially now, when he’s alone at night, except for his dog. Relationships aren’t everything, but coming home to Finnick was reassuring in a way he craves. 

 

He feels like he’s wasting the life he killed others to keep. 

 

Normally, when he has these thoughts, he’d play with Cody, but Cody isn’t here right now. He’s with an Academy kid Percy paid to dog-sit. Percy takes a sip of his water. 

 

An eighteen-year-old boy is reaped next. He’s broad and muscled, likely from years of physical labor, but he looks young. At least until he’s standing next to Rue, whom he dwarfs. 

 

“No chance of Rue winning?”

 

“Who?” Marina asks. She isn’t harsh about it, but Percy burns with shame at the question. He’s like that too, he knows. Rue is the only name of the reaped kids he’s bothered to remember.

 

“The little girl who was just reaped.”

 

Marina just hums in reply, answer enough. 

 

The screen switches to District 12. 

 

Percy’s memories of the districts are kind of vague, even though he’s visited all of them twice—at a certain point they started to blend together—but he remembers 12 well. Nestled in the middle of Appalachia, it had been covered in snow both times he went. But now, in the hot July weather, coal dust seems to cover the ground instead. Even now, when the district has cleaned up as well as they could—as they’re legally required to—some of them still have the stuff smeared on their nice clothes. It must be unavoidable when you work in the mines day in and day out. 

 

In contrast to the district citizens, the District 12 escort wears an elaborate wig and a green suit, which looks impeccably clean and remarkably expensive. 

 

Haymitch, Percy notices, isn’t there yet. Since he’s the only surviving Victor from 12, it’s noticeable. But the camera cuts to the escort going up to the podium, and by the time it’s a wide-cut of the stage again, Haymitch is there. Percy wonders what happened in the intervening time. This is all play-back, so they could’ve edited out whatever they liked.

 

The escort starts the same way they all seem to, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor! I am so excited to be here with you today celebrating another year of the ending of the Dark Days with you all.”

 

Percy notices that she doesn’t seem particularly excited. As if reading his mind, Marina tells him, “She’s been wanting to get moved up to an earlier District for years. Rumor has it she’s got her eyes on District 4. Augustus has complained about it to me more than once.”

 

Percy doesn’t know what to feel about that. He doubts District 12 really cares, but it seems like another knife to the gut. Even an escort who’s paid to be there doesn’t want to spend any time in District 12. He wonders what it’s like to be that ignored and degraded by the Capitol. With Decoris, Percy thinks the Capitol pays a bit too much attention to District 4.

 

“Ladies first!” The escort says, and Percy is left wondering if they have a script they’re all reading off. If he actually cared more, he’d ask Augustus, but he doesn’t, so…

 

“Primrose Everdeen!” She calls, and just like in District 11, the movement happens from the back of the crowd, where all the twelve-year-olds are kept. Percy swallows heavily. The group parts and the camera switches to one in the aisle, showing a little blonde girl with her shirt half untucked making her way bravely to the stage. Rue had done the same.

 

“Prim!” A desperate voice calls, and Percy wants to look away, but he doesn’t. “Prim!” 

 

A girl breaks from the middle of the crowd, probably the fifteen or sixteen-year-old section. She looks desperate. Percy’s seen that face before. It’s the face of a camper standing over their fallen sibling or friend—sometimes both, unsure what to do now, desperate to go back and change things.

 

“I volunteer!” The girl cries, “I volunteer as tribute!”

 

It sounds completely different from when the students in 4 volunteer. They are calm and collected, even when they’re nervous like River; they know they’re going to volunteer well before they do. This is an act of desperation, not fully thought through. It’s a sacrifice, plain and simple. 

 

A pressure builds in the back of Percy’s eyes.

 

The escort is the first to sort herself out, “Lovely! But I believe there’s a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…” she trails off, unsure of what to do. Somewhat bitterly, Percy thinks she could never be the escort for District 4 if she doesn’t know how to handle volunteers.

 

“What does it matter?” The mayor interrupts. Percy’s met him before, twice, and he’s seemed somewhat tired and ragged both times, a stark contrast to the mayors of District 1 and 2. Now isn’t an exception. “Let her come forward.”

 

The little girl, so brave before, now loses any semblance of calmness she had as she wraps her arm around the older girl, screaming, “No, Katniss! No! You can’t go!”

 

“Prim, let go,” Percy hears, though it’s mumbled and distant. They don’t have a mic on the two girls, and she hadn’t been screaming like the other girl did. 

 

Another man, not a Peacekeeper, Percy notices idly (if it had been in District 4, it would’ve been a Peacekeeper. Maybe there are benefits to being ignored by the Capitol), comes onto the scene. Percy wishes he could’ve seen where he came from. He looks just on the edge of being too old to be in the reaping; he could be eighteen or nineteen, but Percy doesn’t know for sure.

 

He pulls the girl off, and carries her away from the scene. It’s hard to watch the terror on the little girl's face—it’s different from the one normally in the games. It’s not the terror of your own imminent death, but that of someone you love.

 

“Well, bravo!” The escort breaks in, and Percy curses her for interrupting the scene, simultaneously wanting to see more and feeling like a voyeur for it all the while. “That’s the spirit of the Games! What’s your name?” She asks the older girl once she’s finally on the stage.

 

“Katniss Everdeen.” 

 

Katniss Everdeen , Percy thinks. It’s a strange name the way most names in Panem seem to be. He wonders what it means, why her parents named her that.

 

“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” 

 

But no one in District 12 claps, instead there’s a movement in the crowd, and then one by one they’re all kissing their fingers and holding them up, three extended, pinky and thumb tucked in. Percy doesn’t know what it means, but he can tell what it’s meant to say. It’s a miracle they didn’t cut it out of the broadcast.

 

Percy’s ears ring. This is the most overt form of rebellion he’s witnessed the whole time he’s been in Panem, and it’s coming from the tiniest district. Something about it sits heavily in his stomach, though he can’t quite place what.

 

The moment is interrupted by Haymitch yelling and falling off the stage. The movement is strange, and Percy isn’t quite sure it’s an accident, but he can’t tell one way or the other. In the editing they did, it’s played for a laugh.

 

There’s a cut in the broadcast, and Haymitch is gone. They probably didn’t hurt him, he’s too valuable as District 12’s only Victor, and he seems strangely popular in the Capitol, even if it’s not necessarily a Lady Gaga popular and more like a… Justin Bieber popular. 

 

The escort goes to pull the male tribute’s name, but Percy isn’t paying nearly as much attention as he should. He must hear the name, but it doesn’t stick. The face of the boy who comes on stage is familiar though. Percy must’ve seen him when he was in District 12, though he can’t place from where.

 

The anthem plays, and District 12’s broadcast is done. The screen cuts to Caesar and Claudius, gossiping about what just happened. They’re joined by the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, who is giving his opinion on what just happened. Percy tunes them out, thinking about what he just saw. At his side, Marina is equally quiet, and he knows she must be processing it too.

 

A teenager just volunteered to take the place of her younger sister, and unlike the teens in 4, she wasn’t trained for it. She was tiny, petite but in the way that pointed more towards malnourishment than genetics. But she looked so determined. So unafraid. Once her sister was out of the line of fire, her face was a mask. 

 

He knows now why he was so uncomfortable watching it. Percy is an adult and a demigod at that, and he just watched a teenager do more to protect the people she cared about than Percy had the whole time he’s been in Panem. He’s thought about pushing back before, but had always decided there wasn’t a point. 

 

Percy isn’t stupid; he knows his own power has been growing exponentially ever since he got dropped in this hell-hole. He’s barely even a demigod anymore—as much as he’s avoided thinking he’s practically a… He refuses to finish the thought.

 

But he does think about how he’s been acting like one, too. Doing nothing.

Notes:

Some random comments:
- The chapter title "Project Artemis" was the working title for the Hunger Games movie when they didn't want people to know it was the Hunger Games
- Sally's book is based off the concept of ya'aburnee
- Estelle doesn't exist in this fic :( I couldn't picture Sally having another kid after Percy's "death"
- Gretel means pearl
- Marina: "Who's Jesus?"
- A lot of dialogue from the reaping scene is taken directly from the book
- One of the things that sticks out to me about the reaping scene in the first book is that it's Gale that pulls Prim away, not a Peacekeeper, so I made Percy notice that, and I'm chalking it up to how (for lack of a better word) relaxed the Peacekeepers in 12 seem to be in the first book. The first book explicitly tells us the Peacekeepers are significantly more violent in District 11 (which is implied to be majority black), and I've assumed that they are also more violent in District 4 (though not as much as they are in District 11)
- Katniss is a type of edible plant. Katniss states in the book that her dad used to tell her if she could find herself she could eat. I assume Collins named her Katniss as a way to illustrate their struggle with food insecurity
- Because I love it, here's an excerpt from the book about what the hand gesture means, "It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love." That paragraph always makes me cry when I read it.
- I personally go back and forth on whether Haymitch's interruption of the reaping is on purpose or not.
- If you have a celebrity that fits the metaphor better than Justin Bieber does, please let me know. I couldn't think of one.
- It was so, so important to me that Katniss (A MORTAL) be the one to reignite the rebellion in this story, not Percy. Because in this story Percy is a god, and what do the gods in Percy Jackson do?
- Genuinely so excited for the Katniss/Prometheus comparison
- Things will be heating up (haha get it?) soon!

Chapter 31: Road to Damascus

Notes:

Click here for trigger warnings for this chapter

Non-consensual drug usage. Implied/referenced rape.

Their arrival to the capital comes with the screaming sounds of hundreds of Capitolites gathered outside the train station. District 4 might not have brought home a tribute the past two years, but they’re still a crowd favorite, in thanks largely to Finnick.

 

But the avant-garde appearance of the Capitol crowd and the ear-shattering cheers aren’t enough to distract Percy from his thoughts. Something inside him has been deeply rattled by his realization on the train. 

 

When had he grown so complacent? And why hadn’t he realized it sooner? 

 

Percy thinks the answer goes back a lot further than he’d like to admit. He remembers the months spent fishing on an ocean foreign to him in a way he hadn’t known oceans could be. He remembers the depression that fell over him like a heavy fog when he realized just how far away he was from everyone he cared about. It changed him. There wasn’t any joy to be found anymore, and there just didn’t seem to be a point to anything. 

 

Even at his best in Panem—with Finnick by his side, a hobby to distract him, and two living dogs—he still hadn’t felt like his old self. Panem Percy was a different man from the old Percy. 

 

Fifteen-year-old me would’ve done better, he thinks bitterly. He’d be disappointed to see him now, Percy knows. He’d probably make a joke about how much Percy sucks or something.

 

And when was the last time Percy cracked a joke? He couldn’t remember. He used to tell them all the time, even in deeply shitty situations… It was what kept him sane.

 

A Peacekeeper motions Percy forward, and without even thinking about it, Percy gives him his worst glare. Cowed, the man looks away. Percy can’t see his expression under his helmet, but he bets he must look pretty frightened.

 

Is that the best Percy can do in Panem? Scare one Peacekeeper? He had turned Coriolania into a sea monster, but did that have any actually lasting impact on how the Capitol ran? It was inherently supernatural, so it was likely they just brushed it off. But then again, Snow had never come back to pester Percy about prostituting himself, nor had he gone after Cody.

 

Is that what he should do then? Turn a bunch of government officials into sea monsters? When someone pissed off his dad, he had a tendency of making their sea voyage last ten years, but Percy didn’t think that was realistic for him. 

 

On the other end of the train platform, the tributes for District 4 step off along with their mentors, and Percy looks longingly at Finnick. Would fifteen-year-old Percy have fought a lot harder for Finnick than he did, too? 

 

Finnick looks out at the audience, smiling and waving, showing more charisma than everyone else on the platform combined. It just makes Percy frown harder. 

 

He had gone to Tartarus for Annabeth, but he hadn’t even tried to convince Finnick they didn’t have to break up. But wasn’t that for the best? Finnick’s family was on the line, and Finnick wanted to call it quits. That should be that. It wasn’t Percy’s choice.

 

Though Percy has a sinking feeling in his stomach, that if Finnick fell into Tartarus the person he is now wouldn’t willingly follow him. 

 

He doesn’t want to be that person. He wants to be his old self. Percy straightens his back and turns his face to marble, lips forming a scowl, and eyes burning with a mix of anger at Panem and himself.

 

A public train platform is not the place to be having these thoughts. He needs to see Katniss.

 

---

 

Percy isn’t ashamed to be lurking on the outskirts of the loading room for the tribute parade. Only a smattering of tributes are already at their chariot and even less mentors are around, but there are plenty of prep team staff and workers running around. Percy even recognizes one of them from his own prep team. 

 

He makes a point of not saying hi. 

 

Percy’s tucked away in a shadowy corner, doing his best impression of Nico, and it mostly works. If it wasn’t for the horses. 

 

When Percy had been a tribute, the horses had barely noticed him, and the most he got as a mentor was a curious neigh. But it seems like something has changed within the past year because the horses start to fuss, pulling on their reigns and moving out of position to get closer to where he is. 

 

Before any of the horses can actually approach him, Percy moves towards the nearest chariot, and if it just so happens to be the chariot for District 12, oh well. He grabs a handful of sugar cubes from a worker passing by to give to the horses. 

 

The chariot for District 12 is being pulled by two identical black horses, and the one nearest to him cranes her neck in Percy’s direction. “Creator?” she calls, voice eerily foreign when he hasn’t heard a horse talk to him in years. 

 

But that word—suddenly, Percy isn’t standing in the loading room, but he’s in the 70th arena, right next to the water, having just killed Andromeda. The fish look up at him like they’d do anything if he just asked. Percy’s heart beats heavy and loud like a drum. 

 

Then the moment is over, and Percy is back where he started, the horses around him shuffling in agitation, as if sensing his own. He reaches forward and feeds the two horses a couple sugar cubes each. 

 

A voice chimes from behind him, “The District 4 chariot is that way.” He turns around and sees a familiar face wearing an all black outfit. It’s Katniss Everdeen, the volunteer from 12. He hadn’t recognized her voice when it wasn’t filled with more grief than anyone should ever feel. Her prep team hovers behind her.

 

“I’m not mentoring this year, just hanging around.” Percy tells her, doing his best to look non-threatening. Based on how she’s standing, he’s not sure he’s succeeding.

 

“Sugar cube?”

 

She looks down at his extended hand, not saying anything, and Percy doesn’t know if she’s pissed or if she just looks a little annoyed all the time. He shrugs it off, and eats one himself. “Thought I’d offer. If 12 is anything like 4, sugar is hard to come by.”

 

“Why are you here?” she asks, doing her best to keep her eyes on Percy while also trying to study her actual competition, which are steadily filing into the room around them. The costumes are largely ridiculous, as usual.

 

Percy straightens up. He didn’t have any idea what he wanted to say before he came over here; he just knew he needed to see her. His mouth is dry, when he finally says something. “I just wanted to say that I thought it was really brave. What you did for your sister.”

 

“She’s my sister,” Katniss says simply, like it was nothing. “That’s what you should do.”

 

“Just because it’s what you should do doesn’t mean it’s what people actually do. Loyalty like that is hard to come by. And bravery. I found it inspiring.”

 

Katniss’s eyes turn sharp. Or maybe she’s just judging him even harder. “Inspiring for what?”

 

Percy shrugs, eating another sugar cube. He's not even avoiding her question, really. He honestly doesn't know how to answer her. Inspiring for what, indeed.

 

“Good luck,” he says, petting the horses one last time before heading to the chariot for District 4. At some point in his conversation with Katniss, Finnick showed up and started staring the two of them down like he thought they were some kind of hallucination.

 

When he finally reaches Finnick, he finds himself just as wanting for conversation topics as he was with Katniss. He used to be able to talk to Finnick as easily as he could swim. He falls back on what is apparently his favorite conversation starter now, “Sugar cube?”

 

Unlike Katniss, Finnick accepts, plucking it from Percy’s hand with a look in his eyes that Percy can’t help but relate to the horses. He looks a little too happy about getting a sugar cube from Percy, like he just got a divine gift. Like the sugar cube was nectar.

 

He eats it like it is too. Percy forces his eyes away, studying Gretel who looks beautiful in a sea foam color dress. The standout point of her costume is her elaborate crown, which is practically dripping pearls, sea glass, and gold. It's one of the better outfits this year. Though, the District 2 tributes, who are outfitted in what appears to be Roman armor, are a close second. He also thinks the simple, all-black outfits Katniss and Peeta are wearing is nice, considering what the District 12 tributes wore his year.

 

“How are you?” Percy asks awkwardly, as a horse reaches over to nudge him. He gives her his last sugar cube and the other horse looks so disappointed that Percy’s guilt almost stops him from hearing Finnick’s answer.

 

“—just peachy,” Finnick says, “but the real question is why are you here?” Victors don’t come to this event unless they’re a mentor—not because they aren’t allowed or anything, but just because no one wants to. Finnick’s voice is laced tight with an emotion Percy can’t place. 

 

Percy can’t tell him he came to talk to Katniss. That’s not the kind of thing you say in public, especially with Finnick’s tribute lingering just off to the side. They make eye contact, and Percy looks away first. 

 

“I came to see the horses,” he says. It sounds a lot like I came to see you. And while it isn’t the truth, it tastes like it in his mouth. Seeing Katniss might not have been his only motivation after all. 

 

A beat passes, and Finnick swallows. “We’ll talk later,” he says, and Percy nods. Later , he knows, means after Finnick’s tribute dies and the Capitol is done with him. Or as done with him as they ever are. 

 

He looks at Gretel, who has probably been listening to his and Finnick’s conversation, and he tells her, "good luck." She smiles at him gratefully, and his stomach swoops with guilt at how he had been talking with Marina earlier today about how they thought their tributes didn't stand much of a chance.

 

As he leaves the loading room, he feels multiple pairs of eyes on his back, and just like he knows one of them belongs to Finnick, he knows another belongs to Katniss Everdeen. He sees a couple stylists running by with strange looking lighters and briefly wonders what that's about.

 

---

 

Percy doesn’t get the chance to think any more about thoughts of rebellion, Katniss, or even Finnick for the next couple of days—there’s no rest for the wicked, after all, and Percy is dragged from party to bar to club. He feels like Lady Gaga on tour ( Bus, club, another club, another club, plane, next place, no sleep! ), and it’s not a feeling he likes. 

 

In the wake of his light-bulb moment, the fanfare and discussions happening around the tributes drives him even crazier than normal, churning his stomach enough that he hovers over the toilet when he finally gets back from the last club he was dragged to the night before tribute interviews. 

 

He’s heard talk about whose interviews the Capitolites are most excited for, and Katniss has been leading the pack by a noticeable amount. Everyone wants to know more about her.

 

But Percy doesn’t like a good chunk of the attention Katniss is getting. After Finnick opened up about what he does in the Capitol, Percy has been much more careful to dissect the looks people give the tributes, and they’re not all good.

 

It all makes Percy despair even more. Ever since the train ride, he’s made up his mind that he wants to do something , but he’s getting hung up on the what . Because there is another difference between fifteen-year-old Percy and twenty-one year old Percy that he isn’t willing to go back to and that’s losing some of his impulsiveness. 

 

If he wants to act against an unjust government, he needs to do it right, and if he wants to position himself as their enemy, he needs to do it in such a way that it minimizes the targets around him. Mainly all these vulnerable mortals he’s come to care about... And his dog.

 

As much as Percy would like to act right now, he doesn’t think that’s the best thing to do. The Districts would be a much better vantage point for rebellion. 

 

And come to think of it, there must be some form of rebellion happening in Panem, Percy thinks. Right? The District citizens have to send innocent kids to their publicized death every year, they can’t all be taking that without doing anything? 

 

Of course, the Capitol minimizes communication between the Districts, so Percy would have next to no way of knowing if there was. And if there is a rebellion going on, Percy thinks he’s probably the last person who people would tell about it. The victors are all closely watched, and Percy gets the feeling he is even more so due to the big question mark hovering over his past.

 

He curls over the toilet as his stomach turns again.

 

---

 

The first day of the Hunger Games dawns, and Percy finds himself attached to Marina like a little kid attached to their mother. Marina’s eyes sparkle under the lights at the brunch place they’re at, and Percy thinks she’s trying her best not to cry. He wonders if she’s like this at the beginning of every year’s games. 

 

Percy reaches out and squeezes her hand. She jumps slightly in surprise before seeing it’s him and squeezing back. 

 

“Are you doing okay?” She asks, voice low.

 

“I should be asking you that.”

 

Marina smiles, but doesn’t reply. They both know the answer.

 

Caesar and Claudius give opening remarks right before the tributes are brought up into the arena. It seems to be a fairly standard wooded area. It could be set in a million different places, and Percy doesn't know the plants well enough to narrow it down.

 

The camera cuts to Katniss immediately, before cutting directly to Peeta. They make eye contact, and Peeta shakes his head. Caesar loudly theorizes what the two could be plotting. After Peeta’s reveal during the tribute interviews, they’re the two tributes everyone is focusing on. The star-crossed lovers from District 12.

 

“Do you think one of them can win?” Percy asks Marina. He hasn’t seen either of them fight, but Katniss got an eleven in training, and Peeta certainly seemed clever based on his interview. You usually need both to win, though.

 

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Marina responds. “They’ll have a bunch of sponsors. Probably more than anyone else this year.”

 

The timer ticks down before the canon goes off, marking the official start of the 74th Hunger Games. The careers are, unsurprisingly, the first to reach the cornucopia. It only takes thirty seconds for the first tribute to die. 

 

Percy reaches up, looking for comfort in an earring he hasn’t worn in years. He wishes he had dug it out from where he stashed it away in the back of his drawer before coming to the Capitol. He could really use Mags' comfort right now.

 

The second tribute dies, and Percy gets up to leave the restaurant, uncaring of any consequences he might face. The sound of cheering echoes behind him.

 

---

 

River dies in the bloodbath. Percy doesn’t see it. He isn’t watching. Marlin slumps back to their communal accommodations that night, though. The mentors don’t have their own bedrooms in the District apartments because they’re supposed to stay in the tribute accommodations. Marlin doesn’t care about that. He crashes on the couch. An avox puts a blanket over him before Percy gets the chance.

 

Percy also isn’t watching when Gretel dies, but Marina and Marlin tell him about it. Peeta had teamed up with the careers, in what seemed like a very convoluted plan to protect Katniss. It’s lowkey the kind of scheme Percy would’ve done years ago.

 

The careers had tracked down Katniss and stranded her high in a tree. Peeta did his best to protect her, but there wasn’t very much he could do. According to Marina, it seemed like it would be only a matter of time before the two of them were dead. 

 

But that’s when the little girl from District 11, Rue, shows up. Pointing out a nest of tracker jackers, positioned dozens of feet directly above the career pack. Katniss cuts it down, getting injured in the process, but successfully forcing the careers away. 

 

Gretel dies, face and body completely mauled by the wasp mutts. “River’s death seems almost kind in comparison,” Marlin remarks. “If his family want to open the casket, they’ll recognize him.”

 

It hasn’t even been a week, and both the District 4 tributes are already dead. 

 

---

 

It’s a full twenty-four hours after Katniss dropped the tracker jackers onto Finnick’s tribute that Percy sees Finnick again. 

 

After a gruelling, hours long club venture during which he talked to no one and glared at anyone who looked even slightly happy (which was everyone really, it was a club in the Capitol , during the Hunger Games ), Percy opens the door to his bedroom to find Finnick sitting on the very edge of his bed, slumped almost in half. It’s a strange, uncomfortable looking position, and Percy gets a crick in the neck just looking at him. 

 

He closes the door behind him. “Finnick?” He asks, trying to keep his voice soft, like he’s talking to an injured animal.

 

Finnick isn’t an animal, and he doesn’t seem physically injured, but his tribute died twenty-four hours ago, which means he’s had twenty-four hours to interact with the Capitol public. A lot of things can happen in a day.

 

Finnick turns his head towards Percy, just an inch, but it’s enough to make Percy step forward.

 

“How are you holding up?”

 

Percy takes another step forward, and without warning, Finnick springs up, grabbing Percy’s shoulders with both his hands. His grip is strong and desperate. 

 

“Perseus,” he whispers, voice cracking on the last syllable. Finnick puts his forehead on Percy’s, and they both just stand there for a moment. Percy doesn’t know what Finnick needs right now, so he’s letting him lead.

 

This is the closest they’ve been since they broke up. 

 

This room is almost definitely bugged, doing this here is dangerous not just for them, but for Finnick’s family too. Percy should stop this, right now. But his thoughts from earlier come back to him like a fever dream. It’s Finnick’s family and Finnick’s decision. If Finnick wants this then…

 

It’s selfish, it’s terrible, and Percy will probably hate himself in about an hour, but when Finnick leans in to kiss him, he doesn’t pull away. 

 

Finnick kisses him like a man with nothing to lose—like he’s already lost everything. For a minute, Percy wonders what Finnick has already been forced to do this Hunger Games season. He squashes the thought quickly. That’s the last thing he wants to think about right now.

 

Finnick pulls back only enough to say, “I missed you so much,” before kissing Percy again.

 

His hands travel down Percy’s body, and Percy suddenly gets a very bad feeling about this. The entire time they dated, their relationship was fairly chaste. Percy accepted that, especially in light of Finnick’s history with sexual assault. The sudden change rings an alarm bell in his head. 

 

Finnick doesn’t seem to notice Percy’s sudden hesitation, instead turning his attention to Percy’s neck as his hands try—and struggle—to unbutton Percy’s shirt. With the sudden freedom of his mouth, Percy chokes out, “Finnick—Finnick, wait.”

 

Finnick’s hands are shaking, and Percy realizes that Finnick isn’t fully aware of what’s going on. “Finnick,” he says, and when the shaking only gets worse, he physically pulls Finnick off of him, holding him arms length away. 

 

“Finnick,” he says, and Finnick finally seems to snap to attention. Their eyes make contact, and Percy thinks Finnick’s pupils look a bit too small for how low the light in the room is. “Are you high?”

 

Finnick’s face twists. “They give it to me sometimes, during the—during the sessions. It’s mostly worn off, I swear.”

 

Percy takes a step back, putting more space between the two of them. Finnick’s breathing hard, and Percy has no idea what to do next—how to help Finnick.

 

Finnick takes care of the problem, eyes flitting around the room like he’s finally processing what’s happening. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m so sorry. I need to go.”

 

Before Percy can do anything, Finnick’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him. Percy debates following him, before deciding against it. Finnick wasn’t in his right mind when he came to Percy tonight, and if Percy follows him now, he’ll be the one endangering Finnick’s family. 

 

He thinks again about Annabeth and Tartarus and what loyalty means, and decides that it means putting Finnick first. Whatever that may look like.

 

He hears the front door of the apartment slam shut, and Percy tentatively pokes his head out into the hallway. 

 

Marina is standing there staring at the door, her back turned to him. She’s already wearing her pajamas for the night, and is heavily slouching, like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. The constant partying seems to have taken its toll on her. Marlin is nowhere to be seen.

 

“Marina?” 

 

She turns around, looking startled. “Oh, Perseus,” she wraps her robe tighter around her like it’s a protective barrier between her and the world, “How was Finnick?”

 

“Not good,” Percy answers honestly. Something in his voice must tell Marina a lot because the next thing he knows, she’s pulling him into a hug. Percy melts into it. He buries his face in her shoulder, and his fingers grip her robe tightly.

 

“They’re hurting him. They’re hurting him so bad.” 

 

His voice is muffled from where his face is squished into Marina’s shoulder, but she must understand him fine because she responds, “I know.”

 

She doesn’t say it in a mean way, but belatedly Percy remembers that the same thing has been happening to her for years. “I’m sorry,” he says, shoving his face even harder into her shoulder. Maybe if he hides his face enough, everything else will go away.

 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

 

“But what if I do?” 

 

Marina strokes his hair, “What could you possibly have to apologize for?”

 

Percy breathes in shakily. Where does he even start? “I want to protect him. I want to protect all of you.” 

 

“I know you do, sweetie, and we can try our best, but we can’t always save everyone.”

 

Percy’s glad they can’t see each other’s faces when he asks, “But what if I can?”

 

Marina’s reply is delayed, and Percy knows she’s trying to figure out what to say to that. She doesn’t understand—Percy hasn’t given her any chance to understand what he means. Save for Annie and Coriolania who are probably hundreds of miles out in the ocean right now, no one here knows about what he can do. 

 

They don’t know how much he has failed them. How much he is failing them. 

 

“You’re going to run yourself ragged thinking like that. Some of us are beyond…” she trails off before rephrasing, “some people are just in a place where you can’t protect them. You’ve been a mentor twice now. You know that.”

 

“But what if I could? ”

 

Marina’s hand moves from his hair to rubbing his back; it’s nice. “Why don’t you try and forget about the Capitol for now. We’ll be going home tomorrow, and I think everything will seem easier in District 4. Can you do that?”

 

Percy nods, and while she can’t see it, she definitely feels it.

 

They stay hugging like that until Percy realizes Marina’s jacket is wet from his tears. Embarrassed, he uses his power to dry them before she can see, and pulls back, wiping his eyes as discreetly as he can.

 

Marina doesn’t comment on it, but he thinks that’s more so because she’s nice than because she genuinely didn’t notice. 

 

Before his mind can catch up with his mouth, he blurts out, “You would’ve made a great mom.”

 

Marina gives him a fragile smile, looking like she too is holding back tears, “Thanks, Perseus.”

 

Marina pats him on the shoulder, and Percy feels like a little kid as she guides him back to his room. 

 

The door closes and he’s once again left alone to his own devices. He swallows the bile that climbs up his throat before going to the bathroom and taking half a sleeping pill. He crawls in bed and waits for the relief that falling asleep will bring.

 

Right before he goes to Hypnos’s realm, he remembers Marina’s words: everything will seem easier in District 4 . He thinks she’s right. In the Capitol, he’s in enemy territory, but in District 4 he’s right by the ocean, in his home turf. 

 

If he wants to start helping people, that’ll be where to do it. If Percy wants to start a rebellion, he needs to do it in District 4.

Notes:

I'm not super happy with this chapter, but it fought me so much that I'm kind of just done with it. Anyway, sorry for the late update, work has been very crazy.

Percy's perception of himself isn't totally accurate (he would 100% jump into Tartarus for Finnick), but he's trying to figure out how he's changed and how he can be better.

Also, the answer to why the rebellion hasn't recruited Percy yet! He's got waaaayyy too many eyes on him, and they aren't sure where he came from either...

Chapter 32: Dionysus Returns to Thebes

Notes:

Shout out to Yoosumii on Discord for helping talk through some of the difficult parts of this chapter (and this part in general)

It’s the middle of August and the summer blazes hot and unforgiving. Finnick sits quietly in their living room as Percy makes them dinner. This is strange for a number of reasons. The main one being that, when they dated, Finnick was usually the one to cook. 

 

The secondary reason it’s strange is the cartoonish bottle Percy picks up and adds to Finnick’s plate for the final touch. It’s made of green glass and has a drawing of a skull and crossbones on it. In the dream, Percy thinks nothing of it, drizzling it over Finnick's chicken and bread like it's some kind of sauce.

 

Finnick is deadly sick for the next week, and he has to miss his planned trip to the capitol. He’s upstairs, sick in bed, as Percy crochets a sweater for him, Zach and Cody cuddled on the couch with him. The albatrosses knock on the glass, getting his attention and making Percy smile. 

 

It's a perfect day. He likes it when Finnick stays here with him.

 

Finnick’s trip to the Capitol is rescheduled for September, and the heat of August turns into a mild, muggy warmth. Every morning, fog settles over the ocean. The trees are just starting to turn colors: soft oranges, dull yellows, and mellow reds.

 

Finnick likes the fall best, probably because it’s the furthest you can get from the next year's hunger games. 

 

Before he came to Panem, Percy used to like summer the best. It had always been the best time to swim in the ocean—the only time he could go to Montauk with his mom. Being a world away from Montauk and his mom, though, has made him agree with Finnick. There's nothing better than an autumn morning.

 

The weather is finally cold enough for tea, Finnick tells Percy, and his voice sounds strange, low and blurry, like Percy is listening through a wall. Nothing like the smooth tenor Percy is used to hearing from him.

 

He gets the gist, though, and moves to the kitchen to put on a kettle as Finnick moves upstairs to pack a small go-bag for his trip. If Percy were a bit more aware, he would’ve wondered where the kettle came from. He’s never owned one.

 

As it is, he thinks nothing of it, and puts a tea-bag in a mug before putting a dollop of the same green bottle elixir in with it. He pours in the water and lets it steep before making a separate mug of tea for himself.

 

Percy doesn’t even like tea, but he doesn’t want Finnick to catch on to what’s happening. It’s better he doesn’t know.

 

They sit at the counter and drink the tea, and once again, Finnick falls ill with the worst case of food poisoning the District 4 doctors have seen in awhile. Percy tells them it must’ve been the crab they ate the night before, and they believe him.

 

Finnick’s trip is postponed to the first of November, and before Percy’s eyes, the leaves begin to fall from the trees, covering the ground in a beautiful red/yellow path. The District 4 citizens lay out carved pumpkins, and kids run around in costumes. 

 

I didn’t know Panem celebrated Halloween , Percy thinks to himself as Finnick shuffles around in the kitchen. He tries to remember where he put the green bottle, anxiousness rising, but Finnick doesn’t find it. Or if he does, he makes no mention of it, as Percy moves to the kitchen to make dinner.

 

It’s a sushi bake, and this time, Percy poisons all of it—his portion too. He thinks it might be too suspicious otherwise.

 

Finnick eats double portions, trying to compensate from his recent weight loss from being sick so frequently, and Percy hides his smile behind his glass. Finnick won’t be going back to the Capitol anytime soon if he can help it. He’s happiest here in District 4 with Percy.

 

Percy swallows his own generous scoop of the sushi bake, and the poison coats the back of his tongue. He swears he can taste it, even though he knows it’s tasteless. Finnick would've figured it out otherwise.

 

Finnick sets his food down to rub his forehead. “Headache,” he explains. “I’ve been having a lot of them the past couple of months.”

 

“Do you want more water?” Percy asks, getting up to refill his cup before Finnick even answers.

 

He smiles gratefully and swallows his glass in one go. For a moment everything is fine.

 

Then Finnick coughs. And then he keeps coughing. 

 

Before Percy’s eyes, Finnick falls apart. Coughing up blood, like every terrible movie death Percy’s ever seen. 

 

Percy’s up and out of his seat in a moment, rubbing Finnick’s back and trying to reassure him.

 

He tries to reassure himself, too, even as he wonders how much of the poison he put in the sushi bake. Was two servings too much? Finnick was a tall and buff guy, surely he could tolerate more poison than the average person could? Percy could’ve sworn it was diluted enough…

 

But Finnick isn’t recovering; instead, he’s rapidly getting worse. 

 

He stills in Percy’s arm right as a group of trick-or-treaters ring the doorbell. Zach and Cody bark loudly at the door.

 

Well , Percy thinks deliriously, he won’t ever have to go to the Capitol again .

 

---

 

It’s around then, of course, that Percy wakes up. He had gotten back from the Capitol last night and headed straight to his house to check on Cody. His dog sitter was asleep on the sofa, and instead of waking the teen he hired, he had put the money down on the table before heading to bed himself, Cody trotting happily after him. 

 

He hadn’t taken a sleeping pill last night, and that—in accordance with Finnick staying in the Capitol to be exploited and raped had caused Percy’s vivid dream. 

 

Everything about the dream was disturbing, but the poison was what had Percy the most hung up. He couldn’t think of poison without thinking of what he did to Akhlys in Tartarus, and the way Annabeth looked at him afterwards.

 

He hasn’t thought about it in awhile, but the dream felt like a bad omen. He had never thought he would touch poison again, and maybe he didn’t actually do it, but it made him feel disgusting nonetheless.

 

Percy lays in bed, blinking away the remnants of his dream before getting up. His dream-self's actions were unstable, no doubt, but the emotions behind them were all too easy for Percy to comprehend.

 

Percy groans before getting up. He has only vague plans for the day, but it's stuff he needs to do—he needs to get back out into the District. Learn what’s happening and how he can help. He's been out of touch with District 4 for too long.

 

And with that in mind, he gets dressed, throwing on a hat to block the sun and his heftiest boots—the ones fishermen wore—before hooking Cody onto his leash and heading for the Portland docks. 

 

When he walks through the docks, the workers clear a walkway for him, and a bad feeling settles in Percy's stomach.

 

Percy had spent months working on the docks with the fisherman, but that was years ago and people are fickle. He’s a different person now and they all know it. Besides, they had never exactly treated him normally in the first place.

 

It’s hard for Percy to tell what exactly it is they think of him. They’re all so careful to look down and away from him. They pretend not to see him even when they are so obviously going out of their way to avoid him. 

 

Percy thinks he recognizes a man to his right. They had worked together before Percy was reaped. He makes a move to step towards him and the man turns and walks away as quickly as he can.

 

Percy gets the feeling that blending in with the average District 4 citizen is going to be hard. Harder than he thought, certainly.  He just needs an opportunity. Something to show he’s with them.

 

Cody whines at his side, wanting to be actually walked , and Percy gives in, walking through the docks and back onto the city streets. 

 

They eventually make their way back to their favorite beach—the one closest to Victor’s Village, and Percy feels two familiar presences far out in the water. 

 

“You stay here,” he tells Cody. The dog seems to understand as he turns around to begin playing with Leda. The other albatrosses watch Percy thoughtfully as he slips into the water, swimming past the boundaries the peacekeepers patrol.

 

Annie, it seems, was expecting him, and Coriolania sulks at her heels—her fins, Percy corrects himself, with a half-smile—like a kicked puppy.

 

“Hey,” he greets, “What’s up?” It’s not the first time he’s talked to Coriolania since he cursed her, but it is the first time she hasn’t been immediately hostile towards him. Instead, she just hangs back as Annie swims towards him. 

 

“Percy, you won’t believe it!” She says. “You know how we were gone for the past couple of months?”

 

Percy nods.

 

“We were swimming across the Pacific! And we hit land—one of the other continents we were taught about in school. What was it called, Coriolania?”

 

Coiolania’s tail almost wags in the water at Annie’s question, and Percy’s eyes narrow in consideration. “Asia,” she tells them.

 

“Yeah, Asia. But that’s not the crazy part. I mean, we knew that was there. What’s crazy is there were people fishing on the coast. We didn’t understand what they were saying, but there were a lot of them. We were always taught Panem was the last of humanity left, but that was a lie!”

 

Percy nods again, not saying anything. He had suspected as much. The idea that there were no other humans outside of the remnants of the United States was a bit too hard to believe. 

 

“You’re not surprised,” Coriolania accuses. Annie’s expression turns tight. Apparently she hadn’t told Coriolania what she knew about Percy. Coriolania seems to realize this, jerking up, and looking scandalized. Or, as scandalized as a sea serpent could look.

 

Percy’s lips purse, and before Coriolania can throw more accusations, he says, “No, I’m not.”

 

Silence settles into the water around them, and Percy feels a shark approaching. He gently nudges it in the opposite direction before it can stumble on their conversation. They don’t need an interruption, as much as both he and Annie like sharks.

 

“Beacuse you’re not from Panem?” Coriolania spits out as the realization hits her. She turns to Annie. “And you knew this! And you didn’t tell me! Why?”

 

It’s Annie’s turn to get annoyed. “Because it wasn’t my story to tell.” Her voice is final, carrying a heavy note to it, and Coriolania turns silent. 

 

For the first time Percy wonders what Coriolania was like. He had only ever seen her as the President’s granddaughter, living in the lap of luxury and the latest member of the most powerful family in Panem, but here she seemed different. Ready to defer to Annie. Maybe it was because Annie was the only person she knew here—at least, outside of Percy who was the reason she’s stuck like this. 

 

Or maybe it was because she was always like this. A doormat for someone else to tell what to do. 

 

Percy wonders if Annie had unwittingly taken the place of Coriolania’s grandfather. 

 

“Thanks for telling me,” he says to Annie, voice gruff. “I have a lot to think about.” 

 

Percy turns, ready to leave before thinking better of it. Annie and Coriolania were the only uh, human, company the other had. Even if Coriolania was mad and still (rightfully, Percy could admit) held a grudge against Percy, they were no doubt happy to see someone new.

 

“Has anything been happening with the two of you?” He asks and Annie lights up again, all the tension from earlier forgotten. Even Coriolania seems to forget her anger in favor of chiming in every once in a while during Annie’s stories of their adventures. A lot had happened during their journey across the Pacific.

 

Percy settles in, their voices ring through his ears, and for the first time in a while, he feels calm.

 

The calmness doesn’t stop him from remembering his dream about killing Finnick and taking a full pill of his sleeping medicine that night, though. He sleeps well, and he thinks it's worth it.

 

---

 

The opportunity Percy is looking for comes with violence, as everything in Panem seems to. 

 

It’s been over a week since he got back to District 4 and Percy has been doing a bad job keeping track of the games. But something that happened today was causing a stir—perhaps it had been causing one all day.

 

Everyone Percy walked by on the docks was noticeably agitated, and the Peacekeepers wore heavier gear than normal, holding clear shields, larger guns, and batons extended like they thought a riot might break out at any point.

 

The District 4 citizens were gathering in groups, on the docks instead of on the ships which seemed strangely empty, and there was a noticeable lack of children and teenagers around, which was odd for the docks at this time in the afternoon. Usually students would head straight here after school to help out.

 

At his side, Cody had his nose up in the air, sniffing for something. Curiously, Percy did his best to smell the air, too, wondering what Cody was looking for. He caught a whiff of gasoline, and with rising adrenaline, understands why the peacekeepers are in riot gear. His eyes turn sharp.

 

Having been in many fights during his life—including two wars, Percy knew what was going to happen before it did. 

 

What did the Capitol need from District 4? Seafood. How did District 4 get seafood? The boats.  Most of the fishing boats in District 4 weren’t made of aluminum or fiberglass like they were in Percy’s time. Instead, they were made of wood, and wooden boats were known for being easier to destroy. 

 

He could taste the fire before the first molotov cocktail was thrown. The gasoline, it turns out, was on the ships. 

 

The fire catches quickly, spreading as different people throw more explosives on board, and the peacekeepers are only a moment behind in firing their guns. 

 

Standing on the docks with nothing to hide behind, the fishermen make easy targets, and the docks turn red. 

 

Percy watches with a horrified fascination, hands itching for a weapon that isn’t there. Instead, he settles for what he does have. The pressure around him drops, and the sky darkens, wind picking up speed rapidly. The waves grow agitated and seafoam rises. 

 

No one on the docks seemed to notice it though, caught up in the havoc of the riot. The fishermen seemed to have realized they would likely die before they ever even started the fight, and seem to not care about their fallen brethren or how they might be joining them shortly. Instead they focus on destroying the ships—and taking the peacekeepers down, where they could.

 

The peacekeepers in turn seemed to be dedicated to taking out as many of the fishermen as possible, though Percy has no idea what they’re planning on doing about the on-fire ships, and it seems they don’t know either. 

 

And then the rain starts. 

 

There’s no prelude; one moment the sky is dry and the next sheets of water are pouring onto the crowd as wind slams the water sideways. The clouds above them swirl and loose debris starts to fly. 

 

Percy sees a Peacekeeper get hit in the face with a flying branch, and it dazes him enough that he falls off the dock into the churning water. The waves, Percy knows, will pull him under. 

 

The water washes the red away as both Peacekeepers and fishermen scramble for cover. Everyone who can leave the docks does—or at least tries their best to. A loud bang sounds, and Percy can’t tell if it’s thunder or a gunshot. At least, not until the screaming.

 

It’s young and high-pitched, and Percy, unphased by the hurricane, searches for the source. The dock, it seems, wasn’t as empty of children as he thought. 

 

A little girl leans against a fishing crate, her dark hair sticking to her face and dripping wet. Her clothes is a darker blue than normal, drenched as they are from the water, but the darker color does nothing to hide the growing patch of redness on her stomach. In the chaos of the hurricane, she’s been shot. 

 

No one else comes to her aid, likely not even realizing what’s happened in the heavy wind and rain, which grows worse, though it paradoxically slows near the little girl. 

 

Percy runs towards her, and her big eyes blink up at him wearily. She’s in too much pain to say anything, but she seems to trust Percy, at least enough that she doesn’t fight back when Percy pulls her into his lap to study the wound. 

 

The rain around them turns into a slow drizzle, and if she weren’t injured the little girl might’ve wondered why the rain everywhere else was still falling hard. Percy had made an artificial eye in his artificial hurricane. 

 

Percy looks down at the patch of red, almost looking a dark brown in the dim light of the storm, unsure what to do. His dad, to his knowledge, couldn’t heal people; he wasn’t Apollo. But the gods’ powers had always been strange to Percy. The way Zeus could shapeshift into whatever he wanted, the way Athena could curse Medusa to become a gorgon…

 

If he was ascending, as Percy assumed, why couldn’t he heal a little girl?

 

Something itches at the back of his mind as he remembers a show from his childhood. They could control the elements, he remembered, and the waterbender could use her bending to heal injuries. She had healed the main character from a lethal blast of lightning. 

 

It was a fictional show, but that doesn’t stop Percy from trying to put it into practice. He places his hand over the little girl's stomach, where the bullet had hit.

 

The sensation is strange. It starts the same as normal—a tugging at his stomach, trying to focus on what he wants to happen, but then a warmth like he’s never felt before flows through his veins. He focuses all his energy on healing her, and the hurricane fades around him.

 

There’s no bright light or visible change, but the red of the little girl’s shirt slowly turns blue again, and when Percy pulls his hand away, all that’s left is a small hole in her shirt.

 

She blinks up at him, and the sun shines down on her bewildered face. Percy belatedly realizes the hurricane is gone, and the sun is fully out again. 

 

With the little girl healed, Percy turns to study his surroundings. 

 

The boats that haven’t been turned over into the water are still on fire, the heavy rain not putting them out. Percy briefly wonders about that—he hadn’t even tried to do that on purpose, but maybe subconsciously he didn’t want to undo the protestors’ work. He doesn’t know what that says about his growing powers.

 

The little girl in his arms tugs on his sleeve, and he looks down. She isn’t looking at him, though. Instead she sounds nervous, looking at all the people staring at her—at Percy.

 

It’s a small crowd made up entirely of dockworkers and fishermen. Everyone else fled during the storm. 

 

“How did you do that?” A man asks, voice shaky. He isn’t looking at Percy though. Instead, he’s looking at the little girl in his arms. The man steps forward slowly.

 

Percy looks at him, recognizing his nose and eyes from the face of the girl he healed. He’s a bit too young to be her father, but with the similarity in their looks they must be siblings—or some kind of close relation, at least.

 

Percy opens his mouth, ready to lie, before he stops himself. 

 

Why should he lie? He remembers the way everyone at the docks avoided him, the whispers that followed him. Caesar Flickerman had asked about the rumors he was a merman years ago, and sure, he was joking. But the rumors had to have come from somewhere. 

 

Fishermen were superstitious people, after all.

 

The crowd around him looks hopeful. They’re covered in dirt, bruises, and even blood. Percy knows what he has to say.

 

He turns back towards the man, and passes the girl to him. 

 

“Oh, Estelle,” the man whispers, hugging her tightly. 

 

“I’m okay,” she whispers back, hugging him equally as hard. “Perseus healed me.”

 

The touching reunion wasn’t enough to distract the crowd. This is Percy’s chance.

 

“I’m a god,” he says, loud enough for the crowd to hear. Murmuring breaks out, and Percy prepares himself for laughs or mocking, but no one does.

 

Instead he hears whispers like “God”, “Atlantis,” and “the hurricane!”

 

The eyes looking at him weigh heavy, but he doesn’t slouch. Instead, he turns to smile at the little girl. She stares up at him, stars in her eyes before finally lurching towards him, grabbing him in a tight hug. She squeezes just as tight as her little arms will allow. Percy hugs her tightly back.

 

When they let go, Percy turns back out to the crowd.

 

“I’m not human,” Percy announces, voice as loud as he can make it without full on screaming. “And I’m not from Panem, but I think a lot of you already knew that. Panem has told you it’s the only country left, but that isn’t true. I’m from these other lands…” he trails off, unsure where to go from here.

 

“I’m a god,” he says again, needlessly, “And I want to help.”

Notes:

I'm so sorry for how long this chapter took, and that it's about 1.5k shorter than normal. I struggled a lot writing it, but hopefully the next one won't take this long.

Some comments:
- The beginning nightmare is heavily inspired by He's My Man by Luvcat
- The chapter title is a reference to The Bacchae, where Dionysus returns to his place of birth as a god and demands to be worshiped. When the king doesn't worship him, bad things happen
- Yes, Coriolania is in love with Annie. No Annie is not in love with Coriolania.
- Most of the boats they burned were actually the corporate fishing boats, not the ones owned by small families.
- The reason for the riot was Rue dying, so the contrast of Percy saving a little girl was especially notable to the fishermen who saw him heal Estelle.
- Yes I named her Estelle as in Percy's (nonexistent, in this story) sister
- The show referenced is, of course, Avatar: the Last Airbender

Notes:

Hi! Thanks for reading, I think this fic is a little niche, so I'm excited that you decided to give it a chance. I can't wait to start writing the god!Percy aspect of this story, but it's going to take awhile. Trust me, you’ll know when that plot point starts.

Please comment and let me know what you think!

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Shark in Your Water