Chapter Text
'I just can’t plutarch I’m sorry.' Haymitch stammered. Plutarch had tried to talk him about becoming a symbol of the rebellion.
A flashback of lenore’s bloodied and foamy lips struck before his eyes.
-
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”-
Haymitch cowered into himself and sat down on his knees against the dusty planks of the attic of district 11. The flashback took him over like a birdsprey, no chance of escaping the violence, the guilt and the grief that split him in half, every second of the day.
The pain in his stomach grew, the stress it gave his body made him regret his decision to sober up, before the start of the Victor;s parade through the districts.
He coughed and held his hands against his ears, like a silly attempt to block out the song he heard repeatedly after her death.
He felt so alone, everyday, hollow to the bone. The gashing wound he had made on the old stubborn womans forehead made his eyes burn with tears. No way to escape the thorn of the Capitol and its President. Its safer to stay away from him, as far away as possible.
Suddenly a warm hand on his shoulder, brought him back to the present if only for a second, a familiar and steady voice tried to ease away his dooming thoughts.
A searing pain crawled down his stomach, Haymitch cried. Before he passed out, strong arms catched him.
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
‘Don’t feel so sad you.’
Haymitch looked up from the tree stump he sat on.
Deeply in thought, it was a perfect day in spring, delicate flowers fresh from its long winter sleep swayed gently in the wind. White to lilac purple, he’d pick some later for his mother. She loved those spring flowers. She’d say, ‘‘see Haymitch, after times of sheering cold, some warmth always finds its way back to us.’’ Its almost poetic. Only when he got older did he understood what she meant by these words. It wasn;t always about winter…
'Haymitch,’ Lenore called.
’What?’ He said and looked into the field filled with poppies, down their small hill. It was their favourite meeting up place, it gave them some privacy in the woods and some peace, it was theirs and theirs alone.
Lenore stood there, with her sharp but kind eyes, picking up some poppy’s in a field of red. The soft warm breeze made her skirt dance for a bit. And for a moment, he knew he was the luckiest and most rich person in all of panem.
She smiled, ‘What is it Haymitch?’ He watched her for what felt like a long moment.
‘I love you Lenore Dove.’ He said, but all that came out was a whisper. He couldn;t speak, he stood up from his spot, grabbing his throat, coughing. Eventually he tried to scream but nothing came out. Just some air. Something was terribly wrong. Why couldn't he talk?
Suddenly the bright blue sky, turned dark around her. The gentle breeze became a howling storm.
He called out to her but couldn't so he ran, although his legs gave out under him, he decided to crawl towards here.
The innocent poppies underneath Lenore’s dress turned poisonous, their dark purple cloud of pollen engulfed her. She choked, blood streamed down her lips, tears of red escaped her eyes, she couldn’t breath or move.
All she did was scream and cry out, ‘This is your fault, you did this Haymitch, you did this!’ over and over again.
Haymitch caught her limp body and held her tight with all his might, holding her close, until her shaking ceased to exist and there was nothing more he could do, but hold her.
Keeping her warm, just a little longer. Until a familiar voice reached out to him.
-“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”-
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Haymitch opened his eyes in shock, he’s lying on his small bed, the quiet rustling of the train gave him a good reality check.
Just a nightmare, one of many, he tried to ease his hammering heart ''just a nightmare''. All of them ending the same way.
Although this one, had actually started well. Nostalgia swept over him thinking about that little hill that had been their home for a couple of seasons. He’d visit it when he got home.
Plutarch looked down at him from the seat beside his bed, worried eyes found his.
‘Welcome back Haymitch.’ He said, composure relaxed but weary, probably been sitting here for quite a while, why though? Whats a 17 year old messed up teenager from 12th gotta do with him?
Haymitch blinked his eyes for a moment, they hurt a bit.
Had he been crying? shame crawled over him, but he decided that he didn’t care. He wiped his eyes clean with the backside of his hands and tried to sit up.
Although they had grown closer, it didn’t mean he trusted the capitol elite completely.
‘What happened? How long was I out…’ He murmured, he placed a soft hand on his abdomen, the pain in his stomach was but a dull pain now. Ever existing.
‘Couple of hours, maybe four. I think you had a panic attack, but you’ve been grabbing your stomach repeatedly so it must be the scar then? Are you in any pain there Haymitch?’
What an odd thing to ask, if he was in pain. He knew that Plutarch meant well, but he couldn't help but huff and raise his eyebrows at that question.
The older man catched up on that. ‘Let me rephrase it differently, are you in need of any painkillers?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ He said bitterly, he wouldn’t let anyone near him after that terrible experience in the hospital, never again would he let capitol people near him. Although Plutarch wasn’t just anyone, Haymitch knew that by now. Still he refused his help.
‘Look, I know sobering up is hard.’ the other said, with an understanding tone. He took out a little box and sat it down on his nightstand.
‘This is a special kind of painkiller, if you're ever in need of it.’ Plutarch paused for a bit and stood up from his chair. ‘It also helps with nightmares.’
With those words, he left Haymitch' wagon. They’d be eating in 2 and will arrive at 10th tomorrow morning.
Haymitch eyed the little metal box for a moment, picked it up from the cupboard and opened it up in his lap, just curious nothing more.
A set of 10 small transparent purple balls, as big as gumballs were carefully placed in a soft satin casing. ‘’10, each for every district,’’ He thought.
Suddenly a spike of pain went through his belly, a warning of his system that whatever they had given him, it clearly is running out. Haymitch sighed and tried to breath through the pain for a bit.
Maybe he’d try something different than the bottle for once? Alcohol had been his friend for quite sometime, though it could be unstable at times and made him more sick and rigid than he already felt.
In thought he picked up one of the balls, held the squishy substance in his fingers for a bit, investigating it until he decided to put it in his mouth just to bite on it, taste it with his tongue.
It was truly like a gumball, tho it didn’t taste so sweet. He chew on it and decided to gulp it down. Whatever the consequences, Haymitch didn’t care anymore, though he knew Plutarch wouldn’t just poison him.
A comforting sensation came over him, made him sleepy, made the pain in his abdomen go away. It pressed him back into an actual comforting slumber, without the ever present grief and guilt clawing at his unconscious mind.
While skipping today's diner.
Exhausted, he felt into a deep sleep without any nightmares or dreams at all.
—----------------
The next day, Haymitch felt incredibly clear in the head.
The whole team noticed his freshly showered and cheerful appearance. He even made some jokes, it shook Effie but she just gave him a bright smile back and clapped her manicured hands.
For the first time in a long time. Haymitch felt like an actual living breathing person, he felt a bit like his old rascal self again.
Whatever Plutarch had given him last night, it had helped tremendously.
The elite eyed him from the breakfast table and gave him a pleased nod.
Haymitch noticed a small sparkle in his eyes, however small it gave him a warm feeling. A feeling he couldn’t place yet.