Chapter Text
The sun rose slowly over the coast of District Four.
Percy sat by the water, the cool breeze blowing his hair while he watched, enjoying the rare moment of peace that he’d found before the Quarter Quell announcement. As a Victor, there was only so much he could do to separate himself from the Games, or from the Capitol as a whole, really. It was suffocating, the hold that they had on him.
He wasn’t alone for long, his brother's girlfriend wandering up behind him with a steaming cup of tea. Her feet were bare as they sank into the cold sand, kicking some up as she walked.
“Good morning.” She whispered, red hair blowing uncontrollably as she tried to tuck a lock behind her ear.
“Good morning, Annie.” He replied, gratefully taking the mug while she wrapped her dark cardigan tighter around her shoulders. “Think this is cool enough to drink yet?”
“Probably not,” Annie Cresta answered lightly.
Annie wasn’t crazy. At least not the way that Snow liked people to believe. She was kind and smart, and although she could be a bit distant, she knew well enough what was going on. She’d been hurt, just like the rest of them. The only difference was that she didn’t let the darkness she’d experienced harden her heart. A part of him – a small, selfish, ugly part that he did his best to push down- was envious of her. She didn’t have to mentor. She didn’t have appointments. She was free to stay in Four, with his mother and sister, and away from the greedy hands that claimed he and Finnick each time they returned to the Capitol.
“Sally said that the Quell announcement is today.” She said so quietly that he had to lean in to hear her.
“It is. Has Finnick been around?”
“No. He went on the boat with Paul this morning.” She sighed. “I think he’s nervous.”
“Are you nervous?” He asked.
“I think so.” She picked anxiously at a pebble that had lodged itself in the rubber sole of her shoe. “What do you think it’ll be this year?”
He pretended to take a moment to wonder. In all honesty, he’d been up all night going over possibilities. The first quell, they’d voted on tributes. The second, they’d reaped twice the number of children as usual. He thought the first was worse. He couldn’t imagine being sent to the gallows by his own peers. It was bad enough that some people volunteered, like his brother. Had history been a bit different, had his brother died in the arena, or had Finnick not been subjected to torture in the Capitol, it was likely that Percy would’ve been a volunteer too. The academy was grooming him for glory. He was thankful that he’d been reaped. It would’ve made him sick to have sought a victory like that. He heard the nightmares that his brother dealt with. The extra guilt that had come with putting himself in that situation.
After the stunt that the “star-crossed lovers of twelve” had pulled, and the whisper of rebellion that came with it, he knew that it would be the most horrific Quell yet.
“I think that it’s going to be a rough year, Annie.”
“That’s what Finnick said.”
“He’s a smart guy.”
Annie took his empty mug, flipping it over and gently tracing the blue spiral pattern on the ceramic. “Are you mentoring this year?”
“Probably.” Mentors wouldn’t be officially chosen until after the announcement, but it had been he and Finnick every year since his own victory. They were too popular to leave at home.
“Well.” Annie smiled. “If you have to go, at least you’ll get to see Annabeth.”
She was teasing him, he realized. The little smile on her face told him that she was enjoying the way he was blushing a bit too much. Annabeth was the victor of the 70th Games, winning the game just before his. Annabeth was a mentor every year, as there were only two victors from Five: her and her brother, Jason.
“I’ll be very happy to see her.” He grinned.
His relationship with Annabeth was a secret that he shared with very few, just like Finnick and Annie. He remembered Annabeth’s victory; the underground arena meant to target the tributes' fears. She was smart and cunning, and it didn’t take much for her to become a crowd favorite as she navigated the labyrinth.
The next year, when the victory tour took him to District Five, he’d been a wreck. Coming home had been harder than he expected. He felt the stares of the district as he went about his life, and he woke every night with nightmares of the arena. Even Finnick didn’t know what to do with him. It had been six years since his victory, and he’d always been better at compartmentalizing.
That night, they sat in the mayor's home for dinner, and Annabeth had stared at him the whole time, picking at her food. Before Finnick could drag him back to the train, she’d pulled him aside, demanding a private audience. She’d taken him behind the house and just hugged him, telling him that even if it didn’t get better, he wasn’t alone. He didn’t talk. He couldn’t bring himself to, especially when Annabeth seemed to be a living part of him as she told him about her own nightmares, and the way that for months after winning, she couldn’t even look in the mirror.
She was the first person he’d met since his victory who didn’t want anything from him.
They only grew closer when they met again in the Capitol, between lost tributes and rumpled sheets and secrets they couldn’t share with anyone else. He’d do anything to see her now, but even speaking to her was forbidden while they were in their separate Districts. District Five may as well have been a planet away.
He and Annie sat in comfortable silence until he heard his mother’s voice calling them home, no doubt for the mandatory viewing of the announcement. He helped Annie up, and they walked arm in arm back to the Victors’ Village, where it was clear that Finnick and Paul had just returned from the sea, peeling off wet layers by the door. Finnick was pale and looked a bit ill. Percy knew that it wasn’t seasickness.
“Hey, baby.” His mom kissed his cheek. “Oh, you boys are freezing. It’s a wonder they let you take care of yourselves.” Sally chastised, grabbing a few blankets and tossing them to her sons. Percy gratefully wrapped his around his shoulders, taking in the familiar scent of his mom’s laundry soap.
They all piled onto the couch: him, Finnick, Annie, his parents, and Estelle. He tried not to think of the other times they’d done this: watching Finnick's Games, and then again when he and Finnick were both gone, watching his.
The Capitol anthem rang out from the TV, the seal projected on the living room wall. Seconds later, the haggard face of Coriolanus Snow invaded their home, white whiskers combed perfectly around his snakelike smile. He greeted the nation, giving the same speech as ever. He droned on about honor and sacrifice while pulling a perfectly folded white card from a box. The envelope's seal broke with a small tearing sound as the room went silent. Percy could nearly feel the way that the entire country was holding its breath.
“As a reminder to the rebels,” Coriolanus Snow began, “that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, this year, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”
At first, Percy didn’t understand. In fact, only his mother seemed to process the meaning right away, repeating over and over, “Oh my god. Oh my god,” while her blue eyes went glassy with tears.
Finnick stood up, wordlessly looking between Percy and Annie before crashing through the front door of the house, leaving the flimsy door to clatter loudly back into the frame.
The existing pool.
That was him. That was him, and Annabeth, and Finnick, and Annie.
That was the star-crossed lovers from twelve, and Johanna Mason, and Jason Grace, and Mags.
Subconsciously, he found himself reaching for his mother, who pulled him closer, the shoulder of his shirt becoming wet with her hot tears.
He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. He was too focused on the way his hands were shaking as he replayed every death he caused in the arena. Repeating all of the names of the children he’d killed. Names he swore never to forget.
Oak, Lennon, Psalm-Ivory, Theseus
He knew lots of names. All that he had killed. All that Annabeth had killed (she broke a record that year; she killed nine, the most of any female victor), all that Finnick had murdered when he was just fourteen. Annie hadn’t killed anyone (another record. If he were more morbid, maybe he would’ve joked with Finnick about having opposite types) and it was another thing that he envied her for.
He didn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he just buried his face further into his mother’s brown curls. He was vaguely aware of the way that Estelle was crying, and Annie had left to chase after Finnick. Paul tried to comfort Estelle, but what do you say to someone who may have to watch her brothers become monsters twice? She had been afraid of him when he returned from his Games. He would never forget the way she flinched when he hugged her.
“Annabeth’s going back—“ He finally was able to gasp out. “She’s the only one. Mom, I—“ He choked on his final words, and his mother’s soft hand petted his head.
“I know. I know.” She rocked him like he was a child again, and he wondered what she’d done to live such a tragedy. Maybe if he died, they’d finally leave her alone. It would be worth it. If he was reaped, he wasn’t coming home. He wouldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t kill Annabeth, or Annie, or even those stupid lovers from twelve who he was positive had gotten them into this mess. He couldn’t look at his hands and see any more blood.
He’d rather die than go on another tour, where he’d have to look into the eyes of heartbroken mothers and tell them lies about how their children had died for the victory of Panem. That wasn’t true. They died so that Percy could come home. So he could sit by the ocean and dream of a girl from Five and try not to fuck up so that his family could live another day.
They had a night to grieve. At least, that was what Finnick decided for them. He hadn’t returned the evening before, even when Annie wandered back into the home, the hem of her dress wet like she’d gone wading in the ocean.
The next morning, Finnick had woken him up, a look of grim determination on his face as he demanded that they get to work. They had three months to train, and they wouldn’t let a single moment go to waste. He tried getting Annie to join them, but the idea of going back had been too much for her, and Finnick had easily given in.
They trained during the day and spent their evenings watching reruns of past Games, starting with the first districts and making their way down. When they came to Annabeth’s game, Percy had stopped him.
“I’m not watching that.”
“Percy–”
“No.” He’d been dead serious. “I won’t watch it. We didn’t watch Annie’s game for the same reason.”
“That’s different. We both know that Annie isn’t a threat.”
“Annabeth isn’t a threat to me.” It was hard to be a threat to someone who would die for you. “If you want to watch it, you can do it without me.”
Finnick hadn’t been happy, but he apparently decided to cut his losses and drop it. Percy tried not to notice when Finnick played the tapes from her Games late at night, scribbling notes about her tricks and strategies.
Percy enjoyed their training much more than their ‘research,’ even if Finnick was impatient.
“Again,” He demanded as their spar came to a close, holding his Trident loosely by his side. “This is life or death, Percy. You can’t be distracted.”
“I’m not distracted.” Percy gritted out, clenching his sword with white knuckles. “I’m fucking tired. We’ve been doing this for six hours, and our stylists are supposed to be here soon.”
“Do you think the other tributes are going to care if you’re tired?” Finnick spat. “Do you not think you’ll be exhausted, Percy?”
He was getting mad at the condescending tone. “You know I won the Games too, right? I’ve been here before. This isn’t like last time.” Last time, when Finnick had come home from mentoring and desperately began training him, like he knew his fate. And he had. He knew that Finnick lived with guilt for whatever wrong that he’d committed that had gotten Percy in the arena, but he didn’t hold it against him. How could he, when he balanced the fate of his family on such a thin line?
“Percy, you know-”
“Boys!” A shrill voice cut Finnick off. For an escort, Silena wasn’t bad, but something about her bubbly aloofness rubbed him the wrong way. “Boys!” She called again, not willing to venture towards them, too close to the sea.
The Capitol was sending escorts and cameras to film interviews of potential tributes since the reaping was only two months away. He could imagine the excitement growing already in the Capitol as they planned to tune in to see their favorites, getting a glimpse of how they felt in the months approaching their deaths.
He groaned, and Percy’s weapon fell to his side. Finnick threw a look over his shoulder, sighing. “We’ll start again tomorrow. For now, duty calls.”
They trudged up to the house, where their mother was already being chattered to by their stylists, Magenta and Drew. They were telling her that the next time they were in Four (hopefully there wouldn’t be a next time). They would have to find time to doll her up, and how she had so much potential, and-
“Percy!” Silena squealed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly. If she were a larger woman, it might have hurt. “Oh, you look so handsome.” She chatted. “The sun treats you boys well, let me say.”
Percy tried to be polite as Silena stepped back. “Thanks, Silena,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. Truly, no matter how she got on his nerves, he knew that the woman cared about him and was trying to help.
She shifted her attention to Finnick, pecking him on the cheek and complimenting their home before they were whisked in opposite directions, to be picked at and prodded by their stylists.
When he first met his stylist, Drew, he’d been terrified by her pink hair and blue lipstick. Now he was used to it, just like he was used to the way she complained while she worked, unaware of how her personal issues paled in comparison to the impending weight of the Games. He mostly tuned her out, humming along in agreement about whoever had wronged her. At least she filled the silence. He didn’t know where he’d go if he allowed his thoughts to wander.
“— And you know your friend from Five, the girl?”
That got his attention. “Annabeth?”
“Mhm, that’s the one. You probably don’t know this, but usually stylists have to start in Twelve and work their way up, you know, to get practice with less important Districts,” she waved her hand dismissively, as if even speaking about District Twelve was beneath her. “But with how well they did last year, Cinna decided to stay. When Annabeth’s stylist from Five retired, they gave her a new one, fresh out of school! Completely unfair.”
“Are they any good?” Percy asked. Having a poor stylist could be detrimental in the Games, even for someone as popular as Annabeth.
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Drew said, holding his face tightly while she brushed something across his cheeks. “It’s just annoying, is all. The rest of us had to spend years working with underfed coal miners, and yet Lacey gets a popular tribute right out of the gate. At least it wasn’t a career District. That would be a slap in the face.” She combed a stray hair away from his eyes. “But you don’t need to worry. You’ve still got the best of the best.”
“The very best.” He agreed. Despite her flaws, Drew had done a lot for him over the years. Not asking questions when she had to cover odd blemishes, and keeping a level of discretion that he was grateful for. Plus, she was fantastic at what she did.
Today, she’d dressed him in a light blue fisherman's sweater and brown pants, letting his hair stay messy like it was when he stayed out by the ocean for too long. She hung a silver chain around his neck and a few cords around his wrist. He looked good, but casual. He could see people in the Capitol believing that this was what the people of Four wore from day to day, instead of the impoverished hand-me-downs that nearly every child grew up with. There were years when his socks were so tattered that he’d come home from school with blisters every day, and there was no more mending that could repair them.
He strolled out of the room, trying not to itch where the wool rubbed against the bare skin of his neck, and saw that Finnick was already ready. His brother actually laughed when he saw him, because they were dressed so similarly. The only real difference was the sweater color; Finnick’s was cream instead of blue. They were clothed like twins, and the brother's angle was a bit too obvious.
“Well,” Finnick chuckled. “If anyone doubted our parentage before, they won’t now.” Percy couldn’t help but laugh along. Finnick wasn’t too happy these days, understandably, but it was good to see a bit of his lighthearted nature coming back through the cracks.
Silena kissed them both on the cheek when she saw them, prattling about how lovely they looked. Technically, she was the escort for all the District Four victors, but it was no secret that Finnick and Percy were her favorites.
She rushed them outside, where the other seven victors were standing. Annie was done up in a white dress with green ribbons in her hair, and Percy nudged Finnick subtly, although he didn’t need to. His eyes were already on the girl.
“Okay, everyone!” Silena directed. “This will go quickly. This camera–” She gestured to a silver box on wheels. “Will be streaming live to the Capital. Caesar will ask each of you a few questions about the upcoming Games, so just be yourselves. We’ll go ahead and line up in order of your Games, so just come and stand when I call your name.”
Percy was at the end, Annie standing on his right. She chewed on her lip, and Percy gently moved it away, brushing his hand across hers reassuringly, out of view of anyone who’d come from the Capitol.
He tried to listen to the first few questions, but it was hard. Especially when Caesar tried speaking to Mags. The Capital hadn’t sent a translator, so they had to be content with simple gestures. Finnick was, of course, all smiles during his interview, perfect white teeth flashing as he dazzled the Capitol from afar.
“Now, Finnick,” Caesar was saying. “You’ve already mentored your brother once. If he is to be reaped again, how would you feel about guiding him through yet another game?”
Finnick swallowed. “Percy didn’t need much help last time.” He said confidently, “If he goes back into the arena, I’ll absolutely mentor him, even if he doesn’t need me.”
Percy took a deep breath, the camera fixing itself on Annie. Her questions were expectantly simple, about things like how she spent her time in Four, and what she missed about the Capitol. She did well, giving short answers and sweet smiles.
Before he knew it, the camera was rolling towards him, the chipper voice of Caesar ringing out clearly.
“Percy Jackson!” The audio crackled a bit. “It’s been a few months, my friend. You aren’t missing the Capitol too much now, are you?”
Percy forced a smile on his face. Caesar always made it a bit easier to fake your excitement. He had his own contagious energy. “Trying not to Caesar. It’s great to see you.”
“Well, we’re kind of seeing one another– just a couple of months now until you’re back!”
“Yes, and I’m counting down the days.”
“As are we!” Percy could hear the dull roar of the audience as they cheered. His stomach flipped. “Now Percy, I’d love to chat more, but we do have limited time, so I’ll cut right to the chase. You won your Games just three years ago. If you are to re-enter the arena, do you think this gives you an edge?”
“Absolutely.” He said without hesitation. Hesitation could have him killed before he even entered the arena. “I think that any newer tributes have the upper hand. We know the landscape well. We still remember what it took to win the first time.”
“Have tensions been high in your home? With the possibility of you or your brother returning.”
He and Finnick had already decided that they wouldn’t be sharing any information about their training. Like a high training score, it could very well put a target on their backs. “It’s been…” Percy searched for the right word, something that would express the way his Mother treated them like dead men walking, and Estelle clung to them each night when they hugged her goodnight. “Bittersweet.” He settled on. “We’re all enjoying the months we have left together.”
“Well, Percy, that’s very sweet. Just know that the citizens of the Capitol are rooting for your family.”
Percy doubted that, but thanked Caesar anyway, letting out a breath when the little “on air” light flicked off.
He stood for a moment, unsure of what to do, until Finnick put a hand on his shoulder, saying to him quietly, “Mom has the broadcast playing in the living room. Annabeth will be on.” It felt a bit like an olive branch. Percy knew that Finnick didn’t have anything against Annabeth, except for the fact that she could be the reason that one of them didn’t make it through the Games. They’d been friends as mentors, and Finnick even said that he’d consider allying with her if it came down to it.
Percy swallowed, nodded, and spared a glance back at Silena, who was luckily busy scolding one of the older victors over a crude joke that he’d made during his interview. He didn’t think that the escort would ever do anything to put him or Annabeth in harm's way intentionally, but she was all Capitol, and it was hard to trust.
Inside, his family was on the couch, and Jason Grace was already being broadcast, grinning wide, the scar above his lip catching in the artificial light of District Five.
“Well, Mr. Grace,” Caesar said, seated in an overstuffed orange armchair. His color of the year seemed to be pink, with hair, lipstick, and eyebrows to match. It wasn’t his worst color– Percy thought the year he wore all red had been terrifying. “We are very excited to see you back in the Capitol, especially since it’s a guarantee that you’ll be back in the arena this year!”
Knowing Jason as well as he did, Percy caught the brief panic that passed over the young man’s features. Just as quickly as it happened, however, he schooled the smile back onto his face, bidding the Capitol goodnight.
The feed to Five went dark for a moment, and Caesar leaned back. “Another Capitol darling up next. We all love her. Please welcome back the gorgeous Miss Annabeth Chase!”
The crowd went crazy, showing the cheers and shouts of the Capitol audience. Percy winced when it panned to a few unfriendly faces.
Annabeth came into view of the screen, and Percy couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips. He took a seat next to his mother, leaning forward, as if getting closer to the feed would bring him closer to the woman on the other side of it. He could tell that it was cold in her district by the way she was dressed, a silver parka with a fur hood and thick black pants. Her hair fell loosely down her shoulders, but her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. She smiled and gave a little wave to the camera.
“Miss Chase! It’s marvelous to see you. You look as lovely as ever.”
“Thank you, Cearsar!” She said enthusiastically. “I can’t see you. Can you tell me the color you’ve chosen this year?”
“Oh dear, a question for me?” Caesar shot a gleeful look at the audience. “Pink is the color of these Games, I think!”
“Well then, I’m sure you look lovely as ever too.”
Caesar laughed, and she smiled along, eyes shining. She looked tired, but healthy. He knew that she and Jason were likely working even harder than he and Finnick to prepare for the Games.
“Oh, Miss Chase, we’ve missed you. Have you missed us?”
“I always do.”
“Now, I hate to jump right in, but we’ll have plenty of time to chit-chat soon. Tell me, have you been training at all, knowing that you’ll be back in the arena soon?”
“I don’t think a Victor ever really stops training,” Annabeth said seriously. A glint of the intelligence that she’d used to win her Games flashed across her face. “If you fight for survival once, you find yourself desperate to be prepared for anything else the world will throw at you. I’ve been training since I won four years ago.”
“And if you could give a message to your fans tonight? What would you say?”
She looked at the camera, and Percy could almost swear that she was talking to him. “I’d tell them not to worry. I’ve done this once, and I’ll do it again. It’ll take a lot more than two Games to get rid of me.”
“We LOVE the confidence!” Caesar exclaimed as the audience roared again, and Annabeth’s face flickered off the screen.
Percy couldn’t help the tears that pricked the corner of his eyes as the broadcast switched over to District Six. Clearing his throat, he excused himself, lying in bed and praying that sleep would take him quickly.
The next two months went by quickly. Percy and Finnick trained harder than ever, and his nightmares got worse. He was almost certain that Finnick spent most nights by the water, and Percy woke up several times with his mom at his side, weeping softly as she smoothed his hair back from his forehead.
The morning of reaping day hadn’t been so solemn in years. For a few– between Percy’s win and now, there hadn’t been any dread for their family, only fear for what poor child he would have to walk to their deaths.
They dressed pristinely in clothes that their stylists had left. Sally busied herself pinning Estelle's curls back carefully, and Finnick ran a gentle brush through Annie’s red hair. Percy’s heart ached. He prayed that Annabeth was okay. He hoped that someone was taking care of her the way his family cared for each other. He was sure that Jason was at least trying.
They left the house with a final glance and walked together to the city square until Annie, Percy, and Finnick were guided away to a stall designed for the victors to stand in. The two reaping bowls looked ridiculous, just a few slips of paper in each.
Percy shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling as Silena strutted onstage. Her face was painted ghostly white, and her eyelids were powdered blue. Her heels were tall, but she didn’t wobble the way Annabeth always did.
They played the horrible Capitol video before Silena’s microphone was turned on, crackling around the square. “Welcome, welcome!” She greeted. “To the 75th Hunger Games! As all of you know, this is a very exciting year, as we celebrate the return of the Quarter Quell.”
There was no applause.
Silena was undeterred. “First up, the girls!” She strode over to the bowl, and Percy held his breath as she plucked out a piece of paper, unfolding it carefully. She cleared her throat. “Annie Cresta!”
The entire square was silent. More silent than ever. Usually, because of its status in the Games, Four was at least a bit excitable at the reaping. But Annie Cresta, the girl whom everyone had believed to have gone mad, would surely be nothing more than a sacrifice in the bloodbath.
Percy couldn’t look at her. He was a coward. She took a step forward, coming in front of him, but an arm stopped her. Mags stepped forward, shaking her head and raising her hand. A volunteer. Annie sobbed, and Percy kept his eyes down, unable to watch sweet old Mags shuffle to the executioner's stage.
“Now the boys.” Another slip pulled, and another envelope opened. “Perseus Jackson.” Percy’s mouth went dry. For a moment, it was actually real. The last months weren’t a bad dream. They weren’t toothless fears; they had teeth, and the teeth were white and sharp, and shaped like the fangs of President Snow.
He took a step forward, then another. He almost reached the first stairs of the stage before Finnick stepped forward with his hand raised, volunteering for him.
Percy spun around, “No.”
“Percy-”
“No, you can’t.”
Finnick just shouldered past him, and Percy fought every instinct to yell, or cry, or physically restrain him. That could make Finnick look weak. They couldn’t afford that. Not now. So Percy bit back a sob, trying to stand tall as Mags and Finnick shook hands on the stage.
He was forced to stand there, body thrumming with emotion as he watched the rest of the reapings while Finnick and Mags were whisked away.
The district Five reaping was almost pitiful. Two bowls, each holding a single slip of paper. Annabeth and Jason stood confidently, though, shoulder to shoulder as their escort, Piper, walked to draw the names, looking almost regretful. Annabeth was called to the stage first, and, like Mags, no one clapped. Jason came next, and instead of shaking hands, when he reached the stage, he pulled her into a hug.
The other reapings morphed together in his mind. He’d rewatch them all later, but for now, he didn’t care. How could he, when two of the most important people in his life were being carted to their deaths? Even if one of them survived the Games, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to.