Chapter Text
The fact is, Haymitch should’ve seen it coming.
He should’ve. He knew he should’ve, looking back. He just -
When he’d come back on the train at dawn and stumbled home, woken up Ma and Sid, shaken them awake and seen that they were okay, he just…hoped that maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d thought. That maybe the last two weeks of playing along, of playing Snow’s game had worked in his favor. That he’d shown he could behave, could fall in line, and was being given a second chance.
Maybe.
He’d spent that day helping Ma and Sid move everything into their new house in Victor’s Village. Haymitch hadn’t thought about that part, too worried about his family and his girl, but. Well. His family was alive and well, and Lenore Dove was still at the Peacekeepers’ base, which…wasn’t great. Haymitch had wanted to go try and get her out, but Ma had talked him out of it, pointing out that it might not be the smartest move, that him showing up would be throwing gas on a dying fire. So, after everything was moved over, Haymitch walked out to the meadow in the light of the setting sun.
And Lenore Dove was there.
And so were her geese.
And so was a bag of blood-red gumdrops.
And…well. Again.
He really should’ve seen this coming.
***
Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber wouldn’t let him go to the funeral. Honestly, Haymitch couldn’t even blame them. He’d killed her, after all. Fed her poison with his own two hands.
He’d murdered the love of his life.
The weeks after Lenore Dove were…rough, to say the least. Haymitch couldn’t sleep, not at all - the nightmares followed him, chasing him on all fours and taking bites out of his mind, body and soul every time he closed his eyes, blood and tears and grief covering his skin, drying down into an itchy, sticky mess. So he didn’t sleep. For days.
In the end, Asterid had to drug him with sleep syrup. After seeing how effective it was, Ma stocked up on the stuff, making sure Haymitch took some every night before bed. Sleep with the syrup wasn’t quite as restful as without, but it was better than not sleeping at all.
The amount Haymitch took wasn’t enough to completely drown out the nightmares, though. More would, but apparently that kind of use was dangerous for every day. So, Haymitch spent every night in endless mixed-up nightmares. Nightmares of sharp-toothed, bushy-tailed squirrels ripping the flesh and viscera from a too-small body. Nightmares of bear-sized metallic porcupines, with Sid and Ma and Maysilee and Louella stabbed through with its quills. Of severed heads, and bright pink birds, and his own hands, coated in blood and filled with rose-red gumdrops. All while Haymitch screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
Haymitch never meant to survive.
Burdock came over one day. Haymitch wasn’t functional, but he was out of bed (his awful, too-comfortable bed, it was too Capitol, he hated it he hated it -) and sitting in a too-comfortable armchair downstairs, staring blankly at nothing while Sid pretended to play with a ragdoll in the corner, throwing quick, anxious glances his way every other second.
Haymitch didn’t respond when Burdock walked in. Didn’t speak, didn’t move. Not until Burdock said, “I know where she is.”
Haymitch was still broken. But he wanted to see her again, to see Lenore Dove more than anything. So he stood, and silently followed Burdock outside and into the woods.
Burdock brought him to the Covey graveyard. Haymitch sat down in front of her grave, and went still.
A part of him wanted to cry. To collapse onto the ground, to scream. At least, to bury that flint striker with her, because he didn’t deserve it. And he would, later. When he could. For now, though, all he could do was sit and stare at the grave. The grave that used to be Lenore Dove.
Eventually - minutes, hours, days later, who knows - Burdock said quietly. “Hay. It’s time to go home.” And Haymitch didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he trusted his friend. So he stood, and silently followed Burdock back to town, and back to the victor house he lived in now. And when Ma held out a cup of sleep syrup in her shaking hands, Haymitch took it. He drank, and fell back into the nightmares.
That night, Haymitch fed Lenore Dove gumdrop after gumdrop. And as she choked on her own blood, he forced more down her throat.
But he also remembered the path to her grave. He remembered how to go back.
After a few weeks, after visiting Lenore Dove, Haymitch got…not better, exactly, but steadier. The Capitol and Snow may have taken Lenore Dove from him, but he still had Ma and Sid, and he needed to hold it together for them. So Haymitch took the shards of himself and mashed them all together, jagged edges scraping against each other until it looked somewhat recognizable, if not even close to the same. Just like Kerna’s sunflower, from back then.
(It would’ve been better if Maysilee had won. She would’ve held it together, glued herself back into one piece, just like she did with that flower.)
(If Maysilee had won, Lenore Dove would still be alive.)
He still didn’t talk much. Didn’t do much either. He could get away with it now that he was a victor. But he did more. More than just sitting and staring.
For one, he went back to helping Ma cook. Despite living in a mansion, she was still doing laundry. Not a surprise, really - Ma never was one to sit on her hands.
Making food was fine. Haymitch mostly worked with what he could handle. Vegetables were fine. Fruits too. Rice. Milk and bread and meat on the other hand…
Milk and bread, Haymitch could work with. He didn’t like it, but he could do it. Meat, though…cooked, it was fine. Raw…
Raw was Wellie’s head in Silka’s hands. It was Maysilee’s throat, ripped open and spilling blood. It was the boy and girl from Four he’d murdered with his own hands, and Silka twitching on the ground with an axe in her head. It was mutts and dead children and the arena, and Haymitch couldn’t do it.
(Ma had to handle the meat herself. She didn’t say anything about it. It was more than Haymitch deserved.)
Haymitch also started spending time with Sid again. Played with him. It felt strange, like a dream, like a memory he was living through. But he still did it anyway, if only to soak up Sid’s presence, the fact that he was still here, and alive.
Haymitch tried to cut down on the syrup. He slept less, and spent that time wandering aimlessly around the district, not even knowing what he was looking for.
Not until he found it.
Lenore Dove’s message, sprayed on the walls in orange paint, the same paint she had under her fingernails. NO CAPITOL, NO GAMES. Haymitch remembered the promise he’d made to her that evening in the meadow. Her pointing at the setting sun, and telling him not to let it rise on the reaping. And looking at it, Haymitch knows that he has to find a way to grant her wish.
Once he saw that message, once Lenore Dove said her piece, Haymitch’s ghosts came back to haunt him. Like she’d been keeping them away until he figured it out, and now it was time to pay the piper.
Ma and Sid couldn’t see them. Burdock either, or Asterid or Blair or old Hattie. They’d’ve said something if they could. So Haymitch doesn’t talk to his ghosts, doesn’t acknowledge them no matter what they say, except for when he’s alone.
In a way, it’s almost better than before. Haymitch can see and talk to the people he’s lost, to his sister and his buddy and his sweetheart and even, on occasion, Lenore Dove. In a way, it’s almost a good thing.
In a way.
Because the fact is, everything has its price. And here, the price is that his ghosts are angry with him. Maysilee is even crueler than she was at her worst. Lenore demands to know why he hasn’t stopped the sun from rising. Panache tries to kill him, and Silka wants his crown. A crown of poisoned, bloody thorns, and she wants it all the same.
Sometimes, Haymitch thinks it’s actually them. Sometimes he knows it isn’t, and he’s just gone crazy.
Ghosts aside, Ma and Sid are trying to live with Haymitch as he is now. As a shell of who he used to be. So Haymitch tries to be better, to be more like himself. To be chattier, more energetic, more him. It doesn’t fool them. It doesn’t fool anyone at all.
In the end, Haymitch stopped pretending. But only after the incident with Burdock.
He and Blair had been coming over as often as they could. They didn’t understand everything, only another victor could - but they worried. And even though Haymitch knew in his heart that he should push them away, should protect them as best he could, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it, not now. Not yet. He just - he needed more time.
(Time, time, he always needed more time.)
So, about a week after Haymitch started pretending, forcing on a smile and forcing out a grating laugh that scared Ma and Sid more than comforted them, Burdock came over and took Haymitch out to the woods.
It was beautiful out there. Tall, leafy trees, dappled sunlight, singing birds. Not as pretty as the arena, but then, nothing was. Nothing could be. That kind of beauty wasn’t natural - it could only be man-made, artificial, fake as everything else in the Capitol.
That helped, really. The lack of abundance, of saturation, of vibrant clashing colors - it was what told Haymitch that he wasn’t there, still. That he wasn’t back in those woods, back in that arena. That he was home.
(He was home, wasn’t he? It didn’t feel like home. Not anymore.)
Burdock led Haymitch to a blackberry patch with a strained smile. Haymitch was exhausted - he’d barely been sleeping recently, trying to cut down on the syrup even more - but he still tried to help, to smile and chatter nonsense, choking out something about how nice it was to be here, to be home, to be back in Twelve. And it almost seemed like it would work, or at least that Burdock wouldn’t call him out on it, until.
Until Burdock, nodding along to Haymitch’s babbling with a worried look in his eyes, snapped a blackberry off the bramble and raised it to his mouth.
And suddenly, they weren’t in Twelve anymore. Suddenly, they were in a beautiful paradise of a forest. The trees towering over them were filled to bursting with shiny red apples, the air was full of an intoxicating, brain-blurring smell. The brambles were gone, and replaced with a bush of eye-searingly bright blueberries.
And Burdock was about to eat one of them.
Haymitch jumped. Leapt forwards and tackled Burdock to the ground, ripping the blueberry out of his unprepared fingers and throwing it as far from the two of them as he could. And then he went still, breathing heavily as he listened close for footsteps, for birdsong, for any sign of other tributes or mutts.
“Haymitch, what the hell?”
Haymitch’s head snapped around to stare at Burdock, who was looking up at him with baffled, slightly angry eyes.
“It’s poison,” Haymitch gasped out, eyes boring into Burdock’s, trying his best to impress the seriousness of the situation on him. “All of it. Everything in this entire arena. Don’t eat anything, don’t drink anything. Don’t even smell the flowers. Understand?”
“The…” Burdock’s face flashed through a series of emotions, before finally settling on a look that seemed…heartbroken, really, which…Haymitch wasn’t sure why that was, but it didn’t matter. They had bigger problems right now.
“You haven’t eaten anything, have you?” Haymitch asked worriedly, sitting back and holding out a hand to pull Burdock up into a sitting position.
Burdock shook his head, taking Haymitch’s hand and pulling himself up. “No, nothing.”
Haymitch nodded, relieved. “Okay, good. Don’t. If you run into any mutts and get stung, or bitten, let me know - I’ve got some charcoal tablets in my…pack…” Haymitch stopped.
“Where’s my pack?”
Burdock reached out, alarm flashing across his face. “Haymitch -”
“No, no, wait - where’s my pack? I -” Haymitch could feel the panic rising in his chest, his breathing speeding up. “My pack, I - we need it, Burdock, we - it’s got all our food, and-and water, and the tablets, and -”
“Hey, Haymitch, it’s okay -”
“ No it’s not!” Haymitch shouted, jumping to his feet. “It - we need that stuff, you won’t survive without it, we - we can’t -”
“Haymitch,” Burdock said in an even voice, pushing himself to his feet. “It’s okay. Your…” He took a deep breath in, and continued. “Your pack got ripped, and we had to leave it behind. But we put everything in it into my pack, so we’re fine, okay?” He twisted slightly, showing Haymitch the pack he was carrying on his back.
Haymitch sagged in relief at those words, his panic subsiding and breath slowing. “Okay. Okay, as…as long as we have our supplies, then - then that’s okay. That’s all right.”
Burdock nodded, giving a small, strained smile. “Yeah, see? Everything’s fine. Everything’s okay, Haymitch.”
Haymitch snorted, amused despite himself. “I mean, we’re in the Hunger Games, Burdie. That’s pretty far from ‘okay’ in my book.”
A complicated look flashed across Burdock’s face, before he nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Hay.”
Haymitch sighed slightly, flashing Burdock a relieved smile before turning away. “C’mon, Burdie. We should keep going - we can try and find shelter before night, and maybe -”
“Wait,” Burdock said, from behind him. As Haymitch turned around, he could see Burdock’s hand hovering over his shoulder, as if he was unsure whether or not to touch him. “Wait. Hay, I…” Burdock bit his lip nervously, then continued, “Hay, I’m feeling a little tired. Could we maybe…sit down, and rest for a bit?”
Haymitch’s brow creased. “Out in the open?” He asked, confused. “Burdie, we both know that’s a bad idea.”
Burdock nodded quickly. “Okay, you’re right, you’re right. How about…” He glanced around quickly. “I saw a spot where we can hide, earlier. I’ll show you where it is, and we can rest there, okay?”
Slowly, Haymitch nods. “Uh…okay.”
Burdock takes Haymitch by the hand, and leads him away from the blueberry bushes and farther into the forest. After around ten minutes of walking, Burdock led Haymitch to a strange, unusually wide tree with a wide crack running down the front of it. Stopping in front, Burdock grinned at Haymitch, saying, “Follow me.” And with that, Burdock turned and side-stepped through the crack, disappearing inside the tree.
For a few seconds, Haymitch hesitated. The tree in front of him…it reminded him a lot of the old hollow tree Burdock had shown him a few years back. It also reeked of a trap. But then…well. Burdock had already gone in, and he’d always had a better nose for traps than Haymitch ever did. So, Haymitch pushed his doubts aside and followed Burdock, side-stepping his way into the tree after him.
Burdock was sitting on the ground, pack open and unzipped next to him, a box of matches in hand and a small lantern set in front of him, clearly just lit. It illuminated the cramped hollow in flickering light, much brighter than the small amount of sunlight filtering through the crack and some small holes in the trunk above. Haymitch shuffled forwards and sat himself down criss-cross on the opposite side of the lantern, before nodding at it. “You got that from the Cornucopia, huh?”
Burdock blinked back at him, a furrow between his eyebrows. “Uh…what?”
Haymitch managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but it was a near thing. “Y’know, in your pack? That you got, from the Cornucopia?” Haymitch prompted. “Useful to have, especially with my striker. Mine just had food, water, a hammock and some tablets. Not too bad though, given the circumstances.”
Burdock nodded, furrow deepening slightly. “Yeah. Uh…let’s take a break, y’know? Just…relax, for a bit. Okay, Hay?”
Haymitch nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and leaned back against the inside of the tree trunk.
The tree seemed dead, which was…strange. At least, for this arena, so full of deadly life. Haymitch would’ve expected something, like…like toxic moss that burned your skin, or insect mutts, or something. But no, there was nothing like that - just dead wood. And a few small, white mushrooms, but those were toxic back in Twelve too.
As he rested, a question occurred to Haymitch. Pushing himself upright, he looked over at Burdock and asked, cautiously, “Uh…hey, Burdie?”
“Yeah, Haymitch?” Burdock responded, sounding tired.
“Uh…why are you here, exactly?” Haymitch asked, confused. “I mean, you weren’t reaped, so…” An idea suddenly occurring to him, Haymitch jerked in place, eyes widening. “Oh, shit. Is it because of me? Did - did Snow send you in here because of me, like with Lou-Lou?”
Burdock just looked confused. “Lou-Lou? What…” He stopped, shook his head slightly and started again. “No, Haymitch, that - that’s not what happened. Do…do you remember how we ended up here?”
Haymitch blinked, confusion growing. “Uh…yeah. It’s the arena, Burdie. We were forced in.”
Burdock sighed. “Yeah, but…” He bit his lip. “Do you…remember how we got to the blackberry patch?”
“Blackberry?”
“Yeah, y’know. Where I nearly ate one, and you tackled me and knocked it out of my hand? Remember?”
Haymitch shook his head. “No, I…” He stopped. He remembered jumping at Burdock, remembered knocking the berry out of his hand, but that - those were blueberries , not blackberries. Shouldn’t Burdock know the difference? He should, of course he should, but…
But he didn’t.
Maybe this isn’t Burdock, Louella whispered to him nervously. Maybe it’s a replacement, or a mutt.
No, no, that - that couldn’t be it. Except…
Except Burdock would know the difference. He knew every plant in the woods outside of Twelve, he’d know the difference between a blueberry and a blackberry. Everyone did. So this…
This wasn’t Burdock.
Slowly, Haymitch edged towards the crack in the tree. Physically, he and this - this fake Burdock seemed to be evenly matched, but Haymitch didn’t have any weapons, and who knows what that thing had in its pack. And that was assuming it didn’t have any mutt abilities, which was possible, but unlikely. So Haymitch…
He needed to run.
Mutt-Burdock watched Haymitch inch towards the crack, his eyes so worried they almost seemed real. Leaning forwards, he started, “Haymitch, what’s wrong? Is everything okay -”
Haymitch took off.
Out of the tree and into the woods, Haymitch started running, as far and as fast as he could. Behind him, Haymitch could hear swearing, and then the sound of footsteps. But Haymitch was the fastest kid in school now that Woodbine was gone, and as it turned out, Mutt-Burdock wasn’t quite as quick as he was. So he kept on running, on and on until -
Until he burst out of the woods, and stumbled to the edge of a lake.
It was beautiful, just like everything else in the arena. Big and sparkling and far too blue to be real. Just another source of poisoned water in a world of toxins.
Except…
Except it looked almost like the lake near Twelve.
It wasn’t, of course. Too vibrant, too saturated, too unnaturally beautiful. But…it looked so familiar. It…
Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and Haymitch didn’t know what it was -
“ Haymitch!”
Haymitch spun around, just as Mutt-Burdock ran out of the woods. Stumbling back into the water, Haymitch stared at Mutt-Burdock in silence, watching and waiting to make his move.
Mutt-Burdock stepped forward, reaching out with that same look of almost-real concern. “Hay, what -”
Haymitch attacked.
He didn’t have any weapons on him, which wasn’t ideal, but. It was clear now that this, this thing would keep chasing him until it caught and killed him. Which meant Haymitch had to kill it first. Even if he had to do it with his bare hands.
So Haymitch tackled Mutt-Burdock to the ground, got his hands around its throat, and began to choke it to death.
And that’s when Mutt-Burdock started to fight. It started scrabbling at Haymitch’s hands with its own, trying to pry them off of its neck, scratching with its fingernails and drawing blood. It started kicking at him, bucking and trying to throw him off. And the whole time, it looked up at him with eyes filled with betrayal and confusion.
That look…it seemed so real, it almost made Haymitch falter. But he couldn’t. This thing wasn’t Burdock, no matter how much it looked like him, and this was a matter of life and death. And Haymitch couldn’t die, not yet. He still needed to sabotage the arena, to paint his poster and make his inevitable death mean something. Which means that right here, right now, this was one fight that he had to win.
Finally, the mutt started to fade. Its eyes began to close, its desperate gasps slowed, and its hands stopped scratching and fell to the ground by its side. Haymitch was doing it. He was winning, he was -
And that’s when something slammed into the side of Haymitch’s head, knocking him to the side and off of Mutt-Burdock.
Haymitch may have blacked out for a second. When he opened his eyes, Mutt-Burdock was on its feet, staring down at him, a bloody rock in its hand. Haymitch scrambled to his feet, ready to fight - but before he could, Mutt-Burdock turned and ran back into the woods, dropping its rock as it did so.
For a few seconds, Haymitch just stared after Mutt-Burdock in confusion. Because what the fuck. That thing, it’d had the upper hand. It had a weapon-slash-rock, which Haymitch didn’t, it had an injured opponent, it had a solid shot at killing him. But for some reason, it hadn’t even tried.
None of this made any sense.
Haymitch stood and watched the woods for a few minutes, waiting for Mutt-Burdock to come back. Eventually, though, he had to accept that it wasn’t going to, at least not any time soon. So, Haymitch sat down on the lake shore, and started examining his head wound.
Haymitch probed at it with his fingers. It was in the side of his head, right above his left ear, and was leaking blood into his hair and down the side of his face. Carefully, Haymitch reached over, picked up the bloody rock Mutt-Burdock had dropped, and looked it over. Glancing around, it looked about the same as most of the various rocks scattered around the lake shore, if unusually large and with a jagged edge. Odds were, Mutt-Burdock had just managed to grab it while Haymitch was choking him out, rather than carrying it somewhere on its…body? Person? Whatever it was. Pure luck, really, but that’s a big part of the games, isn’t it? Luck, both good and bad.
Still, his head-wound didn’t seem all that bad, really. More of a shallow cut than any kind of serious injury. All the same, it was bleeding a lot, so Haymitch should probably try and bandage it up.
Unfortunately, Haymitch didn’t have his pack with him, so he’d have to make do with what he had. Looking down, Haymitch made to rip a strip of fabric from his sleeve, and stopped dead.
This sleeve - this shirt, it wasn’t his arena uniform. It…it looked like one of his shirts from back home, the ragged brown one with burn marks on the hem and a button missing, which…yeah. It had both of them, exactly like the one back home. Same for his pants, and his shoes - they looked like his own more than anything else.
Where had his uniform gone?
Ignoring the pain from his head wound, Haymitch shook his head slightly, pushing his questions to the side. He couldn’t worry about that now. He was hurt, and tired. He needed to take care of his injury, find a safe place, and get some sleep. When he woke up, he could look into this more.
So, Haymitch ripped half his sleeve off with his teeth, and tied it around his head as a makeshift bandage. Then, walking around the lake’s edge, he picked out a tree - one that looked a bit tricky to climb, with dense foliage - and scrambled up it as best he could. Reaching a thick, forked branch, low enough that a fall wouldn’t kill him but high enough to be completely hidden from the ground, Haymitch decided that this was the best he was gonna get. So, he settled himself against the tree in as stable a fashion as he could without rope or a hammock, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
***
Haymitch woke back up slowly.
Surprisingly, he actually felt pretty well-rested. No restlessness, no nightmares. Of course, he was still about to die in the arena, but hey. Little victories.
Haymitch pushed himself up into a sitting position and pushed some leaves aside to look around. It was the golden hour right before the sun set, and the woods looked beautiful.
Except…
Haymitch blinked, confused. The woods…they didn’t look like the woods in the arena. They were pretty, sure, but…the trees weren’t packed full of fruit. The leaves weren’t that brilliant emerald green - just a duller, more natural green with a tinge of yellow along the edges, indicating the coming of fall. The woods…
These were Twelve’s woods.
As his memories fell into place, Haymitch smacked himself on the forehead in annoyance. Fuck, he was an idiot. He wasn’t in the games anymore, he was in Twelve. Damn it, what was going on with him?
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep , Haymitch thought to himself. That was definitely possible. Although…
How did he end up here anyway?
Haymitch tipped his head back and closed his eyes, thinking back. He had a strange, blurry memory of being back in the arena - probably a dream. Although, it wasn’t about anything that had actually happened - instead, it was about being chased by a mutt. A mutt that…
A mutt that looked, talked and acted like Burdock.
Haymitch frowned slightly, going over the dream. He’d been chased out to the lake, where he’d nearly killed the mutt, before it bashed him over the head with a rock and ran away. Before that, he’d been in a hollow tree, just like the one here in Twelve, and before that, he’d saved the Burdock-Mutt thing from the poison blueberries. And before that…
Wait.
Haymitch went stiff, eyes flying open as he ran through his memories again.
He’d run from and fought with the mutt. And before that, he’d saved the mutt from poison. And before that…
Before that, he’d been here, in Twelve’s woods. With the real Burdock.
Haymitch shook his head, panic rising in his chest. No. No, that…it had been a dream. That mess with Mutt-Burdock, it, it had been a dream. A nightmare, of the arena. It hadn’t been real.
Except…
Except he remembered. Remembered walking into the woods with Burdock, and coming across the blackberry patch. And then the woods became the arena, and the blackberries became blueberries, and then Burdock, or Mutt-Burdock, he was going to eat the blueberries, or blackberries, and…
That was when Haymitch noticed the pain.
Reaching up to his head with a shaking hand, Haymitch touched where it hurt…and, his fingers met fabric. Stiff, presumably with dried blood. The same makeshift bandage that he’d made in his dream.
His dream that apparently wasn’t a dream.
But…but there had been a mutt . A mutt that looked like Burdock, which - what the fuck was that about? Was the Capitol making human-shaped mutts now? Were they shoving them into the wilderness around the districts? Is that what was going on?
Except…
Except, the reason he’d realized ‘Burdock’ was a mutt at all was because it hadn’t been able to tell the difference between blackberries and blueberries. And…
And.
And there hadn’t been a difference in the first place, had there?
Haymitch remembered the blueberries. Shining bright and cobalt blue, he remembered them, but. But he also remembered the blackberries. He remembered Burdock picking one, and he remembered it turning into a blueberry as he’d lifted it to his mouth. Changing, just like the woods had changed into the arena.
But nothing had really changed, had it?
The woods had still been Twelve’s woods. The blueberries had still been blackberries. And…
And the mutt had still been Burdock.
Bursting into movement, Haymitch scrambled down the tree to the lakeshore. Because no. No, that - that couldn’t have been Burdie. Because if it had, then that - that meant -
Haymitch ran around the lake, skidding to a halt where he remembered the fight to have occurred. The sand-pebble mixture was disturbed, like there had been some sort of struggle, and -
There.
The rock. Lying innocently on its side, jagged edge facing the sky, surrounded by small red-brown stains.
Haymitch crouched down, reached out, and touched the jagged edge. Rubbed his finger on it, then pulled back and looked. On his finger were tiny, dark, rust-colored flakes.
Dried blood.
Seeing that, Haymitch semi-collapsed, falling from his crouch into a slumped, half-sitting sort of position. He stayed there, unmoving, as he tried to process what had clearly happened.
He’d attacked Burdock. No, no he’d tried to kill him. Choked him half to death, and only failed in his murder attempt because Burdock had gotten off a lucky shot with a random rock.
He was a monster.
You tried to kill him, Maysilee hissed viciously into his ear. Your best friend, and you tried to murder him. Would you try’n kill me too, if I was still here?
“No. No, I -”
Don’t lie to me, Haymitch, she snapped. This is who you are now. You would. We both know it.
Haymitch couldn’t think of a response.
“Sorry, Sis,” He said softly, head hanging low. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”
Haymitch stayed there through the night, talking to his ghosts. Hearing their accusations, and knowing that he deserved them all.
***
When dawn broke, Haymitch finally started heading back to town.
He’d spent the night on the shore, grainy sand and pebbles digging into his hands and knees. And as the sky began to lighten and the stars faded away, he’d toyed a bit with the idea of just…never going back.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. After all, he’d proven he couldn’t be trusted. That he was a monster, a murderer, ready to snap. He was a danger to everyone around him - his friends, his family, everyone . He should just pack it up, spend what’s left of his life in those damn woods that look so much like the arena.
But.
But if he just ran off…Ma and Sid had already lost him once. He couldn’t do that to them again. Not without at least saying goodbye.
So that’s what he’d do. He’d go back. He’d tell them what he’d done, explain that he wasn’t safe to be around, and then. Then he’d pick up a bow, a hook, and…try and survive out in the woods. Granted, he didn’t think he could survive out there, not for long, but…it was safer. For everyone else, it was safer for Haymitch to be out here, rather than in there.
(And when he died, of starvation, of dehydration, of infection or disease…then everyone would be safe.)
(Lenore Dove would be there, after he died. He hadn’t stopped the sun from rising. She wouldn’t forgive him for killing her, or for breaking his promise. But maybe that was for the best.)
(He’d just hurt her too.)
Haymitch walks through town in the early morning, head down and shoulders hunched, staring down at the trampled dirt beneath his feet. The occasional person passed by, but it was barely dawn, and the streets were relatively empty, all things considered. So, Haymitch walked, undisturbed, all the way back to the Village.
Approaching his new house, Haymitch notices that the lights are on downstairs. That’s good - it means Ma and Sid are awake. It’ll make this quicker. Not easier, but…quicker.
Stepping up to the door, Haymitch hesitated.
This…this will be the last time he ever sees Ma and Sid. After today, he’ll never see them again. Not until they all meet again, out there in the sweet hereafter.
(Maybe there, he’ll be different. Maybe he’ll magically be the way he was before the Games.)
(Maybe.)
Swallowing heavily, Haymitch reaches out, turns the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside -
And stops dead as something slams into him.
Haymitch nearly lashes out. Nearly attacks, nearly assumes it’s a threat and tries to take it out. That’s what his instincts tell him at the moment of impact, sounding an alarm so loud it drowned out nearly every other thought in his head.
Nearly.
Because Haymitch still manages to remember what he’d just done to Burdock. So, despite his instincts, he holds himself back. Holds himself still, waits for the adrenaline and terror to clear his vision, and looks down.
Sid was there, clinging to Haymitch like his life depended on it, arms wrapped around him and face buried in his stomach. His small body was shaking with sobs, tears soaking into Haymitch’s shirt. Slowly, carefully, Haymitch reached down and laid a hand on Sid’s back, rubbing it in circular motions as Sid just cried even harder.
Before, Haymitch would’ve known what to do. The words would’ve come to him, rolling off his tongue like water to comfort his little brother. But now, his tongue was like lead, stuck to the bottom of his mouth, and he couldn’t say a word.
Helplessly, Haymitch looked up from Sid, glancing around. Ma was there, standing several feet away, hands clasped together tightly and relief clear in her red-rimmed eyes. Asterid was there too, on her feet, having just risen from the bright yellow couch, upon which was a half-open bag of unidentifiable bottles. And a few feet away from her -
Haymitch’s breath caught in his throat.
A few feet away from her was Burdock. Looking at Haymitch with worry, and wariness, and a ring of finger-shaped bruises around his throat.
That - seeing him, seeing those bruises - snapped Haymitch back to reality. Slowly, carefully, he reached down, pulled Sid’s arms off of him, and pushed him an arms’ length away.
Sid looked up at him, confused, fat tears rolling down his face. “H-Haymitch? What…what’s wr-wrong? Y-You’re okay, r-right?” He forced the words out in between sobs, breath hitching as he spoke, clearly worried and upset.
Haymitch took in a shallow, snagging breath. Then, forcing on a fake smile, he slowly lowered himself to his knees, keeping his hands open and in front of him so as not to scare him. Then, taking another, slightly deeper breath in, he started to talk.
“Hey, Sid,” Haymitch said softly, in as gentle and reassuring a tone as he could manage. “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Sid sniffled, and nodded. “Y…You d-didn’t come back. W-we waited all night. And, and Burdock came here, and he said…he said…”
Haymitch exhaled, fake smile slipping away. “Yeah. Burdock told you that I…tried to hurt him, didn’t he?”
Sid sniffled again. “He…he s-said you were con…con-fus-ed. Th-that you didn’t understand what was happening.”
Haymitch smiled slightly, shooting Burdock a quick, thankful glance. “Yeah, that…that’s one way of putting it.” Slowly, carefully, he reached out and patted Sid on the shoulder. “But, I’m here now, and…I’m not confused anymore. So everything’s okay, alright?” At Sid’s answering nod, Haymitch allowed his smile to widen. “I’m going to go talk to everyone else now, Sid. Why don’t you go take a break?”
Sid shook his head determinedly. “ No! I-I’m not a baby, I - I can talk with everybody too!”
“I know you can, Sid,” Haymitch rushed to reassure him. “But, uh…” Suddenly struck by inspiration, Haymitch continued, “But, I haven’t eaten or drunk anything for a while now, okay, and…I’m really hungry, and thirsty. And since I’ve already talked to you about this a bit, could I maybe trust you to go get all of us some drinks and snacks while I tell them what I’ve told you?”
For a few seconds, Sid wavered, unsure. Then, coming to a conclusion, he nodded, sniffling one more time. “O-okay, Haymitch. I…I’ll go g-get everything.” He stepped forwards and wrapped Haymitch up in another tight hug, where he stayed for nearly a minute before reluctantly extracting himself and heading for the kitchen.
And with that, it was time to face the music.
Haymitch pushed himself to his feet, keeping his hands open and in front of him, palms facing out. He’d just started edging his way farther into the room when Ma came up, took his arm and guided him over to an armchair across from Asterid and Burdock, who were both slowly taking a seat on the yellow couch. Ma pushed Haymitch into the armchair, and then took a seat on another, green armchair set in between and to the side of Haymitch’s armchair and the yellow couch.
And they waited, quiet, for Haymitch to speak.
Awkwardly, Haymitch cleared his throat. It tasted like blood and fear, but he pushed it aside in favor of talking, of forcing his way through this damn conversation. Staring down at the hardwood floor and with a deep, hitching breath in, he began.
“So…I’m guessin’ Burdock told you what happened, right?”
No response. Haymitch didn’t look up, just kept his eyes and head down, and waited.
In the end, Burdock is the one who broke the silence, in a voice so much drier and hoarser than it should be.
“It’s okay, Haymitch.”
At that, Haymitch looks up, head jerking straight to face him, incredulous. “Burdock, I tried to kill you.”
Burdock winced at his words, but soldiers on all the same. “It - it’s not that simple, Hay. You didn’t know what you were doing.”
Haymitch scowls, confused, lost. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. His ghosts, from Maysilee to Wyatt to Ampert, they’d all condemned him, all told him what to expect from his friends and family. They’d all said they would hate him, would be afraid of him, and yet…
And yet, they weren’t. Even Burdock wasn’t.
Still, Haymitch had to refute Burdock’s words. “I knew enough. More than enough,” he said bitterly, angrily, furious with himself and the Games and the Capitol and the fact that they all let him come back here to hurt the people he cares about, instead of killing him off like he’d banked on.
“Haymitch, you thought you were still in the Games.”
The words are said flatly, baldly, as a statement of fact rather than an insult or point of argument. Still, they’re enough to cause a full-body flinch in Haymitch, enough for him to curl up defensively, hunching over and pulling his legs up onto the couch so that his chin nearly touches his knees.
“It - it’s not that simple, Burdock.”
The sound of his own voice almost makes Haymitch wince. It doesn’t sound like the person he used to be, or like the rascal persona he’d put on in the Capitol, or anything like him at all. It…it sounded like the person he’d been during the worst of the Games, weak and fragile and on the verge of snapping, pitiful and pathetic and making him sound like a child rather than like the murderer he’d become.
If anything, it only seemed to make Burdock more determined.
“Yes, it is, Haymitch,” Burdock said flatly, not leaving any room for argument, not leaving any give. “You didn’t know where you were, or what was going on. You didn’t understand. In your mind, you were in danger, and you were just trying to survive. I’m not going to blame you for that.”
“Yeah, well, you should,” Haymitch snapped back, angrier than before, now not just at himself but at Burdock, and Asterid and Ma for playing along with this craziness. “Because even if you’re right, even if I was ‘just trying to survive’ or whatever, that doesn’t change the fact that I attacked you, Burdock. It doesn’t change the fact that I tried to murder you to save my own life.”
At that, Burdock went quiet. He had no response, and for a moment Haymitch basked in that. Basked in the sick satisfaction he felt, now that he’d proven his actions right, shown Burdock and Asterid and Ma that he really was the bloodthirsty monster he knew he was deep down inside.
And then Burdock spoke.
“Did you know it was me?”
Haymitch blinked, thrown. “What?”
“Did you know it was me?” Burdock repeated in an awfully, horribly gentle voice. “Did you know that you were attacking me, or did you maybe think that you were attacking someone else?”
Haymitch wanted to respond.
He wanted to tell him that yes, of course I knew it was you. That he’d actually, genuinely intended to murder his own best friend solely to give him a slightly better chance of winning the Games. He wanted to, so that they could give him the looks of hatred and disgust that he deserved, so that they could see that he wasn’t the person they once knew. That the real Haymitch had died in the Games, and he was never coming back.
But that would be a lie.
Not that the real him was gone forever, that was true. But the idea that Haymitch had known, out there by the lake, that he was strangling the real Burdock to death - that, well. That wasn’t true, now was it?
You’re not a monster, Haymitch, Louella whispered to him, much too kind. You’re just crazy.
Haymitch sighed, slumping inwards and looking down. “...No,” he admitted in a near-whisper. “No, I…I didn’t know that…that it was really you.”
“Who did you think it was, Haymitch?” Asterid asked in a low, soothing voice - a voice that practically pulled a response out of him.
Haymitch shrugged, knowing that what he was about to say was going to reveal that he had gone completely insane. “I just…” He huffed out a bitter laugh. “At first, I knew it was really him. Then, when I ran, and…after…I thought that he, that Burdock…that it wasn’t him. That he was a Capitol mutt or something, made to get me to lower my guard and…” He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders again.
There, Haymitch thought to himself, vicious, terrified. They’ll realize it now. That you’re insane, and too dangerous to be around. They’ll run you out of the district, send you out to the woods, and you’ll never see them again. They’ll live long, happy lives without you, and you’ll die alone in the woods like the animal you are.
So, Haymitch waited for a response. Scared, and viciously smug, because he knew he was right.
It took a moment or two for everyone to digest what Haymitch had just told them. Then,
“Okay,” said Burdock, simply, evenly. “So, you didn’t know then. You thought you were in danger, that you were going to be killed by a mutt, and you acted accordingly. There’s nothing wrong with that, Hay.”
…
What?
Haymitch blinked, looking up. “Burdie, I tried to murder you,” he said slowly, spelling it out for him. “There’s a lot wrong with that.”
Burdock winced slightly, bringing a hand up to nervously scratch at his ear. “Uh, yeah. Okay, I…guess you’re right, in this specific situation. But the point is, you didn’t mean to hurt me, okay? You just - you thought you were in danger, and you did what you had to do. So, it’s okay, Hay. I…I forgive you.”
Haymitch froze for a second or two. Then, he shook his head back and forth violently.
“No. No, Burdock, you - you can’t - you can’t do that. You - you can’t just forgive me. That’s not how this works.”
Burdock cocked his head, a smug, mischievous smirk stealing its way across his face. “Too bad. Just did.”
Haymitch shook his head again. “No, it - Asterid. Ma? Say something.”
Asterid just looks at him, not smiling, not frowning, with a glimmer of something strange in her eyes. “It’s Burdock’s decision,” she said flatly, with a note of finality in her voice.
“Agreed,” said Ma, sternly. She was a woman of relatively few words, especially when it came to more emotional matters, but she still chose to talk. To speak, in order to agree with Burdock.
(Deep down, this was the moment when Haymitch knew he’d lost.)
Despite the sudden sensation that he was now fighting a losing battle, Haymitch forged on. “Okay, fine,” he snapped. “You forgive me. Okay. That doesn’t mean this isn’t going to happen again, or something like it.”
Burdock blinked at him, shock entering into his eyes, like he hadn’t even considered that possibility.
“Yeah,” Haymitch snarled, mouth widening, teeth bared in a predator’s smile. “It happened once, it could happen again. How do you think it’ll go next time, when I decide that Sid is the mutt? Or Ma? Or Blair, or Asterid? What then, huh?”
Burdock opened his mouth to respond, determination flickering in his eyes. Nothing came out.
“Exactly,” Haymitch responded. “It’s not safe. Even if you forgive me, Burdock -” He gestured in Burdock’s direction “- that doesn’t mean I won’t try and pull this kind of thing again. Face it. I’m not safe to be around.”
Slowly, Burdock closed his mouth, a heartbroken look filling his eyes. For a second, Haymitch almost thinks he could still win this thing.
“All right. Then what’s your plan?”
Haymitch blinked, and broke his gaze away from Burdock’s to look towards his ma, who had just spoken. As he looked at her, she patiently, evenly repeated, “What’s your plan, Haymitch?”
Haymitch swallowed, feeling a bit like he was walking straight into a trap. “Well, uh…I…” He took a deep breath, shrugging slightly. “I dunno, I guess I could just…run away? Live in the woods, or something?”
“The woods?” Burdock burst out. “What are you talking about? You can’t live out there! I couldn’t live out there!”
“Better than killing someone!” Haymitch yelled, throwing his arms out for emphasis. “Better than, than murdering you, or Blair, or Ma or Sid!”
“You’ll die, Haymitch,” Burdock snapped, glaring at him.
“So the fuck what, Burdie?!?”
As soon as those words left his mouth, Haymitch regretted saying them. Not because he didn’t think them, but because he knew they would upset everyone else.
Burdock jerked back in his seat, eyes widening and fear flashing across his face. Asterid looked shocked, and Ma grabbed Haymitch’s arm, fingernails digging into his arm. And in addition to all of that, there was a loud, shocked squeak from just outside of the room.
Haymitch closed his eyes. Sighed. And then, “Sid. Come on out.”
Silence. Then, slowly, Sid shuffled into the room from the hallway, eyes brimming with tears, clearly having been eavesdropping. Without a word, he ran and flung himself into Haymitch, wrapping his arms around him tightly and crying into his chest. Haymitch extracted his arm from Ma’s grip, reached up and wrapped his arms around Sid in turn, tucking Sid’s head under his chin, before looking back up at Burdock, Asterid and Ma.
Haymitch swallowed heavily, and opened his mouth. But before he could say a word, Asterid spoke.
“Haymitch,” Asterid began, looking nervous. “You…” Deep breath, in and out. “You’re clearly upset over…everything, and for good reason.” She hurried to add, cutting off Haymitch as he tried to speak. “But maybe it would be for the best for us all to take a break, and talk more about this later. Okay?”
Haymitch scowled, ready to strongly disagree, when Ma put her hand back on his arm and stepped in. “That sounds like it would be for the best. Right now, Haymitch, you should go to bed. I will give you some sleep syrup, and then she, Burdock and I will… discuss,” she said ominously. “Sidney, I need you to watch over your brother and make sure he falls asleep. Can you do that for us?”
Sid nodded into Haymitch’s chest, letting out a muffled, “Yes, Mama.”
“All right then, that’s settled. Asterid, Burdock, you two stay down here. I’ll be right back.” Ma stood up and pulled Haymitch with her, who absentmindedly set Sid down as he stood.
“Hold on Ma,” Haymitch protested, “I’m fine, I don’t need to sleep -”
“That is enough, Haymitch Abernathy,” Ma snapped. “You are going to your room, you are going to sleep, and we will discuss this matter more when you wake up after a decent rest and not a moment before. Understood?”
Haymitch had just opened his mouth to argue when Ma shot him a look - a vicious, angry look that promised bad things for anyone who went up against her. So instead, Haymitch looked down and grumbled reluctantly, “I understand, Ma.”
“Good,” Ma said, the sound of a slight smile in her voice. “Now -”
“Excuse me, ah, Ms. Abernathy?” Asterid asked, standing up from the couch before grabbing her bag and stepping forwards. “Ah…Haymitch still seems to have an injury, ma’am, and I…I was wondering if I could maybe take a look at it, treat and rebandage it before he goes to sleep? Just to be safe.”
Ma smiled. “Of course, Astrid. Come along now.” And with that, she led Haymitch and Sidney up the stairs with Asterid following close behind.
After that, things went exactly as Ma had said. Asterid unwrapped Haymitch’s makeshift bandage, disinfected it and re-bandaged it using real gauze from her bag. Ma measured out a larger-than-normal amount of sleep syrup and gave it to Haymitch, who drank it down under her glaring eyes. And finally, Sid sat by Haymitch’s bed, watching over him as he slowly drifted off to sleep.
(In his dreams, in the arena, Haymitch killed everyone he loved. He stabbed Ma and Sid to death, bludgeoned Blair with a rock, and stuffed gumdrops down Lenore Dove’s throat until the cannons went off. Eventually, after he finally, successfully strangled Burdock to death, Haymitch stepped out of the arena onto a stage. And there, covered in blood under the white-hot spotlight, Haymitch was crowned victor by a man with snow-white hair and a blood-red smile.)