Chapter Text
When Caldrius was younger, Papaw was the coolest person he knew. He wanted everybody to know his Papaw was a victor, and that he wanted to follow in his footsteps. Of course, his parents were concerned about how badly he wanted to be like him when he grew up. No matter how much they explained to him that the Hunger Games were death machines — and that close to nobody returned — Caldrius still insisted that he wanted to be like Papaw.
Everything changed, though, when he grew older. Instead of a strong role model that could do anything, he became a decrepit old man. The muttering he did was no longer proof of strength to him, but proof of insanity. Caldrius was older and Papaw was frailer, the young boy didn't know how he idolized him. What he also realized was that the Hunger Games were a punishment, a fight to the death a disabled child such as himself had no hope of winning.
Well, younger Caldrius would be happy, he supposed; he was going to be just like Papaw. Only with less glory. He didn't know what would happen to him — he just hoped he wouldn't go as insane — he couldn't be of much help to Wren if he went mad. His hand rushed to his earring in thought — perhaps he should have left some of his jewelry behind. Leaving anything behind for his family to remember him by would be better than coming home with nothing but a casket to lay in.
He considered changing, but he couldn't find it in himself to get out of the bed. He needed to spend all the time he could coming up with a plan. He didn't want to be seen as weak, but everybody's already seen him. No matter what he does, he'll be seen as pathetic, an easy target. A groan emerged from his throat as he tried to figure out how he could portray himself. He thought back to previous victors, and how they won their games. If he was honest, he never actually paid much attention to the games ever since he was a kid.
The earliest victor he could remember being alive for was one from Ten a couple years ago — Kerren Brand, if he remembered correctly — who won his games by playing into an archetype. He couldn't remember that well, if he was being honest, he hadn't thought about the victors beyond their games since he was a kid. He racked his memory to think of other victors. The boy from District One, a couple years back, won his games by remaining a complete mystery to both the audience and his fellow tributes. Could he end up doing that? He had no idea.
Who were the victors from Five? There hadn't been one since he was a toddler, so he didn't remember their games, but he could remember the basics. Both Papaw and Porter Millicent Tripp lucked out of their games, Viktir Myura was the only one with an actual strategy. Viktir portrayed himself as weak and harmless, but he killed without a second thought, using his allies as shields of sorts. To be quite honest, Caldrius didn't even know if he could kill. He would have to if it came down to protecting Wren, but the thought of it made his stomach turn. Could he even kill the people he allied himself with just so he could stay alive? The idea seemed cruel.
He lazily sat himself up, running his hands along the two feathers hung by his necklace. Usually it helped to calm him, but it wasn't as useful at the moment. Plans circled through his head — strategies to win, plans to survive — so much so it was overwhelming. He grit his teeth, bringing his hand to his mouth and biting down on his ring.
He was brought out of his spiral when somebody opened the door without knocking. Acacia came to retrieve him for supper, drink in hand. They escorted him to a table where six chairs sat, yet only one was occupied. Viktir Myura, victor of the 62nd Hunger Games himself. If it was only him there, then that meant he was going to be Caldrius and Wren's mentor.
Acacia returned, moments later, with Wren trailing behind them. She sat down next to Caldrius whereas Acacia sat opposite her. Their escort then explained, "Porter decided to get herself injured again, and D'ariah is in no condition to dine with us."
"Why?" The question escaped Caldrius' mouth before he could think.
Acacia couldn't seem to care any less, "He's off on some rant about his Games. Kept mentioning you, for whatever reason. I don't quite care to know, I just want to eat. I'm starving for whatever course they've prepared."
Before Caldrius could even think about how Acacia could say such an insensitive thing, a bowl of tomato bisque was placed in front of him. Quite frankly, he expected more than a simple soup bowl from the Capitol. However, he was aware it could be worse, so he ate nonetheless. The taste was underwhelming, too, it didn't have the tang it was supposed to. Wren, though, seemed to be gobbling it up. Good. She needed to eat more if she was going to survive the games.
There were more courses of the meal than Caldrius had ever seen, and he thought he'd seen everything. Is this what every meal was like in the Capitol? A five course meal full with more food than even the richest in Five could eat at once? It was a miracle Caldrius was able to keep down the bisque, chopped salad, roast chicken, potatoes, cheese, and even slice of pie he'd been served. By the end of the meal he was content with never eating again due to how much he'd gorged himself. He'd never eaten that much in his life, not even his birthday. Wren ate even more than him, he just prayed she'd be able to keep it all in.
Acacia led the three to another room, and Caldrius sat next to Wren on a small sofa while both Viktir and Acacia had their own personal chairs. On a large screen — even bigger than the one in Papaw's house — they all watched the recap of the reaping. Caldrius tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he watched the competition, knowing one of them would be the reason for his death. He didn't know how he could possibly remember all their names, but he was determined to try.
The two tributes from One — Brynn and Meeka, if he remembered correctly — both stuck out to him. The girl had a menacing look that caused a shiver to run down his spine; she seemed so proud to have volunteered. The boy, however, stuck out for different reasons. He was in a dress that made him look feminine and in no way menacing. What was he thinking? He was a career trying to make himself look less intimidating. Caldrius could almost laugh.
Both tributes from Two were a couple, and he thought they were disgusting for volunteering to go into the Games together. The girl from Three, Ada, stuck out to him and he didn't quite know why. Four came and went — though it was curious how nobody volunteered for the girl, it was a career district after all — and he had to sit through his own reaping. It was surprisingly easy to watch, but it was still torment. As if he were some spectator, he had to watch both Wren and himself climb up onstage. He shuddered, forcing himself to turn away as they called both tributes from Six. Neither Seven nor Eight seemed to have anything noteworthy, but the boy from Nine stuck out like a sore thumb.
Any volunteer from a non-career district was rare, let alone from a district like Nine. He looked strong, almost exactly like a career. Did he train for the Games since birth like they did? The sight of him disturbed him. What disturbed him even more was that both tributes from Eleven were volunteers. The girl, some long name that he unfortunately failed to remember, volunteered for somebody else, that much was clear. But the boy didn't seem to know who he volunteered for. Though maybe he did, but he just didn't want anybody to know what their relationship was. Either way, the amount of volunteers these Games were disturbing.
And from Twelve, the boy was even younger than Wren. Birdie, his name was, a helpless twelve-year-old boy. The Hunger Games were cruel, and these tributes wasted no time in reminding Caldrius of that. He gripped the end of the sofa as the anthem started playing, and he went through the tributes he remembered in his head. Brynn and Meeka from One, Angelite and her boyfriend from Two, Ada from Three, Vanora from Four, both himself and Wren from Five, Heed and the girl from Six, both tributes from Seven, Evalin from Eight — the boy had some stupid animal name if he remembered correctly, but he didn't exactly care — Willow and Lux from Nine, the tributes from ten, Tumeric and the girl with the long name from Eleven, and Winona Ivory and Birdie from Twelve. He wished he could do better with names, but he could get a couple more chances to memorize them all.
The program then turned off, and Acacia rolled off their chair and off to another room, leaving the three of them alone in the room together. Wren, Caldrius, and Viktir. Their mentor wasn't the most impressive, but he was all they had. He looked tired and oddly ruffled, though nothing specifically stuck out to him. He simply looked like a tired old man.
Caldrius decided to break the silence by speaking, "So you're our mentor?"
"Yeah." He didn't seem all too sure of himself. He was their only mentor — with Porter injured and Papaw pleading insanity — he should be able to speak without seeming confused. Caldrius was going to lose his mind if he, too, ended up being a nutcase.
"Got any advice for how to win the Games or do we have to figure that out ourselves?" He should probably be nicer, he knew, but something about this man ticked him off.
Viktir honestly didn't seem all too annoyed, more amused, which only fueled his anger. He snickered to himself, "Don't die, I guess."
Wonderful, he wasn't even taking this seriously. Was he the reason Five hadn't had a victor since the his Games? This man made Caldrius want to rip his hair out. It took everything in him not to storm out of the cart and into the quarters assigned to him. He gripped the edge of the sofa, glaring at him, "Real great advice. I'll make sure to use that."
Wren looked to be hugging herself, almost definitely feeling anxious. He couldn't blame her, and it's not like their mentor was exactly helping. Viktir sighed at Caldrius' sour mood, "You want real advice? Don't be afraid to be selfish."
Wren seemed taken aback at that, "What do you mean by that?"
"It can be the difference between life and death; taking something for yourself."
To be honest, Caldrius didn't think he had it in him to be selfish with Wren. He'd already decided she'd be the one to win, so that advice was useless to him. Wren could use it for sure, though, it's definite she'll put him above herself, and it'll be even worse if they have allies.
"But what if we have allies?" Wren asked, albeit a little stupidly in his opinion. Viktir had allies in his own games and didn't view them as anything more than pawns to help him win.
"Even better. More people, more materials, more opportunities to take for yourself."
Wren didn't seem to like that answer. She looked pouty, somewhat. Caldrius decided to speak again, "If we get allies, they'll notice if we're taking an unfair amount."
"By the time they notice most of them will be dead. Or you'll be. Either way, it's not like it'll matter."
"Oh, gee, I really appreciate your confidence in us. We'll definitely win with that mentality!"
"All of us know neither of you will win."
Caldrius couldn't take it anymore. He stood up from the sofa, and stomped away, making sure to use his cane to dramatize the loudness of his steps. Perhaps it was petty, but he was petty, so what's the harm? He even slammed his door for good measure.
He was sure everybody from here to the Capitol could hear the scream he let out into a nearby pillow. How could he have any hope of surviving when this absolute dolt was their mentor? He might as well step off the platform early and have his brains blown into oblivion. At this point, that seemed like a mercy. He gripped the sheets of the bed and flopped down on it, the creaking only adding to his fury.
His hands found their way to his hair, giving it a tug to keep from screaming again. His face was almost definitely red with fury judging by how hot it was, though he couldn't tell when it became that way. If it happened before or after he stormed off was a mystery to him.
The only time he could remember being this angry was several years ago, when he first realized Papaw was far from the ideal idol. He'd taken him to school for a 'meet your grandparents' activity of some sort. He couldn't remember why, all to well, he could only remember what happened. It seemed like Caldrius left him alone for a minute, but something happened and Papaw was sent into a spiral. He was screaming and trying to attack anybody who got close to him. It took both Caldrius and his father to bring Papaw out of his state. Caldrius was so embarrassed and angry, he was humiliated in front of all his classmates. He couldn't bring Papaw anywhere after that, and their relationship was never the same.
Thinking back on it, Caldrius was ashamed of the way he acted — it's not like Papaw could help the episode — but he remembered the anger he felt. That anger was similar to the one currently felt, shame at the fact he'd have to be seen with Viktir. That he'd be associated with him.
A knock on the door brought him out of his reminiscing, and at first he thought it was Viktir, so he grabbed the nearest object — which happened to be a pillow — to throw at him.
It was Wren, though. She looked sheepish, as always, and hovered in the doorway, waiting for permission to come in. Caldrius softened, setting the pillow back on the bed. It was as if his anger completely dissipated when he saw her, his only instinct was to protect her. He gently pat the space beside him, making sure to smile. He usually retained a monotone expression, so he had to remind himself to keep his face inviting.
Wren didn't speak as she sat. Every time she opened her mouth, it was as if she couldn't talk at all. It was clear a conversation needed to be had, though. Caldrius would just have to start it.
"Even if we don't find allies in other tributes, we'll still have each other," He spoke after an uncomfortable amount of silence, "Allies?"
She nodded, biting her lip to stop it from quivering. The second she stopped biting to answer, she started sobbing, curled into a ball. He was taken aback, not expecting her to cry so quickly. In reality, he had no idea what to do; he was far from an older brother figure. The most he knew was watching Robin console her or Finch, so he tried to copy what he did.
He pulled her into a hug and awkwardly pat her back as she sobbed into his shirt. She was shaking like a squirrel in his mother's butcher shop. His shirt was bathed in her tears and snot, which was both as disgusting as it was endearing. She muttered an incoherent sentence muffled by his chest, but he didn't mind. He tried to remember what Robin did when Wren would sometimes have anxiety attacks. It wasn't often he was there for one, but it happened enough that he'd been able to witness it a handful of times.
There was only one he really remembered, exactly a year prior, last Reaping Day. Wren was so sure that her name was going to get called, despite the odds being in her favor. Caldrius had decided to come over to their house so he could walk Robin to work, but apparently arrived at the wrong time. He was hugging Wren and whispering comforting things in her ear, a consistent rhythm rubbing on her back. He always seemed to know what to do, especially when it came to comforting people. Caldrius wasn't sure he could replicate the softness in Robin's tone, but he tried.
"It's okay," He whispered, "you'll be fine." A clear lie, both of them knew, so he decided to take a different route, "I'm here. We're in this together."
"Robin can't lose both of us," she sniffled, getting more snot on his shirt.
"And he won't," Caldrius assured, pulling her away so he could look at her face, "At least not right away. We'll get allies, we'll survive as long as possible. He won't watch you die in vein, he'll see how strong you are."
She wiped her nose, looking directly into his eyes, "What about you?"
Caldrius didn't know how to respond to that — he couldn't exactly explain that he was going to give everything for her to remain alive — so he remained silent.
"I'll make sure you stay alive, too."
"No, no! Wren, remember what Viktir said, be selfish! It's moronic to look after anybody but yourself in the arena." As much as he hated their mentor, being selfish was good advice for Wren. She can't afford to value Caldrius more than herself.
"We look after each other!" Wren protested, sticking out her chest, "I'm not letting you die for me."
"Wren, you need the help more than me," Caldrius was starting to get fed up, "You're a child, you need nutrients more."
"Have you forgotten you're disabled?" She scoffed, getting off the bed, gesturing to his cane, "You can barely walk on your own!"
He couldn't argue with that, so he, instead, maintained a disapproving stare. His narrowed eyes held a fury in them that held room for no argument.
Wren made the room, though, because it's not like she would just give up, "Do you even know how much you mean to him?"
Robin, of course, is who she was referring to. Now it was Caldrius' turn to scoff, "Wren, you're his sister."
"And you're his boyfriend!"
Caldrius was caught completely off-guard. He simply paused, his face flush with embarrassment. Is that what people thought he and Robin were? Boyfriends?
"Exactly!" Wren probably thought she was making a point, but she couldn't be further from the truth. Robin was far from reciprocating his feelings.
"We're not boyfriends!" His voice embarrassingly cracked, which only added to the blush dusting his cheeks.
"Oh, give it up!" She was angry now, "I know you've been pretending not to be, but nobody that acts the way you two do isn't dating."
"Wren," Caldrius spoke carefully, "We aren't dating."
"Are you really going to die living that lie?" Wren sighed, as if she was hurt he didn't want to admit it to her, "You can tell me."
"There's no lie said. Wren, as much as I may wish we were, me and Robin are not dating. We're not even flirting, we're just friends." He spoke deliberately, making sure she understood every word, no matter how much it pained him to say.
"Oh." Wren's eyes were wide with surprise. Her own face became red, and she stayed completely silent after that. The train started to go through the dark tunnel, and Caldrius could see the tears forming in Wren's eyes again. He didn't know what to do to help calm her down, but he remembered Robin talking about how his aunt used to tell him and his siblings stories to calm them down when they were kids.
It was worth a shot — he was going to die anyway after all — so with an internal groan, he begrudgingly opened up, "If it makes you feel any better, I do like him. In that way, I mean." Wren seemed a little shocked, but apparently distracting her with stories was distracting her, so he continued, "I kinda always have. Well, not always, obviously. We hated each other when we first met."
"Really?" Wren leaned in closer.
"Did he never tell you?" Caldrius was genuinely curious if she didn't know how he and her older brother met. She shook her head, so he knew he'd have to tell the whole thing. He sighed, "Fine, I'll tell you. But you'll have to step out of the room for a bit, I have to change my shirt."
She pouted, but complied, exiting the room. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt to get the gunk off. He didn't admit it to hurt Wren's feelings, but the snot was revolting and he, didn't want it to be on him for a moment longer. He let his thoughts wander to what Wren said. And you're his boyfriend. Did everybody think that about him and Robin? Was it that obvious he liked him? Did Robin noticed, but not say anything because he didn't want to reject him?
Making the final decision to ignore his thoughts, he yanked on a baggy shirt from the dresser he didn't pay enough attention to. Eventually he found his way to open the door, finding Wren pouting by the door while tapping her foot. She smiled as the door opened and skipped over to the sofa the pair sat at before, clearly excited for a story. A chuckle escaped his lips, and he finally relented. "Alright, alright, fine. You want the whole story or a shorter version?"
"Whole, is that even a question?"
"Fine, I suppose," he bit his cheek, "I've never actually done this before. God, how do I start this?"
"Well 'once upon a time' is usually a good start."
"Wow, so smart," Caldrius playfully flicked her nose, "This isn't some fairy tale."
"It's a tragic love story, it might as well be."
"It's not some 'tragic love story.' It's just how me and Robin met."
"Uh-huh, exactly. Tragic love story."
"I'm gonna hit you," a clearly empty threat, "Alright, alright. 'Once upon a time' a magical prince stepped into my mother's humble meat shop, and I, a lowly peasant boy, fell in love! Happy?"
Wren was clutching her sides in laughter, attempting to compose herself. Every time she calmed down enough to speak, another fit of giggles erupted. Caldrius waited at least two minutes until Wren finally spoke in between snorts, "You say that as if you wouldn't be the prince and Robin would be the peasant boy!"
"Oh yes, I'm some Prince Charming who makes everybody fall in love with me," he joked. Caldrius was going to joke around more, but the train went dark, presumably going through a tunnel. Wren went silent, too, and completely still. He could tell she was scared, so he pulled her into a side hug and began to tell the actual story. "It was around three years ago.
"A couple months before our first reaping, a boy my age got employed at Ma's meat shop. I was a bit of a-" he cut himself off before saying 'dick.' He knew the word when he was her age, and without a doubt she did too, but he probably shouldn't be using profanity in her presence. Robin would be upset. "Jerk," he decided on, "back then. I didn't really like other people, let alone other kids my age. I was jealous, truly, of any kid my age. I absolutely despised his guts, so, being the little angel I was, I did everything I could to sabotage him. You know, try to make sure he couldn't do his job.
"Then our first reaping came along. I'm sure you remember it, Robin was almost as nervous as you. I mean, I was also convinced I'd get chosen, but back then I thought I had some chance of winning the Games. Robin, though? He was in a frenzy of sorts, sobbing uncontrollably. Somehow, I decided to stop being as mean as I usually am to people. Fortunately enough, I'd calmed down Papaw enough times to know what to do. When some boy in a grade above us was called up, he'd calmed down fully. That's probably when I first caught feelings, I have no idea how Robin viewed me back then, or why he let me just calm him down when we hardly knew each other."
"Well, I'm glad he did," Wren spoke up, nudging him with her shoulder, "You're pretty alright."
"For the record, I think you're pretty alright too." Caldrius smiled, nudging her back.
"What happened next?" Wren asked, excited for the story, "You two fell in love? Canoodle each other every night?"
"Oh, piss off," Caldrius playfully pushed her away, "The train's only minutes away from the Capitol. I'll tell you the rest later, promise." Wren didn't like that answer. She instead pouted, looking away with her nose stuck up in the air. She dropped the act, though, when the train slowed, and the anxiety crept in again. Her skirt was held in an ironclad grip, and her eyes looked sort of distant. The clamoring outside the train didn't help, there were thousands of quizzical eyes staring through the train to get a glimpse of them.
The train hadn't stopped, not at the moment at least, leaving plenty of time for Capitol citizens to try and get a look at both him and Wren. He wouldn't allow it. Wren was not to be some piece of entertainment for them, she was a person, too; a child at that. It was sickening to Caldrius, how often the Capitol forgot that every year real children with real hopes and dreams were forced to kill each other.
Caldrius was not some show pony for them. He was a person with substance, and he was going to make sure they knew it. He was going to do everything he could to remind the Capitol they were people, too.