Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was the day the Morningstar family had been anticipating and dreading for years. They just had to get through it. The pool of names from their family had dwindled year after year, and this was the last one. Michael and Lucifer had turned eighteen, and they were the last of the brothers to be eligible for Reaping.

Thanks to Azrael’s Victory seven years previous, the Morningstars were able to lead a relatively comfortable life. At his invitation, they all moved into the luxurious house he’d been gifted as part of his Victor’s reward. They remained a close-knit family, though Azrael himself largely withdrew and kept his distance.

Jophiel and Uriel managed to avoid being Reaped. Then Azrael’s name was drawn when he was sixteen. The family was never the same after that. The other brothers had to bear witness to Azrael fighting tooth and nail to survive, seeing a side of him they never thought could possibly exist. He finally emerged battered, bruised, starving, and absolutely wild-eyed as the last remaining Tribute alive.

Azrael was the only living Victor in District 11. He’d had no direct mentor when he was a Tribute, instead relying on the friendly advice from other District mentors and his own instincts to survive. Every year since, he had to travel to the Capitol to serve as mentor to the District’s new Tributes, and every year, he returned with nothing but the bodies of two dead children. Anyone could see how all the death he’d seen weighed on him. He’d been given the nickname “Angel of Death” during his Games. He hated being called that.

The year after his Victory, the youngest of the brothers, twins Michael and Lucifer, turned twelve and were eligible for Reaping alongside Gabriel and Raphael. Each year, they held their breath, and each year, the slip of paper pulled did not include the name “Morningstar.” Raphael turned nineteen, then Gabriel, and finally, the twins were eighteen. They just had to make it through one more Reaping, then the family would be safe for their generation.

“Mikey, Luci, you about ready?” They both looked up as they heard Gabriel calling for them. The twins glanced at each other. Michael looked quite apprehensive, and Lucifer felt the same. They were dressed nicely, as was expected, with collared shirts and pressed slacks. Michael wore a light blue, Lucifer wore a dark burgundy. Lucifer’s heart was racing.

“Might as well get it over with,” Michael offered, and Lucifer nodded. The two left their bedroom to find Gabriel waiting outside. His arms were crossed and he had the best reassuring look on his face that he could muster. He always tried to find the bright side in things, tried to be optimistic.

“Looking good, little bros,” he said. “Come on, we’re running late.” The twins followed him downstairs and to the foyer where their parents and the rest of their older brothers were waiting. Except Azrael, Lucifer noticed. That wasn’t unusual. The last Reaping he’d attended was his own. He just waited until he had to board the train to see who he was mentoring, probably praying somewhere in the meantime that it wouldn’t be one of his brothers.

District 11 was known for its orchards and agriculture. Their homes and businesses were mostly situated in a large clearing surrounded by trees and some farmland. The Victors’ Village was its own smaller clearing with a well-kept stone path connecting it to town. The Morningstars were well acquainted with it, and Lucifer felt like every one of them had their own path they’d made along it. His was usually right next to Michael’s. Sometimes, Mother and Father would call for a car to transport them, but most days, they walked. They always walked to the Reaping, just so they had the time together as a family. Even so, they were largely quiet the entire way.

The Morningstars tried not to speak much of it being the final year the youngest of the brothers were eligible. Others in the District had made note of it and wished them luck, but every time, it seemed like an ill omen to Lucifer. Every time it was mentioned, he felt more and more like they were being jinxed.

They arrived at the town square in front of the Justice Building where most of the other residents had already gathered. Attendance was mandatory outside of extremely specific circumstances, such as difficulty with mobility or great illness. Of course, every child between the ages of twelve and eighteen had to be present, as well as their families. Like every year, there were automated cameras mounted around the square to film and monitor the event. Meanwhile, Peacekeepers patrolled the square, making sure the proceedings were orderly and that no one tried to slip away. As the Morningstars arrived, one of the Peacekeepers approached them.

The rest of the Morningstar family, Azrael excluded, all crowded around the twins.

“Just a little longer,” Mother assured them with the best smile she could muster. It wasn't doing much to hide her anxiety.

“One more time,” Father agreed. Their parents gave each of them a hug, and their brothers voiced their well wishes and said they’d see them after the Reaping was over. Lucifer couldn't help the bad feeling he had. Every year, he worried that his or one of his brothers’ names would be drawn, but this year felt different. He was probably psyching himself out over nothing, it was just like any other year. He and Michael each had their name in the pool seven times, one for each year they were eligible. Fourteen out of hundreds. The odds of either of them being selected were certainly in their favor.

The Peacekeeper said something to Mother and Father, then approached the twins. They didn't need to be told. The two said their farewells for the moment to their family, then went along as they were ushered to the very front area roped off for the oldest age group. Lucifer shifted uneasily and swallowed his growing dread. He hated this, hated being part of this every year, hated having so many eyes on his family during every Reaping to see if another Morningstar would be sent to slaughter. He caught the looks sent toward him and his brother from others in their age group. Everyone knew that this would be the last year a Morningstar was eligible for quite some time.

Father took his place on stage, as the Mayor always did. Their family had long been in leadership positions since the District had been founded. They served their community well, and Father had developed quite the methods of dealing with Capitol visitors and keeping them happy. The people of the District trusted them, at the very least. Lucifer sometimes heard speculation as to whether Gabriel or Raphael would take over when Father decided to retire. Lucifer thought Michael would do well in the position, but he was too young to have really had a chance to show that.

A blind person could pick out the escort from the Capitol. She was a tall, thin woman with what was probably a permanent scowl on her face. She wore a pink and white dress featuring an ensemble of feathers along with a matching headpiece. She had dramatic eye makeup that drew her lashes almost comically beyond her actual eyelids. She had been District 11’s assigned escort for several years now after the previous one moved to a different District following Azrael’s Victory. Their current escort looked more and more irritated to be in such a lowly place every year.

Father stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat. He evidently couldn't help but glance at his sons right up front among the other eighteen year old boys. He then scanned over the crowd, and a brief look of surprise crossed his face. Curious, Lucifer turned around and stood up on his tiptoes. He peered through the crowd until he found their family along with a familiar but unexpected mess of black hair.

“What?” Michael asked quietly, and Lucifer turned back around and set his feet down.

“Az is here,” he murmured to his twin. Michael looked just as surprised.

“Guess he wanted to keep an eye on us.” The two of them were shushed by a Peacekeeper, and they fell silent. They caught the tail end of Father introducing Stella, the escort from the Capitol. She took his place at the microphone and glanced at the two waiting glass balls filled with paper slips.

“Happy Hunger Games!” she greeted in an extremely fake perky voice. “Welcome to the District 11 Reaping, where we will select the Tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor!” She turned to the balls. “Now, because we have some class… Ladies first.” She reached her long, manicured nails into the ball and snagged one of the many slips inside. Lucifer had no idea how she did anything with nails like that. Stella opened the slip, and she cleared her throat.

“Lilith Magne!”

Lucifer flinched and he heard Michael let out a breath as they looked over to the girls. All eyes were on a tall young lady with long blond hair. She hesitated, and those around her stepped back to allow a Peacekeeper to reach her and escort her up to the stage.

Lucifer considered Lilith a friend. She was a year younger than him and Michael, though her demeanor was one of someone much older. She conducted herself with a poise not often found in the citizens of their District. She also had a lovely singing voice, and Lucifer enjoyed listening to her when they were sitting on the edge of the orchards, taking a break from picking fruit or tending to the trees. She'd always been kind toward him, and when they were younger, he could admit he’d had a bit of a crush on her. She was absolutely beautiful, even back then, and she had a good heart. She was so supportive when Azrael had been Reaped. Lucifer occasionally picked flowers from their garden for her.

They'd somewhat grown apart in the last few years as they prepared for adulthood. She had every intention of trying to make her way to the Capitol and escape the dismal and difficult life in District 11. Lucifer wasn't so thrilled with the idea. He could sympathize with wanting better, but idolizing the Capitol didn't sit well with him.

Regardless, it seemed Lilith's wish of going to the Capitol was coming true. It just wasn't in the way she'd been hoping. She stepped up onto the stage and put on a brave face. Lucifer was pretty sure he could hear quiet sobbing somewhere in the back of the square, no doubt Lilith’s parents. Still, she held her head high.

“Yes, very good,” Stella said dismissively. “Now, for our gentleman!” She reached into the other ball and picked out one of the slips. Lucifer’s hand grasped Michael’s, and he held his breath.

The smirk on her face as she saw the name made Lucifer’s heart drop.

“Michael Morningstar!”

There was absolute silence in the square for several heartbeats.

”No!” Mother wailed. On stage, Father’s head snapped over in Stella’s direction, and his wide eyes betrayed his despair. Both of the twins stood frozen in shock, gripping each other’s hand. They stared up at Stella, and she looked right back at them.

It couldn't be.

A Peacekeeper made his way through the others around them, and he grabbed Michael’s shoulder. That was enough to break Lucifer out of his shock. He stumbled as his twin was yanked away from him.

“No, no!” He lunged forward and grabbed Michael’s hand again. “Michael!” Michael’s panicked eyes met his own. He tried to say something, but evidently couldn't find his voice. ”Michael!” Another Peacekeeper hurried over and shoved Lucifer back as the first dragged Michael out of the crowd and toward the stage. Lucifer blinked back the tears in his eyes, and his heart pounded. He felt like he was going to vomit.

“I…”

He felt frozen in place as Michael was herded toward the stage. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I volunteer!”

Again, everything went silent. Michael’s eyes went wide, staring at his twin in disbelief. Father shared the look. Lucifer found his footing and caught his breath, and he ran out to the aisle between the boys and girls that led to the stage.

“I volunteer as Tribute,” he said again. “Please.”

“Lucifer…” Michael barely managed to say. The Peacekeepers released him and instead grabbed Lucifer’s arm. Lucifer walked forward on shaking legs. He turned his head as he passed his twin, and Michael stared at him with a mix of disbelief and pain that broke Lucifer’s heart. As they approached the stage, Michael broke out of his trance. “Lucifer, no! No, you can’t! You-” Once again, he was restrained, and Lucifer looked back at him with the best smile he could muster. He stepped up onstage and briefly looked up at Father. Father looked absolutely distraught and was tempering it as best he could.

“My, what a noble act,” Stella said as he came to stand at her side opposite Lilith. Lilith peeked around the escort at him curiously, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “And what is your name, young man?” Lucifer cleared his throat.

“L-Lucifer Morningstar,” he replied. Stella didn’t look all that surprised. Granted, he and Michael were nearly identical. Michael had their father’s blue eyes, Lucifer had their mother’s gold.

“Ah, Lucifer Morningstar,” Stella repeated. “Michael must be your brother, then? Your twin brother, from the look of it!” Lucifer gave a slight nod. “And am I right to assume you two are the younger brothers of District 11 Victor Azrael Morningstar?” Lucifer flinched, but nodded again. He couldn’t help himself. He peeked up and glanced out to his brothers and mother.

Mother looked absolutely stricken. Most of his brothers shared the sentiment on some level. He could see Gabriel and Uriel shaking. Jophiel was holding Mother.

Azrael was completely still, evidently stunned silent.

“My, how unbelievable!” Stella said with enough dramatic flair that anger boiled under Lucifer’s grief. “What are the odds? Two brothers Reaped, and one a Victor! Can this family manage it again? Oh, and dear Azrael, now made to mentor his own kin!” Father cleared his throat loudly, and Stella glanced back at him with a smile. “Ah, and that Mayor Morningstar must watch another of his sons in the arena. Fate can be a cruel mistress!” She returned her attention to the gathered residents of District 11. “Ladies and gentlemen, your Tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games: Lilith Magne and Lucifer Morningstar!” Lucifer just stared hollowly out at the crowd, and he kept glancing out at his family. Azrael had disappeared.

Lilith raised one hand up and waved lightly, then placed that hand on her chest.

“We will show everyone the pride and strength of District 11!” she called. “I am proud to take my place as Tribute. I will fight my hardest. And if I do not return, I will be glad to give my life so that no other would have to in my place.” Lucifer wasn’t sure if that was a shot at him or not. Why she was making such a show of this, he had no idea.

“Yes, yes, a wonderful sentiment,” Stella said dismissively. “Come along, you two. We have a schedule to keep! Say your goodbyes, then we’re off to the Capitol!” With that, she turned and left the stage. Several Peacekeepers came up to escort the Tributes into the Justice Building, and Father followed behind them. Lucifer noticed that the Peacekeepers put more distance between him and the Tributes than usual. Perhaps they wanted it to be fair, that he didn’t have more time by circumstance than Lilith to speak with their families.

What an absolute load of drivel.

Once in the Justice Building, the Peacekeepers split up. Lilith and Lucifer were escorted to separate rooms, and Lucifer was told to take a seat in one. He obeyed, and the Peacekeeper left.

Lucifer felt like a stone had settled in his stomach as he looked around. The room hadn't changed much since the last time he’d been in here. The only difference was which side he was on. He remembered coming in when he was eleven with Michael and Gabriel, led in by Mother. She had tried so hard to be strong for her sons. He remembered Azrael, sixteen years old, sitting where he was now, looking absolutely hollow. But even he tried to put on a brave face for his youngest brothers. He told them to look out for each other and Mother and Father, not to worry about him, that he’d try his hardest to be back in time for Jophiel’s birthday in the Fall.

He’d been back. He didn't celebrate with the rest of the family, though he did make a point of wishing Jophiel a happy birthday privately. Jophiel had wanted to celebrate Azrael’s Victory as well, but Azrael had made it clear that he wanted no such thing.

Lucifer still remembered clear as day the look on Azrael’s face when he’d returned home. He was haunted by everything he’d endured. If he spent time with anyone, it was Lucifer and Michael. Something about them being the youngest resonated with him, apparently. He hardly let them out of his sight. Lucifer recalled crawling into Azrael’s bed some nights to help protect him from the nightmares.

Then, a year later, he returned after, at seventeen years old, having mentored the next Tributes from their district. One died during the bloodbath. The other survived until the second day. Azrael returned utterly changed once again. He distanced himself even more. Not even the twins could coax him out of it. It got slightly better over the following years, though he often needed time and space after returning from each year’s Games.

Lucifer wondered how his big brother would be after this. If- Rather, when he died, Azrael would be the one to have to go back and face their family. Failing to keep the previous Tributes alive was one thing. Failing his younger brother would probably be an entire different beast of pain. Knowing Azrael, he’d never want to show his face to the rest of their family again, even though he doubted they would blame him for Lucifer’s death.

He was pulled from his thoughts as the door opened, and in came Jophiel and Uriel. Lucifer looked up at his oldest brothers and couldn't entirely read their faces. They were upset, of course.

“Can't believe we have to do this again,” Jophiel said defeatedly, and Uriel nodded in agreement. They both came forward and Lucifer stood up, and once he felt his brothers’ arms around him, he couldn't help it. He started sobbing. As he did, the embrace around him grew tighter.

“I'm scared,” he admitted quietly.

“Of course, you are,” Uriel said gently. “We’re scared for you, Luci. This isn't fair. The stupid Games aren't fair.”

“Uriel…” Jophiel’s tone carried a warning to it, and Uriel stopped himself. “I hate it too, guys. But it’s happening. At least Az will be looking out for you. If anyone can get you through it, he can.” Lucifer nodded into his chest.

“You two will take care of everyone else, right?” he asked. “Mother and Father… They’ll have enough to deal with.” Jophiel gave a sympathetic look and stroked his hair.

“We will, Luci, don't worry about us. We’ll take care of each other. You just worry about yourself, okay?” Lucifer took a breath and wiped his eyes as he stepped back.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Thank you. I'll do my best.”

After about fifteen minutes that flew far too quickly, Jophiel and Uriel said their last goodbyes, told Lucifer they love him, and reluctantly stepped out. Raphael and Gabriel came in a moment later, and Gabriel immediately raced over and pulled Lucifer into a tight hug. Lucifer clung to him and swallowed back his next wave of emotion.

“We’ve got savings,” Gabriel said. “We’ll send you help, I promise. Whatever we can, as much as we can manage.” Lucifer took another breath to steady himself.

“Thank you,” he replied. “But… Don't throw everything away. I know Az gets plenty, but it’s not worth sending everything my way when you need it too, or our neighbors…”

“Always looking after everyone else,” Raphael said as he rubbed Lucifer’s back. “We’ll be okay, little bro. Nothing is worth more than giving you the best chance possible out there. I’d give anything and everything to get you back.” Gabriel nodded in agreement. Lucifer gave them a grateful look and sat down on one of the couches, and his brothers did as well. He leaned against Gabriel and held Raphael’s hand.

“Michael would have done the same,” Raphael said gently. “If it had been your name drawn, I don't doubt that he would have volunteered for you. You two are always putting each other above yourselves.” Lucifer gave a weak smile.

“He definitely would have,” Gabriel agreed as he stroked Lucifer’s hair. “I mean… I would have if I were able to. Always want to look out for our baby brothers.” Lucifer usually protested being called that, but at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

After another moment or two, Raphael sat up and turned toward Lucifer. He reached into his pocket and took something out, and he held it out for Lucifer to see. It was a small pin of an apple, pearl accented in gold. He fastened it to Lucifer’s collar. The symbol wasn't uncommon in District 11, often used to represent their orchard harvests.

“Take a piece of home with you,” he said. “Hopefully it’ll bring you some luck.” Lucifer traced his finger over the pin, and he gave a watery smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “I'll keep it safe, I promise.” Both of his brothers hugged him again, and he felt Gabriel’s tears soak through his shirt to his shoulder. Just like Jophiel and Uriel, they did not want to go when their allotted time was up. Raphael said goodbye. Gabriel refused to.

After they left the room, Michael stepped in. He was on his own. He stopped in front of the door, and the twins exchanged a pained look.

“Why?” Michael finally asked. Lucifer worried his lip for a moment.

“I can't lose you,” he replied. Michael's eyes watered, and he clenched his fists.

“I can't lose you either!” he snapped as his tears spilled over. “You’re gonna make me have to live with the knowledge that you gave up your life for me?!”

“Better than me being haunted by knowing how I could have saved you!” Lucifer shot back. Michael scowled at him.

“At least you’d still be here,” he said lowly. “You’d still be able to live for both of us. What am I supposed to do without you? What are we supposed to do without you?!”

“I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place!” Lucifer shouted.

He snapped his mouth shut. Michael stared at him in absolute shock. They had never spoken about it. Lucifer didn't even know if Michael knew.

“It’s in our names, Michael,” he said quietly.

He was eight or nine years old when he'd asked Jophiel about it. All of his siblings had similar names: Jophiel, Uriel, Azrael, Raphael, Gabriel, Michael. His was the only odd one, and he didn't understand why. Jophiel told him that Mother and Father didn't know she was having twins. They only had the one name prepared. Michael had been born first, so he received it. Lucifer was… unexpected. Jophiel didn't know why they named him “Lucifer,” and Lucifer didn't have the heart or courage to ask them. Jophiel assured him that he was just as loved as the rest of their siblings, but even before he’d learned about that, he’d felt like the odd one out. The feeling only grew over time.

“Lucifer…” Michael breathed. Lucifer lowered his head for a moment and forced himself to relax.

“They planned for you. They didn't plan for me. And besides, you have so much going for you here. You can be a great leader, I know it. You’re so much like Father, but you have an even kinder heart.” He looked up at his twin. “Live for me, Michael. Please. My life has always been tied to you. You can be without me. I can't be without you.”

“How can you say that?!” Michael stalked over to him, tears streaming down his face. “Who cares if they didn't know they were having both of us? You and I have always been together! You’ve always been my other half! And now you expect me to just go on with my life without you?!”

“For my sake, yes,” Lucifer replied. Michael deflated, and his lip wavered.

He stepped forward and hugged Lucifer tightly, and Lucifer held him just as tight. They both shook as they cried.

“I'm sorry,” Lucifer mumbled into Michael’s shoulder. “I shouldn't have said that stuff. I-”

“Don't,” Michael cut him off. “I don't care. I don't care what anyone else thinks or was planning or whatever else. You’re my brother, my twin, my best friend. Nothing will ever change that.” He pulled back a bit and took Lucifer’s face in his hands. They were so warm. “You promise me you’ll do your best out there. You’ll try to survive. I can't ask you to promise to come back, I know I can't. But try, damn it. Whatever you have to do, I… I just want you to come home alive.”

“I will try,” Lucifer replied with a nod. “I promise that. I will fight my hardest.” The twins stood there holding each other for as long as they could. When Michael’s allotted time was up, Lucifer heard the smallest noise of hurt and grief from his twin. Michael took his hands and looked into his eyes.

“Try,” he affirmed, and Lucifer nodded. Michael took a deep breath and turned for the door. “One way or another, I’ll see you again, Luci.”

“I know, Mikey,” Lucifer said. “In this life or the next, we’ll be together again.” Michael lingered for a moment longer until he heard incessant knocking on the door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he snapped. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm and stepped out. Lucifer heard his breath hitch as he departed.

Fifteen minutes remained in the time Lucifer had to say goodbye. He didn’t know who or what was determining when and how his family came in, but he was glad to have the private moment with Michael. Things would never be the same between them, he knew that. He looked up as the door opened once again, and Mother and Father entered. Mother immediately gave her son a hug, and she tried her hardest to control her tears. Father joined them and rested his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder.

“My sweet little boy,” Mother sobbed. “Oh, Lucifer, my dear, please…” Lucifer didn’t know what exactly she was pleading for. He decided not to ask. The conversation with Michael had brought all his thoughts and feelings back to the surface, and he couldn’t go without knowing.

“Mother, Father,” Lucifer stepped back and looked up at each of them. “I… I have to know. Why is my name different from everyone else’s?” His parents exchanged a surprised look. “Jophiel once told me that you’d only been expecting Michael, that I was a surprise. But… Why name me the way you did? Why separate me from my brothers?” Mother swallowed, and Father took a breath. He gestured for Lucifer to sit, and as he did, they did as well.

“It is true that we didn’t know we were having twins,” Mother began. “After five boys, we assumed we would be having another. So we chose ‘Michael’ for our next son. When he was born, we knew what his name would be. But… then came you.” Mother scooted closer and stroked his hair gently. “A surprise, but a welcome one. We’ve loved you from the moment you came into the world.” She glanced at her husband.

“We did discuss what we should name you,” he continued. “And we came up with one to follow the same way we named your brothers. We were going to call you ‘Samael.’” Lucifer’s brow rose.

“Then why didn’t you?” he asked. “I could’ve lived with that.” Father gave a weak smile of amusement.

“You… How to explain…?” Mother spoke up again. “Michael was born without any major complications. But you… You weren’t breathing when you came into the world. You were so small, we were terrified for you. But the midwife managed to get you to cough up whatever had been blocking your airway. The moment you could breathe, you let out such a strong cry. It shocked us both.”

“We knew at that moment that you were special,” Father said. “You were born in the dark, but you brought us such light with that cry. So… We named you ‘Lucifer.’ Our little Lightbringer.”

Lucifer remained quiet for a long moment as he took in what he’d learned. They saw that in him when he was born. He was special even among his brothers. He… brought light.

“Keep that light, Lucifer,” Mother all but pleaded as she pulled him in against her. He went willingly and leaned into her side. “No matter what happens, don’t let your light fade. Whether it’s for us, the District, or whoever else you may cross paths with, keep bringing that light wherever you go.” She tilted his chin up to meet his eyes. “Promise me that, my sweet boy. Please.” Lucifer swallowed around the renewed lump in his throat.

“I promise,” he replied. He rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. “Thank you for telling me. And… Thank you for everything.” He looked up at Father, who nodded.

“You’ve been strong and resilient from the moment you came into the world,” he said. “Don’t ever lose that. Don’t give up, no matter what happens. You have greatness in you, son. Let it shine.” He reached over and stroked Lucifer’s hair gently. Lucifer leaned into the touch.

“Take care of Michael,” he said as he sat back up. “Please, I know he’s going to have a hard time with all of this. I know you all will, but… Just… Make sure he’s okay.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” Mother said gently. “Of course. Don’t worry about us. Look after yourself.”

“And listen to what Azrael tells you,” Father added. “He’s a smart and clever boy. He won’t steer you wrong.”

“I will.” Lucifer reached over and hugged his father, who returned the embrace. “I love you, both of you.”

“We love you too, Lucifer,” Father replied softly as he held his son.

All three of them startled when the door opened, and a Peacekeeper stepped in.

“Time is up,” he announced. “Lucifer Morningstar, come with me.” Lucifer lingered for a moment longer. Neither of his parents were going to let him go, from how their arms tightened around him. The Peacekeeper came closer. “Lucifer, it’s time to go. You have to let him go.” Mother looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Please.” Her voice sounded so broken. “Not again. Don’t take another of my boys. Don’t take him! Isn’t it enough that we went through this before?!”

“Mother,” Lucifer caught her attention as he pulled away from them. He mustered up his best smile, though his heart felt like it was shattering as he saw the distraught look on her face. “I love you both. Tell my brothers.” The Peacekeeper took him by the shoulder and began to escort him out of the room.

”Lucifer!” Mother’s wail made him flinch. He wanted so badly to break away and go back to her, to run, to hide. But his family would be punished if he did. Michael would probably be taken anyway. He shut out the echoing cries of his parents, and he had no idea where his brothers had been sent. The only other people in the halls were Peacekeepers. Lucifer walked with them in silence. With every step, he felt more and more hollow. Is this how Azrael felt?

Lucifer was escorted to a car waiting outside the Justice Building, and when he took his seat inside, he found Lilith waiting for him. Judging from the smudges around her eyes, she’d probably been crying too. She didn’t say anything, but when he sat down, she offered her hand. He didn’t see any reason to rebuff her, so he took it.

“Are you okay?” she asked. He appreciated the gentle tone of her voice, but it was hard to feel anything at that point.

“No,” was all he could muster up the energy to say. Thankfully, Lilith didn’t push it. She just squeezed his hand and looked out the window as they were driven to the train station. When they arrived, a Peacekeeper opened the door, and Lucifer slid out of the car. Lilith followed, and they were guided up the stairs to the platform where the train, and Stella, waited. She muttered something like “Finally” under her breath, then plastered her fake smile on her face.

“Lilith and Lucifer, District 11’s Tributes,” she said. “We’ll be spending quite a bit of time together! We’ll be going over expectations and schedules once we’re onboard. We just…” She glanced at her watch and tapped her heel impatiently. “Need one more person.” She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Every year…” She turned to one of the Peacekeepers accompanying her. “Where is he?”

“Not sure, ma’am,” the Peacekeeper replied. “We’re looking for him. You know he’s slippery.” Stella gave an exaggerated sigh. Lucifer felt a bit of amusement that tried to break through how dead inside he felt. There was a bit of commotion and the Peacekeepers separated as Azrael came all but stomping through.

“Calm the fuck down, Stella,” he said flatly as he made his way up the stairs. Stella looked absolutely appalled at his choice of language. “I’m on time.” He crossed his arms and stared her down. She looked like she wanted to berate him, but she wisely held her tongue.

“All right, my dearies! Come along, the Capitol awaits!” She stepped aside, and the train doors opened. Azrael turned to the Tributes, then tilted his head toward the train. Lucifer exchanged a hesitant look with Lilith, and she stepped onboard. He followed, and then Stella, and Azrael brought up the rear. Stella made her way to the front and led them into the car. It appeared to be set up like a sitting room with several luxurious seats and couches on either side. Large windows let in plenty of light and gave a wide view of the scenery outside.

“We’ll be arriving in the Capitol tomorrow morning,” Stella informed them. “Do try to keep dirt off the carpets.” With that, she waved and departed for another car. Lucifer scowled in her direction as she went. Azrael caught his attention as he stepped before the Tributes. His gold gaze flicked between them.

“You two are now my problem and responsibility until you either die or one of you manages to get out of the arena alive.” Lucifer rarely heard him sound so sharp. Azrael looked at Lilith specifically. “I’ll be honest. I will do my damndest to put my bias aside, but I’ve been looking out for Lucifer for eighteen years. But that doesn’t mean I’ll sabotage you. I will put everything into keeping both of you alive for as long as I can. Not gonna lie, I want Lucifer to win. I want my brother to come back alive. I don’t want to face our family if he doesn’t. But if I have my way, you’ll come in second, Lilith.” Lucifer shifted a bit awkwardly.

“Look, I understand,” Lilith said with much more grace than Lucifer would have reasonably expected. “You two are family. I know you want him to survive above anyone else.” Azrael nodded slowly.

“I appreciate your understanding. But, as I said, I will give you my best as well. Now, I’m sure you both could use a break. You have an hour before dinner, and we’ll discuss what you should expect in the Capitol then. Until then, if you need me for anything, please let me know.” He stepped forward and rested one hand on Lilith’s shoulder, the other on Lucifer’s. “We’re a team. You two will have your best chance if you work together for as long as you can. Remember, District 11 is rewarded if either of you emerge as the Victor. You aren’t enemies.”

“I don't want to be your enemy,” Lilith agreed as she turned to Lucifer. “We’ll look out for each other, right?” She offered her hand again.

“Right,” Lucifer nodded. He took her hand and shook it, but to his surprise, she didn't let go immediately. It grew more and more awkward for him until he was finally able to retrieve his hand without being rude.

“Good. Now, go take it easy for a bit while you can,” Azrael advised. “You’re going to be extremely busy for the next few weeks.” With that, he bade them farewell for the moment and headed off in the direction opposite Stella. Lucifer watched him go, then fell back into one of the chairs. At least it was comfortable.

Chapter Text

Reapings took place in each District in a particular time zone at the same allotted hour. As District 11 was preparing for its Reaping, District 12 did as well. District 12 had its own forests, though they weren't nearly as integral to the locals’ lifestyle as 11’s. Instead, District 12 largely did its work within the mountains, mining for coal and other resources. The people were rather quiet, but they took care of each other.

Nowhere was this more prevalent in the District than in the Hob where the black market thrived, not that the residents really saw it as one. Here was where Amiya Boudreaux usually set up shop, selling bowls of whatever she had the ingredients to cook up. Her stall was popular, as she could make even the most low quality, ratty meat and weeds taste like the best meal people had ever experienced. The only one who knew her culinary secrets was her son.

Alastor Boudreaux was hardly ever in the same place two days in a row. He ran errands for his mother, did odd jobs for neighbors, and generally just tried to make the best of a rather difficult life in District 12. It was just him and Amiya at home. His father had died in an accident involving some malfunctioning transport equipment when Alastor was twelve years old. It was about a month before the first Reaping he had been eligible for. He couldn't particularly say he had been upset about the man’s death. He’d been a cruel and abusive husband and father that put up a good enough facade to fool the neighbors. Alastor and Amiya didn't speak much of him.

They got by on their own. Amiya did her business at the Hob and Alastor made money or traded for goods where and when he could. He also, much to his mother’s chagrin, had signed up for tesserae several times to help get them through particularly bad winters and the sudden disruption after his father’s death. It was worth it to him. The oil and grain he received were lifesavers, even if it meant increasing his chances of being Reaped. In the last two years, they’d finally gotten back on their feet, and he hadn't needed to sign up for the tesserae.

Still, as his eighteenth birthday approached and arrived, Alastor worried about no longer being able to utilize the resource come the next Reaping. At least they had managed to scrape up some savings, and Amiya was quite skilled at making food last when needed.

Then, maybe two weeks before his final Reaping, Amiya fell ill. Alastor was distraught. He did everything he could to keep her comfortable and well fed, and he obtained what medicine he could. But she remained weak, had a recurring fever, and could barely keep anything down. She tried to stifle her coughing and her moans of pain, and when they became too much for her, Alastor's heart broke. He wanted so much to help her get better, but he just couldn't afford the higher end treatments sometimes delivered from the Capitol. He was running out of ideas and his neighbors’ advice and home remedies. Nothing helped. As the days went on, her cough just got worse.

It wasn't uncommon in their District. Usually, it was the miners that contracted the illness, though others who were regularly around coal dust and the like could as well. Amiya spent a lot of time in the Hob, and there was plenty of old coal dust in there. Beyond that, she was more often than not cooking, which meant being around burning coal and smoke.

Very few folks who got sick recovered, and those that did were either extremely hardy or had managed to get their hands on the advanced remedies and medicines from the Capitol. It kept Alastor up at night, trying to think what he could do, legally or illegally, to obtain the medicine his mother needed. Short of stealing it himself, he was coming up with nothing, and stealing such a heavily regulated commodity would carry a massive punishment. He couldn't risk something happening to him and leaving his mother alone.

The morning of the Reaping came. It was the final time Alastor would be eligible, and with the tesserae he’d received, his name was in the pool twelve times. Like every morning, he got up, put on his glasses, prepared breakfast for himself and his mother, and sat at her bedside to try to get her to eat some of it. At least he could usually brew a decent tea, and she liked the warmth of it. He carried a tray into the bedroom of their small home. They used to share it, but when she took ill, he’d taken to sleeping on the couch in their living room. She insisted so she didn't keep him up all night with her coughing, and he insisted in return that she keep her bed. It wasn't much better in the living room, he could still hear her.

“Good morning, Maman,” he said as he sat down next to her. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. Her hand reached out for him, and he took it and squeezed it gently. “How are you feeling?”

“About as great as I can,” she replied hoarsely. “Managed some sleep.”

“Is your chest hurting? Your throat?” Alastor asked as he passed her a cup of hot tea.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She took the cup and breathed in the steam. She let out a relieved hum. “A bit, mostly my chest. I’m sure I can make it out today. S’pose I have to.” She looked back up at him, though she quickly turned her head away and coughed heavily. Alastor helped her sit up and rubbed her back gently. Once the coughing fit subsided, he gave her a glass of water.

“I put a little extra barley in the bread I made the other day,” he said as she drank the water. “Hopefully it’ll give you a bit more energy. But if you can't go, I’m sure the Peacekeepers will understand. You’re very ill…”

“Alastor,” Amiya said in as stern of a voice as she could muster. “It’s the last year your name can be drawn. I ain't missin’ that. Either we celebrate after that you're finally free from that worry, or, Heaven forbid, I'm there with you when the unthinkable happens. I'm goin’ if it kills me.” Alastor gave a bit of a smile, and he took her hand again.

“As soon as it’s over, I'll bring you back home. I’ll heat the soup back up and we’ll take the time to relax.” He passed her plate over. “In the meantime, eat up. You need it.” Amiya nodded and took a sniff of the food. She made a content hum.

“Smells fantastic, dear. Thank you for takin’ such good care of me. I'm real proud of you, you know that?”

“I know,” he replied. “Thank you, Maman.”

As the time of the Reaping drew near, Alastor helped his mother into a wheelchair one of the neighbors had helped him build. It wasn't the greatest, but it helped get her from one part of town to another when needed. He pushed her along the dirt paths toward the central square in front of their District’s Justice Building. It was cloudy, which thankfully kept the hot summer sun at bay. Alastor took his mother to a designated gathering area. They were approached by another regular vendor at the Hob, a seller of meat from various sources named Martha. She was… interesting, but she took care of her family. Alastor respected her, if nothing else. Alastor was pretty sure this was the first year her daughter would be eligible for Reaping.

“Hey, Al,” she greeted. “Amiya, hon, good to see ya out and about!”

“Hello, Martha,” Amiya replied with a smile. Martha took her hands and knelt down a bit. “How are things at work?”

“Busy,” Martha said with a shrug. “Miss the smell of your cooking! You gotta get better so we don't have to keep stomaching the gruel being slung around there.” Amiya tried to laugh, but it came out as a coughing fit. Alastor held her shoulders and tried not to look worried.

“I'm all right,” she rasped. Alastor started to say something, but he stopped as a Peacekeeper approached. He resisted scowling and kept close to his mother.

“Don't you worry, Al,” Martha offered. “I'll keep an eye on your mama.”

“Thank you,” Alastor gave her a grateful nod. He knelt down before his mother, and she took his hands. Hers were so cold, even with the warm day. “I’ll see you when it’s over.”

“I'll be waitin’.” Amiya leaned forward and kissed her son’s forehead. Alastor swallowed his concerns and stood up. It took a Peacekeeper urging him to get him to move away from his mother. His heart was pounding. But he didn't try to break away as he was directed to the area roped off right before the Justice Building and the stage in front of it. He joined the other eighteen year old boys and tried to steady his breathing.

He stared at the two glass balls and the hundreds of slips of paper within them. This was the last time he’d have to go through this. He looked over across the aisle and caught sight of his friend Mimzy. She waved at him from her place among the sixteen year old girls. He nodded back and hoped he wouldn't hear her name called.

The already solemn crowd fell silent as the Capitol escort strutted onto the stage and up to the microphone. He was a tall fellow with white hair, and he wore a long, furry, powder blue wrap-around dress. It looked quite hot, especially given the season. Granted, Alastor heard plenty of rumors about how the Capitol citizens would do anything for fashion. Case in point, this escort appeared to have implants near his cheekbones that resembled ice crystals. He also wore translucent cyan glasses done in sharp angles that would likely not offer any assistance with eyesight. He was new to the District.

“Greetings, District 12!” he said with a dramatic flair. “Happy Hunger Games! I am Andrealphus Crynos, your dear escort from the Capitol. Now, let’s get on with the main event: Time to select your Tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!” He paused. Alastor didn't know why, maybe he was waiting for applause. He definitely wasn't going to get it here. “Yes, right…” He cleared his throat. “Now, my sister would never let me hear the end of it if I did not put ladies first. So! Let’s see who the lucky young lady will be!” Alastor heard a low level of discontent murmuring. To refer to the Tribute as “lucky” was just disgusting.

Andrealphus ignored the crowd and reached his white-gloved hand into the first glass ball. He shifted the slips of paper around and made a show of not looking at what he was picking, and he finally retrieved one. He opened the paper.

“Niffty Misaki!”

“No,” Alastor hissed under his breath. Not Niffty. He made his way to the edge of his section and watched as the Peacekeepers retrieved her. She was twelve years old, just old enough to be eligible. Heavens, she was a small thing. She was short and thin, and as she was brought into the central aisle, she stared up with wide, blank eyes at the stage. The poor thing looked terrified.

Alastor was well acquainted with Niffty, and she was one of the few people he considered a friend. She had quite the knack for pest control, and Alastor would usually give her a good, hot meal in exchange for dealing with a rat or two that had gotten into his home. She could be quite feisty and had a… peculiar sense of humor, but they clicked well. He also taught her quite a few of his more handy skills, such as simple repairs around the house or foraging for edible plants. He hoped desperately that some of those skills would be of use to her now.

Niffty slowly made her way up to the stage, and she took her designated spot next to Andrealphus. She looked downright tiny next to him, especially with the fluff of his dress. She was shaking. Alastor’s heart broke upon seeing her up there. She certainly wasn’t made for a lethal competition like this.

“Very good,” Andrealphus said. “It is good to meet you, dear little Niffty. Now!” He spun around with a flourish to the other glass ball. “Onto the young man who will be joining her.” He tilted his head up and shut his eyes as he dug his hand around the pieces of paper. Alastor stared at that hand as it removed one. One last near heart attack, one last moment of dread, and then he would be free of this. Andrealphus opened the slip and cleared his throat.

“Alastor Boudreaux!”

Alastor could have sworn that his heart stopped. No. No.

He faintly heard a bout of heavy, rough coughing. No doubt his mother tried to call out for him, only to have her voice silenced by the accursed illness plaguing her. Alastor wanted so desperately to run to her, to do away with anyone that tried to keep them apart and flee with her to safety, wherever that might be. Instead, he had Peacekeepers coming toward him. One grabbed his arm, and he wrenched it away.

“No, I- I can’t go! My mother-” He grunted as another grabbed him and yanked him out into the aisle. “She needs me! She’s sick, she can’t take care of herself! I’m all she has!” He didn’t expect them to show any mercy, but he was desperate. Still, it hurt that they just ignored him and dragged him up toward the stage.

Alastor clenched his teeth and ripped his arms away from the Peacekeepers as he reached the steps. He was going to keep some sense of dignity. He climbed up and took his spot opposite Niffty next to Andrealphus. The two chosen Tributes could not be more different, and it was clear to everyone that now watched them from the crowd. Niffty gripped the fabric of her dress while Alastor held his head high, keeping his hands folded behind his back.

“Excellent, most excellent!” Andrealphus crowed. “Let's hear it for your Tributes of District 12, Niffty Misaki and Alastor Boudreaux!” There was a heavy silence save a crying baby or a cough among the residents. Alastor saw plenty of looks of pity, horror, sympathy, and some relief, especially among the eighteen year olds. They were finally free from this horror.

Alastor was not.

He said nothing as Andrealphus chattered away about what an honor this was, how proud they should be to represent their District. Alastor took a step forward and lifted his left hand. He placed three fingers to his lips, then raised them high above his head. Andrealphus trailed off, evidently perplexed that someone else was taking attention from him.

Many of the gathered residents of District 12 mirrored and returned the salute. Alastor didn't know when or how it came to be, but the people of the District used it as a sign of respect, gratitude, and farewells. It both warmed and broke Alastor’s heart to see so many responding with it.

“Yes, yes, anyway!” Andrealphus placed his hands on the Tributes’ backs and turned them toward the Justice Building. “Come along, we have a schedule to keep! You don't want to cut into your time to speak with your families, hmm?” Alastor had to fight hard to resist punching the escort. Capitol scum had no idea what this was like. They weren't the ones sending children to slaughter.

Alastor was escorted by a duo of Peacekeepers to a sitting room inside the Justice Building, and he was instructed to take a seat. He did so, and they left him alone with his thoughts. Already, he found himself planning strategies. If he was going to be part of this, he would do everything in his power to win. At least if he did come home as the Victor, he would likely be able to obtain the medicine his mother needed. He just hoped she would hold out long enough for him to return.

He looked up as the door opened, and to his surprise, Martha stepped in. She gave Alastor a sympathetic smile.

“Hey, not gonna waste a bunch of your time,” she said. “I just want to tell ya that you don't gotta worry ‘bout your Mama. Me an’ Ralphie will look after her while you’re gone, promise. We’ll take care of her best we can.” Alastor could sob with relief. He stood up and took her hand, and he lowered his head as he held it gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said shakily. “Oh, thank you so much, Martha. I can't begin to tell you how much that means to me. I swear that I'll repay your kindness.” He paused for a moment and swallowed. “But… If I don't come back…”

“Stop.” Martha shook her head lightly. “Don't you worry, sweetie. This ain’t a limited time offer. Whether you come back or not, we’ll take care’a her.” It went unspoken between them that Amiya likely wouldn't be around much longer anyway.

“As long as… just keep her comfortable,” Alastor bade. “Thank you.” Martha nodded and retrieved her hand. She stepped back and headed for the door, though she gave him one more friendly smile on her way out.

Alastor paced back and forth in the small room. That was a huge relief off his shoulders, knowing he had people he could trust, for the most part, taking care of his mother. He just wanted to see her, though he had no idea what he would say. He looked up as the door opened, but rather than his mother, Mimzy came in.

“Hey, Al,” she said as she stepped into the room. “I just… just wanted to tell ya that I'll miss ya while you’re gone.” He gave a smile and opened his arms, and she hurried over to hug him. “You’re gonna get out there and kick butt, right?”

“I plan to,” Alastor agreed. “Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm away. I won't be there to help get you out of it.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes, and though she forced a smile, he could see her holding back tears.

“Oh, I'm sure I'll have a huge mess for ya to clean up when ya get back,” she offered. “So ya better get back, ya hear me?”

“I hear you,” he replied. “Here, I'll make you a deal.” He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders. “You cheer me on while I'm out there, and I'll help get you out of whatever you manage to get into when I get home. Deal?” Mimzy let out a breath and wiped her eyes.

“Deal,” she said. “I'll hold ya to that. I know ya never break your deals.” Alastor nodded.

“Indeed, I don't.” With that, Mimzy gave him one more hug and said goodbye, and she left the room. Alastor could hear her sniffling as she went. He tapped his heel nervously as he began to pace again. He hated this waiting, knowing what he would be forced into in the coming days and weeks.

Once more, the door opened, and his mother stepped in. He could tell immediately that she had been crying. She was also on her feet, and he immediately hurried over to help her. He took her arms and led her to one of the couches.

“Maman,” he said gently as he sat her down. She pulled him down with her and hugged him tightly, and he returned the embrace and buried his face in her shoulder. She was shaking as she cried softly. She just didn't have the strength to sob like she probably felt she needed to. Alastor felt his own tears forming. He almost never cried, certainly hadn't when his father died. The last time he did was in the privacy of the kitchen while his mother slept, after she'd received her diagnosis.

He couldn't remember the last time he cried in front of someone.

“You're clever,” she finally said, though she didn't pull away. “You're quick, you’re strong, you’re resourceful.”

“Maman,” he murmured as he stroked her hair. She coughed into his chest, and he refused to let her go when she tried to pull back.

“I know I've always told you to be kind, don’t resort to violence unless you have no other choice.” She paused and coughed. “Out there, you’ll have to. So, protect yourself, Alastor. If… if you have to hurt someone… Just take care of yourself.”

Alastor’s lips parted, the confession that he swore he would take to his grave hanging on the tip of his tongue. But he stopped it, and he was grateful that she hadn’t seen him about to speak. She didn't need to know. She didn't need the burden of that knowledge, especially now. She had more than enough to worry about.

“I'll do my best,” he said instead. “I'll try. I'll fight my hardest to come home to you. So…” He pulled her back to look into her eyes. “Hang on, Maman. When I come back, I… I can bring medicine. I'll get you feeling better. So, don't go anywhere before I get home.” She managed a wavering smile, though she couldn't stop her tears from falling.

“I got no plans to leave you,” she replied as she placed her hands on his cheeks. “So you better not leave me. And when I'm all better, we’ll celebrate livin’ the lives we earned. How ‘bout that?” Alastor let out a brief, breathy laugh, and he nodded.

“Sounds perfect, Maman.” She lowered her hands and reached into the small bag she carried with her, and she retrieved a gold bracelet.

Alastor recognized it immediately. According to what he’d heard, his great-grandparents had found it during the Dark Days. Not long after, they’d barely eacaped a raid by Capitol soldiers and managed to flee to District 12. They believed it to be a good luck charm, and it had been passed down through their family since then. It was a precious, priceless item that Alastor knew his mother wouldn't part with easily.

The bracelet itself was designed like a serpent. When worn, it appeared to coil around the wrist. It had scales etched into its surface and small emerald eyes. Despite everything it had been through, it was in quite good shape. Amiya took his hand and secured the bracelet around his wrist.

“Maman…” He didn't know what to say.

“A lotta people think snakes are bad omens,” she said. “But some believe that they’re symbols of wisdom and protection. May this one grant you both.” Alastor lifted his wrist to take a closer look at the bracelet.

“Maman, I… I don't know if this will make it back to you if I-”

“Either you both come home or neither,” she interrupted firmly. “Because if… If you don't, then I never want to see it again.” Alastor hugged her again, and when she started coughing, he rubbed her back gently.

They were largely quiet for the time they had together, broken only by Amiya’s coughing fits. Alastor didn't know what to say, and he had a feeling she didn't either. What was there to really talk about when he was bound for a battle to the death with twenty-three other kids? Instead, they sat there, simply holding each other.

Alastor tensed as the door opened, and two Peacekeepers stepped in. They must have considered him a potential troublemaker if they felt the need to have more than one escorting him. Good, he thought. Let them believe that.

“Alastor Boudreaux,” one of them said. “Your hour is up. Come with us.” Alastor wanted to argue, to fight them, but he didn't want his mother potentially getting hurt. He pulled away from her, though he held onto her hands for as long as he could. She looked up at his face and gave a weak smile.

“Remember, my sweet boy, you’re never fully dressed without a smile,” she said gently. He managed the best one he could give her as he nodded.

“I'll see you soon, Maman. I love you.” He didn't fight as one of the Peacekeepers took him by the arm and started ushering him out of the room.

“I love you too, Alastor…” His heart sank as he heard her voice break. Just a few weeks… As long as he survived, as long as he came out as the Victor, he could save her. If she could hold on until then, he could cure her.

“Don't go without me,” he murmured.

Alastor made no fuss as he was led out to the car waiting outside the Justice Building. He ducked down and took his seat in the back, sliding over to make room for Niffty. She arrived as he settled in, and she was absolutely silent as she took her own seat. The Peacekeeper shut the door and tapped the roof of the car, and they were on their way to the train station.

Niffty was trembling. Alastor could see the terror in her eyes. He reached his arm over carefully, trying not to startle her, and she looked up at him.

“I'm here,” he said softly, and after a moment, she leaned into his side and he held her close.

“I…” She swallowed. “I don't want to be here. I don't want you to be here. But if we have to be… I'm glad you’re with me, Alastor.” He nodded and stroked her hair.

“I'll take care of you as much as I can,” he said. “I promise. Just stick by my side, okay?”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for the rest of the short ride. Niffty stayed glued to Alastor’s side, and he held her close. Her shaking settled down, but he could still tell how tense she was. He was afraid, of course. But he also knew that he had a chance, however slim it was. Niffty’s experience with such violent matters didn't go any further than catching bugs and vermin. She was so small. All he would be able to do is keep her safe for as long as he could, but deep down, he knew the likelihood of her emerging from the Games alive was infinitesimal. It would take an absolute miracle, and those didn't happen often in the Games.

Once they arrived at the station, another Peacekeeper opened the car door, and Niffty hesitantly stepped out. Alastor followed her and kept her close as they made their way up the steps to the platform where the train waited. Andrealphus stood tapping his foot, clearly ready to get out of District 12 as quickly as possible.

Next to him stood a tall, thin woman with white-blond hair. She was awfully pale, and her eyes were quite dark. She conducted herself with propriety, but anyone could see how she had been affected by her experiences. Her eyes were somewhat sunken and she tended to wear black makeup to help mask it.

“Hello, dears!” she greeted in as friendly of a voice as she could to the Tributes she would be mentoring for the next few weeks. This was Rosie Dollisen, District 12’s only living Victor. “Niffty, Alastor, despite the circumstances, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“An honor to meet you as well, Miss Rosie,” Alastor said. Niffty clung to his side.

“Oh, none of that.” Rosie gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just ‘Rosie,’ I insist. We’ll need to all learn to be good friends by the time you set foot in that arena. Though, judging from this,” she looked down at Niffty, “You two already are well acquainted with each other.”

“We are,” Alastor agreed. “We’ve been helping each other out for a few years now. She's quite clever and resourceful.” Niffty looked up at him with wide, blank eyes, like she didn't believe him.

“That’s good,” Rosie nodded. “Those traits will serve you well, sweetie.”

“Yes, yes,” Andrealphus huffed. “Come, come along! We must make haste, we cannot be late.” He looked the Tributes up and down. “I shall make sure you both shine, even if you come from such a ramshackle place. Oh, I can't wait to rub it in my sister’s face that I've polished coal into diamonds!” He trotted onto the train. Rosie sighed and shook her head. Clearly, she was not impressed with District 12’s new escort.

“What a peacock,” she muttered. “But we're stuck with him.” She flashed the Tributes a smile. “I'll deal with him, you two will have enough on your plates. Now, take some time to enjoy a bit of luxury while you can.” She gestured toward the train, and Alastor slowly stepped on board with Niffty still clinging to his side. Rosie brought up the rear, and the door shut behind her. Alastor stumbled a bit as the train lurched, and it began the journey to the Capitol.

“Trust me on this,” Rosie said as she led them into the train car. “The Capitol has forced you into this. You might as well wring every last bit of enjoyment you can out of them in return. Use the hot water, enjoy the soft beds and chairs, eat the best food. If they’re going to throw you into the arena, you’re going to take everything you can from them.” Alastor couldn't help but smile. He had seen Rosie around the District and knew of her, of course, but now that he had a chance to personally meet her, he decided quickly that he liked her quite a lot.

“I intend to,” he replied, and he looked down at Niffty. “And I think you should too. Get some good food and sleep, Niffty. You’ll need them.” She nodded shyly.

Before they could say anything else, the sound of bickering came into the train car, and Andrealphus entered with another tall man at his side. Anyone could tell they hated each other from the way they were arguing. The other man was fairly pale, made even starker by his flaming red and burgundy hair. He wore angular yellow glasses and a red, white, and black suit as well as thigh high white boots. He carried himself with an arrogance about the same as Andrealphus, though his seemed a bit more confident. Alastor had no idea what they were bickering about, though the other man stopped as he caught sight of the Tributes.

“Well, well!” He took several long strides forward and approached them. “Hello there, ¡mis piqueños! Though, you’re not so little, are you, my good man?” He looked Alastor up and down, then jerked his head to look back at Andrealphus. “!Pendejo arrogante! This one has such a handsome face. What striking features!” He stepped over and took Alastor’s face in his hands. Alastor had to fight hard to resist biting him. “Oh, with my help, I promise you, they’re going to love you!” He looked down at Niffty. “And you, mi niña, you’re so cute. The people in the Capitol will adore you both!”

“Yes, I'm sure they will,” Rosie interrupted as she pulled Alastor back and out of the immediate range of the boisterous man. “Are you trying to say you’ll be their stylist?”

“Yes, indeed!” the man replied. “I am Vassago. Like Andrealphus, I'm rather fresh blood when it comes to the Games.” Alastor bit back a remark on who would really be spilling blood. “I’m quite eager to show the people of Helam what I can do!”

“This is… unusual,” Rosie remarked with a perplexed look, and she glanced at the Tributes. “Stylists and their teams are the first people you meet when you arrive in the Capitol. They prepare you for the Tribute Parade. But that doesn't usually start on the way.”

“Sí, I know, but I wanted to get a head start,” Vassago explained with a wave of his hand. “Now, if you please, come along so I can get your measurements. I have quite the plan and need all the time I can get to see it through. No more dusty coal entrances for District 12!” With that, he quickly made his way past them and off to the next car. “¡Vamanos!”

Alastor exchanged an exasperated look with Niffty, then with Rosie. Their mentor appeared sympathetic, at the very least.

“I know he’s a lot, but the better received you two are, the greater it will be for him,” she said. “Try to put up with it the best you can. Catching the attention of the Capitol citizens is very important, and he’s here to help you do that.”

“Mm.” Alastor nodded. “I'll try my best. Thank you, Rosie.”

“Thanks, Rosie,” Niffty repeated from where she clung to Alastor’s side. Rosie gave her a gentle smile.

“Hang in there, sweetie. I'll be looking out for you. Now, go get your measurements taken before Vassago blows a vein.” Alastor kept his thoughts on how amusing that would be to himself, and instead, he took Niffty’s hand and led her toward the next train car.

Chapter Text

Lucifer tried to pay attention during the dinner on the train, he really did. He certainly did when his brother was speaking, but Stella was almost entirely tuned out. Azrael advised him and Lilith to try to appeal to the citizens of the Capitol in order to draw in sponsors. They went over what the next week would look like, and after dinner, the Tributes were dismissed to do as they pleased, as long as they didn't cause trouble or delays. Lilith bade him good night, and they both went to their respective cabins.

Sleep was quite elusive. Lucifer wasn't used to not having someone else in the room with him. Michael was always nearby. Now, with every passing moment, he was getting further and further from his twin. His anxiety over the Games and the events leading up to them didn't help calm him either. He finally gave up when the clock in the room indicated that it was after 1:00 in the morning. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, then grabbed a robe and pair of slippers that had been provided for him. They were soft, he had to admit that.

Lucifer stepped out of his cabin and glanced around. There was a Peacekeeper stationed at the door presumably leading toward the engine, but they paid him little mind. He went the opposite way and through the sitting and dining cars, then arrived at one containing Stella and Azrael’s cabins. He knocked softly on his brother’s door, then opened it and slipped inside.

Azrael looked up from where he apparently had a desk set up. A lamp was on, and he was using some kind of tablet to go over whatever it was he was working on. A flicker of annoyance at being disturbed at the late hour vanished as soon as he saw his visitor. He stood up and opened his arms, and Lucifer immediately fell into them.

“I couldn't sleep my first night either,” he said gently as he held his brother close. Lucifer nodded into his chest. They stood there for several moments, and eventually, Azrael stepped back. He gestured toward his bed, clearly still made up immaculately, and sat back down in his chair. Lucifer took the invitation and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I… I don't know what I'm gonna do,” Lucifer admitted. “I don't want to die, but I don't want to kill anyone either.” He looked up at Azrael. “How… How did you do it? How did you deal with it all?” Azrael frowned, and his eyes lost focus as he thought it over.

“It’s hard to explain,” he said. “You get out there, the cannon goes off, and suddenly twenty-three other people are out for your blood. The Career Districts are especially bad, they find glory in the Games and think it’s an honor to participate. Survival instinct kicks in real quick.” He took a breath and sighed. “Either you stay as far away from the fighting as possible and try to wait it out for as long as you can, or you have to kill before the others kill you.” He paused. “I know you were eleven when I was a Tribute. How much did you watch?”

“Not much,” Lucifer admitted. “Mother and Father tried to keep me, Michael, and Gabriel from seeing it. But we saw parts, and I know Uriel and Jophiel were keeping track of you no matter what happened. Raphael stomached what he could.” Azrael nodded. “I remember one point where Mother thought it would be relatively safe for us to watch, and we wanted to see you and know you were okay. You were sitting in a big tree and checking your rations.” Lucifer saw the recognition, and the pain, in Azrael’s eyes.

“The fire,” he said, and Lucifer nodded repeatedly.

“Yeah.” Another Tribute had snuck up and set fire to the tree Azrael had been taking shelter in. Azrael had to scramble and jump out, and he’d fractured his wrist upon landing. The other Tribute was waiting with a combat knife, and Azrael had managed to wrest it from the Tribute’s grip and stab him in the chest. Azrael had lost most of his meager supplies, but he was able to gather some from his attacker.

“I tried to stay away from the fighting,” Azrael murmured. “I really did. But it kept finding me. All I could think of was you all, my brothers, my family. I wanted to stay alive for you. If I won, I could make sure you all were taken care of for the rest of my life. So, whenever someone did find me, that’s what I thought about. I was usually in the trees and came down from above, and I guess the people in the Capitol thought I looked all sweet and innocent before the fighting started. I assume that’s how I got my nickname.” He wrung his hands together and shook his head.

“I didn't want to be the Angel of Death,” he went on. “But damn it if death didn't keep coming for me. Then, when it finally came down to the last four of us, that’s when I went on the offensive. I wanted it all to end. I was exhausted, and I’m sure the others were too. At that point, all my mind could focus on was ending any more suffering. I made my kills as quick as possible. Then, I got the jump on the boy from 4, and…”

“And you won,” Lucifer finished.

“I won,” Azrael agreed. His gaze was miles away. They were silent for a while as Lucifer took it all in. Azrael had never talked about his personal experiences in the Games before, at least as far as he knew.

“Is that why you were so protective of me and Michael when you came home?” Lucifer asked. “You were thinking so much about our family…” Azrael swallowed and focused on his brother again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I thought of all of you, of course, but my little brothers, especially you and Michael… I just felt this need to keep you safe. You were so young, and the next Reaping was your first…” He let out a rough breath. “Even I can't entirely explain it, Lu. But you and Michael brought me a certain comfort that I desperately needed.” He actually smiled slightly. “I remember you coming into my room and climbing into my bed so I wasn't alone when I had my nightmares. I don't think I ever thanked you for that.”

“You didn't need to,” Lucifer replied. “I was just glad to have you back, and I wanted to help you however I could. I… I guess I wanted to protect you too.” Azrael gave him a grateful and loving look. He got up and came to sit at Lucifer’s side.

“You did help,” he said. “A lot. Having you there reminded me of what I had been fighting for when I was in the arena.” He fell silent and bit his lip. “Remember that, Lucifer. Remember why you want to survive. Remember who you have to live for. That’s all the advice I can really give you on coping with it.” Lucifer leaned against him, and Azrael wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder.

This was the longest and most personal conversation they’d had since Azrael had been Reaped, and Lucifer was grateful for it. Azrael, understandably, had been so distant since then. Lucifer was glad to have his brother so close again.

“Can I… um…” Lucifer looked up at him. “Can I stay with you tonight?” Azrael met his eyes, and his smile grew a bit.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Early the next morning, there was an insistent knock on the cabin door. Lucifer grumbled and shoved his face in his pillow, and he heard Azrael huff, followed by the sound of something hitting the door. Lucifer peeked out curiously and found the clock that had been sitting on the nightstand now laying on the floor next to the door. He snorted. The door opened, and Stella glared at Azrael, then looked down at the clock. She put her hands on her hips and scowled.

“That is Capitol property, and vandalism will not be tolerated,” she hissed. Azrael braced himself up and returned her glare.

“I doubt anything made by the Capitol would break after one toss like that,” he retorted as he sat up. “What are you gonna do, arrest me? You know these people are gonna eat up the tragic story of ‘District 12’s lone Victor must mentor his youngest brother.’ Everyone involved would hate you for robbing the Games of that.” Stella gave a dramatic scoff, evidently clearly offended.

“That doesn't give you permission to do whatever you wish,” she snapped. Azrael rolled his eyes and wrapped one arm around Lucifer, pulling him in close.

“I know,” he said flatly. “If I could, I would have sent my brother far away from all of this bullshit. Hell, I would have volunteered for him.” Lucifer looked up, shocked at his words. Stella only continued to scowl at them, but she wisely held her tongue. She spun on her heel.

“Just be ready to disembark when we arrive,” she grumbled, and she stomped off. As the door slid shut behind her, Lucifer sat up and turned to face Azrael.

“You would have volunteered for me?” he asked, and Azrael turned his gaze from glaring at the door to looking at his brother with much softer eyes.

“Yeah,” he said plainly. Lucifer tilted his head slightly, confused. “Lu, I would never want any of my brothers to face the horrors I did. I cheated death once, I'd gladly risk my life if it meant keeping any and all of you safe. I’d never want to go back into the arena, but if it meant you didn't have to, I would without hesitation.” Lucifer felt tears prick his eyes. He truly believed his brother’s words. Azrael really would face the Games again in his place.

“Az…” Azrael gave Lucifer the most genuine and loving smile he'd seen in years.

“Unfortunately, the reality is that I can't. But I will fight as hard as I can to scrape together every advantage I can get for you and teach you everything I know during your training.” He pulled Lucifer in and gave him a tight hug, one that Lucifer gladly returned. “I love you, Lu. I promise, I'll always look out for you.”

“I love you too, Az,” he blubbered. “Thank you, I know you will.” Azrael leaned back a bit and nodded.

“All right. We’ll be arriving soon, I suggest you go take a shower and get cleaned up. Theirs are even better than the ones we have at the house, so enjoy it while you can.” Lucifer made a noise of acknowledgement and stretched his arms up, then got up and headed for the door. He gave one last look toward Azrael, then headed back to his assigned cabin.

After breakfast, the train came to a stop as it arrived in the Capitol. Stella made a point of herding Lucifer and Lilith out into some kind of large, mostly empty building that somewhat reminded him of the garages where the Peacekeepers kept their vehicles back home. Other trains appeared to be housed here, and Lucifer caught sight of a few other individuals being escorted by Peacekeepers. They very well might have been Tributes from other Districts.

Stella and their assigned guard led them to some kind of building that she identified as the “Remake Center.” According to her, Lucifer and Lilith would emerge good as new and ready to shine as their District’s honored Tributes. Azrael advised them to zone out and find their happy places while the prep team worked on them. At least he said it with something resembling an amused smirk.

They were ushered through a long hallway until they arrived at a door marked “11.” Azrael rested a hand on each of the Tributes’ shoulders and leaned down a bit between them.

“Remember, your prep team is here to make you as appealing to the Capitol as possible. The better you do throughout all this, the better it looks for them. So, believe it or not, they will be looking out for your best interests.” He gave them both a gentle pat on the back. “Hang in there.” With that, he urged them inside.

There was a fairly large room waiting for them, divided down the middle by a retractable wall. The two halves mirrored each other, each equipped with a table, a bath and shower, and plenty of tools, bottles, and whatever else they apparently needed in order to make the Tributes presentable. Some of them looked more suitable for torture rather than hygiene and cosmetics.

Two individuals stood ready and waiting, both with aprons on. One was a woman with bushy pink hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her nearly white skin was dotted with red marks or freckles. Accompanying her apron was a pair of tight, black, strategically ripped pants and red boots. She grinned at the Tributes, and her teeth were sharpened, or at least cosmetically altered to appear so. The other, a man, looked less thrilled about being there. He wore a tailcoat that flowed into what looked like an actual fanlike tail of blacks and reds tipped in white. In place of eyebrows, he looked to have two long feathers stretching far past his head. His face was framed in black hair slicked back over his head, and he had somewhat less kept sideburns and a beard.

“Well, lookie here!” the woman greeted. “Lilith Magne and Lucifer Morningstar. And I’d know Azrael Morningstar anywhere!” She looked up to him and winked. “Big fan, I gotta say.”

“Yes, thank you,” Azrael replied with as even of a tone as he could manage.

“Anywho! Time’s wasting.” She hurried forward and grabbed the Tributes’ hands to pull them further into the room. “I’m Cherri, and that’s Husk. We’re your stylist’s assistants, and right now, our job is to get ya lookin’ absolutely fabulous so he can really have ya shine durin’ the parade. I’ll be workin’ with you, Lilith. Lucifer, you’re in Husk’s capable hands.” Husk just nodded and gestured to one side of the room. Lucifer swallowed and followed him, and Cherri took Lilith to the other side.

“I’ll be waiting for you once you’re ready for the parade!” Azrael told them, and he stepped out to let the prep team work. Lucifer hopped up to sit on the table, and Husk looked him over.

“Good to meet you, Lucifer,” he said, and from his voice, Lucifer figured he knew where the man got his name. “Cherri’s a bigger chatterbox than I am, but that don’t mean I don’t like you.”

“I understand,” Lucifer replied. “Nice to meet you too, Husk. So, what do you need me to do?”

“You’re gonna have to strip so I can make sure you’re all cleaned up and ready to go. I’ll get your skin, hair, and nails ready, and Angel will go from there with your costumes.”

“Angel,” Lucifer repeated, and Husk nodded as he lifted Lucifer’s arm for inspection. “I take it she… he?”

“He, though honestly, I don’t think he gives a shit,” Husk said with a chuckle. “But yeah, he’s your stylist. He’s newer, only been doin’ this a few years, but he’s got a great eye. He’ll take care of you. Anyway, whenever you’re ready. I promise, I’m strictly professional.” Lucifer nodded and stood up, and he hesitantly started taking off his clothes. He could hear Cherri chattering away with Lilith from the other side of the wall, and while he wasn’t fond of the Capitol, at least their prep team seemed okay.

Just as Lucifer stepped into a waiting tub of comfortably hot water, he heard a yell from some room nearby that made him jump. He turned to Husk, who looked just as perplexed as he did.

“Some kids take it better than others,” he offered with a shrug. “Sounded like 12. Probably got a lotta coal dust to scrub off.”

Perhaps not coal dust, but Alastor definitely wasn’t the cleanest individual around, at least according to the impossible standards set by the Capitol. He glared at the assistant- he didn’t bother remembering his name- as the man evidently attempted to scrub his skin raw. Alastor really hoped the other assistant was being more gentle with Niffty.

“Apologies,” the assistant said shortly. “Your skin is so dry and all these scratches and bumps will hardly be appealing. This will take a while.”

“Some of us actually have to work hard to make ends meet,” Alastor grumbled. He hated being on display like this, hated baring his body. He was rarely caught shirtless on the hottest of days, let alone completely naked. His ribs were somewhat visible, though his muscles were decently toned. At least the hot water felt good on his skin.

“This isn’t exactly easy work here,” the assistant pointed out curtly, and Alastor just rolled his eyes and endured the rest of his prep time in silence.

Eventually, Alastor was dressed in a robe and nothing else that he tied tightly closed. He’d been robbed of his modesty enough as it was. He and Niffty met back up in the middle of their prep room. She didn't look thrilled to have gone through such a thorough process, but she did look nice. Alastor had to give that.

“At least we’re clean,” she grumbled, and Alastor chuckled. Niffty had never been fond of dirt and grime. It was tough being a neat freak in District 12. They both looked up as the door swung open, and Vassago strutted in.

“Ah, such lovely canvases!” he crowed as he looked over them. “How do you feel?”

“Raw,” Alastor replied shortly, and Vassago laughed.

“Understandable, mi amigo. Hang in there, I just have to get you into your costumes. You are going to light up the parade- literally!” Alastor knew there was a fine line between creative genius and madness, and he was starting to wonder which side of that line Vassago was on. He took Niffty’s hand as their stylist led them to another room.

Back in District 11’s prep room, Lucifer and Lilith had finally met their stylist, Angel Dust. He was a flamboyant young man with quite the flair of style about him. Notably, his eyes did not match, and he appeared to have small pink gems implanted just below his eyes, three on each side. He was kind, if not a bit tough to keep up with in his excitement, and he was quite tall. His long legs were accented with dainty black boots.

“I am so tired of the farmer getups District 11 gets stuck with every year,” he was saying as he flitted about the room and grabbed this, that, and whatever else. “So! I've decided that instead of focusin’ on the occupation, my design is based on the fruits of yer labors!” He grinned as he pulled forth some kind of leafy vine. “Oh, you two are gonna look absolutely fabulous. Now, hold still so I can make sure everythin’ is secure. Don't want to scandalize anyone.” Lucifer exchanged an awkward look with Lilith, and they did their best to follow instructions as they were dressed in their costumes.

About an hour later, the two emerged in outfits that Lucifer would never consider wearing in a million years. He was shirtless and only wore skin-colored tight shorts that barely qualified as more than underwear, giving the illusion that he was naked. Wrapped around his body and limbs were vines of leaves, several of which were strategically clumped around his groin. He wore leather sandals that were strapped around his ankles, and he had a crown of twigs, flowers, and berries on his head. Most of his pale skin was exposed.

Lilith wore a similar costume, and the leaves were wrapped around her chest in quite an alluring way. She was covered in a very suggestive manner, and Lucifer had to admit she looked very good.

“Wow,” Azrael remarked as they approached with Angel following close behind. Their stylist looked quite proud of himself. “You did great, Angel. This is much better than the overalls look I had. You’ll definitely turn heads.”

“You’re too kind,” Angel said with a laugh. “I'm lucky I had such fantastic canvases to work with. Both of them are absolutely stunning!” He stepped around to face the Tributes. “The parade is gonna start soon, so ya better get to yer chariot. I know everyone is gonna love ya!”

“Try to connect with the spectators while you’re riding in,” Azrael agreed. “This is your first impression. Make it a good one.” As they headed for their designated chariot, Lucifer looked around and caught sight of many of the other Tributes. The costumes were wildly different depending on the District, but they all had one thing in common: They were extravagant and complicated.

An announcement was made to make final preparations for the Parade of Tributes, and Lucifer and Lilith stepped onto their waiting chariot. Angel gave them both a few last minute adjustments, and Azrael wished them luck. With the sound of pounding drums outside, the District 1 chariot departed, and Lucifer could hear the roar of the audience outside. The Capitol citizens cheering for those who were being sent to slaughter for their entertainment.

As District 11 was brought up to prepare to depart, Lucifer took a deep breath. He could feel himself shaking with nerves. He looked up as he felt Lilith take his hand, and she gave him a sweet smile.

“Like Azrael said, we’re a team,” she said, and after a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We’re a team.” Their chariot took off, and Lucifer blinked in the sudden bright sunlight. Large drums lined their route, and the stadium seating was full of Capitol citizens. Lucifer lifted his hand and waved, and Lilith did the same with a bright smile on her face. He squeezed her hand gently as they made their way down to the City Circle in front of the Helam President’s mansion.

Lucifer looked up at a large screen showing close-ups of the Tributes in their chariots, and he truly didn't know what to think of how he and Lilith looked. As they crossed the halfway point, however, the focus shifted to the remaining Tributes from District 12.

They were quite the sight.

A tall boy stood in the center of the chariot with a girl on his shoulders. She looked quite short, perhaps he had lifted her up so she would be visible. As they proceeded down the route, their black suits began to shimmer with reds, yellows, and oranges. They looked like they were on fire. It was an incredible sight, and Lucifer was struck by how the fiery motif complimented the boy’s darker skin.

Alastor was admittedly impressed by the way their costumes appeared to light on fire. Vassago truly had made them into burning coal. He stood and balanced on the chariot with Niffty on his shoulders. The poor girl was hardly taller than the chariot, and Alastor knew that she needed to be seen. He patted her leg gently as she waved to the crowds. He was so proud of her for playing the part. Of course, from the looks of their audience, the Capitol citizens were absolutely eating up how they presented themselves.

District 12’s chariot pulled into the City Circle and followed the rest as they were presented in front of an observation deck.

“Big smile, Nif,” Alastor said softly. “We need to look good for the President.”

“Got it,” she whispered back. Their chariot passed slowly under the observation deck, and Alastor looked up at the man occupying it. His brown eyes met electric blue, one of which was slashed through with red. Alastor did not care for the look in those eyes, nor the smile that crept onto the President’s face. But the man said nothing, and after another lap around the City Circle, the Tributes were taken to the Training Center.