Chapter Text
Caldrius was never the kind of person to take the Games all too seriously. He was very well aware his name being drawn was a possibility, but he'd never worried beyond the ordinary. Anxiety was common, he was grateful his wasn't crippling. Luckily, he could see the logic in the situation; he was fifteen, his name was in the reaping bowl four times by default, and he'd never taken out tesserae. Among the thousands of kids in the district, he was only four. The chances of him getting drawn were slim.
"Cal?" A voice sounded from his doorway, causing the boy in question to shoot up from his bed with a jolt. A sigh of relief escaped his lips at the realization the voice was just his father. His lips pressed into a thin line at the realization it was reaping day. He tried not to think about the possibility of him or those he cares about getting thrown into the games.
"I'm up," He sighed, rubbing his eyes. His father sat down next to him, anxiety clear on his face. Caldrius felt an odd sense of guilt at how worried his father was, but he knew it wasn't his fault. Instead of blaming himself, he muttered the same words he did every year, "I'll be fine, pa. My name is only in the bowl four times, I'll be back before you know it."
His father chuckled, bringing in his son into a tighter hug, "I know, I know. But I can't help but be worried. You've heard the stories from Papaw, I don't want that to happen to you."
"And it won't," Caldrius feigned confidence, "I promise you"
His dad pulled apart from the hug, a somber smile crossing his features, "When did you get so wise?" And, as tradition once more, his father pulled out a piece of jewelry from his pocket. Every year on reaping day, for luck, his father gave him a single piece of jewelry from his shop with one white feather. "Your mother was lucky enough to have caught a swan the other day. I, of course, had to ask for a feather."
Caldrius' eyes had a kind of sparkle in them as the feather was placed in his hand, attached to an earring. He smiled, placing it in his right ear and moving in to hug his father once more. The white feathers were an old superstition his family had, that they were the feathers of a caldrius bird — a bird white as snow that held the power to heal the sick — and that they might help with health. This superstition was increased tenfold when Caldrius was born incredibly ill, a disease that was discovered to be chronic. In hopes that he'd heal, he was named after the bird. It didn't work, of course, but it's nice to hold hope.
"I'm sure you're off to see Robin?" Not a question, but confirmation he was allowed to. The man sighed, "Just make sure to do your chores this time."
With a nod and a modest kiss to the cheek, the boy was off. He was reminded about a thousand times to bring his cane — nothing gets past his parents — and now the heinous thing was clacking along with his feet along the cobble pathways as he made his way to his mother's meat market.
Robin meant everything to Caldrius, he was more than just a friend. To him, at least; how Robin viewed their relationship was, unfortunately, a mystery. The two boys met only a year or two prior, when Robin ended up getting a job at said meat market. They didn't necessarily like each other at first, but after forced proximity as they worked — Caldrius wasn't employed at the shop, of course, but he was expected to help — the two drifted closer. Now they could hardly go a day without seeing each other, often getting up to some form of antic.
The familiar stench of meat met Caldrius' nostrils as he entered, almost making him gag. He, of course, knew how to deal with meat, but the smell was rancid. Of course, it was worth it to see Robin.
"Cal!" A voice almost cooed, and a young boy accompanied it. Caldrius couldn't help but be drawn to the owner, who was a little more done up than usual, just as he was. Robin was dressed in a drab button-up and dark pants, a similar outfit to the one he adorned every year. His red-brown hair was pinned out of face, which allowed the blond to finally see his eyes. Grey, like his. They almost matched.
"Hey," he chuckled, sitting down in a chair next to where he was sweeping. He had to hold back the feeling of anxiety that churned in his stomach. Robin's name was in the reaping bowl nine times. A little over twice as many times as Caldrius' own. He tensed up, doing his best to ignore his thoughts.
Robin could instantly tell something was wrong, and plopped down next to him, putting the broom he was sweeping with aside. Neither of them had to say anything to know exactly what was wrong. Anxiety about the reaping. Robin felt it, too; the way his fingers tapped along the table was a tell-tale sign. Reminding himself there was a less than one percent chance either of them will be reaped, he stood up.
"Where are you going?" Robin asked with a raised eyebrow.
"To get breakfast. Both of us need our bellies full." In case we're headed for the Capitol was left unsaid.
"You know I can't pay for that. Besides, I already had breakfast."
"And you know I'll take care of it. And what both of us know is that you didn't really have breakfast, you just made it for your siblings.
Wren and Finch, twins, and Robin's little siblings. Both recently thirteen, they were hardly eligible for the reaping. No doubt Robin was mortified at the possibility either of them could be sent to the games. It's no doubt he made as fancy of breakfast he could muster for them, and neglected himself; as was typical of him.
"I wasn't hungry."
"And you still aren't?"
"I'm not hungry." Robin corrected.
"Then we'll get a sweet treat. There's no way out of this."
After about a minute of banter, Robin finally gave in, albeit not silently, "How indebted am I to you again?"
"You can pay me back by eating," Caldrius rebutted as he opened the door to a bakery, "What do you want."
He almost melted in the scents; honey cakes, sourdough, rolls of all kinds, and even pies if his nose didn't betray him. He kept his composure as he watched the brunette have the same reaction, though unrestrained. He calmed the flutter of his heart and controlled his face before Robin turned to him, a hopeful glint in his eye. Caldrius chuckled as the two of them shared a small loaf of sourdough bread; too much for the two of them, but Robin stashed away half for his aunt to have later. It was endearing, how much he cared for his family. Caldrius smiled, smearing blueberry preserve on his quarter. It was a delicacy, yes, but seeing Robin's face made it worth it. He could go two weeks without coffee to see him that happy; he'd go a month if he had to.
"Thank you," the other boy smiled genuinely, a bit of preserve dotting his cheek. Letting out a snort, the blond wiped it off, only for it to be replaced as Robin took another bite.
Caldrius polished off his own portion, dusting his hands off over his napkin. Robin, however, all but shoved the last bit in his mouth, licking his fingers as he finished. This caused a cackle to erupt from the other boy at the scene, laughing into his hand to control his snickers.
"I'm relieved you think I'm funny, but I doubt that was enough to send you into hysteria."
"Sorry, sorry," he wiped a tear from his eye, "you just should have seen yourself. I don't think I can describe how blissful you looked as you smashed bread in your face."
Robin rolled his eyes, about to snap back with another witty remark, but the words seemed to leave his lips as his eyes landed on a group of people behind Caldrius. The aforementioned turned his gaze to said group; around four kids not much older than them. The youngest among them looked sixteen, trailing behind the biggest like a wounded puppy. Heading toward the reaping ceremony, no doubt. Its then that he realizes the pair would be laid if they lingered any longer. Who knows what the peacekeepers would do to them if they didn't make it to the ceremony?
Caldrius stood up without a second thought, a somber look on his face. His voice almost broke when he spoke, "Come on."
Robin's demeanor also changed as the two headed for the ceremony. Caldrius seemed to lag behind, barely paying attention as they clustered up with other kids their age. Robin looked around, searching for his siblings, no doubt. The blond decided to help him, searching for Finch toward the front of their group as Robin looked for Wren. Once his gaze met with the child's, he pointed, a sigh of relief escaping Robin's mouth. Caldrius' finger searched for Robin's, giving it a little squeeze — a small thing the two of them did since neither quite enjoyed the sensation of physical touch — and Robin squeezed back tenfold.
The blond boy's gaze landed on the the stage, a shabby thing that only held one purpose. To haul kids off to their deaths. There were five chairs aligned, and a table that held two glass bowls, parallel to each other. In the boys', four slips say Caldrius, nine say Robin, and two say Finch. Fifteen slips that would cause devastating loss. In the girls', two say Wren. Seventeen in thousands. Were those good odds? He sure hoped so.
One for each of the chairs, five people were lined up on stage. The mayor, a middle-aged man by the name of Mayor Ambertree, was speaking to District Five's escort. Acacia Earthwind was a relatively new escort, as they were young, but they had the demeanor of every old person Caldrius knew. They were currently sprawled in their chair, just nodding along to what the mayor was saying. They dressed in a gaudy grey and gold coat, as per usual; the Capitol always seemed to send escorts with the worst sense of fashion.
And, of course, the five living victors of district five; including Papaw. He looked away, refusing to make eye contact, simply squeezing Robin's finger. After the rest of the kids gathered, Mayor Ambertree finally started his speech. Caldrius practically memorized the thing by now. He couldn't be bothered to pay attention, he knew the story of Panem.
"D'ariah Dupont," the mayor drawled, bringing Caldrius back to attention. Papaw's name was called, which meant Ambertree was listing the victors. The fidgety old man let out a flinch as his name was called. He was far from gentle, the man was nearly insane. He muttered under his breath constantly, flinching whenever anybody spoke to him. A slightly younger woman, Porter Millicent Tripp — another one of Five's victors — placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Ambertree continued to list the victors until he landed on the most recent. Viktir Myura, victor of the fifty-ninth Hunger Games.
Caldrius' eyes found Acacia Earthwind once again, who clearly wasn't paying attention, because they were introduced about a minute ago. After being nudged by Mayor Ambertree, they snapped back to reality and sauntered up to the podium.
"Happy Hunger Games," they spoke halfheartedly, as if they weren't sending two kids to their certain doom, "May the odds be ever in your favor and all that. Now, as far as chivalry calls, ladies first." Their hand dipped into the ball full of the girls' names, and their fingers secured around a single slip of paper. Robin's entire hand now gripped Caldrius' own. He wanted to assure the other boy that there's no possible way the victim would be Wren, but that's when Acacia's voice sounded out through the crowd, sending shivers down his spine. "Wren Meadows."
Caldrius felt Robin's heart break, and he doesn't have to turn to know exactly what he looks like. Jaw tensed, Robin's fingers trembled on Caldrius' arm. Only one word escaped the brunette's lips.
"No." A single word, but it held all possible emotion. Robin's voice broke, and Caldrius could tell he was restraining himself from breaking down in tears. He trembled, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. The Capitol was always watching, and anything he could say could just make things worse for her.
Caldrius didn't have enough time to soothe the other before Acacia's hand dipped into the second bowl. Robin forced himself not to cry, but a choked sound came from him. Everything else was completely silent as the second slip of paper was read aloud in a tired voice.
"Caldrius Ephemeral."
Time almost stopped, and people turned around to look at him. Somewhere, distant but close enough to hear, his mother screamed. A path seemed easy to find, people cleared it. Breath seemed to escape him, and he didn't even notice how tight fingernails gripped into his arm.
"Caldrius," Acacia said again, gesturing for him to come forth. Everybody, despite their eyes being on him, seemed to avoid any kind of eye contact. Moving to step forward, he's stopped by Robin's hand gripping his arm. He didn't seem to know he was doing it, his eyes were panicked, and his face conveyed a clear message.
'Please don't leave me too,' Robin's eyes pleaded, 'I can't lose both of you.'
But he had no choice. He carefully pried Robin's fingers away, picked up his cane, and forced his feet to carry him to the stage. Wren stood on Acacia's left side, her hands balled in fists, seemingly in defiance. Behind Acacia, the three victors sat, Papaw among them. The two of them locked eyes, and it's then Caldrius realized he looked terrified, a fidgety hand over his mouth. Caldrius couldn't bare to meet his gaze any longer, and instead stared at the floor as he stood beside Acacia, gaze nervously meeting Wren's. She doesn't seem to follow suit, her eyes straight forward.
Mayor Ambertree stood back up, gesturing for Acacia to sit down, and they of course didn't complain. He looked toward both tributes with a solemn look, and began the second speech, the one all mayors were required to give. The words all blurred together, and he didn't register a single one. That is until Caldrius realized Wren stood beside him, her hand outstretched. Ah, right. The tributes are required to shake hands. Their hands clasped, and Caldrius shuddered; Wren's were so much smaller than he thought. She was so small, merely a child. This wasn't right, she shouldn't be sent off to be killed.
A scowl crossed his face as he let go of her hand. She shouldn't be here, it should be anybody else. Anybody but her. The two tributes were waved off, escorted to separate rooms. The boy's throat was dry, panic seeping in as he registered what happened.
He'd been reaped. He's headed for the Hunger Games. Not just him, but Robin's little sister, too. He plopped down on a soft couch, feeling the fabric to attempt to ground himself. The room reminded him of Papaw's living room. It probably was similar to it, but now would be the last time Caldrius could enjoy this setting. One hour to say goodbye.
Two people entered the room, and suddenly Caldrius was wrapped in a hug before he could even register who they were. He relaxed at the realization it was just his ma and pa, of course. He returned the hug as tight as he could, silent tears falling down his face. Judging from the drips on his clothes, ma was doing the same. He pulled away, attempting to speak, but only a choked sound emerged from his throat. Another hot tear dripped, but he managed a meek 'goodbye.'
"No!" His mother shrieked, wiping the tears from his eyes, "No, no! Papaw won these games and so can you!"
"Ma, please," he rasped, "I can't- we all know there's no hope for me to win. I'm as good as dead already."
"You can win!" His father seemed nearly as hysterical as his own, "You just have to stay alive!"
Caldrius sighed, leaning into his father's embrace, "It won't be that easy." He took a deep breath, wiping tears from his eyes, and just laid there, savoring this moment. He couldn't tell how much time had passed until he moved away from the embrace. A peacekeeper entered the room, ordering the both of them to leave. Caldrius grasped onto his mother's hand, "Make sure Robin's okay." He was pulled into another hug and even more tears fall, before both of them are ushered out of the room, and he is left alone. Most other tributes get many visitors of close friends clamoring for a goodbye. Caldrius didn't have many friends; Robin was his only one. Most people thought he was too uptight or whatnot — hell, some even thought he was contagious.
That's when another person enters the room. A broken-down Robin, a shell of his former self. He looked as if he's run out of tears to cry, and yet they start up again as soon as the pair lock eyes.
"Cal," Robin's voice rasped out, the undoubted sound of a broken boy. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but he couldn't seem to get out anything but a sob.
"Robin," Caldrius mirrored.
The two of them sat like that for a long while; basking in each other's presence for the last time, not a muscle moving a muscle. They were statues, still and unmoving. Somewhere, a pin dropped, and they would have heard it had they not been so focused on each other. Every time a jaw opened, no matter its owner, words seemed to fail it. No words were spoken, yet somehow, they understood each other perfectly.
I should have done something. Robin's eyes pleaded.
There's nothing you could do. Caldrius hoped his face conveyed.
I'm sorry. The guilt was evident on his face, as if he'd done something wrong. As if he could have helped this situation.
There's nothing you could do. Caldrius couldn't help but attempt to show again. Robin needs to get that through his head, this situation isn't his fault.
I can't bear to see you leave. The tremble of his lip reminded Caldrius of the times Robin didn't want to think about something inevitable.
There's nothing you could do.
You won't survive. Also inevitable; his own death. These unspoken words remained true.
There's nothing you could do.
I should have volunteered. A thought Caldrius couldn't bear to entertain. Robin sacrificing his own life for him.
"I love you."
The first words spoken; Caldrius didn't even realize they came from him. The words were far from foreign, the two had said them to each other before after all. This time was different, however; these words were no longer platonic. He's sure his face is a shade of violent crimson. He wished he hadn't spoken, the moment of silence broken by three words that hung heavy in the air.
"I love you too," Robin spoke slowly, his clenched fists containing all his rage at the situation. Caldrius didn't have enough time to respond before Robin spoke again, "You're too good a friend for these games to take you away."
Oh. He supposed he should have expected that, platonicity was what their relationship was based on, of course his words would read that way. He's sure his heart broke, but he didn't possess the confidence to correct himself.
After a while of silence, Robin finally spoke once more, "Take care of Wren for me. Please."
The last thing he could say to Robin wasn't going to be that of pain, Caldrius would make sure of that; it will instead be of hope. "I promise," he assured, "If Five has a victor this year, it will be her."
Robin looked as if he was about to say something, but he instead shut his mouth. The both of them heard the peacekeeper outside the door, and they knew Robin would be taken away. The both of them gripped onto each other for the last time, refusing to let go until the peacekeepers ripped Robin from his arms. Caldrius couldn't help but cry out for him as he was shoved into a cart, headed for the Justice Building.
He spent the last fifteen minutes trying to control the tears that wouldn't stop falling. Every time he thought they stopped, they just started up again the second he thought about his parents, Robin, or Wren. His hands gripped his trousers, as unmoving as himself. His sleeve was stained with tears from wiping his face. He eventually grew numb from weeping, and the tears finally ran dry. It was around then that the car stopped, allowing him departure. He was, however, frozen in place, and he had to get escorted out. He fell to his knees as soon as he exited, his cane not supporting his weight. He felt pathetic, on all fours, grasping for his cane, face tear-stained while photographers and reporters all sat and watched. He scrambled to get up, shame and embarrassment weighing heavily on him.
His face was on screens everywhere. Everybody was watching him, this pathetic boy from Five. Though, of course, it wasn't just him. Wren had exited from her cart, her face equally as tear-stained as his. She, however, hadn't stopped crying yet. The bottom of her lip trembled, and she gripped onto her skirt, almost in the exact way Caldrius had been doing. He wanted to rush over and hug her, but he realized the pair's every move was being watched.
He would have to calculate everything he did; he would have to plan. He couldn't blink without carefully planning it out. He should have spent his time in the cart coming up with a plan, not crying. He internally cursed himself, but understood he couldn't go back in time. Instead, he decided to bide himself time. He and Wren could discuss on the train, for now, he'll try to be strong for her. He walked forward, attempting to ignore the constant pictures being taken of him and Wren. The confidence he feigned was fake, everybody could see, but it was better to pretend to be proud than weep when everybody's watching you.
He stood waiting for a couple seconds, Wren herself behind him as the train doors opened for them to ride to their deaths. His legs were much shakier than they should be, but he moved onward nonetheless. As soon as the doors closed, he dropped the fake confidence, hobbling forward. He soon discovered that, apparently, both he and Wren got private rooms where they could put their belongings. At least, where they would if they had any. The room reminded him of his Papaw's house; the same velvet couches and silk curtains. A shiver went down his spine at the realization that Papaw was also on this train, knowing that his grandson would be going into the same games that caused him to go insane.
Would Caldrius become like him in his own games? He sure hoped not. Muttering constantly under your breath is a recipe for disaster, especially in the games. Stuff like that gets you heard, and getting heard gets you killed. Then again, it did work for him — or maybe it just happened after the Games. Either way, Caldrius didn't expect it would do him any good.
Acacia — who escorted both him and Wren to their rooms — told him to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't make a mess. Supper was in an hour, they informed him, before they were off. They're likely glad their job as an escort was over this year, and now they're off to get a drink and occupy themself until they get home. Caldrius flopped down on the bed — which, for as fancy as it was, was far from suited to actually support a person's weight — and got lost in his thoughts.
He needed a plan, that was for sure. Everybody needed a plan if they were going to win the games. Of course, he was well aware of his inability to win, but he promised Robin he'd help Wren, and he needed to stay alive to do that. At the very least, he didn't want to be just another death in the bloodbath. No, he was going to live as long as he could.
He didn't lie when he ensured that if Five had a victor these games, it would be Wren.