Chapter Text
THE BEGINNING: STRAW HOUSE, STRAW DOG
I had four dreams in a row where you were burned, about to burn, or still on fire.
Nico stares into the sun as he walks toward the stage. It's bright, too bright, far too bright, but maybe if he blinds himself, they won't reap him after all. Not very fun to watch a blind kid get slaughtered, he would guess. It's worth a shot.
It doesn't work. He walks on stage and blinks the sun out of his eyes. Spots blur his vision, but it's clear enough to tell that no one is going to volunteer in his stead. The quiet is so loud, pounding in his ears, but that might just be his heart slamming in his chest. He can't tell. He's a little preoccupied with thinking about how he's going to die.
District 7 seems to know the gravity of what's happening to Nico and the girl next to him, a younger girl that Nico didn't catch the name of. He's sure he'll find out soon enough. No need to rush the inevitable, like knowing this girl's name or his untimely death. The Capitol representative, a new one this year named Piper, smiles at Nico as he steps up onto the stage and it's almost comforting, the way she looks at him, if not for her bright green eyes, too iridescent to be natural.
"Your tributes!" Piper says into the microphone. District 7's death knell is their silence. The quiet is almost respectful in its mourning, like these people are sad to lose another two children to the Hunger Games. Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. They've never paid Nico much attention before. They're going to watch him die now though.
Like they weren't watching him die when he was 15 and starving, his family dead or in pieces. Like he wasn't withering away at school in the mornings or in the forests in the afternoon, trying to avoid anyone out working while he was hunting for fear that they would scare the game away.
Whatever. That was years ago. Now they'll watch him die at 18, watch him wither away on live television or step off the plate before the Gamemakers disable the landmines.
Now that's an idea. Nico stares into the sun.
They finally seem to understand that District 7 isn't giving anything else and Nico and the girl are directed into the lone government building in the square. The only other time that Nico has been here was to collect his mother's death certificate. Not exactly a prime memory, but it isn't like this is about to be any better. He knows what comes next.
He sits on the couch in the small, barren room he's led into, and looks closely at the flowers on the coffee table. He thinks they're fake. They must be—those flowers don't grow in 7. Nico has never seen them before, small and white with dainty petals. Decor, not edible. Useless to Nico. He might steal them anyway, just to see what happens.
The door creaks open and then Hazel is in his arms. She's so small compared to him that it makes him want to sob.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry, Hazel."
"It isn't your fault," Hazel says through tears. Nico can feel them staining his shirt where her face is pressed into his shoulder while he holds her. "I just— We've only had two years. That isn't fair."
"No, it isn't."
Hazel pulls back to look at him, her eyes wet on the lash lines. "You have to try. You can't give up. You have to try to come home."
"Hazel…"
"Please."
"Jason can take care of you."
Hazel's face hardens. "I don't want to be taken care of. I want to have a brother."
Nico gives her the smallest smile. "You'll always have me. I'll always be your brother."
"Just try, please," Hazel says softly. "That's all I'm asking for."
Nico doesn't know how to say that he can't, so he says, "I love you."
"I love you too." Hazel chokes on her sob as the door opens again. "I love you, Nico."
Nico squeezes her tightly before he lets her go, lets go, watches her walk away. He assumes that's it and they'll come for him next until Jason walks in.
"They told me I have five minutes," Jason says as he sits next to Nico on the couch. The fabric itches as Nico pulls at it. "Nico—"
"You have to take care of Hazel," Nico interrupts. "You have to make sure she doesn't fall apart. You have to be there for each other. They'll send a little bit of money, use it. You—"
"Shut up."
"Huh?"
"Nico, I need you to listen to me. You cannot give up. I know you, I know you want to give up, let someone kill you, whatever it is. You have to try to come home."
Where Nico only felt sadness drip in when Hazel said it, he feels blind rage come over him at Jason asking him. Jason should know better. Jason shouldn't— He shouldn't be doing this.
Nico glares at Jason. "I'm not her. I can't do it. Don't ask me to do it."
"I'm not asking," Jason says quietly. "I'm begging."
Jason is begging. Nico's tears finally well in his eyes, spill over, streak down his face, and Jason pulls him into a hug. Jason sobs, Nico sobs, and time ticks down. Jason begs, something incoherent that Nico can't pick out, while Nico digs his nails into Jason's shoulders, and the door opens. Five minutes. That's all they get in the end.
"No," Nico says, and his voice grates on his ears, all sharp edges. "No, please."
The Peacekeeper is gruff. "Time to go. Get on the train."
Jason doesn't move until the Peacekeeper grabs him by the arm none too gently. Another one appears to grab Nico by the shirt, dragging him toward the train, as Jason yells, "I love you!"
"I love you!" Nico yells back. He wonders if Jason even heard his "I'm so sorry." He won't get to find out.
He's shoved onto the train and he falls, his knees cracking on the floor, and breaths are heaving through his chest, panic laced in them, as his elbows hit the floor too. The train door shuts behind him and he's alone, he's alone, he's alone, he's—
"Nico."
Blue-green eyes, too-genuine concern in them. Familiar. Nico retches.