A/N: Happy Birthday, super angel, super cutie, Son SeungWan! <3 You'll find happiness in everything you do. Including this fic!

TRIGGER WARNING: HUNGER GAMES

Blood tainted her hands and red coloured her vision. Her ears were ringing, barely able to heard the thunderous whirring of the helicarrier that was beaming her up, her body attaching to the ladder that was sent down to get her. There was an announcement, probably one for her winning the 52nd Hunger Games but it was muffled, reminding her of the gentle bellowing of her cattle back at the farm, when things were difficult yet peaceful. There was an awful tangy taste in and bits of substances she didn’t want to name sticking to her face, her hair, her tongue.

 

Her eyes, blurry and fire hot, were trained on the prone body beneath her, the gradually disappearing body of the girl from District One painting the back of her eyelids, a definite recurrent in all her dreams and nightmares.

 

***

 

Wendy took in a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. She wondered if she should smile when she greeted the tributes or be solemn as to instill some trust between them. She wondered if she should be their friend or a teacher, wondered which would be the better strategy in sending one of her responsibilities back home, back to a family who was sure to go through hell for the upcoming weeks. She wondered if she’d be getting experienced ranchers or butchers, wondered if they were old enough to have learnt the tricks of the trade, whether they’d be anything for her to use.

 

(She couldn’t bring herself to watch the reaping, haven’t been able to since-)

 

When the door slid open, Wendy found herself doing none of the above.

 

There was only shock when she saw the current tributes, matching tanned sun-weary skin and wide eyes staring at her, a girl and a boy so desperately young. Her fingers shook against the material of her pants, Wendy inwardly relieved that she had hidden her hands within her pockets.

 

At the very least, they wouldn’t have to witness their thirteen year old mentor having a slight panic attack.

 

(Where were her mentors? Where were they? They were supposed to be here, training them, giving them survival skills-

 

Wendy pushed back the images of her mentors too drunk to care about her during her Games, focused instead on the two in front of her.)

 

The girl, with a face that looked like it was sculpted by the gods and a sweet voice guaranteed to bring any Capitol citizen to their knees spoke up, quiet and demure though her eyes kept sparkling with a fight Wendy knew would keep her alive.

 

“You’re Wendy?”

 

Though it was phrased like a question, it was definitely a statement.

 

(There was no one out there who didn’t know her name.

 

Wendy Son, winner of the 52nd Hunger Games, youngest tribute to claim the crown.)

 

Wendy cleared and answered the question, proud of the way her voice remained stable.

 

“Yes. I am your mentor-”

 

The boy, young, so young, piped up, eager and slightly condescending, a clear air of someone from the town rather than the farms.

 

“And you’re going to keep us alive, yeah, we get the drill. Could you get on with it?”

 

She swallowed tightly and eyed the boy, watched the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth slowly lower the longer Wendy took to answer him, watched as his eyes gradually lowered before he folded his hands neatly in front of him, chin drawn to his chest. The girl followed suit, though Wendy had no problem instilling humility into her, her worn and calloused hands already clueing the brunette in on the hard work the female tribute must have gone through.

 

Wendy spoke up once she deemed the silence had gone on long enough.

 

“Humility. That is the first thing a tribute needs to learn.”

 

The male, clearly incensed, whipped his head up and answered back hotly.

 

“Why?! Districts One and Two never have to-”

 

Wendy clucked her tongue, shoving her nervousness into a corner of her mind, letting her more tactical side take over.

 

(She can do this. She’s logical and analytical, she’s a thinker. She planned things and watched them unfold.

 

She can help one of them come back alive.)

 

“And that’s because they are Districts One and Two. We’re not. Any arrogance from your side without the skills to back it up? You might as well run to the middle of the Cornucopia and wait for your death there.”

 

The two of them soaked up the information, the girl quicker on the uptake as compared to the boy and they both nodded but Wendy could still see the hint of pride on the boy’s face.

 

(It will be his undoing.)

 

Wendy clapped her hands together, her palms sticky with sweat from being in her pockets for too long and she strained to smile.

 

“Now, when we arrive at the station, I want you guys to smile to the cameras.”

 

She answered the question on their lips before it was even formed.

 

“A smile is the first step to sponsors. Which we all know is the difference between life and death.”

 

Again, they nodded, reality sinking on their small frames, causing a foreign feeling to stir in Wendy’s chest.

 

(Pity?

 

Hope?

 

No.

 

Compassion.)

 

Wendy lowered her voice and reached out to them (the first of many) and whispered softly, wondering again just how it was she was going to keep one of them alive when she could barely stop herself from shaking.

 

“Ko Eun. Jae Min. The best thing I can do now is to teach you how to stay alive. So please listen to whatever I have to say.”

 

Eyes bore into hers and both tributes, both barely younger than Wendy’s thirteen nodded, a sense of camaraderie formed between children.

 

(And again, the shakes settled back in.

 

How was she, Wendy Son, age thirteen, suppose to keep two kids alive for as long as she could, when she could barely keep herself alive?)

 

*

 

She wasn’t supposed to pick favourites.

 

She told herself she wouldn’t pick favourites.

 

Picking favourites meant condemning one of them to die and if there was anything Wendy learnt from the arena that wasn’t surviving or killing other people was that no one should ever hold the power to keep you alive or want you dead.

 

But watching Ko Eun and Jae Min, pulling apart their personalities and their skills, Wendy had chosen Ko Eun over Jae Min.

 

It wasn’t that Jae Min was useless. Even the most privileged in the Districts had skills Capitol citizens only dreamt of and realistically, there was more of a chance that Jae Min would survive over Ko Eun as he was a boy and boys were naturally more physically capable.

 

However, the boy had a sense of entitlement.

 

Their nightly conversations after training allowed her glimpses into their daily lives. While Ko Eun slaved away on the farms being a rancher, Jae Min was the son of a butcher, tucked away in the town where he learnt to carve meat away from bones while Ko Eun chased after the livestock. If there was any truth to what Jae Min had boasted, he was very good with the anatomy of the animals, almost relishing in the way he told Wendy about the procedure for cutting up animals.

 

His talent with a carving knife gave him a sense of security that Wendy felt was false. With time spent in the arena, Wendy could postulate that Jae Min thought that having experience with blood would let him a cold blooded killer and hence secure his survival.

 

(But he did not kill the animals. These were the jobs of those out on the farms, the job Ko Eun had training for.)

 

His attitude did not curry favours with the rest of the tributes nor did it come off well with the host he was currently trying to smarm, Caesar Flickerman looking on at him with wide eyes. Despite all his efforts to spin things around, Flickerman looked almost bored as Jae Min regaled with tales of his time on the ranch and how he wouldn’t be counted out in the Games, despite his abysmal score of five during training exhibition.

 

No one in their right minds would sponsor him, not when there were others who were better, stronger.

 

Jae Min had a sense of entitlement. And it would entitle him to nothing.

 

(But Wendy tried. She tried so hard to instill some survival skills into the both of them because she cared for the both of them and if she could, she wanted to bring the both of them back to their parents.

 

But she can’t.

 

And it was slowly destroying her.)

 

Wendy reached out and caught Ko Eun’s hand just before she went on stage, the girl shaking ever so slightly and looking younger than she was, despite the make up and the dress the prep team had dressed her in.

 

“Ko Eun.”

 

The tribute looked over to her dutifully, her head tilted slightly towards Wendy to hear the mentor better.

 

(Wendy could see the beads of sweat dotting the edges of her hair.)

 

“When you’re up there, remember to be humble. Remember that you have to win their hearts over. Remember about that and talk about going back to your family. Talk about how that despite everything, you’re glad you’re the one here and not anyone else.”

 

Ko Eun nodded, her eyes wide like the first day Wendy met her and she squeezed Wendy’s hands once. Her voice was raspy as she responded, the crowd clapping lazily in the background as Flickerman ended Jae Min’s interview.

 

“Thank you. Thank you for trying so hard.”

 

They called for her and Wendy released Ko Eun’s hand before reaching up to tug at a brown lock of hair, her lower lip worried between her teeth.

 

Despite her aggravations about picking favourites, Wendy knew that Ko Eun would’ve been a better choice.

 

The girl had scored a seven in her training exhibition and she played the role of a humble farm girl a lot better than Wendy did during her Games. This would curry favours with the crowd, would earn her at least one sponsor from the audience.

 

And like Wendy had told them, it was the difference between life and death.

 

*

 

Their dinner on their last night was solemn.

 

Jae Min seemed to have understood his mistake (too late, too late, far too late) as he picked at his food, his face lowered so much, his nose was almost touching the plate. Ko Eun was just staring, eyes glazed over as she scooped the food up and dropped it over and over again.

 

Wendy almost cried.

 

(They were kids, merely twelve and barely able to hold their heads up straight.

 

This wasn’t right.)

 

She reached out to the both of them, pulling Jae Min straight in his chair and scooping the morsel neatly onto the spoon for Ko Eun, speaking softly as she did so.

 

“Try to eat. You might not have the chance to once the Games start.”

 

The weight they’ve gained from all the fancy dinners will give them staying power, their last dinner would contribute to the energy they would need tomorrow during the bloodbath.

 

(But then she remembered the cold that seeped into her bones as she trembled with hunger in the arena, tired and worn in a way working on the farm has never done to her.)

 

When they started eating properly, Wendy spoke up again, her own food remaining untouched on her plate.

 

“There’s nothing more I can tell you now. But I’ll keep the hope in my chest alive for the both of you.”

 

Survive.

 

Ko Eun nodded, tears streaming down her face as she practically shovelled a huge amount of rice into .

 

Jae Min’s eyes were dull, the boy asking the meat rather than Wendy.

 

“It wouldn’t do us any good, would it?”

 

The table fell silent again, the silence unbearable as the heaviness of tomorrow loomed over them.

 

Out of respect for the tributes, Wendy stayed with them till they went to their rooms to sleep.

 

And remained awake until the sun rose, fingers white as she gripped onto her necklace tightly.

 

Survive.

 

*

 

It was never winning the Games.

 

You try to survive. And the last one standing was allowed to live.

 

And even then, the Arena never really leaves.

 

*

 

The scar around her neck was a reminder of how close she was to not being alive, hidden underneath a thick choker that held the emblem of her District. It was a collar, a reminder to Wendy that she was now a Victor and a mentor and that meant keeping her tributes alive. It drew attention rather than shield Wendy away from it, the choker serving as a placemat for the other victors to stare, to wonder how it was that Wendy survived almost being garrotted, a mere twelve year old that barely came up to President Snow’s chest.  They stared and stared but Wendy didn’t let it scare her.

 

She was a Victor, just like any of them.

 

(May the odds be ever in her favour.)

 

She sat down on the sofa, diagonally opposite the District Three and Five mentors who were watching the screens and muttering to themselves furiously and next to another Victor, possibly the only Victor in the room who was almost as young as her. Seulgi greeted her with a nod and took her hands lightly, their fingers clasped together tightly as they waited for the countdown.

 

(Seulgi won the Games a year before she did, fierce and independent as she proved the other tributes in her year wrong, keeping out of sight and dispatching the remaining tributes with her skillful manipulation of a throwing axe.

 

And like Wendy, the Games took something out of Seulgi, something vital that kept the spark of warmth she knew Seulgi had despite the solemn visage the older girl often put out.)

 

She liked being around Seulgi. There was something calming about the way she presented herself and unlike the other victors, specifically the ones from District One and Two, she didn’t question Wendy on how lucky she was to have won her own Games or take bets as to whether a child could lead her tributes to victory.

 

She cleared , if only to interject the stifling silence between them with useless noise, her words coming out jumbled as she started the conversation.

 

“How- how do you- do you know- My tributes, the boy, he can’t keep still- He might step off the platform too early-Do you think - I hope he doesn’t. Or maybe he should. At least it’s a quick death?”

 

She was almost hyperventilating at the end of her sentence, the thought of watching the people she mentored die on screen finally sinking into Wendy’s brain.

 

Seulgi squeezed their joined hands together and shook her head, voice low and calm, her demeanour nothing like the fifteen year olds Wendy knew.

 

“Don’t count him out yet. Don’t count the both of them out. No one thought we’d win, right? Keep hope.”

 

Wendy nodded tightly, the lump in lodged so firmly that even drinking water can’t keep it down.

 

She sat and she prayed, hands clasped with Seulgi’s and eyes trained on the wide monitor set before them.

 

*

 

On day one, a cannon sounded for Jae Min, his worn face beamed into the skies and eyes boring straight into Wendy’s soul.

 

*

 

On day six, a cannon rang for Ko Eun, the girl laying spread eagled on the ground after being stabbed in the back by someone she thought was her ally.

 

Wendy swallowed tightly and got to her feet, lowering her eyes and wishing Seulgi luck for her female tribute. She left the room with her shoulders squared and her head held high, despite the tears that were mapping the contours of her face.

 

In the sanctuary of her own room, she sat down and cried, cried over the loss of two children and her inability to help them survive.

 

She continued to shed tears as she wrote heartfelt letters to their families, writing shaky and almost illegible from the tears that stained the page.

 

***

 

The cold wrapped around her like a blanket, the water filling her nostrils and mouth as the other tribute dragged her small body down with him, hands wrapped around Wendy’s waist, tight and constricting. She opened , her first mistake as bubbles of precious air escaped from her body. The lack of oxygen made her giddy, her movements sluggish even as she tried to escape the hold from the District Four boy, his eyes glinting as he looked thoroughly at home in the water.

 

Wendy struggled the best she could, her feet kicking out and striking the blonde boy in the head several times but to no avail. He continued to try to drown her, his face twisted into a terrible grin as the strength left Wendy’s body, her lungs screaming for precious air, her brain slowly shutting down from the stifling vacuum. She forced herself to keep awake, to keep moving but it was futile.

 

His hands finally released slightly when her body stopped struggling as much, Wendy’s eyes slowly closing as impeding death came for her. She caught sight of his smile, teeth gleaming against the dark abyss surrounding them and it stirred something in her, her fingers twitching against the rock that was by her fingers. Before she knew it, instinct had taken over and she closed over one that was bigger than her hand and swung it at the boy, the water slowing the force down.

 

The blonde, no longer expecting any fight from her, caught the rock straight in his mouth, blood oozing out into the water as he cupped his broken teeth, his howl of pain soundless within the cold surrounding them. Her blood thrummed hotly through her veins and she kicked out, her remaining strength behind the attack and caught him by the side of his head. His neck snapped backwards, eyes rolling before he smashed into the riverbed, the sharp edges of the rock catching him in the eye.

 

Wendy swam up quickly, breaking surface and inhaling deeply as her lungs greedily took in the air she needed.

 

Her fingers were tight around the rock that was stained red, her teeth chattering not only from the cold but also from the knowledge that the boy was now dead because of her actions.

 

She rushed for the riverbank and bent over, heaving out her stomach’s contents onto the ground.

 

***

 

She went into the room, her frame slighted by the tall boy and the imposing brunette, both of them older than Wendy by at least three years.

 

(They were almost there. Almost at the end.

 

Why?)

 

The boy spoke up first, curt and stern, his muscles rippling as he folded his arms.

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

Wendy cleared and drew herself to her full height, her arms matching the boy’s, folding tightly in front of her.

 

“I will be your mentor for the duration of your Games. I know it’s difficult but try to listen.”

 

A muscle in the boy’s jaw twitched and he started forward, his hands bracing on the chair as he made to stand up. The girl placed a hand on his arm and spoke softly, her words in Wendy’s favour though her eyes were distrusting.

 

“Stop. She’s here to help.”

 

His nostrils flared but he sat back down, glaring at Wendy as the mentor made her way to her seat. The brunette waited for Wendy to settle down before speaking, her tone sharp.

 

“So, tell us, what’s your plan so that we can take on the career tributes?”

 

Wendy swallowed.

 

“You don’t.”

 

The boy - Johnny - bristled, his mouth turned up in a snarl.

 

“If you have nothing good to offer to us-”

 

Wendy raised a hand, letting the faux confidence run through her veins.

 

“Because you wouldn’t be able to. You take what you can from the edge of the Cornucopia and you get out of there before the bloodbath turns towards you. You hide, you wait it out and when the number of tributes are a bearable amount then you start planning on how to ki-attack.”

 

She pushed the word “kill” to the back of , locking it there and refusing to let it leave.

 

There was a spark of respect in the girl’s eyes (Herin, her name is Herin, Wendy) and both tributes nodded, Johnny a little reluctantly. Wendy took it to be a good start, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants before folding them neatly in front of her, her eyes looking down on skin that would forever be stained despite the amount of scrubbing Wendy has put them through.

 

“Until then, tell me what skills you have to be able to survive this.”

 

*

 

Herin had the hand-eye coordination of a circus act while Johnny had the strength and the intensity of a raging bull. Despite their initial grievances with Wendy at first, they slowly came to listen to her, even coming up to her for advice by the end of it.

 

And despite herself, Wendy found herself hoping.

 

(She wasn’t supposed to, not after, not after.)

 

These two, a force on their own with brawn, power and brains, were a a seamless team, years of friendship molding them into a single unit that required no words to communicate. Their interview, save for Johnny’s sullenness and Herin’s obvious disdain for the Games, went off well, Flickerman playing off their admi