60th Hunger Games OCT - Hinge's Reaping

The smell of frying bacon and potatoes roused Hinge from a deep sleep. Wonder why Juni’s using the last of our meat ration today? he thought hazily, yawning and reaching up to rub the sleep out of one eye. He noticed that Spirit had crawled into bed with him again sometime during the night and rolled his eyes fondly.  That boy just couldn’t stay in his own bed for anything, could he? Well, Hinge supposed he couldn’t complain. It at least kept them both warmer, especially considering this old, ramshackle house had more chinks in its walls than a pegboard. They’d be hard pressed to patch even the worst of them up before winter came. Ah well, since today was a day off for everyone, once they all came home after the yearly Reaping, he, Nick and Terry could work on fixing this dump to make it a little more livable… wait…

Golden brown eyes shot open fully, and Hinge’s arm reflexively tightened around the little body curled up against his side. The Reaping! It was today? Slag, he’d totally forgotten! The worst day of the year, and he was about to sleep right through it. God, if only. He groaned and buried his head under the moth-eaten scavenged quilt that covered both orphans.

“Hinge!” A small hand shook his shoulder a few minutes later and he peeked out from under the covers to glare mock-threateningly at the little dark-skinned girl bending over his pellet. “Juniper said to get up. It’s almost breakfast, and everyone needs to get dressed.”

“Be there in a minute, Heather,” he mumbled, sitting up and running a hand through his disheveled mop of brown hair. Terry and Nick were already up, it seemed, since their own pallets were both empty. “What’re we having?”

“Potatoes and bread and bacon!” she answered excitedly, bouncing with enthusiasm. “Terry said we could even have jam on the bread today! All we wanted!” She clapped her hands eagerly, and Hinge’s mouth started to water at the thought. It was so rare that any of them got to eat as much as they wanted that it almost made Reapings worth it just so they could have one day in the year where they all got to have full stomachs.

“Okay, just make sure no one eats it all before we get there, ‘kay?” Hinge stretched and pushed the covers back, eliciting a mumbled protest from Spirit, who tried to cover himself back up with the quilt.

“I make no promises,” Heather said cheekily, skipping out of the small side room where the three oldest boys slept, her long black curls bouncing with her movements. It was hard to believe there were only four more years before her first Reaping. Hinge was sure he’d have a heart attack when the time came. And then, two years after Heather’s first Reaping came, Spirit would have to start being entered in them, too. It was something he really, really didn’t want to think about. But enough of this musing; he had to make sure he and Spirit got to breakfast on time before the others ate it all.

“Hey, Ghostie,” he gently prodded the tiny body curled up under a mass of fabric next to him. “Time to get up.” The six-year-old yawned and rolled over, pulling the quilt over his head.

“’Kay, fine,” Hinge replied, getting to his feet and pulling on a decent shirt out of the small pile of clothes at the head of his pallet. “I’m just gonna eat your share of the jam, then. I’m sure you won’t mind.” A small gust of wind blew past him and he turned just in time to see the boy sprinting out of the room and down the short hall toward the kitchen, the quilt trailing behind him.

“Guess not,” he called after the kid, following at a more leisurely pace.

“Well, look who the bobcat dragged in,” Terry commented snidely, calmly darning a sock from his seat beside the stove where Juniper was turning bacon on a skillet. “We were wondering if you’d bother to show up this morning.”

“I was tired, Four-Eyes, okay?” Hinge snipped back, pausing to ruffle Carley’s blonde hair as she and Nick staggered in the door from the combination of backyard and garden, bearing a large watermelon between them from their hidden watermelon patch by the creek in the woods. “Working the first night shift for the trainyards is harder than it sounds.”

“Especially if you’re constantly thinking a spook’s gonna jump out and eat your brains,” Nick teased breathlessly as he and the thirteen-year-old deposited the large fruit on the table. “I’m surprised you were able to get to sleep at all.”

“Shut it, kid,” Hinge retorted with a grin. “Whatever happened to the concept of respecting your elders around here?”

“Says the overgrown eight-year-old that came in last week covered head to toe in mud after taking Spirit and Nick fishing,” Terry scoffed, smirking. “And here I thought you were supposed to be setting an example for the more impressionable members of this association.” Hinge rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond as he took a seat at the rickety, makeshift table next to Captcha - who was bent over some electronic gadget with a small screwdriver – but the small teen beat him to it.

“Spare me,” Captcha spoke up for the first time, giving Hinge a piercing icy look from under dark, shaggy bangs. “He lost the right to any kind of respect a long time ago.” Hinge felt his stomach lurch painfully at her accusing words. Had it been anyone else saying something like that to him, they would have gotten an earful and maybe a hard right hook to the face, but Hinge knew he deserved every word she said.

An eerie stillness fell over the inhabitants of the kitchen. Nick had paused in mid-limp to the table with a large carving knife, previously intent on slicing up the watermelon. Carley looked uncomfortable, watching the proceedings with wide hazel eyes from her perch on a rickety stool that she was almost jealously possessive over. Terry’s face was inscrutable, though his eyes had gone cold, and Juniper’s back stiffened almost imperceptibly. Heather and Spirit were like small statues, sensing the mood from the older children and frightened as to what it might mean.

“Now, Captcha,” Juniper said quietly from the stove after a few moments of exceedingly uncomfortable silence. “Behave. Let’s not ruin this nice meal with arguing, okay? I know everyone’s nervous about the Reaping, but we can all still be civil.” Cap huffed and turned her attention back to the gadget she fiddled with, but not before shooting Hinge one last disdainful look.

“Alright, who wants bacon?” continued Juniper, who was obviously trying to get everyone’s minds focused back on the food. It worked. Cap’s biting words and the looming threat of the Reaping were forgotten briefly as the eight children busied themselves with devouring the first decent meal they’d had for weeks.

-0-

“Hinge, comb your hair after you do Heather’s before I comb it for you,” called Juniper from the boys’ room where she was wrestling Spirit into a presentable shirt and pair of pants after his bath. “Augh, Spirit, stand still!”

“Yes, mom.” Hinge rolled his eyes and continued pulling the wooden tines of the comb through Heather’s tangled hair, still wet from her own bath in the ancient wooden washtub beside the stove. He was sitting in a kitchen chair with Heather on her knees facing away from him while he pulled her hair back into a passable ponytail.  

“You know how she gets on Reaping days,” Heather commented sagely, flinching as the comb caught on another snarl. “Don’t take it personal.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Hinge assured her, giving her shoulder a brief pat. “I’ve lived with her a lot longer than you have, after all; I’m used to it. She’s just worried about all of us. Knowing that she can’t volunteer this year for Carley or Cap if they’re chosen is probably part of it, too.” Juniper had turned nineteen only two months earlier and Terry six months before that; they were home free now, but Hinge knew that they were still terrified for the rest of their makeshift family. It was the same terror they all lived with, barring Spirit, perhaps, but that was only because he was so young and no one had the heart to tell him exactly what the Hunger Games actually were. He’d probably have to be told fully next year, though.

“Do you think… do you think they might?” Heather sounded scared now, and she absently reached up and started twisting one of her long, kinky strands of hair around one finger. “Cap… Cap still has to finish fixing the stove so it doesn’t blow smoke into Juni’s face all the time, and Carley promised me that next week we’d plant another row of beans in the garden…” She trailed off, and Hinge knew she was worrying away at her lip like she always did when she was frightened. “And what if you or Nick get picked?”

“We’ll be fine, kiddo,” Hinge reassured her, giving her hair a gentle tug. “Don’t worry about it. Like my dad used to say, worrying is an abuse of the imagination.”

“Unless it’s about ghosts?” Heather asked, a slight note of teasing in her voice.

“Slag yeah if it’s about ghosts,” Hinge said fervently, feeling greatly relieved when he heard the girl giggle. He didn’t like it when his little “siblings” were unhappy or scared. They’d had enough of that, being forced to fend for themselves on the streets when they weren’t even into their double digits yet, turned out by the Peacekeepers and studiously ignored by most of the populace like so much garbage. Banding together to pool resources and food was the only way any of them had survived this long, and it was a small miracle Terry had been able to talk one of the District councilmen to allow the group to move into this little shack just last year instead of their old haunt in the sewer under the West Bridge.

“Besides, you know I’d volunteer for Nick if he was chosen. Those stupid dogs he babysits for the Mayor would have a fit if he wasn’t there to spoil them,” he continued, trying to inject some levity into the statement.

“But then Spirit would have a fit if you weren’t here.” Heather sounded like she was torn between tearing up and giggling again. “I would, too, maybe. Oh, I don’t want any of you to get picked!” She turned around and hugged Hinge around the middle, surprising him into letting go of her hair.

“Believe me, we don’t, either,” he remarked wryly, patting her on the head. “We’ll do our best to not tempt the Cosmic Flyswatter today, promise.”

He tweaked her nose, and Heather giggled again before her tone grew more serious. “You mentioned your dad.” Hinge winced, motioning for her to turn back around so he could finish with her hair. Even though it wasn’t exactly taboo to speak about one’s family or parents among the group, it usually only brought up bad memories, so most of the children generally avoided it. Hinge was no exception.

“Sorry. It just kinda came out by itself. It was just something he used to say sometimes,” Hinge replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No, it’s okay,” Heather reassured him quickly. “Here.” She reached back and handed him a long length of bright yellow ribbon to tie her ponytail with. “Terry got all the girls new ribbons for today from the Sewshop. Isn’t it pretty?”

Hinge supposed that it was and told the girl so. He made a mental note to not slip a pinecone on Terry’s chair at dinner like he had been planning to liven up the mood after the Reaping. It was a well-known fact among the group that Terry and Hinge didn’t get along well at all – recent events over the past few months had not helped matters in the least - but they had developed a grudging tolerance and respect for each other over the years and normally could put aside their differences for a while if it meant the good of the group. While Hinge personally didn’t think much of the older boy’s girly (in his opinion) profession of making clothes for a living, he had to admit that at least it was good for keeping the group looking halfway respectable most of the time.

“Okay, there you go,” he said, giving Heather’s head a pat after he finished tying the bow. She scrambled to her feet and skipped out of the room into the backyard after calling a thank you over her shoulder. She was momentarily followed by Spirit, who had wriggled free from Juniper and was relishing his newfound freedom.

“Fine!” the older girl called after the boy, sounding stressed. “But do not get your clothes dirty, mister!” She glanced at Hinge and gave him a halfhearted smile.

“Rough day?” he asked sympathetically.

“Very.” She slumped into a chair opposite him and put her face into her hands. “I thought it would get easier,” she muttered. “When I didn’t have to worry about being Reaped. But now…” she trailed off and Hinge saw her bite her lip.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hinge assured her, knowing all that she wanted to say but couldn’t bring herself to voice. “We’ve managed before. We’ll manage this year, too.”

“One can only hope,” came Terry’s voice from the dilapidated washroom, where the taller young man emerged with slicked back hair and a worried look in his deep brown eyes.  For a moment, it was like old times again, the three of them united by their desire to protect their family. The moment was short lived, however.

“We need to be in the town square by eleven,” Terry announced to the other two, very deliberately avoiding eye contact with Hinge.

“As long as the kids can keep from ruining their clothes before then, we’re fine,” Juniper sighed, getting up to put the cracked and chipped dishes in the drying rack away in the cupboards. There was silence among the three young adults for another minute or so, and then Hinge pushed back his chair and stood up in one fluid movement.

“Well, if it’s all the same to you two,” he started, stretching both arms over his head languidly, “I’m gonna go pay Alexandra a visit. It’s been awhile, and I’d prefer to do it before the Reaping starts.” Terry looked like he wanted to object, and Juniper momentarily faltered in putting a plate in the cupboard, but neither protested his statement.

“We’ll all be at the square. Meet us there, okay?” Terry sighed, taking up his knitting again. Hinge bit back a snide comment about the taller youth’s masculinity and merely nodded. The kitchen held one less person two seconds later.  

-0-

The forest outside the electrified fence of District 6 was an inhospitable place to most people, but to a few desperate souls, it was the place where they found salvation. The nuts, edible plants, and berries that grew there were the only things that had kept Hinge’s family from starving on more than one occasion. Carley and Heather were the experts on the subject, but since neither of them was allowed into the forest on their own, Hinge had picked up a few things about edible plant life in his treks into the trees with them.

Vaulting over a fallen log without even a falter in his stride, Hinge pounded through the underbrush toward his destination. Not for the first time was he grateful that Cap was so handy with electronics; on only her second month with the group seven years ago, the then eight-year-old girl had managed to disrupt the electrical circuit on the bottom two wires on one section of the fence, allowing anyone to pass through unharmed into the forest.

Hinge abruptly came up on a fairly wide creek, and he followed it for about fifty feet until he spotted his target; a crude wooden cross planted among the leaves and vines of the wild watermelon patch Carley had happened upon by chance years ago. He carefully made his way to the medium-sized boulder beside the patch that served as a convenient seat and plopped himself down on it.

“Hey, Al,” he addressed the cross without looking at it, choosing instead to follow a fallen leaf as it was carried down the stream on the current. “It’s been awhile, huh? Sorry about that. I’ve been… otherwise occupied. Juggling rehab on top of two jobs is a fraggin’ pain in the afterburner, let me tell you.” He picked up a stick and tossed it into the creek as the leaf floated by, a humorless smirk on his face.

“Actually, we’ve all been pretty busy the last couple of months. Juni got promoted to Assistant Manager of that tread factory she works at; you know, the one run by the crankshaft that seemed to hate your guts ever since you spilled motor oil on him? Yeah, that one. I don’t know how she stands working there, but,” he shrugged and sighed, “money is money. Carley and Heather’s gardening is going pretty good. They made a decent profit off their potato crop last month at the Warehouse. Um… oh yeah, Terry and Juni made Spirit start school a couple months ago. I’m sure you knew that, but just in case, y’know? I don’t know how often the others come talk to you anymore. Anyway, he’s liking it okay, though he says he wishes they could just have recess all day.” He chuckled quietly and listened to the burbling of the stream for a minute or two before continuing.

“Reaping Day again. My last year, then I’m home free. It’s almost unreal, you know? But then there’s the others to worry about. Argh!” He flung himself backwards so that he was lying on the moss-covered stone, staring up at the sky between the branches waving overhead. “It just never ends! How did you stand it?” He looked for the first time over at the cross, and the familiar gleam of metal caught his eye. A silver chain was draped over the upright post, and a small squirrel charm caught the light from as it swung back and forth in the slight breeze. Alexandra had never talked about her life before the streets, but that necklace was her most prized possession, and Hinge could never remember seeing her without it. His hand unconsciously came up and clutched the small silver key that hung around his own neck on a braided piece of twine. He could relate.

“Well… we’ll just have to hope our luck holds out, I guess.” He sighed heavily and stared back up at the clouds drifting overhead. “It held out for Juniper and Terry, after all. And with all the tesserae we’ve taken out every year, that’s no small feat. Though,” his eyes flicked back over to the squirrel charm, “it sure didn’t help you out, did it?”

Of course, there was no answer. There never would be. Still, it made him feel better, telling someone all this, even if Alexandra would never give him any kind of advice ever again. It was kind of ironic, really; he and she had never been particularly close or affectionate in life, given her propensity for stoicism and his ability to grate on her nerves, but he had loved her fiercely all the same. She had saved him; given him the chance to live past his seventh year, and he would have followed her to the ends of the earth and back for that alone. He figured that the least he could do was keep her company occasionally, now that she couldn’t smack him anymore for being annoying. That he could freely talk to someone about whatever was going on in his life without offending or irritating them was just an added bonus.

“Cap blew up at me again this morning.” His voice had gone quiet and emotionless at the memory. He sat up and tightly wrapped thin, wiry arms around equally thin, wiry legs, and rested his chin atop his knees. “I wonder if she’ll ever forgive me. Terry, too. I mean, it’s gotten better; it’s not like they’re threatening to kick me out or anything anymore like before, but…” he bit his lip, remembering months’ worth of icy glares, disappointed looks, and heated accusations. He sighed, knocking a pebble into the water before burying his face in his knees. He stayed like that for a couple minutes, trying to get the self-hate, shame, and anger threatening to boil over back under control.

“Well, no use sitting around here and moping,” he said finally, abruptly getting to his feet. “The Capitol wasn’t built in a day, after all. Everything’ll be back to the way it was soon enough. I just have to try harder. Thanks for listening, Al.” He tossed a mischievous smirk at the squirrel charm, which seemed to wink back at him, and then the wooden cross was left alone once again, with only the rustle of leaves and the song of the creek for company.

-0-

The District square was already bustling with people by the time Hinge arrived. He slowed down a couple blocks out, trying to get his heart and breathing rate under control. As he walked, he busied himself with trying to tame his windblown mop of shaggy brown hair with the comb he had pulled out of his pocket, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Yo! Zippy!” Hinge rolled his eyes, but a grin cocked one corner of his mouth as he scanned the crowd for the speaker.

“Hey, dog breath,” he greeted, cuffing Nick on the shoulder affectionately. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be with all the other kids already?”

“Decided to wait out here for you,” Nick grinned, pulling on Hinge’s arm to get him moving again. “Why bother standing in line with a bunch of scared kids when I could be out here with a few more minutes of freedom? If I could have, I’d have gone to see Alexandra with you.” Hinge glanced down at the boy’s crooked left leg despite himself as he shuffled along at half Hinge’s normal pace.

“The others didn’t ditch you, did they?” he asked, his annoyance growing.

“No, no, I told them to go on ahead,” Nick hurriedly assured him. “Actually, I was hoping to catch you on the way back.” They made their way to the back of the check-in line as Nick continued speaking.

“Don’t let Cap or Terry get you down. They’re just being glitchheads. They’ll come around eventually, you’ll see.” He turned his head around and beamed down at Hinge, a comforting smile on his face.

Hinge huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, but how long is ‘eventually’? The next decade or so?”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” the younger boy persisted, his grin faltering, to be replaced by real concern. “Only a defective, outmoded idiot couldn’t see how hard you’ve been trying lately. The rest of us don’t hold it against you, and I have half a mind to give those two a piece of it if they don’t start treating you better.”

“You sure you have that much to spare?”

“You know what I mean, Hinge!”

“Just pulling your leg, kid. But…” he smiled, and the expression was devoid of its usual cheekiness for once. “Thanks. Now,” he clapped the taller youth on the shoulder and gave him a shove forward, but gentle enough that he didn’t make him loose his balance, “stop being all sentimental and sign in before the Peacekeepers start getting antsy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going, I’m going. You’re welcome, by the way.” Nick was then ushered forward by an armored Peacekeeper and stood stoically still as his finger was pricked for a blood sample and his name and age were taken. He shot Hinge a wry eye roll as he limped his way over to stand in the roped off cordon with the other fifteen year old boys.

“Next!” the Peacekeeper in front of Hinge called brusquely, and the brunette obediently strode forward, a warm feeling in his chest. The procedure was over quickly, and Hinge strode away from the station as speedily as he could; Peacekeepers made him nervous. He’d been kicked around by them too many times over the years to ever feel even remotely comfortable around them.

He sucked on his wounded finger as he milled around the roped off area for the eighteen-year-old boys, excess nervous energy making him want to run at full throttle in the opposite direction. A few of the other boys were standing around talking quietly in groups and a couple were pacing like Hinge, but most just stood in place silently, either staring off into space or looking at the ground.

To take his mind off the upcoming events, he busied himself with trying to locate his family in the large crowd. There was Nick’s dishwater blonde hair three sections down, and he thought he saw Captcha’s spiky ponytail bobbing in the fifteen-year-old girls’ section, though he couldn’t be sure. He was trying to catch a glimpse of Carley’s yellow braids among the group of thirteen-year-old girls when a hush fell over the crowd, the screens to either side of the large stage in front of the District Hall flickering to life.

“War. Terrible war,” intoned the introductory video, played at the start of every Reaping. By some truly herculean effort, Hinge barely managed to not roll his eyes and mime yawning loudly. Instead, he stood still – since it probably would end badly for him if he continued to pace while the video was playing – and focused intently on a pair of birds flying together near the top of the Hall, tuning out the video that he could have recited by memory by now. Stupid Hunger Games, making him worry every single year that someone from his makeshift family might be chosen to go die horribly for what passed for the Capitol’s sick entertainment. Oh, to be suddenly able to sprout wings and fly far, far away from this ridiculous, farcical charade the Capitol insisted on putting on every year.

Actually, he mused, wings would probably be a bad idea, since he’d just look down after he got more than ten feet off the ground, freeze up, fall out of the sky, and end up breaking his neck like an idiot. No, wings, or flying of any sort, were out of the question. Hm… How about a racecar, then? His eyes lit up at the thought. One of those slick, shiny racecars that was manufactured over in the Automobile Sector, all painted up with bright colors and looking like they could break the sound barrier with little to no effort. He’d often pictured himself behind the wheel of one, the best racer in all of Panem-

A sharp elbow to the ribs rudely jolted him out of his beloved pipedream. He blinked confusedly and looked over to his left to find a tall, dark-skinned boy giving him the evil eye. “Pay attention, runt,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. A jerk of his head indicated the Capitol escort standing in front of the microphone on the stage, prattling on energetically about how excited she was about the Reaping while beaming beatifically at the crowd amid more beads and bangles than Hinge had ever seen in his whole life, let alone on one person. At least her hair was a respectable black and not some unnatural shade of chartreuse or anything, like last year’s escort.

“Ladies first!” the woman chirruped, reaching into the glass ball with the girls’ names. Hinge froze, forgetting to give the stink eye to the boy who had elbowed him. Not Carley, not Cap, please, no, not them, please, not them! The image of a delicate, feisty face framed by gold curls flashed through his mind, and he mentally added the name of his long-time, secret crush to his mantra: Not Amp either, please, not Amp, not Carley, not Cap, no, no, no, not them, please not them, no, no…

The lady unfolded the piece of paper, reading its contents. Hinge’s heart beat loudly in his ears. “And this year’s girl tribute is… Riven Carter!” she announced cheerfully. Hinge let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, momentarily closing his eyes in relief. His girls were safe for another year at least, thank God.

Opening his eyes, he saw a small girl in a yellow blouse and grey skirt shuffle up to the stage. Her head was bowed, causing her brown bangs to hide her eyes from view. Poor kid. At least she wasn’t screaming, crying, or otherwise making a scene. He always felt so embarrassed when they did that.

“Now for the boys!” Aaaand relief now gone. Hinge bit his lip as the woman’s bejeweled arm dipped into the other glass ball. His name must be in the bowl over forty times by now; his odds weren’t very good, but Terry’s had been pretty much the same last year, and he had made it out. No, the odds weren’t good, but neither were they horrible. He just had to hope that-

“Nicholas Mustang!”

No. Hinge felt the blood drain from his face as the world seemed to stop.

“I VOLUNTEER!” The words ripped themselves out of his throat and shattered the resulting silence before the thought even registered in his mind. As every head swiveled to look at him, what he had just done hit him like a ton of bricks, and Hinge was suddenly torn between turning tail and running for his life, or fainting dead away on the spot.

“Why, we have a volunteer!” The Capitol woman sounded way too cheerful at the prospect. “Come on up, darling!” Her words snapped Hinge out of his state of horrified shock, and he quickly wiped all trace of expression from his face, steeling his features into an emotionless mask. He would not break down, he would not show fear, he would not give anyone, least of all the Capitol, the satisfaction of knowing how utterly terrified he was at that precise moment.

As if in a dream, he moved out of his section. The few boys in his way all parted for him. In what seemed like no time at all, he found himself on the stage, looking out over the audience whispering and murmuring among themselves. One face caught and held his attention, the only one without an expression of abject relief. Nick stared back at him, a stricken look on his face, tears welling up in his big brown eyes.

Hinge quickly looked away before he could break down as well. No, whatever happened, Nick could not be entered in the Hunger Games. With that crippled leg of his, the boy would be dead within the first five minutes of the Games like that poor little girl from last year. Hinge would rather die himself before he had to watch another family member be slaughtered in those infernal Games.

Before he could continue that morbid train of thought, the Capitol escort spoke again, “My, my, it’s been such a long time since District 6 has had a volunteer!” She was positively gushing as Hinge walked the last few steps to stand beside her. She gestured him over enthusiastically, placing her hands on his shoulders when he was within arm’s reach and giving them a squeeze. “What’s your name, dear?” She held the microphone in front of him expectantly.  

“Hinge Eisenberg,” he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. It sounded foreign even to his own ears as it came out of the large speakers mounted beside the screens.

“How nice! Now, shake hands, you two, go on!” Hinge obeyed because he had no other choice. He looked down at the small girl as his hand closed around hers, and as they shook, her dark eyes met his fearlessly, her expression one of carefully crafted vacuity, just like his own. She was so little…

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the tributes of District 6!”

-0-

Hinge paced around the room the Peacekeepers had shoved him into after the Reaping, trying desperately not to panic and failing miserably. All he could think about was the look complete shock and pain on Alexandra’s face when the District 2 boy’s spear had entered her abdomen, how much blood there had been, how the light gradually left her eyes before they closed forever.

That might be me in a few days, he thought miserably, his pacing unconsciously becoming faster and faster as his mind worked itself into a frenzy. That probably will be me in a few days. Oh God, I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die! Hinge was no stranger to pain or death; his life on the streets had taken away all but the last shreds of his innocence at an early age, and he knew better than most what human beings were capable of when they were desperate, even if the Hunger Games didn’t demonstrate it year after year. That didn’t mean he looked forward to the prospect of his most-likely horrific and painful demise broadcast on live television to the entire country. So preoccupied was he in contemplating his fate that he didn’t even notice when the door opened to let in his first visitor.

“Haven’t seen you this worked up in awhile,” a gruff voice from behind him observed. Hinge started violently, and he spun around wildly, clutching his racing heart.

“Fraggitall, Diesel!” he snapped angrily at the tall, grizzled riveter looking at him with old, sad eyes. “Warn me before you do that next time, okay?” Before he could contemplate the extremely depressing thought that his coworker probably wouldn’t ever be able to sneak up on him again, he pressed on, “And forgive me if I’m not the picture of zen-like calm right now; I’ve kind of had my imminent, gruesome, and untimely death on my mind.”

“Kind of early to be thinking that way, wouldn’t you say?” Diesel said mildly. “You don’t know who you’ll be up against yet besides that wisp of a girl.”

“Be that as it may, what’s the point in getting my hopes up?” Hinge replied miserably, coming to a stop in the center of the room. His arms hung loose at his sides as all the nervous energy drained out of him, leaving him empty and listless.

“Boy, you listen, and you listen well.” Feeling strong, calloused hands rest on his shoulders, Hinge looked up to see Diesel looking down on him with a severe yet oddly tender look on his face that Hinge couldn’t remember ever seeing before. “I didn’t come all the way here from the boys back at the trainyards just to hear you give up before you even leave. Volunteering for your brother was a brave move. Stupid maybe, but brave all the same. And now that you’ve gotten yourself into this mess, I’m damn well not going to let you psyche yourself out of your chances of coming back here in one piece before you even leave!” It was a very rare thing to see the normally soft-spoken Diesel get so animated. Hinge was starting to get a bit freaked out.

“If you have a chance of winning this thing – and you do - it’s still a chance, and you should take it. You’re far from helpless, too, kid. Or have you already forgotten everything I’ve spent the last four years trying to hammer into your thick skull?” He gave the boy a significant look. Hinge felt a bit sheepish. Diesel had indeed taught him a lot, not only about wielding the lengths of transport chain out in the trainyards like whips so he’d have more than just his fists to defend himself in a fight if he had to, but he’d also been a mentor of sorts to the boy when he’d first been hired.

“I thought not,” Diesel remarked, seeing Hinge’s slightly ashamed look. “Look, don’t sell yourself short, Hinge. You’re fast, you’re smart, – when you want to be, that is – and believe it or not, you’ve got a lot of people who want to see you come back to annoy us some more. You’ve got what it takes to make District 6 proud. Which reminds me…” Diesel took his hands off Hinge’s shoulders and stepped back a pace, rummaging around in his pocket for something. He finally produced something small and intimately familiar to Hinge.

“Is that…?” he asked in surprise as Diesel held a small, bronze key up.

“Yup. Concorde had the idea, and Sprocket sweet-talked Matthews into letting us take it. It’s not like he doesn’t have a spare if we absolutely need the truck over the next couple days, anyway. I was the designated spokesperson for everyone, since no one thought you’d want to see a lot of people right before you leave. You know, considering the circumstances.” Hinge carefully took the key, touched that his colleagues would think to do this for him, since he didn’t think most of them cared that much one way or the other about him, except for when he got on their nerves. That battered, ancient semi-truck was his pride and joy, and had called it “his” ever since he had started driving it at the age of fourteen when he had first began to work in the trainyards. That wasn’t his only job there, of course; he did whatever Matthews, the overseer, ordered him to, but his favorite job was always driving the semi. He could do things with it that even the most experienced driver they had working there had trouble duplicating, and his ability to keep it up and running had become a bit legendary as the years went by. Or maybe that was just his ego talking.

“Thanks, Diesel,” Hinge said sincerely, pulling the loop of braided twine over his head to unknot it so he could slip the key on with the other that already hung there. “I’ll do my best to bring it back in person. If I don’t… well, can you make sure that she goes to a good driver that won’t wreck her?”

Diesel nodded solemnly.

“And be sure to tell everyone that I’ll be sure to come haunt anyone who puts so much as a scratch on her,” the boy added, trying to interject some of his customary levity into a conversation that was quickly becoming far too depressing for his tastes. Even if he was probably going to be dead within the next week. Lovely thought, that.

“Will do,” Diesel replied, giving Hinge a small but sincere smile. The door opened just then, and the tall man was hustled out by Peacekeepers almost before Hinge had time to blink. Diesel had just enough to toss a “Give ‘em Hell, kid” over his shoulder before the door shut once again.

Feeling oddly lighter after his coworker’s visit, Hinge finished stringing the truck key onto the cord after he took a seat on the plush couch at the far end of the room. He had just re-knotted it and slipped it back over his head into his shirt when the door reopened. He stood up just as a small form shot through it, wailing “HINGE!” at the top of its lungs. Hinge had just enough time to brace himself before Spirit tackled him around the waist.

“Hinge, they said you’re gonna die!” the little boy cried into the older’s hip as the rest of the orphaned group followed.

“Five minutes,” called a Peacekeeper, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m- OOF!” Heather, who had been right on Spirit’s heels, tackled him from the other side, knocking even more of the wind out of him and nearly making him fall back onto the couch. “Easy, people, don’t kill me before I even have a chance to get on the train, ‘kay?”

“Don’t say things like that!” sobbed Heather over Spirit’s sniffling. “You’re not going to die! You can’t! He can’t, right?” She looked desperately to the older children for reassurance, for them to promise that their brother would come back to them safe and sound.

“He’ll do his very best to not, sweetie,” Juniper said as gently as she could, but there was a look of quiet panic in her eyes that told Hinge she was only a few minutes from breaking down herself. “Won’t you, Hinge?”

“Of course!” He ruffled the two children’s hair comfortingly. “Cross my heart and hope to rust.” The boy and girl giggled through their tears at the familiar promise, though their holds on him didn’t loosen in the slightest. He knew it wasn’t what they had wanted to hear.

“Hinge…” said a soft voice to his right, cracking with sorrow and shame. He turned to see Nick standing near his elbow by with tears trickling slowly down his cheeks. “I’m-”

“Nick, if you apologize, I am going to hit you,” Hinge interrupted, with more severity than was perhaps warranted. “And if you blame, condemn, or otherwise guilt yourself silly over this, I’ll make sure to find a way to do it from beyond the grave if I can’t do it in person. I don’t regret what I did, and I’d do it again if I had to. Slaggit, Nick, do you think I’m selfish enough to just sit by and watch another family member get butchered?” He laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder as he spoke and gave it a squeeze to soften his words some.

“No, but that doesn’t mean I want to, either.” Seeing that Nick’s miserable look didn’t abate, Hinge sighed and pulled the taller boy into a fierce, brief hug, which he immediately returned.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” Hinge muttered wryly. His eyes absently wandered the room, and lit on Captcha, leaning against the door and watching the proceedings with an impassive expression. The two locked eyes, and Hinge could see the conflicting emotions roiling deep within them. He refused to break the eye contact, trying to convey everything he wanted to say to her but couldn’t in the paltry few minutes they were allotted. She must have read something in his eyes that calmed her, because her face lost its severe look and softened considerably. She actually looked like she was about to start crying.

“Try not to die, Hinge,” she finally said quietly, before opening the door and slipping out. Hinge gazed at the spot where she had been before sighing softly, breaking the hug with Nick reluctantly as the others turned to see Cap leave.

“Guess that went better than I expected,” he said morosely, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

“I’ll talk to her later,” Juniper promised, coming forward. As he disentangled himself from a protesting Heather and Spirit, Hinge could see her large hazel eyes were swimming with tears, and he had to work to swallow a suspicious lump in his throat. She gave a small, choked sob, and enveloped him in a huge hug.

“I kept hoping,” she murmured into his shoulder as he awkwardly patted her on the back, inwardly feeling embarrassed and inexplicably angry with himself for making her cry, “praying that we wouldn’t have to go through something like this again, and now…”

“I know, Juni,” he whispered back, biting his lip to try to keep the tears back. He needed to show everyone a brave face; he couldn’t let on how scared he was. “I’m sorry.” For everything, he added silently.

“Don’t be,” she said, leaning back and wiping the tears off her cheeks, giving him a brave, shaky smile. “We’ll manage. Somehow,” she added quietly, unconsciously biting a ragged, stained fingernail. Hinge understood her anxiety. Even if he didn’t come back and there was one less mouth to feed, he was still one of the principal breadwinners of the family, and the loss of income would be highly detrimental to the family’s ability to provide for themselves come winter.

“Just do your best, okay?” she finally said, straightening Hinge’s collar absently, fussing like she always did when she was worried. “Whatever happens, we’ll be behind you. To whatever end.”

“I will,” Hinge promised, gently batting her well-meaning hands away with a faint smile. “Thanks, Juni.” She gave a watery but genuine smile in response and stepped back.

“Hey, Car,” Hinge called, looking around for the diminutive blonde. “Where’d you go, girl?”

“Right here,” she popped up right in front of him, grinning despite the tears threatening to spill over in her big, deep blue eyes. She threw her arms around his chest and hugged him tight. “You be careful now, you hear?” She looked up at him seriously and shook her finger. “You know how you tend to annoy people. You gotta make a lot of friends so they don’t all want to kill you right off.” Hinge actually laughed at the sage advice.

“You know me way too well, kid,” he conceded, ruffling her hair. “I make no promises, though. Gotta keep up appearances, and all that.” He smirked cheekily.

“I’m serious, Hinge!” she protested, sighing and rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Don’t be annoying!”

“Are you talking about right now or then?”

Her response was to punch him in the arm, give him another quick hug, and retreat behind Juniper, giggling despite her annoyance.

“Geez, and I thought little girls were supposed to be prim and demure,” Hinge grumbled, making a show out of rubbing his arm.

“How do you even know that word?” Terry remarked, giving a small chuckle.

“Contrary to all outward appearances, I do sometimes pay attention when people are talking,” Hinge sniffed. “You’d be surprised what you can learn that way.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Terry replied. The two fell into a brief, awkward silence before Hinge hesitantly held out a hand.

“Sooo… um… truce?” he offered tentatively. He honestly had no idea what the older boy would do in this situation, and it kind of scared him. His relationship with Terry over the past few months had been only marginally better than Captcha’s, and he found himself hoping against hope that Terry would let it briefly go back to the way it had been, if only for a couple moments. Thankfully, he needn’t have worried.

“Truce.” Terry took his hand and shook it firmly. Hinge recognized a glimmer of forgiveness in the other boy’s eyes, and let out a relived breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. He came dangerously close to hugging Terry then, if he had thought he could have gotten away with it.

“Well,” he remarked with all the cheerfulness he could muster, given the occasion. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the mushy stuff…” He traipsed over to the couch, flopped back on the plush, buttercream cushions, and beckoned to Spirit and Heather, who were standing off to one side, watching the proceedings with wide, scared, watery eyes. “I think I need another hug to remember you by.”

Spirit immediately vaulted onto his lap, arms flung about his neck, and Heather eagerly climbed up onto the couch and snuggled under Hinge’s arm. Carley joined them on Hinge’s other side a couple moments later, and then Terry took up a perch on the armrest beside her, Juniper squeezing in beside Heather.

“Are you really gonna die, Hinge, like they were sayin’?” Spirit asked in a small voice.

“Like Juni said, I’ll try my very best not to, pipsqueak,” Hinge promised, smoothing some of the child’s wild locks of black hair out of his face with one hand.

“No!” The boy scrambled up to sit on his knees and looked Hinge square in the eye. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll come back so we can go explore that cave in the woods when you come home like you said we would!” His lower lip trembled, and Hinge felt his heart break at the sight. But how could he promise? How could he say anything with certainty when twenty-three other families were feeling the same pain his was, who all wanted their child, their brother, their sister, their friend, their lover to come home without a coffin?

“I can’t promise that, kiddo,” Hinge finally stated, hating himself for having to say it. But, as Spirit’s face crumpled, and he looked like he was about to start bawling his bright blue eyes out, a thought struck the tribute and he grabbed his necklace, pulling the keys up out of his shirt so Spirit and the others could see. “But you know what this is?” He held the bronze key out for the little boy to see. In his curiosity, the child forgot to cry, and he took the key in his tiny fist, looking at it in puzzlement.

“It goes to the big truck I drive at work,” Hinge explained patiently. “You know, the big white one?” Spirit’s face scrunched up in thought. His face then brightened in remembrance, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, the guy who taught me to drive that truck, Diesel, he came over before you guys did, gave me this before he left, and told me that he thinks I have what it takes to make everyone proud.” Hinge tucked the keys back into his shirt, giving a wide-eyed Spirit a reassuring grin. “And Diesel doesn’t ever lie, so he must really think it’s true. So you see, while I can’t promise that I’ll come back, I can promise that I’ll do my best to make you guys proud.” Spirit didn’t seem entirely convinced, but, seeing that was the best he was going to get, he settled back down and laid his head on Hinge’s chest with a shaky sigh. It was impossible to ignore the faint sniffles after that, but Hinge tried his best.

“Nice save,” Juniper murmured in his ear as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Hinge whispered back.

The group stayed like that for a couple precious minutes more before the Peacekeepers came back and ushered the other children out. The door closed behind them and Hinge was once again left alone. Not knowing what else to do, he curled up with his back to the door on the soft couch, still warm from where his family had sat not seconds before, and finally allowed the walls he’d built up around his emotions to disintegrate.