𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢-H&S

Orpheus knew his plan had flaws. He knew his plan required people to be brave and reckless. He knew you couldn’t have revolution without pain or death. It wasn’t that the Capitol was just going to get scared and back down. He knew it wouldn’t work like that. But he also thought that the people who wanted to fight would step up and protect those that didn’t. Giving people hope wasn’t going to force them to give up their lives. It would hopefully inspire some people to fight to protect the people who couldn’t or didn’t want to.
“No,” Orpheus admitted softly, shaking his head. “You can’t have change without some people getting hurt. I know that. But I also know that there will be people who are brave enough to fight, who… who will choose to lay their life down if it means protecting the people who shouldn’t have to be fighting. Well… nobody should have to fight, but… I think you know what I mean. The people who are too young or too old to know the feeling of a weapon in their hand. The people who are more inclined to give support and healing and art. There will be people who rise up to protect them. And… they may be hurt. They may die. But so many lives will be saved.” Was that why Orpheus was so insistent on following through with his plan? He didn’t know. He just… he knew he couldn’t ask people to die for a cause he wasn’t willing to die for first.
“Hope isn’t an easy business. But you won’t convince me it’s not worth it.”

Orpheus understood. He had been naïve, once, had believed that the world could be changed by people who wanted it to be fair, and that nobody would have to be hurt. He had believed, once, that everyone was fundamentally good. He still believed that everyone had the potential to be good, if they took a good long look at themselves, but he was also aware that nobody was ever going to just… do that. It needed to be forced on them if it was going to work, and then they needed to accept it. It wouldn’t be easy. The people that were in charge were cruel, and their cruelty benefited them. As long as it did that… they had no motive to stop being cruel. They didn’t care how many people were hurt.
Orpheus had believed that the world was good, that the world could be fair. And then he’d lost Eurydice. He hadn’t lost hope, not all of it at least. And part of him was still foolish enough to believe that maybe he could get her back, but… his first attempt had just made things worse for her. Did the Capitol know who he was? Would they be keeping an eye on him because of it? He shook the thought away. If they were really keeping an eye on him, wouldn’t they wanted to avoid him being reaped? Or had he been reaped on purpose, so they could get rid of him? But in getting rid of him, they were also giving him a platform. They were going to hear him speak, whether they wanted to or not.
The question caught him off guard. He blinked a little bit, brow creasing as he pulled back just enough to look at Rue in a bit of a new light. She was more perceptive than he would have guessed. Not that he had underestimated her, just that… he forgot that people could be good at reading others. He had never had that skill. He was good at knowing the right thing to say, just not good at figuring people out just by looking at them.
“Her name was Eurydice,” he managed after a moment, swallowing. “I was going to marry her.”

Orpheus had been lucky. Mr. Hermes had shielded him from the worst of the world, had taken him in when the world had told him it didn’t care if he lived or died. He had been sheltered, for as long as he could be, coming from the Districts. He had always known that things were bad, he had always dreaded being reaped, but his name had only ever been in the required number of times. He hadn’t had siblings to protect, and though he knew he would have to abandon music eventually to find a job the Capitol would approve of, he had been allowed to learn and play. Most other children didn’t get that privilege.
But the cruelty of the world had hit him as well. Not as harshly and not as soon as it had hit Rue, but… enough. He knew what the Capitol was like. He knew idealism would get him nowhere. Idealism didn’t save lives. But there was a difference between idealism and optimism. Optimism was hope. Optimism meant believing that the world could still be saved, that people could still be kind, that a world existed where people wouldn’t be slaughtered needlessly to keep a bunch of rich people entertained and in power.
Orpheus didn’t know if he was a good person. He hadn’t ever thought about it. But he knew he wanted the world to be a place where good people could exist, where people had the space and resources to be able to care about other people’s lives as much as they cared about their own. Panem was not that world.
“Death would have been a kinder fate,” Orpheus told Rue quietly, risking a glance up at the Peacekeepers to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “She was caught collecting extra firewood. They took her. I… I don’t know what they did to her. But I hope… I hope it was a quick death.” He knew what the Capitol could do. Not all of it, but enough. And all of it… he would never wish it on anybody. Especially not Eurydice, especially not for the crime of trying to survive, trying to keep herself and the person she loved alive.

Orpheus didn’t know what Rue was thinking. He didn’t know what she thought of the world beyond what she had already said, didn’t know that she would choose not to care, if she had the chance. Orpheus figured a good many people would take that deal, if it were offered to them. He could never be one of them. He wouldn’t be the same person, if he didn’t care. He thought people would end up a lot more like the Capitol if they chose to stop caring. The Capitol was cruel because it had taught itself it didn’t need to care about the Districts. If the people in the Districts chose to become cruel and heartless… wasn’t it possible they would start acting like the Capitol? Wasn’t it possible they would look at the kids that were reaped and shrug, because as long as it didn’t impact them, they could keep trying to find things to fill the gaping hole in their chest. They would become greedy, insatiable… humans were meant to care. If their ability to care was taken away, they would find a way to make up for it. And the Capitol was living proof that whatever alternative they found would only hurt people.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he told Rue after a moment. “It’s not your fault that we live in a place where the people in charge don’t care. Where they hurt people for trying to live. It’s not your fault for not being able to hate them, because they make it as hard to do that as possible. They want us to be scared. But… I think that’s because they’re scared of what we could do if we all got angry. If we all had hope. All… all I want to be able to do is be able to prove that caring… that having hope… that enough of us together could fight for a better future. That we could win. But I know why it’s hard to have hope.”
He listened as Rue began to talk, his gaze probing for the Peacekeepers to make sure they kept their distance. He moved his hand back from her cheek, giving her just a little bit of space. It was hard, hearing of the people hurt by the Capitol. The wrongs that were so common that nobody took note of them when they happened. They were from the same district. He should have heard about her sister dying. It should have been made out as a tragedy. But those kinds of things happened so often that nobody even thought to mention it.
“That was wrong,” he told her softly, voice firm. There were no words. ‘Sorry’ didn’t cut it. He was tired of being surrounded by tragedy. That was what the song was for. All of the feelings there weren’t words enough to say.

Orpheus watched Rue for a long moment, wishing he could know what she was thinking. Wishing he could help her have hope, wishing he could take this burden away from her, because the Games… the games were something he couldn’t fix, at least not this year. Maybe next year… maybe his plan would work by next year. Maybe there would be no more children sent to their deaths if Orpheus managed to do this right. But if he couldn’t even give hope to a girl from his district, a girl who had likely grown up just steps from places he was familiar with… how could he hope to inspire an entire nation? He wasn’t going to give up, but… it seemed that this might be harder than he had originally anticipated. It seemed like he might have been getting through to Rue, though… even if it had resulted in her getting hurt. It was a sharp reminder that what he wanted to happen was going to happen through bloodshed, whether he liked it or not.
“No… I don’t tend to just say things. I mean… sometimes I say things at the wrong time or I say things before I’ve thought about whether it’s a good idea to say them out loud, but… I don’t say things that I don’t completely mean.” Although that likely meant he would start talking about revolution with someone who sympathized with the Capitol… he shook the thought away. He doubted anyone who was part of the Games would agree with the Capitol, unless they were a Career. Okay… so he’d just have to figure out who the Careers were and avoid mentioning it to them.
Orpheus knew people. He had seen how hardened they were by the world – by the Capitol – and he knew what it would take to break them out. But what he didn’t believe was that people were inherently unkind. He didn’t believe they were inherently dishonest. If you were kind to someone – if you took the first step to show them you meant no ill will… a good portion of the time, they felt safe to be kind in return. Orpheus believed that the districts – and perhaps even the Capitol – were populated by good, well-meaning people. Well-meaning people who had been beaten down and told countless times it was every man for himself. So what if people thought him insane when he showed them kindness? If it meant they felt empowered to show some themselves… it was worth it.
So Orpheus listened. He listened as Rue told him something she probably kept close to her chest, words she probably hadn’t told many other than her family. When a family member disappeared, you stayed silent. It was the best way to stay alive, to avoid being taken advantage of. Orpheus knew that, yet he doggedly avoided living that way.
“Yes,” he murmured, hazel eyes meeting dark, “I believe it is. I believe… it will take time, and… and courage, and hope, but I think it is fixable. I think there’s a world where we don’t have to live in fear. And I’m going to fight for it in the only way I know how.”

Orpheus knew that hope was dangerous. He knew that a lot of people didn’t have it as a choice, not because they weren’t capable of it. Hope meant that you could be hurt so much more when it came crashing down. Sometimes, it was easier to be desperate, it was easier to believe that nothing would ever turn out in your favor. Orpheus knew that was how the districts lived, afraid to believe that there might be a world where their voices were important, a world where they wouldn’t have to send their children to die. A world where they didn’t have to hate themselves every year for the relief that swept over them when it wasn’t their kid, or their friend, or their sibling.
“I’m not a very good liar,” Orpheus admitted, a blush coloring his face. “I find it’s probably safer for me to be genuine than it would be for me to be caught in a lie. At least then people know what they get when they look at me instead of having to be afraid that I’m hiding even more. I think… well, honestly, people are going to underestimate me. In fact, I’m sort of counting on that.” It was an odd thing to admit, but it was, like everything else he had told Rue, the truth. If the Capitol knew the kind of threat he could pose, they would never let him compete in the games. They would stage an accident and declare that it was a tragedy and probably draw someone else from his district to replace him. People underestimating him would also probably save his life. People wanted to get rid of the toughest contestants first. They would leave the weak ones alive for a while, conserve their energy and let the arena take care of them. Or, take care of them themselves in a few days when they were all weakened by being in the games. Orpheus had spent too much of his life watching, learning, hating every moment, every time a child died.
“I’d rather trust the wrong person than distrust everyone,” Orpheus admitted after another moment. He knew he and Rue were very different. He knew he seemed naïve and idealistic, he seemed like someone who believed in something impossible. But he wasn’t going to stop believing in it until everyone else did, too. Until what he believed in was a reality. If he got killed because he trusted the wrong person? Well… that was unfortunate, but at least he hadn’t made any snap judgements about who to trust and who not to trust. The Games were full of snap judgements. Orpheus was determined to go against them as much as he could, even though he knew it would cost him his life.
“That’s all I can ask,” he said after a long moment, catching Rue’s gaze. “You don’t have to believe that I’ll succeed. Just… have faith that I won’t stop trying. And do your best not to hurt anyone unless you absolutely have to in order to survive.”
He didn’t seem to process that Rue had just given him her strategy. He wasn’t going to use it against her, and he wasn’t going to repeat it to anyone – that was her private business. He wasn’t going to make a big deal out of the fact she had mentioned it.

Orpheus understood why hope was difficult to have. Hope meant that you had to keep fighting, it meant that you had to believe that things could get better, and you had to be prepared to be disappointed if they didn’t. Hope wasn’t easy. Hope was something that could stab you in the back if you weren’t careful, but Orpheus believed that it only was like that because the Capitol wanted to control hope. The Capitol wanted to crush it, but it wasn’t something that could be killed as easily as children. The Hunger Games were a weapon against hope, but they weren’t the only one the Capitol employed. Orpheus knew he had a lot of work ahead of him if he wanted to be able to convince the people to believe in him. He knew… well, he knew he was going to have to become a martyr if he wanted anyone to pay attention to him. Nobody wanted to hear the voices of the living. The Capitol couldn’t silence him any longer if he was dead. Of course, Orpheus’ plan wasn’t to die, but if it happened… well, he expected it to. He wasn’t strong, and he wasn’t going to hurt anyone. The thing was, he had to make the Capitol kill him instead of another tribute. Which meant he had to catch the Capitol’s attention… and the best way to do that was to try to give hope to the Districts.
He was starting small. Rue was one person, but Orpheus firmly believed that even one person was capable of changing the way the world was. They just had to believe that they could.
“I don’t mean to be morbid,” Orpheus murmured after a moment, lifting his hazel gaze to her darker one, “But the chances of me making it out alive are slim to none. I would rather trust the people around me and distrust the Capitol. I would rather make my death mean something, to the Districts as well as to everyone in the arena. It’s more difficult to make friends if you don’t trust anyone, and… well… I think you’ll probably agree that I need friends here. I need as much support as I can get. Even if support is a promise that you won’t intentionally hurt anyone else. If everyone agrees… then we force the Capitol’s hand.”

Orpheus took in a sharp breath, hazel eyes searching Rue’s for a long moment. He had accepted his own death, but he couldn’t accept the deaths of the others in the Games with him. He didn’t want to admit to himself that Rue and the others might be punished for his actions. That what he was doing might not change anything, that the brilliantly alive girl he was talking to now may not even have a beating heart in the next few weeks. He didn’t want to admit that to himself.
“I think you have a chance,” Orpheus murmured, shaking his head just a little bit. “I’ve been watching the Games for a very long time now… longer than you have, I’m sure, and… being able to run and hide and keep yourself alive is a greater asset than you think it is. There are a few people – and only a few, but still – who have been able to survive on that strategy. People who didn’t make a single kill but won anyway because they were good at staying out of sight. I don’t know if you’re going to win or not. I’m not even sure if there will be a winner after I try to inspire the people. But if there is… you have a bigger shot than you think you are. And you’re not making yourself a target for the Capitol. I think that’s the main reason I’m in danger.”
Orpheus glanced once more at the Peacekeepers, grateful they weren’t close enough to overhear the conversation. He would have to be more careful when he actually got to the Capitol. There would be more cameras, and those cameras would be monitored much better than these ones were.
“If everything goes as I’d like it to, the Districts will stop the Games. They’ll save as many of you as they can.” Orpheus knew it wouldn’t be that simple. He knew there would be far more bloodshed than he had bargained for. But he had to believe that more than one person would survive these Games. He had to believe in hope.

Crutchie had seen L faint. That wasn’t the surprising part of L’s reaping, though. No, the surprising part was that he had known the other tribute from his district. He didn’t know many people – the boys he lived and worked with, of course, the boys who had their name entered far too many times most years, but… he took in a deep breath, trying to brace himself to see a familiar face from the past. A face that, hopefully, wouldn’t recognize his. It wasn’t that he didn’t want L to know who he was, it was just that… the kid he had been died years ago. He was someone knew now, and he didn’t want who he was now to be a disappointment to L. They weren’t close now. Sometimes, it felt as though them being close was a distant memory. Something that should be left in the past with everything else.
The other reason he didn’t want to be recognized was because he didn’t want L to go through what he was currently going through: the knowledge that he had just gotten a friend back, he had just gotten confirmation that someone he had cared about once was still alive, only to know that he was going to die in the next several weeks. Unless he won… Crutchie tried to bank on that. If L won, then Crutchie would be dead and it wasn’t as though he would be able to celebrate his win with him.
He approached L, sitting nervously a few feet away from him. Hopefully, this would pass in silence.

Crutchie watched L for a moment, then looked sharply away and pulled the brim of his hat down. He didn’t want to be recognized. He wanted his old friend to live. He wanted his old friend to remember him, to know who he was, but it wasn’t worth the risk. It wasn’t worth the pain. What all had changed? Crutchie knew his hair was shorter, and the crutch was a new addition. His cheeks were dotted with freckles that had only just begun to form when he was little. His voice had changed, now, and he was… well, he was a boy now. Then again, maybe that wasn’t the biggest adjustment, considering that L was also a boy now. It was ironic, that they had changed in such similar ways. Although L had grown his hair out instead of chopping it… Crutchie forced his gaze to the ground, trying to appear like he wasn’t interested in talking. Knowing L, though, that façade wouldn’t work for very long.
And then L spoke, and all of Crutchie’s hopes melted away. He didn’t want to hurt L. He didn’t want to be hurt by L – by his reaction, or in the Games. This was a fraught situation, the kind that was like dancing on the edge of a knife.
“It’s… it’s me,” Crutchie confirmed, pulling his hat off his head and bunching it into a ball in his lap. He didn’t know what he expected. He didn’t know what to say. He knew it wasn’t right, but he waited for L to make the first move. To decide how this conversation was going to go.

Crutchie watched L for a few moments, waiting for something… something nasty to issue from his lips. Waiting to be lectured or told that ending up in the games together was the worst possible scenario, or even told that it was a good thing they were both in the games so they wouldn’t have to spend too much time together. He didn’t actually expect L to hate him, but… he had abandoned him, unintentionally. He had been left alone, and he had tried to leave, tried to find somewhere safe, and he had gotten lost. He had grown up, then, and when he learned his way around the city, he began to realize where he had grown up. He had avoided that part of the District, though he couldn’t say exactly why. He didn’t want to admit that it was because he was afraid of being seen by his old friend. That he was afraid of not being enough. Everyone else left the past behind them, so Crutchie thought it might be best for him to try to forget. For him to try to leave it all behind, too.
“I didn’t die,” he replied somewhat awkwardly, eyes widening as L went on. So he wasn’t upset. Good. It had been a silly fear and Crutchie had known it, but that hadn’t made it go away. “My… parents both did. My sister did. I… I left. I was afraid of what would happen if the Peacekeepers found me. If I had known where you were, I would have told you, but…” he shrank in on himself. He had been so young… he hadn’t thought about it in years. He’d tried not to think about it. The past didn’t matter. Except it did. He’d just tried to deny it.

Crutchie couldn’t help the tiny smile that crossed his face. He knew things were complicated. He knew that they weren’t the same people they had been when they had parted ways, but those people still existed inside of him. There was a part of Crutchie that still ached from losing L, even though the version of him that was alive now was used to the pain. Was used to a life without L, and didn’t think about it more than every so often. Growing up, he had learned, wasn’t so much about losing the people you had been. It was about covering them bit by bit until they were the foundation you stood on. Until they couldn’t be seen from the outside, even though they were still there within. Everything Crutchie had wanted when he was that little still burned in his chest, though it was muffled by the more practical wants and needs of his older self. He yearned for a safe place to spend the night. He yearned for enough food to keep his belly full. Underneath that, though, there was the silent cry of a boy who had lost his parents and his only friend in one fell swoop.
“I’d still like to consider it a reunion,” Crutchie murmured after a moment, lifting his gaze to meet L’s. “There’s still a part of me who knows who you were. There’s still a part of me that missed you every day, and… and even though you don’t know most of me now, and I don’t know most of you, the part of us that does know each other is getting a reunion.” He knew what L meant, though. It wasn’t so much that they were erasing or ignoring their past together. It was that they were putting it behind them and not relying on the ties that used to bind them together. They were reforging their relationship in fire. The Games were the hottest fire there were. Unfortunately, Crutchie knew that also probably meant he couldn’t rely on L to be his ally, like he had secretly let himself hope. If L thought of them as mostly strangers, then he would have no reason to consider Crutchie’s life for even a second.
“Nice to meet you, L,” Crutchie replied, reaching out his free hand and giving a tentative shake. “I’m Crutchie.”

Relief spread almost immediately across Crutchie’s face as he realized that L was coming at this with a very similar perspective as he was. It was complicated and uncertain, but they had been friends once, and they could, maybe, be friends again. They were at the cusp of what was likely the worst thing they would ever face. One of them wasn’t making it out alive. It was likely that neither of them were. Their district had some winners, of course, but they weren’t often noted as the top contenders. They weren’t Careers, that was. In the past few years their tributes had allied with the Careers, only to be stabbed in the back. If Crutchie were honest with himself, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to ally with anyone except for maybe L. L had been his best friend when he was younger, he had a feeling he could trust him more than he could trust people who knew they would benefit from his death. At least L had some sentimental reasons not to kill him.
“I’d like that,” he managed after a moment, trying to force a smile. “I’d like to get to know you like I should’ve been getting to over the past several years. Chance… wasn’t very kind to take us apart.” The Capitol wasn’t very kind to put them together again, either, but he left that part out. “I think you’re worth talking to,” he added, almost without hesitation. “I don’t even know you that well, but I know it’s true. You always had the most to add to any conversation when we were kids.” He was pointedly ignoring the fact that he was still undeniably a kid.

Crutchie hadn’t actually thought about their mentor. Of course they would have one, but… who? It wasn’t as though their district had very many winners. More than some districts, but it wasn’t surprising in the slightest that most winners came from Districts 1 or 2. Not 8. He shook his head of the thought, instead focusing his attention back on L. He seemed to have thought this through more fully than Crutchie had. Crutchie had a basic plan, but his plan was mostly just to make it so the others didn’t think he was going to be the easiest to pick off. He wanted to survive more than just the first day. He wanted to win, though he knew that wasn’t possible.
“I haven’t really… spent much time around adults lately,” he admitted, looking away. “I’m not sure I really know how to make a good impression on one. I mean… I learned how to avoid adults. If they found a group of kids living all on our own, they would have turned us in.” Implicit in the statement was this: I don’t know how to trust an adult. I’m not sure I want to. Crutchie didn’t see L as an adult. Technically, he was. Technically, he couldn’t be reaped anymore. But he had been, so that… the point was that L wouldn’t have turned in a group of kids. The point was that based on their shared history, Crutchie trusted him.
“My strategy was just… prove I’m not useless,” Crutchie admitted, shifting his grip on his crutch. “If there are people who want to win, they’re going to target the weakest first. I can’t be the weakest.”