Your Heart Outside Your Body (1/10)
Title: Your Heart Outside Your Body
Fandoms: Glee/Hunger Games crossover
Author: lls_mutant
Pairings: Mostly gen and Hudson-Hummel-centric. Burt/Carole and a little Kurt/Blaine
Rating: R for violence
Word Count: 50,000
Warnings: Graphic violence, major character death, suicide, Hunger Games crossover. In short, I'm mean.
Spoilers: Spoilers for The Hunger Games through Catching Fire. Glee spoilers are more character-centric than plot-centric.
Summary: For the Fiftieth Hunger Games, the Capitol required each District to send twice the number of tributes- two boys and two girls. For the boys, District 8 sent Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel.
Author's Note: Thanks to narie for the awesome beta!
Chapter 1: The Reaping
Chapter 2: The Capitol
Chapter 3: The Training
Chapter 4: The Interviews
Chapter 5: The Arena
Chapter 6: The Ally
Chapter 7: The Theft
Chapter 8: The Signal
Chapter 9: The Meadow
Chapter 10: The District
Epilogue: The Victors
Chapter 1: The Reaping
"Kurt, how long does it take to tie boots?" Finn demanded irritably.
His stepbrother looked up from the intricate process with a glare. "Long enough, Finn," he snapped, and then went back to lacing them up. They were leather, black and worn and there was a rough patch at the top of one. Rejects from the factory that Kurt had spent every last penny he had on and was inordinately proud of.
Finn sat on his creaky, sagging bed and watched his stepbrother finish his preparations. He'd initially felt odd about sharing a tiny room with Kurt, but there hadn't been a choice- it was that or nothing. So he'd gotten used to it. They'd both gotten used to it. And now, Finn just hoped they'd still be sharing a room at the end of the day.
"You nervous?" he asked, his own knee jerking up and down.
Kurt glared at him again, but softened. "I try to keep reminding myself of how many potential Tributes are in District 8," he said. "It's not likely that either of us will be chosen."
"I know." Finn frowned, looking around the room. Not that there was much to look at. The walls and the floor were bare, although there were tattered curtains in the window and a small, spotted mirror in the corner. "How many times is your name in the reaping ball?"
"Fourteen. You?"
"Twenty-one."
Kurt shuddered. "Hundreds of us," he said. "And lots of people have their names in that many times or more. It's not going to be one of us."
Finn nodded. "It's not going to be one of us." Kurt made a face that was supposed to be a smile, and Finn tried to smile back. It was probably true, but it was still hard to believe it.
***
The 'kitchen' of the Hudson-Hummel apartment was a corner of the big room. A small stove sat in one corner, and an ice box next to it. It was never kept all that full, because electricity was sporadic at best. Which was fine in the winter, when heat was sporadic at best and food was slow to spoil. In the summer, however, it was not so good. There was an old sink that spouted rusty water, and an almost microscopic countertop. The smell of food permeated the entire apartment when anyone attempted to cook.
Carole peered at the oatmeal in the pot, debating whether she should add the corn syrup now or wait for the evening meal, when they could celebrate that neither of the boys had been chosen in the Reaping. Reaping days were supposed to be "special." That was always bullshit and everyone knew it, but this Reaping was worse than any of the ones that had come previously. This was the first Reaping where Carole had two sons to worry about, not just one.
She decided to wait, and put the corn syrup back in the cabinet. Then she dished out the bland porridge into four bowls and set them on the table.
The table was easily Carole's favorite object in the entire apartment. It was worn and scratched, but the wood was good and the carving was well done. It had been a wedding gift when she and Burt had gotten married nine months ago, a gift from all the residents of the tenement they now lived in. It must have cost a small fortune. It was big enough for all four of them to sit comfortably at, and to Carole, it was the outward symbol of the family they'd put together.
"Smells good," Burt said, coming in from their room and wrapping his arms around her waist.
"No it doesn't." She leaned back into his embrace. "But it will have to do. We'll save the better stuff for when they're home."
"Sounds good." He squeezed her. "They will be home tonight."
She heard the uncertainty she felt echoed in his voice. "I think I'd be less scared if it wasn't a Quarter Quell. Are they going to make the District vote on tributes again?"
Burt shuddered. "I hope not. If so, Kurt…."
Kurt. Superior, snobbish, awkward, gay Kurt. He was a wonderful kid and Carole loved him like he was her natural born son, but the truth was Kurt was not popular in District 8. She squeezed Burt's hand. "They won't send him," she said. "They'll send someone with a better chance of winning. A winner means so much more for us all."
"Right." Burt took a deep breath and pulled away. "Just a few more hours and it will all be over."
Carole nodded. "Just a few more hours and we'll know."
***
The square was filling up fast as Kurt and Finn made their way in with the rest of their class. It was strange. Last year, Kurt had been standing next to Finn as well- Hudson and Hummel were about as close alphabetically as you could get, and he'd wished he could reach out and even touch Finn, just for a little bit of comfort. But today, as they lined up, Finn grabbed his hand. Just a quick squeeze, but it was something.
"It's going to be all right," Kurt whispered, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.
The square was large. The tall buildings around it were nicer than the one they lived in, which was ten blocks away. That one was decrepit, with windows missing glass, broken bricks, and cracked plumbing. The ones here were in better repair and even painted. If Kurt couldn't make it to the Capitol one day, at least he could make it here, to these buildings, where managers and officials and foremen lived. And designers. If he couldn't be so well known to be a stylist for the Hunger Games, then he could be a designer for the clothing that came out of District 8 and went to other Districts. It wouldn't be much, but it would be something.
In front of the crowd was a platform. On it was the mayor of District 8, the escort who chaperoned and shepherded the chosen tributes, and the three previous victors from District 8. The platform was decorated with festoons of fabric and flowers, and behind it were giant television screens to make viewing easier for those further back. In the center of the platform were two huge glass balls - the reaping balls. The kids stood in lines in the squares, the adults crowded around the outsides.
The clock began to strike two.
The square fell silent. Next to him, Kurt saw Finn's throat work as he swallowed hard, and he tried to deny the butterflies in his own stomach. This year and next year, that was all they had to get through. And then they would be free- well, as free as anyone in Panem was. Free to make whatever life they could, as long as it fit into the roles of District 8.
The mayor, a short woman with gray hair, began to read the required history of Panem. Kurt tried to tune it out and look around at the other faces, watch other reactions. Anything to keep his mind off the horrible next few minutes. It didn't really work.
"It is both a time for repentance and thanks," the mayor intoned.
Everyone straightened up. Those were the words that meant the speech was coming to an end. Kurt took a deep breath and straightened his coat.
"Happy Hunger Games." The escort stepped forward. He was a big man named Julius Ramsey, who wore dark glasses and a dark suit, and unlike most Capitol residents, his head was shaved bald. "May the odds be ever in your favor. Before we begin, there is an announcement from President Snow."
Everyone's attention turned to the television screens mounted in the square, and President Snow came on. "Good afternoon, and Happy Hunger Games," Snow said with an oily smile. "This year is the fiftieth Hunger Games. As it is a special year, it will be honored in a special way. On the twenty-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.
"Now we honor our second Quarter Quell. As a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the Capitol requires each district to send twice as many tributes." There was a murmur of shock and outrage, but it died as Julius Ramsey glared at the crowd, and as the Peacekeepers rattled their guns.
"May the odds be ever in your favor," Snow said, and the screens flicked off.
Twice as many tributes. Kurt swallowed. The odds aren't that much worse. We can still… no. Don't think about it.
Julius Ramsey reached into a reaping ball. "Let's start with the ladies."
The ladies. As terrible as it was to say, there were only six girls that Kurt cared about- the girls of New Directions. Anyone else, he thought. Anyone else but them.
He was in luck. The first girl called was Celia Brown. She was twelve or thirteen, no older, and Kurt didn't know her. In fact, she wasn't even in this square, but in another one across the district. He saw her reaction on the giant screens. She was crying. He wanted to feel terrible, but all he could think was that it wasn't Mercedes or Rachel or Quinn or Brittany or Santana or Tina. All he could feel was relief. And when the second girl's name was called - Emily Halverson - and it was a big eighteen-year-old girl that he only knew by sight, the air rushed out of his lungs and his shoulders relaxed. Around him, he could hear the girls' responses; sighs, whispers, tears of relief.
"And now the boys," Julius said, and Kurt's stomach knotted again. Julius pulled a slip out and unfolded it. "Finn Hudson."
NO.
Next to him, Finn stiffened and his eyes opened wide. "He didn't say me, did he?" Finn asked desperately, not looking at anyone. "He couldn't have said me."
"He said you," Puck said, from behind Finn. His eyes were dark and he looked murderous. Furious. He reached out and squeezed Finn's shoulder tightly.
Finn looked around desperately, and then his eyes locked with Kurt's. "Kurt…."
Kurt wanted to say something, but a lump had formed in his throat. It was so big that it cut off the air and he couldn't speak. He could barely hear. All of the square was gone, and for one moment everything focused down to the boy standing in front of him. Finn Hudson had been in his life for so long in one way or the other- been in his heart for so long in one way or another- that Kurt couldn't even process it.
"Come on, Finn," Julius called. "Get up here." It sounded far more like a threat than an invitation.
With one last desperate look at his friends and his stepbrother, Finn made his way to the platform. He was tall, the tallest person up there when he climbed the stairs. But he looked so young. And somewhere in that crowd, Carole was watching. Kurt kept his eyes forward, because he couldn't bear to accidentally see her. He was so determinedly not looking at anything that he almost missed Julius reaching into the reaping ball a second time.
"Our second tribute will be," there was a brief pause as Julius read the paper, "Kurt Hummel."
If Finn's name had been a punch in the gut, his own was like a bright light had been shined down on him, and he was caught. Kurt's eyes flared open, and he couldn't move. He was literally frozen for a long moment, and then his eyes locked on Finn's again. And looking at Finn, Kurt knew exactly how his own face had looked when Finn's name had been called.
He didn't want to go. Of course he didn't. The Hunger Games were sure death for someone like him, for someone like Finn. They weren't going to play in the Games- they were going to die. He wanted to scream, to run, to fight. But there was no choice. He worked through the crowd and took his spot next to Finn. All those faces looking back at him, all those Peacekeepers standing there that would shoot not him, but into the crowd if he tried to run. That had happened three years ago. Kurt stood next to Finn on the platform, his body frozen in fear.
Julius Ramsey turned back to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I give you the District 8 tributes for the Fiftieth Hunger Games!"
***
Sue looked up at the screens, watching the faces of the four tributes being shown. Four kids. Four damn kids doomed to die this year. All four of them looked scared out of the freaking minds. If they had minds, which after twenty-eight years of mentoring tributes and twenty years of teaching at the school, was something Sue Sylvester tended to doubt.
The girls were hopeless. The little ones never lasted long, and Celia was still crying. The older girl was one Sue knew vaguely from the school. Mean, which would help her, but also stupid, which was a huge liability. The boys weren't much better. Dreamers, part of that pathetic glee club. Like there was anything in Panem to be gleeful about. They wouldn't last two minutes in the arena.
But then, two minutes was longer than the girls were going to last.
As the Peacekeepers hustled the tributes off the stage, Sue leaned over to her fellow victors. There were two: Woof, a man in his sixties who had won the thirteenth Hunger Games, and Grace, a woman in her fifties, who had taken the twenty-second Games. Both of them looked tired and miserable. "All right. How are we going to do this thing?" Sue asked.
"What do you mean?" Woof asked.
"What do you think, genius?" Sue asked. "There are four of them and three of us. Who gets two?"
"I don't care," Grace said glumly. "It's always the same."
"I'll take the little one," Woof offered. "And talk to Shine from District 1 when we get to the Capitol."
Sue nodded. "You want the other girl?" she asked Grace. "I'll take both boys."
Grace shrugged. "Whatever."
Sue took that as a promise and turned to watch her two new charges leaving the stage. They were walking close to each other, stiff and distant, but their hands brushing. She vaguely remembered hearing that these two wastes of brain cells were brothers.
Well, that was something to work with. It wasn't much, but it was at least something.
***
How did you say goodbye to your own child?
Behind that door, Kurt was waiting. Burt didn't have long. Not nearly long enough. His hands shook and he knew he was going to cry, but he had to hold it together. This was the last time his child was going to see him. Most likely, anyway.
When he opened the door to the small waiting room, he nearly lost it. Kurt turned around, his eyes red as he took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Dad…"
"Kurt." Burt crossed the room in three swift steps and pulled his son into his arms.
They didn't have long- it could be measured in minutes. But for that entire time, Burt wasn't going to let his son go.
***
"I'm sorry." That was the first thing Finn said when his mother came into the official room that he was waiting in. "Mom, I'm so sorry."
His mother swallowed back tears. "Finn, honey. It's not your fault."
"I know. I know it's not, but… I feel like…" Finn wanted to kick the chair but instead settled for shoving his hands deeper into his pockets in frustration. "I'm letting you down."
"You're not."
"But if I don't win-"
"Finn, let's get something straight right now." His mom took his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. "You're not going to let me down. Losing you… that's not your fault. No matter what happens in that arena. Okay? This isn't your fault."
But it was. He felt like he'd never protected her at any time in his life, even when he was old enough to be able to. Sure, he'd signed up for the tessarae, but that seemed like such a small thing to do at the time, because he'd never be picked for the Hunger Games. There were so many kids and so many slips, one more wouldn't matter.
One more had mattered.
"Finn…" His mom was trying not to cry. Finn had to do the same, or he knew she'd lose it. "In the arena. Be careful. I know that… I know it's not…."
"It's okay, Mom," Finn said. "I'll be careful. I'll… I'll do what I can." He swallowed. "And I'll look out for Kurt, as best I can."
His mom smiled a little. "Don't fight with your brother," she said.
"I won't." Oh, no. He was going to be fighting Kurt. Well, not really. There were forty-six other tributes, too. It wouldn't come down to Kurt and him alone. No way. "I'll look out for him, okay? We'll do what we can to stick together."
"Okay." She nodded, and reached up to pat his cheek again. "Okay. Oh, Finn…" She broke down completely, and Finn held her as they both cried.
***
Not everyone in New Directions got to say goodbye.
They let Puck see Finn. "Take care of my parents," Finn begged. "Please."
"You know I will." They both were trying to pretend they weren't crying, and parted with a last fist bump.
They let Mercedes see Kurt. "I'm just worried about Carole and my dad," Kurt told her. "My dad's heart can't take this."
"We'll take care of them," Mercedes said. "I promise." Neither of them even thought to pretend they weren't crying as they hugged each other goodbye.
They let Will Schuester see them both. He'd done this before, sending other students off to their deaths. He always felt helpless, because what could he say? Kick butt? Come home? You'll do great? Not only were those lies, but what they really meant was kill everyone and come back to us. Maybe he could say that in a regular year, but not this year. But then, there was nothing else.
"Good luck," he told them both, aware of how inadequate it truly was.
The group wasn't all allowed in for personal good-byes, but the entirety of New Directions stood on the train platform, waiting for the tributes to arrive. The girls game out first, filmed by camera crews and escorted by Peacekeepers, looking far more like the prisoners they were than the honored competitors everyone was supposed to pretend they were being.
Kurt and Finn came out together, walking side by side and not looking at each other. Finn had his arms crossed over his body like he could just huddle up and be miserable inside himself, Kurt had his head up and his shoulders back and was pretending his eyes and nose weren't red from crying. Burt and Carole stood on the edge of the platform, still as statues, his arm around her shoulders.
The song started in soft and slow. No instrumentals, of course- just voices. Simple melodies, simple harmonies, the solo being passed from one member to another line by line. Kurt and Finn stopped, and at a frantic gesture from the camera crews, the Peacekeepers backed off enough to let them. It was a funeral song, no two ways about it. But then, this was a funeral, really, and they all knew it. Before the last note even faded, the Peacekeepers were hustling them onto the train. The whistle blew and the train lurched into life, and without any more ceremony or any more goodbyes, they were gone.
Burt and Carole stood on the platform until everyone had left, holding on to each other.
Chapter 2: The Capitol
Fandoms: Glee/Hunger Games crossover
Author: lls_mutant
Pairings: Mostly gen and Hudson-Hummel-centric. Burt/Carole and a little Kurt/Blaine
Rating: R for violence
Word Count: 50,000
Warnings: Graphic violence, major character death, suicide, Hunger Games crossover. In short, I'm mean.
Spoilers: Spoilers for The Hunger Games through Catching Fire. Glee spoilers are more character-centric than plot-centric.
Summary: For the Fiftieth Hunger Games, the Capitol required each District to send twice the number of tributes- two boys and two girls. For the boys, District 8 sent Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel.
Author's Note: Thanks to narie for the awesome beta!
Chapter 1: The Reaping
Chapter 2: The Capitol
Chapter 3: The Training
Chapter 4: The Interviews
Chapter 5: The Arena
Chapter 6: The Ally
Chapter 7: The Theft
Chapter 8: The Signal
Chapter 9: The Meadow
Chapter 10: The District
Epilogue: The Victors
Chapter 1: The Reaping
"Kurt, how long does it take to tie boots?" Finn demanded irritably.
His stepbrother looked up from the intricate process with a glare. "Long enough, Finn," he snapped, and then went back to lacing them up. They were leather, black and worn and there was a rough patch at the top of one. Rejects from the factory that Kurt had spent every last penny he had on and was inordinately proud of.
Finn sat on his creaky, sagging bed and watched his stepbrother finish his preparations. He'd initially felt odd about sharing a tiny room with Kurt, but there hadn't been a choice- it was that or nothing. So he'd gotten used to it. They'd both gotten used to it. And now, Finn just hoped they'd still be sharing a room at the end of the day.
"You nervous?" he asked, his own knee jerking up and down.
Kurt glared at him again, but softened. "I try to keep reminding myself of how many potential Tributes are in District 8," he said. "It's not likely that either of us will be chosen."
"I know." Finn frowned, looking around the room. Not that there was much to look at. The walls and the floor were bare, although there were tattered curtains in the window and a small, spotted mirror in the corner. "How many times is your name in the reaping ball?"
"Fourteen. You?"
"Twenty-one."
Kurt shuddered. "Hundreds of us," he said. "And lots of people have their names in that many times or more. It's not going to be one of us."
Finn nodded. "It's not going to be one of us." Kurt made a face that was supposed to be a smile, and Finn tried to smile back. It was probably true, but it was still hard to believe it.
***
The 'kitchen' of the Hudson-Hummel apartment was a corner of the big room. A small stove sat in one corner, and an ice box next to it. It was never kept all that full, because electricity was sporadic at best. Which was fine in the winter, when heat was sporadic at best and food was slow to spoil. In the summer, however, it was not so good. There was an old sink that spouted rusty water, and an almost microscopic countertop. The smell of food permeated the entire apartment when anyone attempted to cook.
Carole peered at the oatmeal in the pot, debating whether she should add the corn syrup now or wait for the evening meal, when they could celebrate that neither of the boys had been chosen in the Reaping. Reaping days were supposed to be "special." That was always bullshit and everyone knew it, but this Reaping was worse than any of the ones that had come previously. This was the first Reaping where Carole had two sons to worry about, not just one.
She decided to wait, and put the corn syrup back in the cabinet. Then she dished out the bland porridge into four bowls and set them on the table.
The table was easily Carole's favorite object in the entire apartment. It was worn and scratched, but the wood was good and the carving was well done. It had been a wedding gift when she and Burt had gotten married nine months ago, a gift from all the residents of the tenement they now lived in. It must have cost a small fortune. It was big enough for all four of them to sit comfortably at, and to Carole, it was the outward symbol of the family they'd put together.
"Smells good," Burt said, coming in from their room and wrapping his arms around her waist.
"No it doesn't." She leaned back into his embrace. "But it will have to do. We'll save the better stuff for when they're home."
"Sounds good." He squeezed her. "They will be home tonight."
She heard the uncertainty she felt echoed in his voice. "I think I'd be less scared if it wasn't a Quarter Quell. Are they going to make the District vote on tributes again?"
Burt shuddered. "I hope not. If so, Kurt…."
Kurt. Superior, snobbish, awkward, gay Kurt. He was a wonderful kid and Carole loved him like he was her natural born son, but the truth was Kurt was not popular in District 8. She squeezed Burt's hand. "They won't send him," she said. "They'll send someone with a better chance of winning. A winner means so much more for us all."
"Right." Burt took a deep breath and pulled away. "Just a few more hours and it will all be over."
Carole nodded. "Just a few more hours and we'll know."
***
The square was filling up fast as Kurt and Finn made their way in with the rest of their class. It was strange. Last year, Kurt had been standing next to Finn as well- Hudson and Hummel were about as close alphabetically as you could get, and he'd wished he could reach out and even touch Finn, just for a little bit of comfort. But today, as they lined up, Finn grabbed his hand. Just a quick squeeze, but it was something.
"It's going to be all right," Kurt whispered, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.
The square was large. The tall buildings around it were nicer than the one they lived in, which was ten blocks away. That one was decrepit, with windows missing glass, broken bricks, and cracked plumbing. The ones here were in better repair and even painted. If Kurt couldn't make it to the Capitol one day, at least he could make it here, to these buildings, where managers and officials and foremen lived. And designers. If he couldn't be so well known to be a stylist for the Hunger Games, then he could be a designer for the clothing that came out of District 8 and went to other Districts. It wouldn't be much, but it would be something.
In front of the crowd was a platform. On it was the mayor of District 8, the escort who chaperoned and shepherded the chosen tributes, and the three previous victors from District 8. The platform was decorated with festoons of fabric and flowers, and behind it were giant television screens to make viewing easier for those further back. In the center of the platform were two huge glass balls - the reaping balls. The kids stood in lines in the squares, the adults crowded around the outsides.
The clock began to strike two.
The square fell silent. Next to him, Kurt saw Finn's throat work as he swallowed hard, and he tried to deny the butterflies in his own stomach. This year and next year, that was all they had to get through. And then they would be free- well, as free as anyone in Panem was. Free to make whatever life they could, as long as it fit into the roles of District 8.
The mayor, a short woman with gray hair, began to read the required history of Panem. Kurt tried to tune it out and look around at the other faces, watch other reactions. Anything to keep his mind off the horrible next few minutes. It didn't really work.
"It is both a time for repentance and thanks," the mayor intoned.
Everyone straightened up. Those were the words that meant the speech was coming to an end. Kurt took a deep breath and straightened his coat.
"Happy Hunger Games." The escort stepped forward. He was a big man named Julius Ramsey, who wore dark glasses and a dark suit, and unlike most Capitol residents, his head was shaved bald. "May the odds be ever in your favor. Before we begin, there is an announcement from President Snow."
Everyone's attention turned to the television screens mounted in the square, and President Snow came on. "Good afternoon, and Happy Hunger Games," Snow said with an oily smile. "This year is the fiftieth Hunger Games. As it is a special year, it will be honored in a special way. On the twenty-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.
"Now we honor our second Quarter Quell. As a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the Capitol requires each district to send twice as many tributes." There was a murmur of shock and outrage, but it died as Julius Ramsey glared at the crowd, and as the Peacekeepers rattled their guns.
"May the odds be ever in your favor," Snow said, and the screens flicked off.
Twice as many tributes. Kurt swallowed. The odds aren't that much worse. We can still… no. Don't think about it.
Julius Ramsey reached into a reaping ball. "Let's start with the ladies."
The ladies. As terrible as it was to say, there were only six girls that Kurt cared about- the girls of New Directions. Anyone else, he thought. Anyone else but them.
He was in luck. The first girl called was Celia Brown. She was twelve or thirteen, no older, and Kurt didn't know her. In fact, she wasn't even in this square, but in another one across the district. He saw her reaction on the giant screens. She was crying. He wanted to feel terrible, but all he could think was that it wasn't Mercedes or Rachel or Quinn or Brittany or Santana or Tina. All he could feel was relief. And when the second girl's name was called - Emily Halverson - and it was a big eighteen-year-old girl that he only knew by sight, the air rushed out of his lungs and his shoulders relaxed. Around him, he could hear the girls' responses; sighs, whispers, tears of relief.
"And now the boys," Julius said, and Kurt's stomach knotted again. Julius pulled a slip out and unfolded it. "Finn Hudson."
NO.
Next to him, Finn stiffened and his eyes opened wide. "He didn't say me, did he?" Finn asked desperately, not looking at anyone. "He couldn't have said me."
"He said you," Puck said, from behind Finn. His eyes were dark and he looked murderous. Furious. He reached out and squeezed Finn's shoulder tightly.
Finn looked around desperately, and then his eyes locked with Kurt's. "Kurt…."
Kurt wanted to say something, but a lump had formed in his throat. It was so big that it cut off the air and he couldn't speak. He could barely hear. All of the square was gone, and for one moment everything focused down to the boy standing in front of him. Finn Hudson had been in his life for so long in one way or the other- been in his heart for so long in one way or another- that Kurt couldn't even process it.
"Come on, Finn," Julius called. "Get up here." It sounded far more like a threat than an invitation.
With one last desperate look at his friends and his stepbrother, Finn made his way to the platform. He was tall, the tallest person up there when he climbed the stairs. But he looked so young. And somewhere in that crowd, Carole was watching. Kurt kept his eyes forward, because he couldn't bear to accidentally see her. He was so determinedly not looking at anything that he almost missed Julius reaching into the reaping ball a second time.
"Our second tribute will be," there was a brief pause as Julius read the paper, "Kurt Hummel."
If Finn's name had been a punch in the gut, his own was like a bright light had been shined down on him, and he was caught. Kurt's eyes flared open, and he couldn't move. He was literally frozen for a long moment, and then his eyes locked on Finn's again. And looking at Finn, Kurt knew exactly how his own face had looked when Finn's name had been called.
He didn't want to go. Of course he didn't. The Hunger Games were sure death for someone like him, for someone like Finn. They weren't going to play in the Games- they were going to die. He wanted to scream, to run, to fight. But there was no choice. He worked through the crowd and took his spot next to Finn. All those faces looking back at him, all those Peacekeepers standing there that would shoot not him, but into the crowd if he tried to run. That had happened three years ago. Kurt stood next to Finn on the platform, his body frozen in fear.
Julius Ramsey turned back to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I give you the District 8 tributes for the Fiftieth Hunger Games!"
***
Sue looked up at the screens, watching the faces of the four tributes being shown. Four kids. Four damn kids doomed to die this year. All four of them looked scared out of the freaking minds. If they had minds, which after twenty-eight years of mentoring tributes and twenty years of teaching at the school, was something Sue Sylvester tended to doubt.
The girls were hopeless. The little ones never lasted long, and Celia was still crying. The older girl was one Sue knew vaguely from the school. Mean, which would help her, but also stupid, which was a huge liability. The boys weren't much better. Dreamers, part of that pathetic glee club. Like there was anything in Panem to be gleeful about. They wouldn't last two minutes in the arena.
But then, two minutes was longer than the girls were going to last.
As the Peacekeepers hustled the tributes off the stage, Sue leaned over to her fellow victors. There were two: Woof, a man in his sixties who had won the thirteenth Hunger Games, and Grace, a woman in her fifties, who had taken the twenty-second Games. Both of them looked tired and miserable. "All right. How are we going to do this thing?" Sue asked.
"What do you mean?" Woof asked.
"What do you think, genius?" Sue asked. "There are four of them and three of us. Who gets two?"
"I don't care," Grace said glumly. "It's always the same."
"I'll take the little one," Woof offered. "And talk to Shine from District 1 when we get to the Capitol."
Sue nodded. "You want the other girl?" she asked Grace. "I'll take both boys."
Grace shrugged. "Whatever."
Sue took that as a promise and turned to watch her two new charges leaving the stage. They were walking close to each other, stiff and distant, but their hands brushing. She vaguely remembered hearing that these two wastes of brain cells were brothers.
Well, that was something to work with. It wasn't much, but it was at least something.
***
How did you say goodbye to your own child?
Behind that door, Kurt was waiting. Burt didn't have long. Not nearly long enough. His hands shook and he knew he was going to cry, but he had to hold it together. This was the last time his child was going to see him. Most likely, anyway.
When he opened the door to the small waiting room, he nearly lost it. Kurt turned around, his eyes red as he took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Dad…"
"Kurt." Burt crossed the room in three swift steps and pulled his son into his arms.
They didn't have long- it could be measured in minutes. But for that entire time, Burt wasn't going to let his son go.
***
"I'm sorry." That was the first thing Finn said when his mother came into the official room that he was waiting in. "Mom, I'm so sorry."
His mother swallowed back tears. "Finn, honey. It's not your fault."
"I know. I know it's not, but… I feel like…" Finn wanted to kick the chair but instead settled for shoving his hands deeper into his pockets in frustration. "I'm letting you down."
"You're not."
"But if I don't win-"
"Finn, let's get something straight right now." His mom took his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. "You're not going to let me down. Losing you… that's not your fault. No matter what happens in that arena. Okay? This isn't your fault."
But it was. He felt like he'd never protected her at any time in his life, even when he was old enough to be able to. Sure, he'd signed up for the tessarae, but that seemed like such a small thing to do at the time, because he'd never be picked for the Hunger Games. There were so many kids and so many slips, one more wouldn't matter.
One more had mattered.
"Finn…" His mom was trying not to cry. Finn had to do the same, or he knew she'd lose it. "In the arena. Be careful. I know that… I know it's not…."
"It's okay, Mom," Finn said. "I'll be careful. I'll… I'll do what I can." He swallowed. "And I'll look out for Kurt, as best I can."
His mom smiled a little. "Don't fight with your brother," she said.
"I won't." Oh, no. He was going to be fighting Kurt. Well, not really. There were forty-six other tributes, too. It wouldn't come down to Kurt and him alone. No way. "I'll look out for him, okay? We'll do what we can to stick together."
"Okay." She nodded, and reached up to pat his cheek again. "Okay. Oh, Finn…" She broke down completely, and Finn held her as they both cried.
***
Not everyone in New Directions got to say goodbye.
They let Puck see Finn. "Take care of my parents," Finn begged. "Please."
"You know I will." They both were trying to pretend they weren't crying, and parted with a last fist bump.
They let Mercedes see Kurt. "I'm just worried about Carole and my dad," Kurt told her. "My dad's heart can't take this."
"We'll take care of them," Mercedes said. "I promise." Neither of them even thought to pretend they weren't crying as they hugged each other goodbye.
They let Will Schuester see them both. He'd done this before, sending other students off to their deaths. He always felt helpless, because what could he say? Kick butt? Come home? You'll do great? Not only were those lies, but what they really meant was kill everyone and come back to us. Maybe he could say that in a regular year, but not this year. But then, there was nothing else.
"Good luck," he told them both, aware of how inadequate it truly was.
The group wasn't all allowed in for personal good-byes, but the entirety of New Directions stood on the train platform, waiting for the tributes to arrive. The girls game out first, filmed by camera crews and escorted by Peacekeepers, looking far more like the prisoners they were than the honored competitors everyone was supposed to pretend they were being.
Kurt and Finn came out together, walking side by side and not looking at each other. Finn had his arms crossed over his body like he could just huddle up and be miserable inside himself, Kurt had his head up and his shoulders back and was pretending his eyes and nose weren't red from crying. Burt and Carole stood on the edge of the platform, still as statues, his arm around her shoulders.
The song started in soft and slow. No instrumentals, of course- just voices. Simple melodies, simple harmonies, the solo being passed from one member to another line by line. Kurt and Finn stopped, and at a frantic gesture from the camera crews, the Peacekeepers backed off enough to let them. It was a funeral song, no two ways about it. But then, this was a funeral, really, and they all knew it. Before the last note even faded, the Peacekeepers were hustling them onto the train. The whistle blew and the train lurched into life, and without any more ceremony or any more goodbyes, they were gone.
Burt and Carole stood on the platform until everyone had left, holding on to each other.
Chapter 2: The Capitol