BLOOD ON MY HANDS || Finnick Odair

twenty five; victory tour begins.

AUTHORS NOTE:
this is a fuckin monster chapter you guys, god damn. I really wanna have Eden and Finnick fall for each other soon but I feel like it's going to be too fast so you can all suffer in confusion with me.

In District 12, Eden gave his speech on the podium. He spoke of the greatness of the Hunger Games, the greatness it had brought him, and of the strength he had found in himself. On pedestals across from him, risen out of the crowd, were the families of the fallen tributes.

On the right, a gaunt man and woman clinging to each other as if the other were their only source of balance. Penn's family, the enlarged photo behind them declared. Both dark haired and plainly dressed, that sadness of loss still present in their vacant lives.

On the left, a withered old woman seated on a stool with three little boys seated on the floor in front of her. They couldn't have been any older than eight years old and were skin and bone. Hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes, clothes much too big for them.

Eden looked to both of the families and said, "thank you for the lives of your children, because they ensured a life for my own."

That evening at the dinner they hosted in the main square — something that looked like turkey with a rough-grained bread and root vegetables — Eden was given the opportunity speak with Haymitch. The well known drunk was closer to tipsy, so Eden made sure he was seated next to him. They spoke with hand gestures so exaggerated that it wasn't surprising he knocked Haymitch's knitted hat onto the floor.

While the man reached to grab it himself Eden waved him off. He took his free hand out of the pocket of his coat and lifted it with that hand, dusting it off with the other. Eden looked to him, then stared over at the starved families. At the little boys gorging themselves for what was probably the first time in their lives.

Haymitch didn't react as the hat now weighed more that it should've. The conversation was loud enough to muffle the faint clinking inside of it; a sound that could have been heard as coins bumping. He didn't say a word as he slid the small pouch from his hat and placed it in his own pocket, then masked it by grabbing his flask from the same spot.

Again, Eden looked to those starving boys, the mother and father that lost their only child, and looked back to Haymitch in hopes he would understand the request.

Haymitch unscrewed his flask and lifted it in a toast to everyone. As the dinner folk clanged their glasses together, Haymitch met Eden's eyes and gave him a slow but deliberate nod.

They didn't speak again that night, and Eden was back on the train the next morning.

•••••

He did the same for District 11: for the families of Hoiza and Deva. Then for Raven and Atlas of District 9 and again for Pax and Cleo of District 8. Their mentors, like Haymitch, had all understood what his intentions were. Eden was certain nearly all of them would follow through.

Each day Eden would stand on a stage and speak of his appreciation for the Hunger Games, for making him who he was now. He didn't add in that this new person was a shattered mess. He would looked at the grief-stricken face of families that had lost a child grandchild. The faces of children too young go fully understand why their sibling was no longer there.

The faces that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Then he would sit through a dinner no more extravagant than what he would've eaten at home a year ago. There were different flavours, some vegetables he hadn't recognized, but he didn't care. He ate without complaint.