Glee 1. Prologue

**So I am breaking absolutely every rule that I have about writing and am not only starting a new story while I'm already in the middle of another, but I'm also writing a Hunger Games story which I promised myself I'd never do just because I didn't want to ruin an already beautiful story.**

**Basic lowdown, the story begins with an established Brittana relationship but it will gradually shift Pezberry. I'm going to be trying to incorporate as many of the characters as possible, and I'm also experimenting with different point of views so please bear with me. **

**Other than that, thank you everybody for reading, let me know what you think, your feedback is much appreciated!  
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* * *

**Prologue  
**_61st Annual Hunger Games - Reaping Day - District 12_

* * *

Your fingers bunch uncomfortably at the hem of the dress that your mother has laid out for you for the purpose of the reaping.

The fingers gather a handful of fabric; it's thick and scratchy against your palms, reminding you why it is that you only wear this outfit once every year.

Your ribs constrict painfully against your lungs, making it difficult for you to breathe as you watch Emma Pillsbury's hand disappear inside of the large glass bowl decorating the center of the stage, resting directly adjacent to one identical that remains currently untouched… for now.

Ladies first, you are not soon to forget.

You feel a hand reach out and clasp against your own, pulling you away from steadily destroying the corduroy fabric with your fingernails…

Brittney must know that your mother will kill you should you come home tonight with your skirt ripped at the seams… Sometimes, you like to joke that you fear the wrath of your mother even more so than you fear the inside of the arena.

Sometimes you joke about this, but you do not do so today.

'One more year…" The only means by which you have made it through today is this reminder, and the clammy hand that is currently pressing into your palm merely pushes this thought even further against the forefront of your mind. 'I am seventeen years old… I only need this dress for one more reaping, and then I can destroy it… Why not just start now?'

You know that you should not be jinxing yourself… your father had been a superstitions man... You are all too aware of the idea that you had barely known the man, his untimely death greeting him mere days following your sixth birthday, but still, your mother always tells you that you carry your father's traditions well beyond the grave…

You quietly appreciate her for this.

"It will be okay…" Brittney is murmuring under her breath, but whether she is talking to you, or herself, you cannot be entirely certain… Either way, the blonde's words are not corresponding with her actions as her fingernails dig almost painfully into your skin.

Emma is grasping at a thin piece of paper; she holds the slip, marked illegibly to the anxiously awaiting crowd below with the name of the individual whose odds were most definitely not in her favor…

The Capitol representative fumbles with the paper's folding only briefly between gloved fingers; she takes her time in her silence, reading slowly the name embedded upon the piece of paper, stalling in just a manner that has your heart screeching to a standstill.

You know what she is about to say before the words so much as reach her lips.

"Santana Lopez."

You did not hear her correctly, you tell yourself; you had been imagining this outcome, the reading of your name was all in your head…

Or maybe you have heard her; maybe, it has simply not yet registered with you, the idea that it _is_ your name that has just been called amidst the thousands… You think this, because when the crowd before you slowly begins to back away; forming a radius about your still form as if a reaping was actually contagious, at first, you find yourself following.

Step away from that sorry soul while you still have the chance.

You're made aware of the news by their eyes… Hundreds, thousands of them all pointed at you; you can feel them before you can actually see them, and when you look up, only to see your own face illuminated about the multitude of screens before you, you know that it's true.

You insist that your eyes remain dry. There will be a time for you to cry, however, now is not it.

The cameras have already descended upon you; your rivals, your potential sponsors, the entire world is watching you right now… you cannot cry.

You wish however, that you can say the same for Brittney, the second that you see the tears streaming down the blonde's face.

If anything, this will only make you appear stronger; holding your own as your lover descends to tears before you… You're appreciative; Brittney has always managed to find a means by which to save you from even the most hopeless of situations.

She allows you to progress through your refusal to think of everything that you will lose after today... You refuse to think of what could have been, what ought to have been...

No, you remind yourself... You were one of the lucky ones, you who is already referring to yourself in the past tense, unlike so many of your impossibly young counterparts called to the arena before you have had an opportunity like no other...

You have been granted the opportunity to fall in love.

You offer the blonde an assuring smile, a quick nod; and finally, just as you are preparing to turn towards the stage, you change mind, you retreat back and you lean forwards, pulling Brittney into your arms, attaching your lips onto hers as you clutch the girl that you love so much even closer into your own arms.

Slowly, you realize that the luck has indeed been in your favor all along, but it is the least that you can do to wish that it could have stuck around for just a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, I am back and just wanted to thank everybody real quick for their response, it is greatly, greatly appreciated so thank you! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**_  
The 62nd Annual Hunger Games - Reaping Day - District 12_

* * *

It's much too hot a top this scorching stage, and Santana Lopez finds herself grateful.

In the unbearable heat, she understands that her attention may wander... It is easier after all, to concentrate upon the thin beads of sweat slipping steadily from her forehead and into her eyes than it is to concentrate on Emma Pillsbury as she introduces her nervous crowd to the 62nd annual Hunger Games.

The salty substance stings; it stings her eyes deep to their very core, but Santana offers no attempt at relief; her pain is just another means by which to avoid her current predicament.

She deserves nothing more, she tells herself... For _them_.

"And now it is my honor to introduce to you District 12's first mentor in more than a decade..." Emma introduces Santana as if the world in its entirety doesn't already know who she is. Santana grimaces, but she never allows the action to reach her stony face. "The victor of the 61st Hunger Games; Santana Lopez!"

Emma bursts into an applause that is not reciprocated. Her audience does not move, they do not breathe. Santana is more than certain that the sound of her chair scraping against the concrete stage as she rights herself into a standing position can be heard from all the way down inside of the mines.

The persistent slapping of Emma's palms against each other, amplified even louder by her microphone, extends for much longer than is necessary... In Santana's eyes, it never should have even started. She does not deserve applause; not for what she has done.

Emma looks downtrodden by District 12's lack of enthusiasm, although Santana is certain that Emma has never received a reciprocated applause in all of her years of being assigned to District 12. Santana, on the other hand, does not take the audience's silence to heart... Reaping day is an understandably tense time for them all, and Santana tries desperately not to blame this hopelessly naive woman before her for not understanding this, but deep down, she does.

She is certain that she always will.

"Let's proceed with the reaping, shall we?" Emma sounds as if she might as well be drawing straws for a pickup game of soccer in the schoolyard, rather than choosing which child before her shall be put to death in penance for an act of rebellion ignited by their ancestors.

Emma Pillsbury looks absolutely ridiculous against the backdrop of District 12. Common sense forces Santana to assume that she must know this, but the more time that Santana is forced to spend with District 12's link to the Capitol, the more she realizes that common sense may just be a thing that Emma is completely devoid of.

"As always, ladies first." Santana forces herself to close her mind, to pretend as if she does not hear every ruffle of paper against Emma's hand as she swirls about the names of every single female between the ages of twelve and eighteen within the district in an effort to choose who will be next person who's life will end... win the games or not.

_She_ is safe... Santana knows that she is safe from this year's reaping, having been the tribute - and subsequent victor - of last year's games. Santana will not be called upon today; instead, her nerves stem alongside the understanding that fifty two of those slips of paper beneath Emma's carefully outstretched fingertips have Brittney's name printed across them... The blonde has been taking out tessarae since she was a child, no matter how many times her parents, or Santana for that matter, told her that it was not worth it.

But Brittney is the oldest of seven; there were simply too many mouths to feed, and too little money to do so.

Santana will never admit to it, but she silently hates Brittney's parents for choosing to bring children into this world that they cannot afford to care for; for refusing to stop following Brittney's birth, for refusing to consider the idea that from the time Brittney was twelve years old, to the time that their youngest - a mere infant - turned eighteen, they will never truly be able to rest easily.

Santana's eyes follow a carefully orchestrated crow as it circles ominously about the heads of the potential tributes... How fitting, Santana thinks as she continues to pretend that the backdrop of the sky offers enough a distraction for her to have missed the echo of paper unfolding, for her to have missed Emma's sudden, harsh words...

"Brittney Pierce."

* * *

"_I am willing to die for my district…"_

_You repeat these words incessantly inside of your head, but still, you can't manage to convince yourself entirely of their accuracy as you pace yet another lap about the small chamber buried deep beneath the ground; the arena that you will no doubt be meeting your death within, hovering ominously above your head._

_ You are all too aware of the restricting confinement of this room, this prison that may very well be the last thing that you ever see outside of that grisly arena…_

_You don't even know what is contained inside of it yet, and already, you hate it._

"_I am willing to die for my district."_

_Your eyes swivel subconsciously to the glistening number twelve engraved within your tracksuit, positioned strategically against your heart… If this scheme was a strategic means to help you believe the words that you are so desperately trying to, somebody ought to be fired, because it isn't working._

"_I am willing to die for my district."_

"_Don't say that…" Your head swivels profoundly over your right shoulder… you hadn't even heard the door open…_

_ Jumpiness, unease, distrust, you have been told, is going to be your biggest flaw once inside the arena._

_ With a level head, you have it all… You are bright, agile, remarkably athletic, unusually strong for a girl of your stature, and particularly skilled with the even the most arbitrary set of hunting gear… No, your physical output isn't the issue; it is your mentality that is ultimately going to get you killed. _

_ The severity of the problem has already manifested in your training scores… You had the opportunity to match a rating that competed with even those of the Careers, but you'd come up with a lousy six; your score suffering greatly after one of the Gamemakers had nearly paid for her poorly placed spear with his life._

_ William Schuester approaches you with an air of caution; he understands just how unstable you can become in a moment of unrest; and he has only known you for two weeks._

_ He's out of place, you've always believed, living within the Capitol… With the exception of his coiffed hairdo and prominently striking features, he not as elaborate, he is not as eccentric as the rest of them are…_

_ You will never say this to his face but you have a tendency to believe that he is out of place as your stylist as well._

_William never seemed to have the eye for fashion that the rest of the tributes' stylists had… Your lack of flare has been plentiful noted, and commented on, whether it be the silent whispers of the other tributes in training center, or else the very public outburst by Rod Remington during your tribute interview, the city, the country even, has made opinions known._

_You are just starting to get the impression that maybe his presence has been enforced beyond the realms of making you look pretty for the cameras._

"_Remember, Santana…"He eyes you carefully in his reminder, placing either hand upon your respective shoulders in an effort to calm you, to remind you that in the arena, there are no choices other than caution. "The point is not to have you die for your district, but to make some other sorry soul die for theirs."_

_ He smirks sadly at you; he is joking, you know this, but at the same time, you also know that he isn't in his entirety… The reality of his statement is all too real not to be taken with a complete seriousness. _

_ You like William Schuester, despite the odds and despite the condition under which you have met him… You find that you enjoy his company because his lack of blending with the crowd reminds him of you. His inept workings as a designer, remind you of the desolate faces, the oversized, bland jumpsuits trailing off of starving bodies, the Earth and all of its inhabitants doused in soot characteristic of home._

_ And most importantly, you like William Schuester because his failures as a fashionista have manifested in a success that you perceive to be much more important anyway… his skill as a mentor._

_ It is a desirable feature considering you have travelled to the Capitol without a mentor of your own… District 12 is known for a lot of things, you know this, but profound success in the Hunger Games was not one of them. _

_District 12 has had one previous successor in the sixty one years that it has been since the games had begun; Leroy Berry, who had been killed alongside your own father, when you were but a mere child, in a terrible mining accident that the residents of District 12 claim to this day was an act staged by the Capitol in the midst of quiet whispers of rebellion._

_ You are not willing to put this past them; your current predicament proves that the Capitol is not beneath much of anything._

'_10…9…8…' _

_You jump once more as yet another voice filters above your head and it takes you a moment to register that this is projecting from the overhead speakers that adorn the room, otherwise unfurnished save for the platform that will soon be raising you to your death._

_ "You better go…" Will sighs as he guides you towards the platform, securing your jacket firmly against you body… A subconscious moan of yearning escapes your mouth as you feel a slight pressure against your chest, the contours of smooth metal against your skin telling you that William has ensured that your pin - the pin that __**she**__ had given you the last time that you saw her, the last time that you ever will see her - will make it into the arena with you._

'_5…4…3…2…'_

_You close your eyes and force yourself to concentrate on the patterns of your breathing as you try desperately to pretend as if you are anywhere but here…_

_ You are back home; you are sneaking into the woods with Brittney, trading anything that you can find in to the Seam trying to wager for one of those small, otherwise worthless momentous that she loves so much._

_ You are not rising steadily upon this platform, eyes burning with the suddenness of a light change as you emerge into the sun. You are not making your presence known as District 12's female tribute at the 61__st__ annual Hunger Games._

_ You are not, because you cannot._

'_1.'_

* * *

At first, she cannot get over the irony; two lovers reaped in simultaneous years...

The more that she thinks about it, however, the more she realizes that maybe, just maybe, this might not actually be coincidental as one might actually believe... as the entirety of the world will believe once they do get wind on who Brittney S. Pierce actually is, and what her relationship to the game's previous victor is.

Santana has been getting the impression for years that a Reaping does not have to be a random act in its entirety; that the Capitol is more than willing to tweak the rules for the sake of a more exciting show... As it was, Santana knows that her government had not been particularly pleased with her public outing; her announcement to world, declaring her love for Britney during her tribute's interview with Rod Remmington last year right before the games...

Imagine, in a place as eccentric as the Capitol, the Gamemmakers finding themselves so overwhelmed over two teenagers of the same gender falling in love... and be to be willing to condemn a girl to death over it.

Santana would not be entirely shocked should she reach her hand through the bowl of District 12 females only to find that every slip of paper had been embedded with Brittney's name.

The blonde is flanked by two separate Peacekeepers; two white-clad individuals who's uniforms are designed in such a manner that has them roughly resembling space aliens... They escort her to the stage landing as if her intentions are actually to run...

Even if Brittney's legs hadn't been transformed into pure Jello following her reaping, Santana is certain that she would not.

Nobody ever does.

She attempts to stand, she attempts to descend from beyond the stage in an effort to meet Brittney halfway, to replace the stone-hearted Peacekeepers with their calloused hands firmly grasped about Brittney's upper arms, but the second that Santana makes the motion to lift herself upwards, she finds herself painfully aware of the fact that her body does not move, that it is devoid of all voluntary control.

Brittney's face is impossibly pale, but Santana is grateful that the sun strikes her skin in just a manner that makes her appear to be glowing... confident, even.

There are no tears in her eyes this year, not like the last, strangely enough, but Santana is all too familiar with the freezing shock of a Reaping... It will be hours before Brittney finds herself able to cry; days, even.

Emma is clapping ridiculously into the microphone so that suddenly, Santana is overcome with the urge to strangle her with its cord... It takes everything in her power to suppress it. As always, her actions are met with no more than silence; nobody reciprocates, nobody is here to celebrate... To those in the districts, Brittney might as well be pushed to the stage inside of her own coffin.

She is guided across the center aisle that separates the males from the females, the aisle leading directly towards the stage where she will be paraded only briefly, in an effort to buy Emma some additional time to select the male tribute...

* * *

_"Tell us your name, dear."_

_Your eyes just graze briefly across those of Emma Pillsbury, standing before the microphone; her bright orange hair and bubble-wrap like attire glistening in the late afternoon sun in a manner that reflects into your eyes until you are convinced that you will go blind should you not turn away._

_ Emma knows your name; she has just read it across the entirety of your district... She knows your name, and so does everybody else... you briefly wonder why she is so insistent upon torturing you into repeating it when you catch a glimpse of the cameras radiating down upon you. Emma has not asked you to repeat your name for yourself, but for them... your competition, your betters, your sponsors..._

_ You only hope that you currently appear strong enough to make the cut... you doubt it though._

_"Santana Lopez."_

_"Santana Lopez," Emma repeats slowly, the name grazing tastefully on her tongue... She licks her lips gently through a soft nod; her lipstick never frays and you find yourself wondering if it is possible that the makeup is positively embedded into her very skin. "Let's give a round of applause for our female tribute, Santana Lopez!"_

_ Emma graces you with three quick claps, but at this point, she is beyond the point of expecting any type of reciprocation from her dull crowd... You can only hope that she will carry this understanding through to next year's reaping... and that you will be around to see it happen._

_ "And now, the boys." Your heart constricts; suddenly, you are finding yourself more nervous for the drawing of the male tribute than you had been for that of the female... You are hoping that your competitor will be somebody that you do not know, although in a district that is as small as twelve, this is unlikely... This reminder has you hoping for a person that you don't particularly get well along with, for a person in one of the grades below you, for a person that you will not have a problem killing, should the time come that you will be forced to actually do..._

_"Noah Puckerman."_

* * *

Santana can hear the soft murmur of the crowd before she has even noticed that anything has happened... The sea of young girl's, all basking in their relief of going yet another year without being reaped swells about itself, and for the briefest of seconds, Santana finds herself believing that these motions are that of respect towards Brittney, towards her sacrifice.

Her hand is already raised, she is prepared to kiss gently, the three middle fingers of her right hand before extending them high into the air as praise is delivered here in District 12, when she realizes that this is not what the crowd before her is doing... It isn't what they are doing at all...

They are separating from each other, backing gently away from a space towards the back of the crowd, forming a large clearing about one, single girl...

You recognize her instantly.

Manhands Berry, or as she was properly called, Rachel, was an interesting individual to say the least...

Her and Santana had attended school together before Santana had been abruptly reaped into a life of fame and fortune... She was in Santana's grade despite the fact that she was an entire year younger; Santana sure what her story was exactly; something about her father having taught her to read when she was only four, the multitude of books that he owned within the Victor's Village home that Santana currently called her own, being an attractant towards her young, curious mind.

Leroy Berry had been the victor of the 44th Hunger Games, winning by sheer chance... He had been stabbed in the chest with a spear on the final day, and while he had been left in the grass of the Cornicopia bleeding to death, he had managed to hang onto his life just long enough for the remaining two tributes to off each other...

Manhands Berry was known around District 12 as the girl with no mother... Well, she must have _had_ a mother, common sense allowed Santana to deduce this much, but whoever she was, Santana had never heard of her... Hell, she was certain that not even Rachel had heard of her.

As legend had it, while on his victory tour the summer following Leroy's victory, he had met a woman during his stop in District 11, and in one single night of heated passion, Leroy had knocked her up... unbeknownst to him, of course.

Nine months later, Leroy had walked out of his home only to find an infant on his doorstep with a note taped to her blanket claiming that the child was his, and that her mother believed her to be destined for a much greater life within the Victor's Village than anything that she could have provided for her in the desolate wasteland that was District 11.

But the lazy tidings of a victor following the games did not suit the traditionally active Leroy Berry... As if raising a child had not been enough excitement, he'd chosen to continue with his work inside of the mines, simply to keep occupied...

Leroy had been killed in the same accident that Santana had lost her father in... the same accident that had killed a lot of the fathers of District 12.

Rachel had been a mere five years old at the time, but still, the Peacekeepers had wanted to execute her for the sake of preventing the burden of a parentless child from plaguing the community...

She had been taken in by Carole Hudson before the Peacekeepers had been given the opportunity to have done so, and although Carole did not live in the same air of luxury that Rachel was so accustomed to, it still appeared to be a better option than death... And so Rachel had been living with Carole and her son Finn ever since; her husband having also lost his life in the fiery traps of a mining accident.

Rachel Berry has never been particularly known for being the most popular or the most well liked... In fact, the more that Santana thought about it, the more she realized that she herself was most likely one of the main culprits involved in tormenting the girl...

Rachel was a victim, there was no other way to describe her... She was quiet, and she was small, and she never stood up for herself, not ever... Santana can't help but to find herself almost grateful that Rachel had not been the one to have been reaped... the poor girl would have never made it so much as past the Cornicopia... Hell, Santana doubts that she would so much as make it to the starting bell... she seemed like the jumpy type; one of those unfortunate tributes who leaves their platform just a hair too early only to find themselves blown to bits...

But despite her characteristic silence, today it seemed, she has chosen to make her voice heard...

She mutters something... something that Santana cannot entirely hear from her position so far away from the girl, although she can immediately tell that whatever Rachel has said, it must have been shocking... She judges by the crowd before her classmate; the throaty gasp emitted collectively from their mouths, the mutterings that travel overhead as their whispers swell and emanate into a dull roar that has Emma reeling... she is not used to noise from the usually silent residents of District 12.

"I'm sorry, what was that dear?" Emma Pillsbury does not know how to approach the interruption... First and foremost, she does not tolerate such seeming acts of rudeness, and second, she is simply too inexperienced with this type of outburst.

Rachel's voice is magnified as she accepts Emma's request to repeat herself... She sounds soft, scared, completely unsure of herself, but at the same time, her eyes remain confident, her chest is broad and the volume behind her words rings trite and true across the crowd...

"I volunteer!" The second that Santana hears Rachel's bold statement,, she is not certain that she has registered her words correctly... in fact, she is almost positive that she has not until, as if Rachel has picked up upon her silent request to repeat herself, she complies, repeating her announcement, allowing the words to settle dully across her dumbfounded audience.

"I volunteer as tribute for Brittney Pierce."


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, I just wanted to give you all a quick apology for the delay, things have been crazy up here lately, and I have a rugby tournament in California this weekend followed immediately by my finals week so I can't promise another update this week, but as soon as all of the chaos dies down, it will be my summer so I will be free as a bird after that!**

**As always, thank you all so much for all of your kind words and for reading, it is appreciated more than you know!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_The 62nd Annual Hunger Games - The Capitol_

* * *

The train is moving at nearly three hundred miles per hour, but still, they might as well be travelling at a mere crawl…

Santana can't help but to amuse herself alongside the wonderment of how long it might take to arrive at the Capitol should they have actually travelled so sluggishly… A more attractive length of time, Santana is certain, towards the preference of her two tributes, currently staring outside of the train window, absorbing the unfamiliar scenery before them in an effort to detract their very ugly circumstance, with their lavish surroundings.

She wonders if it were possible to stretch out forever, just how long the timeline would actually expand… And more importantly, whether or not she could be around to see it… She likes to think so, but these days, she is not so sure.

In the corner, Emma Pillsbury is carrying on – unheard by distracted ears – about the buzz that has carried about the Capitol already… District 12 has never before had one volunteer, let alone _two_…

But Emma cannot possibly understand, Santana reminds herself… She does not understand that Rachel had not thrown herself into the arena in the name of glory; she does not understand that Finn Hudson had not volunteered against any other means than to ensure that had grown into nothing short of a sister to him, was the lone individual to make it out of the arena alive.

Santana is intrigued towards the outcome of the meetings that immediately followed their reaping… The two minutes assigned to each tribute in an effort to say goodbye to the ones that they loved… Santana is certain that Carole had had an opportunity to visit them each, but beyond that, Santana doesn't believe that there had been anybody else…

Noah is the only other person that Santana can think of that would ever visit his two best friends amidst their being abruptly shuttled to the Capitol, but Noah was dead… because of her.

Santana considers her own mother, so distant since the Games, as if she cannot turn back the idea that she had already mourned the loss of her daughter, despite the fact that she had ultimately come back to her… She can't so much as imagine what can possibly be going through Carole Hudson's mind, sending the two children that she had raised – one her own, one just as well as – to their deaths.

She wonders if Carole had been upset with Rachel; the girl that had singlehandedly turned both of her children's permanent safety, into both of her children being trapped within the clutches of the Capitol… of the Games… Probably, Santana thinks, _she_ would have been upset with Rachel… Hell, she _is_ upset with Rachel; and the more that she considers the girl's actions, the more upset that she is by them, the less she can understand why it is that Rachel has done what it was that she had.

Santana's mind wanders on its own accord; the more she gets to wondering about Carole's response towards Rachel's actions, the more she finds herself wondering about the mother's response to Finn's… Was it possible for her to be angry with Finn for trying to protect Rachel, or had this been the plan all along; for him to volunteer should Rachel's name ever be called at the reaping… or in this case, should she have called her own.

Santana has still yet to decide whether either of their actions were incredibly noble, or entirely foolish… The idea alone confounds her, and she is certain that she will not have the opportunity to come to an ultimate decision before sending her tributes into the arena…

And by then, she knows that it will no longer matter.

She cannot dwell against the backdrop of Emma's ramblings anymore… She is trying desperately to bar herself from the woman's words, but she finds that it is growing increasingly difficult; at this point, she knows that her efforts are beyond the point of futile…

Amidst an otherwise silence, every noise that she hears seems to travel directly through her.

A young, blonde haired Avox offers her the exact distraction that she needs, reaching behind her in an effort to place the third meal that she has been served since departing for the Capitol no more than five hours ago, directly in front of the young mentor.

But despite Santana's history with starvation, and the girl's former willingness to consume anything placed in front of her, Santana finds that she no longer has a hunger for much of anything other than the glistening glass bottles aligned in a pristine row directly across the table's center.

She evaluates the liquid contents; some clear, other's brown, yellow, orange… her eyes catch one particularly interesting looking concoction, tinged with a cloudy blue that creates the allusion that she is looking through a free sky that she knows she will never have the opportunity to stand beneath.

Santana can only hope that its contents contain something that is strong enough to help you forget exactly where you are or why you are here, and the risk is one that you are willing to take considering the alternative is actually having to remember the last time that you had set foot inside of the Capitol…

She grabs for the bottle with one swift, fluid motion that nobody seems to take notice of and doesn't even bother to transfer the liquid into a glass before she is dumping the contents against the back of her throat, only to discover that it is just as relieving as you had originally anticipated, and then some.

* * *

_The stages of starvation are not an entirely foreign concept to either you, nor the remaining residents of District 12, save for maybe the Peacekeepers, who you know are notorious for trading legally amnesty for a family's first, and usually only rations made available to them in weeks. _

_ The way that you feel in the immediate can almost make you understand how it is that the Career districts that you have only ever heard about have chosen what the rest of Panem can only perceive as blasphemy; freely following the reign of the Capitol in exchange for being pampered by those seemingly superior beings. _

_While your district teems with whispers of mutiny and revolution, at least theirs are not dying in vain. _

_You don't even remember the last time that you had consumed so much as a morsel of food, although the hunger pains that radiate throughout your stomach are more than willing to remind you that weeks seems like an accurate estimate._

_ Things always had a tendency to get like this immediately following a Games… The Capitol no longer cares about keeping you pristine, appearing both happy and healthy for the multitude of cameras, and eventually, the small amount of rations that they do send you during their duration cease, just as quickly as they had begun. _

_ You spend three weeks watching the Careers decimate their peers, your district's tributes having usually been killed on the first day, if they are lucky, the second, before finally, things go back to normal once more._

_You can never tell which is worse._

_Your stomach offers you yet another painful roar that sends you further into the pavement than you already are… You can feel your gut distending outwards in its distinct mark of starvation; the edema that comes alongside it having been weeks since your last meal, indicative of the idea that your body has seemingly run out of resources by which to sustain itself, that it has settled for eating you alive from the very inside out. _

_ You are well aware of the idea that you will be dead within a matter of days should you continue like this, but at this point, the only thing that you can truly wish for is for death to come sooner rather than later, if only to rid you of such unbearable pain. _

_ There are plenty of children within your school that are just like you; those that drag themselves into their classrooms every day lethargic and barely able to so much as lift themselves into their desks where they will spend their day wondering whether or not they should scavenge for small insects and tree bark in order to keep them alive for just one more day, or if they should simply give up all together…_

_ Of course, there are also those who have it better; those who receive one, maybe even two and rarely, three square meals a day, but these individuals are few and far between, you know this…. _

_And then, there are those even worse off, if you can imagine, which you usually cannot bring yourself to…Those who are carried across the district towards the Healer's hut with their skin tainted a faint yellow and covered in painful sores consistent with a ravaging hunger. _

_You don't often consider yourself to be one of the lucky ones, but in terms of the idea that you have never before experienced such effects, you do… You have heard too many horror stories not to._

_Your eyes move slowly about the school yard, and in the haze of your hunger, you can no longer tell whether the world truly is moving in slow motion, or if this is just the means by which you perceive the universe these days._

_ The school bell has rung nearly fifteen minutes ago, but you have yet to manage to pull yourself upright, your legs so small these days, that they rebel by being no longer willing to support the remainder of your frail body weight. _

_ You have foolishly chosen a place to rest beside a concealed staircase at the back of the school… Nobody will come looking for you, they will not be concerned of your absence… They are all aware of the condition that you have currently found yourself to be in; if anything, it will be expected._

_ You suddenly wonder whether anybody will ever find you should you simply die right here… You remain unsure, and the idea frightens you but still, you cannot bring yourself to move. _

"_Hey, come here, look what I got yesterday!" _

_The voice sounds giddy in its excitement and through the corners of your eyes, you have managed to register several moving forms, but they are rushing so quickly about the schoolyard that their motions have made your head spin, your vision blur. _

_ It takes a moment or two for your eyes to clear, and by the time they do, you realize that you recognize the children before you although they haven't seemed to identify your presence in return…_

_Your fears of dying alone and unnoticed only intensify. _

_Noah Puckerman looks as if he has picked up on a certain glow that you have not noticed in your own features in weeks, if ever…_

_ A rumor has begun to propagate about your school that he has not been in attendance lately because he has begun sneaking out into the woods to hunt after his mother had refused to allow him to take out any tessarae for his family. _

_ Seeing him today helps you to understand that these rumors must be true… It is the only explanation that can possibly describe the fact that he is one of the few inside of District 12 that actually looks, well… nourished. _

_His companions on the other hand, you cannot bring yourself to say the same about._

_You have never been particularly close with either Rachel Berry or Finn Hudson, hell, you wouldn't even stretch it say that you have ever even been particularly decent to either of them._

_ Not even you are entirely certain as to why this is, but you have always just tended to gravitate towards making their lives consistently miserable… _

_ Rachel was a natural small girl; a magnate for bullying, one might argue… It had been a trait that you had picked on her endlessly for, until the pressures of starvation had made her more than impossibly miniscule, unnaturally so… Finn on the other hand – in the midst of an impressive growth spurt – simply looks plain foolish these days, standing at the average weight of a person that was easily a foot shorter than himself…_

_ The two siblings are gathered tightly about Noah. They look savage as they stand before him in a circle, watching intently as he digs through his backpack for the object that he is attempting to show them, and the second that the scent travels and radiates across your nose, you immediately understand why. _

_ You have never actually tasted a chicken before, but you know exactly how one looks courtesy of Capitol-made propaganda videos, displaying its residents consuming large slabs of the meat that you are forced to watch during the Games. _

_ Your eyes widen and the adrenaline empowers them into a distinct focus directed towards the meat dangling between Noah Puckerman's hands… Your mouth, painfully dry for weeks now, fills with the small amount of saliva that your body can actually produce these days, swelling against your tongue in longing for the food that you know you will never eat…_

_ You watch in envy as Rachel and Finn dive headfirst into their meals like lions… They eat as if this will be the last chance that they will ever have to do so… You are not soon to forget that there is a chance that it very so might be…_

"_I can catch enough meat for all of us so don't worry." The slightly shorter of the two boys professes proudly, swelling alongside the understanding that his two best friends no longer had to worry themselves over the burden of starving. "We'll be okay from now on, you'll see…"_

_ A pang of jealousy, even stronger than that of hunger radiates across your body… You can't help but to wish that there was somebody in this world that cared enough about you to offer you food, but you know that this is impossible… The only person that you have in the entirety of this world is Brittney, and she has already begun gathering tessarae in preparation for their grade's first reaping, which is slated to take place just under a year from now…_

_ She has nothing and you know this, but you could never blame her… You both have nothing but each other. _

_When one of the children finally does manage to catch your own gaze, you are almost disappointed to find that you are reflected into the image of Rachel Berry… _

_ At first, you manage to convince yourself that you are merely seeing things, that this contact is all just some sort of insurmountable mistake…_

_ The only means by which to prove to yourself that it is indeed a reality, is the sight of Rachel slowly approaching you… But even still, the back of your mind is trying desperately to convince you that this all but a mirage; a figment of your imagination as produced by hunger…_

_Nobody would ever want to come towards you, nobody would ever care. _

_She extends towards you, the remainder of her piece of half eaten chicken without so much as a single word and nods towards it; a silent indication for you to grab it from her outstretched hand._

_ "Take it." She nudges gently when you make no attempts to move, and although you eye her with longing, you never do. _

_ "I'm not hungry." The lie is blatant; the both of you knows this, but Rachel can understand the pride that is seemingly inherent amidst the residents of District 12… Even in the most formidable of circumstances, nobody ever actually wants to admit to defeat. _

_ With a soft shrug, Rachel turns away and proceeds onward… She is grateful enough to make it look like an accident when she drops the meat onto the ground about ten paces in front of you. _

_You wait until the small trio has disappeared in their entirety before you pounce upon the chicken wing; small to the eye, impossibly large for your particular intents and purposes…_

_ You consume the entirety of the meal in just under a minute, and although it is not nearly enough food to sustain your diminishing body, when you are finished, a healthy warmth radiates from the pit of your stomach… _

_And for the first time in weeks, you believe that carrying on may actually be a plausible possibility; a possibility thanks to the girl that had finally found you, the girl that had finally fed you. _

_You thank her silently by keeping your distance, and throughout the years, you learn to pretend that it is a coincidence every time you find a stray piece of meat burrowed in the corner of your front porch when you wake up in the mornings. _

* * *

She hasn't seen much of her tributes since her failed means of delivering her first bit of advice as a mentor without first drowning at the bottom of a bottle…

She is beginning to wonder who will be killed first; her tributes inside of the arena, or her by means of a liquid cure that she knows that so many of her fellow victors had succumbed to before her, and will continue to in the future.

Santana stares aimlessly beyond the window, circling the half full bottle unsteadily within her palms… They must be inside of District 4 right about now… The waters are gradually rising in both number and depth; she hasn't seen dry land in nearly half an hour, and besides, Santana Lopez remembers the infamous fishing district vividly…

Mostly, she can recall the vast amounts of people gathering about her during her tribute tour the summer following her victory; the two families standing almost mockingly at the podium besides her, the families that had looked _so_ much like her two allies, the two that had carried her following Noah's death, the two that had died beneath her watch…

She attempts to convince herself that she knows that she is inside of District 4 simply due to her recollection of the scenery, but truth be told, the only thing that she ever truly remembers about the district is _their_ faces… She wonders just how far away their families are from her at this exact moment…

She wishes that she can stop torturing herself for the death of their son, or their daughter, just like they had told her to on that warm summer day, seemingly so long ago now, but no matter how hard she tries, she simply can't.

"Hey," Her head turns, slow and uninterested towards the direction of the abrupt noise; the first sound that she has heard in the hours since Emma has retreated to her bedroom…

Should her brain have not been induced into such a fog, should she have actually been able to see straight or hear without sounding as if her head has been dunked beneath a tub of water, she might have actually been startled by the sound, having been jumpy by nature, even before the Games…

But not today; today she is prepared for anything because this, she has been told, is her job.

"What do you want?" Santana slurs as she turns, recognizing Finn Hudson's presence immediately, simply because of his towering silhouette lingering within the doorway of what has, until now, doubled as her own private bar.

"You're my mentor." He is as snarky with her as she had been with him, and she accepts his brutality as a measure of circumstance. "I need mentoring."

"Well have at it then…" Santana shrugs casually towards his request, lifting her arm in an effort to point the nozzle of her wine bottle firmly against her open lips… But instead of receiving the relieving liquid, she feels the glass ripping firmly from loosely clutched fingers, enacting what little force was actually needed in Santana's intoxicated haze.

"Hey…" Santana's eyes narrow dangerously; she had been willing to disregard Finn's attitude, but this is something that she cannot tolerate… She can only hope that he will live long enough to understand what it means to be kept awake by your nightmares until you can finally find the relief that manages to keep them away for at the very least, a little while…

The longer she thinks about this however, the more she decides to detract her statement. No, the only thing that she can truly hope for her tributes is that their deaths are quick… She wonders whether or not this makes her a bad mentor… Probably.

"How do I make sure that Rachel is the one that makes it out of that arena?"

Finn disregards her hostility, but she is not prepared to let this one go so easily… Santana remains stubbornly silent, but not even she is certain whether or not this is because she doesn't want to answer him, or simply because she can't.

"How do I make sure that Rachel is the one that makes it out of that arena?" Finn repeats himself; he is not willing to leave until he has received a sufficient response, this much he has made clear…

"You do everything that you possibly can to make sure that she stays out of harm's way." She formulates the best answer that she can provide as if it were all that simple, "Even if that means getting killed."

Finn nods, but he doesn't respond… His eyes tell Santana that this had been the answer that he had been expecting… She finds herself briefly enraged towards the idea that he had interrupted her for something so seemingly stupid when she is reminded that circumstance proves, there is more to Finn Hudson's story than he has initially let on.

"Is that why you volunteered?" Santana finds herself asking personal questions, finds herself growing more and more attached with every word that she speaks despite her personal insistencies to perform in the exact opposite fashion.

She finds it harder to look at her doomed tributes as nothing more than mere ghosts when they are consistently presenting themselves to her as such convincing human beings.

"Rachel is my sister; she's my responsibility… even when she does do the stupidest things imaginable." Finn sounds confident, but at the same time, Santana knows that he must be terrified… She had been terrified, she remembers. Who wouldn't be? "You wouldn't understand."

His words strike a chord deep inside of the very core of her stomach and suddenly, she feels as if something as simple as a statement has managed to drain the alcohol clear from her system quicker than her own body could ever manage… Santana has never felt more sober in her entire life than when she stares directly into Finn's eyes and speaks alongside the acknowledgment that he can believe her when she tells him –

"I understand… trust me."

* * *

_From afar and against the backdrop of a perfectly angled sunset, the Capitol actually appears to be glowing._

_You wonder if they do this on purpose for the sake of the tributes being hauled in from every corner of Panem as a mark of providing them with one last sense of beauty before they succumb to the most ugly of ends, or if the impressive city always looks like this._

_ The buildings look impossibly tall, even from the miles away that the train still is from the city's borders. It intimidates you to know that the depleting distance can only make them larger… You have never seen a building taller than the three story City Hall that marks the center District 12, and even still, you have never stepped foot above the ground level…_

_You have never been taller than the Earth itself, so that the idea of hovering above the world terrifies you with a sudden, insurmountable wave of acrophobia._

_The only redeeming factor that you can spot is the acknowledgement that maybe you will be able to spot Brittney from the top of the towers… Probably not though, you think. You have never seen the Capitol from District 12, why would you ever believe yourself capable of seeing District 12 from the Capitol?_

_ You sink involuntarily alongside your diminishing hopes, feeling yourself repelled by the presence of a second body that you almost forgot had been standing behind you in an effort to catch his own glimpse of the miraculous view before you… Noah._

_ "Hey, are you okay?" He asks you, his hands automatically travelling to your shoulders where they provide you with a comforting squeeze that you can't help but to lean into… With only him, yourself, Emma Pillsbury and a handful of Avox's aboard this train to keep you company, Noah's arms might as well be equivalent to those of your mother's in terms of comfort at this moment. _

_ "Yeah…" Your response is short and predictable… You are well aware that he knows that you are not okay, much like you know that he is not okay, but it comforts you to know that he would have provided you with this exact same response should you have inquired…_

_ You find yourself suddenly wondering how the last sixty District 12 tributes must have felt as the clamored along at an impossibly fast pace towards a place that you previously only thought possibly in a dream… You wonder what they had discussed, if they had spoken at all or if the idea of one killing the other had driven them into silence…_

"_I wanted you to know that I am going to do absolutely everything that I can to make sure that you win these Games, Santana…"_

_You are almost certain that as far as this goes, it must be a pretty unique statement amongst tributes… You can't imagine somebody so willing to give their own life for that of another, but your mind focuses inward upon Brittney and all at once, you understand…_

_ But that still does not explain why Noah is so willing to go to such similar lengths by which you would for the love of your life… unless…_

_ "What if we are the last two inside of the arena?" You smirk slightly, your eyes still glowing about the sight of the Capitol as you attempt to joke in an effort to detract from the fact that your palms are suddenly growing clammy beneath balled fists, that you're truly just as nervous about his words as you appear. _

_ "I am going to do absolutely everything that I can to make sure that you win these Games." He repeats himself to the exact, and suddenly you believe that he means exactly what it is that he is saying… If you are actually to make it out of that arena in a matter of a mere two weeks' time, you will have Noah Puckerman to thank in his entirety._

_There is an extended silence that quickly grows uncomfortable… You have run out of a means by which to joke, and you remain unsure of how to respond in any other terms for fear of losing what little sanity that you actually have left… _

_You are nearly cringing in the entirety of the physical sense of the word, and finally, just when you think that Noah cannot possibly make things any worse than they already are, he does. _

"_I love you, Santana…" _

_The tears well inside of your eyes, but there is where they freeze. You do not allow them to fall, you can't… For what seems like the millionth time today, you understand that this is not your time to cry._

_ You are starting to believe that it never will be._

_ "I know," Is the only means by which you can bring yourself to respond… The words emit as nothing above a simple whisper… Of course you know that Noah is in love with you; you have known since you had been in elementary school… A girl could always tell these types of things, and this instance was no exception, especially when it has historically been presented in such an obvious manner. _

_ "I know that you know…" Noah expresses, "And I understand that you can never love me in the same way that I do to you, but I just wanted to let you know, before… before…"_

_ "Please, Noah…" A single tear descends down the length of your cheek but you stop it quickly, closing the dam before it can break at this most inopportune of moments. _

_ "I'm going to make this up to you, San…" You don't understand what he is talking about; why he feels as if he owes you anything for something that he has no control over… In your mind, if anything, you owe him everything… In fact, if he has it his way, you will eventually owe him your very life... "I promise, I'm going to get you back home… to her."_

* * *

It is late.

There are no clocks on any of the train's many walls, par to the rules of the Games, but Santana knows that it is late due to the seeming lack of human presence anywhere about her as she tiptoes softly into the main dining hall…

She shudders eerily… there is not so much as a lone Avox scurrying about the cart… only her.

Santana guesses that this is the means by which she prefers things these days, but still, she cannot help but to dwell on her slight discomfort.

The young girl does not dawdle; instead, she makes an immediate beeline towards her intended target; the reason that she has pulled herself out of bed to begin with… It is practically shining in the far corner of the room, unguarded, unlocked, practically begging for her presence…

The liquor cabinet.

Santana ducks into the drawer in search for the one thing that she knows can possibly put her to sleep tonight… She knows that nobody will try to stop her, should they come snooping, but still, she can't help but to be embarrassed towards her uncharacteristic inability not to succumb to the inviting bottle.

The others, they don't understand, Santana convinces herself…. They don't understand what it is like to go to bed at night and only see the faces of the dead…

She used to see Noah daily, and for a long time, his was the only face that she could distinguish with a clear distinction, but lately, those that have died at her own hands had come back to haunt her…

In her dreams, she can never speak she can never produce the words to express just how sorry she truly was…

She would like to believe that wherever they were, they knew, but Santana highly doubts this considering the frequency by which they haunt her dreams.

"How do I kill somebody?"

Santana jumps slightly, cursing as a pain courses through her skull as a result of it banging alongside the underside of the liquor cabinet… The plethora of bottles aligning its interior shudder, clinking loudly against each other in a symphony of exposure that profess Santana's intentions immediately.

She wishes that her tributes would stop choosing the most inopportune of times to interrupt her… The girl surfaces with a sigh; if the Hunger Games do not kill Rachel Berry first, Santana is certain that she will end up doing so herself.

"You don't think about it." Santana snarls, deeming it safe to return to her initial task of locating the strongest beverage that this moving hunk of metal has to offer her now that the shock of her tribute's presence has worn off.

As the girl's mentor, Santana is certain that Rachel is anticipating more; and hell, maybe Santana should be anticipating more for herself as well, but she can't bring herself to deliver… In Santana's skewed mind, this is the best piece of advice that one can ever offer their tribute.

To dumb yourself to emotion is the only probable means by which to escape the arena, while simultaneously surviving the bleak, empty life that being a victor has to offer.

"I have to think about it." This time, Santana actually intends for Rachel to hear the slight snort of laughter that she emits as she wraps her teeth about the cork of a fresh bottle of brandy and pries it open, taking a swig with complete disregard towards the sparkling array of crystal snifters that are shimmering directly over her own head.

"Things are different once you get inside of the arena," Santana finds herself lying for the sake of the girl; the truth is, there are two types of tributes that go into these Games; those that find that they can indeed transform into a cold blooded killer should they be faced with no other choice, and those that freeze; those that get killed first…

Santana does not say so, but she is willing to classify Rachel Berry with those of the latter category.

"What if I decide that I can't do it?" Rachel's voice trembles as she inadvertently confirms to Santana, exactly what kind of tributes that her first assignment as a mentor has granted her with…

Rachel will never make it past the Cornicopia. Finn, crushed by his inability to protect her, will allow his emotions to eventually cost him his life… Santana Lopez is not anticipating walking away from these games, a successful mentor.

She takes yet another swig, just to prepare.

"Once I get in there, Santana, what if I decide that I can't do it?" Rachel repeats herself; her voice sounds stronger the second time around, more certain, and for the first time since she had watched Rachel Berry volunteer confidently in the city center, Santana sees the child that she truly was… that they all were.

She has already cried, Santana can tell this much… The evidence is in her eyes, still glowing red, her cheeks, flushed and swollen… Rachel doesn't even try to hide it.

Rachel Berry, like Santana, seems to have already accepted the idea that she does not fit the bill for a Hunger Games victor… She is not cold blooded, she is not ruthless, she is not a _killer_…

Not like Santana had turned out to be.

"Then you run straight for the Cornicopia the second that the Games have begin… You won't even know what hit you." Santana's face falls as she answers the girl with a sense of complete honesty for the first time since she has been announced as District 12's female tribute…

She has a million questions for the classmate that had volunteered to take the place of her girlfriend, the classmate that had chosen to silently, and continuously feed her for all of those years looking for nothing in return… But suddenly, now that she is facing her, she can't seem to think of what a single one of those questions actually were.

Instead, she finds herself emerged inside of the girl's light brown eyes as they sink downward into a desolate sense of hopelessness that Santana knows, does not fit in with her normally bright features.

"I can't do this…" Her voice shakes and Santana silently begs her to keep her tears; she cannot deal with tears right now… Her wishes however, go unanswered, and naturally, Santana grows defensive to detract from an emotion that she is clearly not equipped to handle.

"Don't start crying to me Manhands, you're the one that got yourself into this mess. You're the one that volunteered!" Santana's words are harsh and out of place, she knows this… She knows that if anything, she should be thanking Rachel for preserving the one thing that had kept her alive while she herself had been inside of that arena - _Brittney_.

She feels a sudden yearning for the blonde, a yearning strikingly similar to that by which had plagued her the last time that she had been on a train destined for the Capitol… And although she knows that this time, she knows that she will be returning home to see her once more, she can't help but to feel a pang of longing that she can't quite place… She is missing strongly, the idea of pure, true love, although for the life of her, she cannot seem to understand why.

"I did it for you!"

The sound of Rachel Berry's confession pierces even Santana's deepest of thoughts, rendering her speechless and silent, completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever… Not even her mind is speaking with her any longer.

She almost wants to ask Rachel to repeat herself… Was it possible that she had heard the girl correctly? Was it possible that Rachel Berry; the girl that she had tormented, the girl that she had tortured despite having been shown nothing but kindness was choosing to save Santana's life… again?

Of course this time, they both knew, that she would be saving Santana's life in an entirely different manner… a manner in which would leave Rachel paying the ultimate sacrifice.

"Why?" Santana's voice is soft… Her response is the only thing that she can think to say. She doesn't deserve an explanation, Lord knows that Rachel has no obligation to answer her, but she's Rachel Berry… Santana knows that will choose to do so anyway.

"Because sometimes being in love is about letting go." Her voice is clear as a bell, but still, for the effect that they have on Santana, she might as well be screaming in gibberish.

Santana's eyes detract from Rachel's instinctively; she can't bring herself to look into them… She can't bring herself to do much of anything other than stare at her own two feet and accept the silence as Rachel turns away from her without so much as another word and moves as quickly as her feet can possibly take her towards her quarters…

When the door closes behind her, Santana is all too aware of how alone she truly is; left to wonder what Rachel meant by this, left to wonder why it was that so many people were willing to die so that she could love…

Left to wonder how a girl that could go into the arena in the name of love; could ever accept leaving clouded amidst the face of death.


End file.

Glee, Angst, Romance