Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coins clattered against the counter. 

Punz drummed his fingers against the uneven surface, wood digging into the heels of his palms. He braced himself against it, head spinning. 

“I’m surprised,” a light voice called, snapping his gaze forwards. The shopkeep- Amber, he thought her name was- offered a small smile. “I’ve never seen you this much in one week. Something big happen?” 

“No,” Punz said. He swallowed, shaking his head. “No. Nothing serious.” 

“Nothing serious?” Amber asked, eyebrows knitting together. Her head tipped to the side. Punz looked past her to the flames on the brewing stand, liquid bubbling in a clear glass. “You buying these for a friend?”

Punz shook his head. 

“Your brother?”

“Yeah,” he said, tone clipped. “He’s fine. Just sick.” 

Amber frowned. “That’s no good,” she said. The brewing stand dinged behind her. She straightened, turning. “You tell him to take it easy, yeah?” she said over her shoulder, turning the brewing stand off. “I’m surprised you had the money to afford stopping by this much. Can’t afford to keep coming back here, eh?” 

They couldn’t. The world would tilt if Punz moved his head a bit too quick. His hand shook, a wave of nausea washing over him. 

Punz chose not to comment. “I will,” he said, reaching to take the bottle as it was passed across the counter. “Thank you.” 

Amber smiled, her attention quickly stolen away by another customer. Punz took that as his cue to slip away from the stand. Shoulders brushed against his, elbows jostling his side as he weaved his way through the crowd. 

The market was more crowded than Punz was used to. He made a point to never visit the shops during sundown. Before? Fine. After? Even better. But sundown was when the fields fell quiet, lanterns flickering out across the plantations. Waves of tired workers flooded the streets, making their final stops before returning home for the night. 

Glass cooled against his palm. His hands tightened around the bottle, grounding himself, glancing down as shimmering pink liquid sloshed against the sides. 

One should be enough. One would have to be enough.

Regeneration was already emptying his pockets. Purpled had been taking it for a week and didn’t look any better. 

Punz never thought he would be desperate enough to buy a health potion of all things. There was no wound or sickness that would need a health potion that wouldn’t outright warrant a trip to the hospital. 

But they didn’t have time to wait for Purpled to get better. They couldn’t just stick to a week of bedrest, maybe some antibiotics or medicine to speed things along. He needed to be up and moving by tomorrow, no exceptions.

Punz thought it was stupid. In all fairness, he thought a lot of things were stupid. The reaping was one of many. The rules didn’t take into account the people in hospital beds or on bedrest, the people who couldn’t walk from injuries out on the field.

It didn’t matter. Not to the Capitol. Punz would show up. And so would Purpled. They’d suffer through the thirty minutes of speeches and propaganda and listen to the unlucky two being sent off to their deaths, and then they’d return home to a warm fire that was used to cook more of their meals than the actual stove. 

That’s what Punz assured himself, at least. His name had been taken out of the drawing for years, leaving him with some grim sense of security up until he turned twenty two.

And then Purpled’s name was entered once.

Twice.

Three times. 

Four, now. But it was only four. The odds were still on his side, everyone assured him.  

It didn’t matter. The odds were on nobody’s side. They were all just as likely to die with each year that ticked by, another name being added to the bowl. Seven times by the time they were eighteen. Sometimes more. 

It was this time of year that Punz realized how helpless he was. Powerless. If something happened- if Purpled’s name was drawn- there was nothing he could do. There was no spur of the moment volunteering or hope that someone would take his place. Punz was meant to protect him. He’d promised to protect him. But with each slip of paper there was nothing he could do. 

Punz had heard the stories. Siblings nobly sacrificing themselves for their own family. Friends stepping in for friends. Strangers, even, if the tributes were young enough. The career districts fought to have their voices be heard over the others. 

The farther from the Capitol, the less Punz had heard. There were a couple volunteers from District Seven. Fewer from Eight and Nine. In Twelve, it was practically unheard of.

One story always rang in his mind as the day drew near. 

Technoblade, District Ten. Punz remembered watching as he volunteered for his own twin brother. Killed ten tributes out in the arena. Ten out of the twenty four. Returned home as a hero to his family, a king to the district. A god, some called him. Punz couldn’t say he disagreed.

Part of him always put himself in Techno’s place. Shouting over the crowd as Purpled was pulled to the stage. Killing in the arena. Winning. They’d underestimate him in the interviews and he’d surely get a low score in training, but he’d return home just to prove everyone wrong. He’d prove himself wrong. He’d get home to Purpled and a house with functional water and electricity and they would be safe.

Punz didn’t have that option. It made him feel sick to even consider it. 

He couldn’t tell if it was better or worse being confined to the sidelines. Watching the parades. The interviews. The games. 

Some argued game was too innocent of a word. Punz had always thought it was fitting.

Twenty three out of twenty four always ended up as prey. 

Punz peeked through the door. 

Warm firelight spilled out across the floor, casting shadows across a pale face, cheeks flushed red to match the flames. A blanket rested over a small hammock stationed to the side of the fireplace, dragging against the floor. 

Hinges creaked as Punz slipped inside, easing the door shut. His steps were quiet, careful, boots squeaking against the ground.

“Purpled,” he called, voice hushed. 

Purpled shifted. He drew the blanket closer, hiding the lower half of his face. Punz rolled his eyes. 

“Purpled,” he prompted again, crouching next to the hammock. Warmth seared through his hoodie, flames at his back. “Sit up.” 

Seconds ticked by. He was half expecting not to get a response.

Purpled scowled, eyes fluttering open. Orange hues reflected in hazy violet irises. “What do you want?” he grumbled. 

“I’ve got it,” Punz said, raising the bottle, shaking it. Pink liquid sloshed inside. “C’mon. Up.” 

The hammock swayed as Purpled shifted. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, eyeing the potion. Punz uncorked the bottle, offering it. 

Purpled’s hand shook as it closed around the glass. Punz waited until it was steady to pull his hand away.

Purpled frowned down at it. “Regeneration?”

“Health.” 

Alarm flashed across his face. “What?” 

“Regen wasn’t working quick enough.”  

“I would’ve gotten better,” Purpled argued, voice strained. Punz frowned. “You didn’t need to-” 

“You wouldn’t have,” Punz cut in. “Not in time for tomorrow.” 

Purpled’s mouth clicked shut. Punz reached out to flick his forehead. Purpled glared. 

“Get it over with,” Punz said. “The more you stall, the worse it’ll be.” 

Purpled scowled. He stared down at the bottle, swirling the drink idly. 

Punz sat back on his heels, angling himself to watch the fire. Part of Punz understood Purpled’s reluctance. Potions in general were an odd thing- the tastes were weird, the effects were weirder, and there was always a distinct aftertaste. But it was nothing too awful. Nothing that warranted the complaints it always sparked, from strings of curses or waiting for hours just for Purpled to take a sip. 

Within the minute, though, the bottle was being dropped into Punz’s hands. Much less time than it usually took. He scrambled not to let it hit the ground.

“Careful,” Punz hissed. 

Purpled dropped back into the hammock. He rolled on his side, turning to face the wall. 

Punz scoffed. “Purpled.” 

Purpled sighed heavily, drawn out. He shuffled to face Punz again. Silently, he held out his hand. 

Punz’s expression smoothed out, reaching to take it. His fingertips brushed against the cut on his palm, scarred over. The redness was still there, but it wasn’t as warm to the touch, discoloration fading.

“Feeling any better?” 

Purpled shrugged. His eyes were closed, turning to press his face into the pillow. “It’s numb now. Feels weird.” 

Punz hummed. “If it gets any worse, let me know,” he said, lowering Purpled’s hand. “You’ll be alright. Don’t aggravate it any more than you need to.”

Purpled lifted his hand, offering a brief thumbs-up. It dropped back to the hammock a moment later. 

Punz’s shoulders dropped, pushing himself to stand. “Get some rest,” he said, ruffling Purpled’s hair. He pulled his hand back before it could get smacked away. 

Purpled’s heel bounced against the ground. Birds chirped. Shutters creaked in the wind. The streets were quiet, desolate. 

After so many days inside, he wanted out of the house. But Punz’s warnings rang in his head- be careful, don’t make it worse- and the dread hanging over the district was draining his energy. He didn’t think he’d have the stamina to even finish a short walk down the road. 

It could’ve been worse, he reasoned. He could’ve been bedridden still. His hand could’ve still been pulsing with deep aches, his head spinning whenever he’d so much as breathe. All he needed to do was make it through the day, and he’d be back home to a warm fire and some shitty meal Punz struggled to throw together. It would be awful and the room would be overly stuffy with smoke, and the food would taste awful, but at least it would be familiar. Safe. 

Purpled knew he would be fine. That he’d make it home. The “odds were in his favor”, as all of the escorts so famously liked to wish; his name was only in the drawing four times. Four compared to the tens, twenties, sometimes thirties from the families calling in favors, getting oils and supplies for a higher chance of being drawn. 

It didn’t chase off the sinking feeling in his gut. It came back every year, stronger than the last. It felt suffocating the more he dwelled on it. 

Despite the odds, there was always a chance, no matter how slight. His name could get drawn. His name would get drawn and he’d get dragged onto the stage, and swept away from his district, his brother, his home, and he’d have to live his last few days knowing Punz was watching it all from the safety of their own home, watching him die.

It wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t. Punz wouldn’t be making a last minute run to the market for dinner that night if he wouldn’t be coming home. Punz wouldn’t have spent the money on potions if he were going to be sent off to die just days later. Punz wouldn’t have spent his time year after year assuring him he would be safe, because Punz wouldn’t lie, not about–

Horns blared. Loud and echoing, ringing in his ears. Doors swung open, quiet chatter filling the streets. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Purpled pushed himself to his feet.

One name out of thousands. 

Surely he would be coming home.

Chapter Text

Purpled’s boots slammed against the pavement. His breaths came in short, shallow bursts, heart thundering in his chest.

Peacekeepers swarmed the city square. He paid them no mind, gaze sweeping across the crowd gathered outside of a pair of metal gates, guards standing with guns slung over their shoulders.

Purpled twisted. He stumbled back a couple steps, panting. There was nothing, only blurs of green and brown and- 

His eyes caught on a flash of gold through the sea of muted tones. He pivoted, pushing his way through. An elbow rammed into his side. Shoulders knocked against his own. With a stutter in his steps, he broke from the crowd-

And crashed right into Punz, rocking back. Hands on his forearms steadied him, pushing him back to hold at arm’s length. Ice blue eyes stared down at him, piercing, face set in an eerie mask of calm.

Purpled swallowed. His weight leaned and the hands on his arms tightened, letting his head tip forwards as he gasped for air. “Am I late?” he asked, breathless.

“Five minutes,” Punz said. 

Purpled exhaled, eyes screwing shut. Punz squeezed his arms before he was pushed back, standing straighter. He lifted his head, blinking his eyes open. He turned to get a proper look at the fenced-in town square, settling on the makeshift stage outside of the manor.

“Five minutes,” Purpled echoed. He turned to look at Punz. Faltered. Nodded. “Right,” he breathed. “Right, I- yeah. I should go.” 

Punz frowned, eyebrows drawing together. Purpled shifted under his gaze, shrugging his hands off of his arms.

“Purpled-” 

“Wish me luck,” Purpled cut in, flashing a smile as he spun on his heel, hurriedly pushing away to join the crowd. 

The line moved quickly despite the sheer amount of people. Peacekeepers stood on either side of the gate. A woman held a tablet out and he pressed his finger to it as he passed, the screen buzzing against his skin. By the time it flashed green he was already past the guards. 

Purpled could remember when he was twelve, craning his neck to see the projector from the back of the row. Instead he moved to stand in the middle of the crowd with the other fifteen year olds, packed between two brown ropes. His heart pounded with each step forwards.

It was loud. Crowded. But there was space to breathe, no matter how tight his chest felt. 

The waiting was always the worst part. Being whisked away from his brother. Shoved into a crowd of strangers. Waiting for those two dreadful names to be read just to dissipate the dread that hung like a thick fog over the town, two families shutting themselves in until the games were over.  

The reaping was predictable. Routine. It was all the same until it wasn’t, until those two names were drawn.  

Purpled kept his gaze stubbornly away from the stage. He couldn’t see it, not with how the crowd was positioned. He didn’t really want to.  

He turned to watch the crowd behind him instead. He stood on the tips of his boots to see over the sea of heads, towards the low metal gates in the back. Families huddled together, separated from the eligible kids. The line of peacekeepers standing behind them had Purpled quickly averting his gaze, focusing on the faces in front instead of the white uniforms and black visors.  

It all blended together. The white of Punz’s hoodie that was usually so striking wouldn’t stand out, not here. Too many colors and too much going on to see the gold medallion, the ice in his eyes, the silent reassurance from so many yards away.

Purpled wished he had stayed for just a couple minutes longer. Just a few more seconds for the illusion of safety. But if he hadn’t left when he did, if he had let Punz say anything else, he would’ve never left his side. 

Static crackled. Speakers shrieked with the awful sound of feedback before it died down. The kids in front of him shifted. He leaned to peer around them as a man approached the front of the stage. 

Wide green eyes stared out at the crowd from behind circular lenses, light brown hair combed back neatly. His outfit was simple, too simple for the Capitol’s standards, a white dress shirt under black suspenders and shiny black dress shoes that clicked with each step. 

Charlie Slimecicle.

He reached the stand. Two pedestals sat on either side of him, large glass bowls full of slips of paper. Waiting.

Purpled swallowed, quickly looking away.  

Charlie’s eyes were bright. Too bright as he lifted his head to look out at the crowd, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was almost enough to distract from him fumbling to get the microphone off of its stand, narrowly catching it before it fell.

“Hello District Seven!” Charlie chirped in that much-too-cheerful, almost grating voice as he lifted the stand, steadying it. His voice echoed through the speakers, crackling. “Before we begin, we have a very special film, brought to you by the Capitol!” 

He reached to put the microphone back. The projector flickered to life behind him and he jolted, hastily ducking away, microphone in-hand. Purpled watched as he jogged to join a figure standing a little ways off to the side, shadows obscuring any detail.

If he didn’t know any better, he may have thought it was the mayor. But the mayor didn’t show up. Not anymore. Not after his daughter’s reaping. 

One of the mentors, then, he reasoned. Purpled didn’t recognize many of them. Seven didn’t have many winners to begin with, and almost none that were still alive. Punz never let him watch the games long enough to remember the faces. 

Purpled never wanted to watch them, anyways. Even if they could, it wasn’t like they had a screen to watch it on. 

What would happen if Purpled would pick? How far would Punz go? How long would he sit around in shops or wandering the streets just to catch a glimpse of the games? Would Punz watch at all? 

What would there be to watch? Purpled thought. Would he really want to see me die? 

Purpled’s heart raced. He shifted on his feet, attention snapping back to the projector. He scowled at the black and white film, stuffing his hands into his hoodie’s pocket to hide their shaking.

The rise of Essempi. 

It was the same spiel year after year. Of the war of humans against mobs. Humans against monsters. Of the curses that had spread throughout the land, tainting the blood of those who resided within it. Some were cursed to deadly plagues. Others to changes within their genetics, discovered and passed on through their children. Some sported wings or unnatural hair or eyes. Others could create gunpowder from their skin. Fire from the palm of their hands.  

Zombies that burned in the light. Giant man-eating spiders. Skeletons that came to life and wielded weapons. In the past, it was common. A fact of life. The night was the most dangerous, where monsters would flood unlit fields and lurk just beyond the treeline. But the humans learned to deal with it, learned how to use potions and harvest items from the creatures and use them to their advantage. 

Now, monster attacks were few and far between. As flawed as the system was, the walls surrounding the districts kept the monsters out. The lights pushed them farther away, scaring them off.

Before Essempi, they didn’t have the same technology. The same knowledge, the powers. Sure, they were used to the attacks, but it got worse. Creatures spilled out of strange obsidian portals. Endermen flooded the land. The overworld was overrun.

Seeing the chaos, The Capitol banded together. They had rounded together the children of those who were cursed. Altered. Enough to become a small army, trained from birth. Using their powers to destroy portals to the Nether, severing connections to the End- realms far more powerful than the human race had any right to access, Punz would say.

The land was destroyed. The government had been broken down. The Capitol swooped in to rebuild, but the dynamic had shifted. 

That was when the games were created. A reminder that even those with magic were still just as mortal as anyone else. That they could get their powers stripped away from a single bracelet and sent off to die, just as everyone else.

Essempi would have crumbled without the magic that fueled the land. Sometimes Purpled wondered how humans ever made it as long as they did. 

The sound of the recording cutting off was enough to jar Purpled out of his thoughts, gaze snapping towards the stage. Anxiety hit him in a rush, breath catching in his throat, hands slipping from his pockets to crack his knuckles.

Charlie bounced back to the podium, the microphone clasped in his hands. He drew in a breath and stood tall, shoulders squared. “Now, the thing I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for! The time where we select two names-” 

His voice was so uncannily cheerful it almost sounded empty, his smile a bit too bright to feel real. He rattled off a script that was supposed to sound natural but Purpled- but everyone- had it memorized. It only sounded robotic. 

One boy and one girl. Two slips of paper. Sent off to their deaths. 

“As usual, ladies first!” 

The microphone slid with a click back into its place. 

With a bounce in his step, Charlie reached the first glass bowl. He stood on the tips of his shoes despite being plenty tall enough to reach, fingers closing around a slip of paper. He stepped back up to the stand.

The microphone tilted down. Charlie cleared his throat.

“Sora Lloyd!” 

Wind whistled. The crowd was silent.

A few, long moments passed. Charlie looked up with wide round eyes. Curious. Maybe confused.

“Sora Lloyd?”  

Behind Purpled, the crowd shifted. He turned. 

A short girl stood in the middle of a small ring, blonde hair pulled back tight into a braid. In the row of fourteen year olds, who were steadily backing away. 

“Guys,” she breathed. Her voice was barely above a whisper. It was deafening in the silence of the crowd.

The girl turned in a slow circle. No one moved. No one spoke.

“Guys,” she repeated. “Why are you all just staring at me? Why-” A sharp breath. Her eyes widened. “Why are you all just standing there?” 

No one responded. Her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath.

She whipped around, hair snapping over her shoulder. The crowd flinched back.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she demanded, voice rising. “Jamie. Claire. Why aren’t you saying anything?” 

Uneasy murmurs rippled through the square. Flashes of white moved towards the girl and the crowd parted, giving the peacekeepers a wide berth. The girl’s voice steadily rose, even as hands closed around her arms. Kicking and screaming as she was dragged towards the stage.

Purpled felt a twinge of pity. He pushed it down.

Whispers filled the air around him. Hushed voices from a group of girls at his back. He ignored them.

The peacekeepers dragged the girl up the rusty stairs. Charlie shifted a half-step away as she was planted on her feet next to him. Her voice cut off, standing rigid, staring over Purpled’s head into the crowd. The peacekeepers lingered a moment before backing off.

“Well, then!” Charlie chirped. He took a reluctant step towards the microphone. “Do we have anyone who would like to volunteer for Miss Sora Lloyd, here?”

Sora’s fingers twitched. Her hands curled into fists, trembling at her sides. 

Silence. 

“Alright!” he clapped. “Moving right along, then!”

Purpled’s breath caught in his throat. He twisted. His gaze swept across the crowd. Skipped from face to face at the back of the square. Searching. Paper crinkled through the speakers. Each beat of his heart echoed like a drum, pounding in his skull.

Purpled’s head swiveled to face the stage. Charlie slid back to the stand. He placed a hand on the microphone, tilting it down. He smoothed out the slip of paper. Cleared his throat.

Purpled wanted to leave. He needed to leave. He needed to find Punz and they would– 

“Purpled Valor!” 

Adrenaline shot through him like a stab to the heart. Blood rushed in his ears. He was right. He was right. 

He was right.

He was right.

He needed to–

“Purpled Valor?” Charlie echoed, searching the crowd. He felt sick as acid green eyes swept right past him. 

Purpled couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He needed to leave. He was going to be sick. He–

He was moving. 

His knees threatened to buckle as he stumbled a wobbly step forward. Then another. And another until he was walking in pace with a peacekeeper on either side. The crowd parted. No one spoke. No one would meet his eyes.

Metal creaked under his boots. His footsteps thumped on a hollow stage. A thousand pairs of eyes stared at him, watching. He felt dizzy. Sick. 

Purpled looked at Sora. Looked at Charlie. The crowd. Searching. Because surely, surely it was a mistake. Surely he heard wrong. Someone else would step forwards any minute and clear everything up. 

He looked at Charlie. At Sora.

He looked out at the crowd. 

Blue eyes looked back. Right at the metal fences. Wild with panic. Scarred fingers pushing and clawing at gloved hands. Punz’s mouth was moving. Purpled couldn’t hear him over the static in his ears.

Peacekeepers swarmed the area. Strangers backed away. Punz was dragged from view. 

Charlie was speaking. Purpled couldn’t hear the words. He dragged his gaze over, watching him gesture emphatically with his hands. Beaming out at the crowd. He gestured to Sora. To Purpled. 

Sora stood on his other side. Her stance was resolute. Angry tears spilled down her face, knuckles white. 

Purpled turned. Looked out at the crowd.

Everyone looked back.

Chapter Text

The manor’s door swung shut. A hand on Purpled’s back urged him forwards, down the hall. Footsteps echoed in his ears. Peacekeepers flanked him on either side, guns slung over the shoulders of uniforms colored a painfully familiar white.

He hadn’t realized Charlie was talking until he stopped. In all honesty, he hadn’t realized Charlie was there. He could only assume Sora was, too, but the towering forms of the guards blocked his view as a door opened.

Purpled was nudged inside. The door swung shut behind him before he had the chance to turn, voices muffling through the wood. They faded quickly. Silence hung over the room. 

Purpled drew in a breath. Even, measured. He felt drained, leaning back against the door. He closed his eyes, briefly. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened them again.

The room was large. Larger than his and Punz’s entire home, if he had to guess. Sunlight spilled through large windows, peeking through thick velvet curtains. The overhead lights drowned out any of the warm hue, bright and blinding. 

Large couches settled on either side of the room. Pillows rested against the armrests, arranged neatly, blankets folded carefully over the backs. Potted plants were shoved into various corners and trinkets lined the shelves, small and impersonal. A fireplace stuck out from the wall, directly across from the doorway.

Purpled dragged his gaze up to the mirror hanging above the mantle. Dull violet blinked back. 

He shuddered at the unfamiliar emptiness in his gaze, tearing his eyes away. 

It only added to the feeling of the room. Unused. Forgotten. Everything was aligned perfectly, too perfectly to be lived in. There wasn’t a speck of dust, the faint scent of chemicals in the air now that he focused on it.

Purpled shook his head, brushing aside the thought. He pushed himself away from the door, taking a few tentative steps into the room. His heels thudded against the floor, leaving smudges of dirt across polished wood. 

It almost felt like a crime to be in there, despite not having a choice in the matter. It felt like if he touched something it would shatter under his hands. But standing too close to the door led to the risk of having it opened on him, and it would be too awkward to stand around uselessly. 

Instead, he settled on the edge of one of the plush couches. A pillow shifted as the cushion dipped and he jolted forwards to push it back with trembling fingers. 

He waited a moment. When the pillow didn’t shift, he dropped his hand at his side. It landed in a fuzzy blanket, the fabric softer than anything he’d had the privilege of using at home. 

Purpled smoothed his thumb across the surface, exhaling. It wasn’t all that expensive. He had seen blankets like these displayed in shops, bundled together and selling easily. And yet what the rest of Seven barely batted an eye at was a luxury that he and Punz couldn’t afford. They had their fireplace and thin, torn blankets. As long as it was enough to live through winter, they didn’t need more than that. 

With Purpled out of the picture, maybe Punz would have enough left for the little things like that. Blankets. Newer dishes. More comfortable shoes or better tools, better clothes. Something to make up for all of the resources Purpled had drained from him over the years. Another mouth to feed, another person to waste medicine and time on. 

Punz always insisted it was fine. That the moment it was just the two of them, it was his job and his job alone to look after the pair. But Punz had to be tired. Purpled knew he was, and he wasn’t even doing any of the work. 

Each tribute was allotted an hour to see their family, their friends. Anyone who thought they were worth saying their goodbyes to. 

Part of Purpled wondered if Punz would come at all. If he’d come see the kid he’d wasted his life taking care of just to watch him die in a couple days. 

His gaze dropped to the floor. He pulled his hand away from the blanket, hands folding in his lap. 

Out of the two brothers, Punz was quieter. Colder. Reserved. But he got things done. People knew him. He frequented the same stalls and was an easy hire for extra work, always searching for more jobs. Doing what he could to collect enough to get by. Half of the resources the district earned were from those desperate for more money than the actual supply plants. 

People knew Punz. People respected him, even if they didn’t like him. 

Purpled wouldn’t call himself outgoing, but he was friendly enough. He tried to be polite and get his work done. He had barely started applying for jobs out in the plantations and orchards. He rarely went into town unless he was being sent by Punz. People knew him as Punz’s younger brother rather than as Purpled, which was fine. 

But people didn’t know him. Not like they knew Punz. There were no friends down the street or friendly shop owners he had come to know well. If it were Punz, there would be a line of people thanking him for the work he’d done. 

Purpled would have one visitor, maybe one. If said visitor hadn’t gotten himself arrested. 

The image was burned into his mind. Icy blue eyes. Wide. Scared. 

Scared was never a word Purpled would use to describe Punz. Fear wasn’t an emotion he ever saw on his brother’s face.

Not before today. 

Purpled didn’t see handcuffs or weapons drawn when Punz was pulled away but fighting against the peacekeepers was enough of a death sentence. Maybe, hopefully, Punz had just caused too much of a scene. That they just needed to de-escalate before someone got hurt. 

Regardless, Purpled had a sinking feeling that maybe he wouldn’t get a goodbye. That maybe Punz wouldn’t want to say goodbye at all. 

Raised voices came from the hallway. Purpled froze, listening. Footsteps carried closer, until they were- 

The door slammed open. Purpled jolted, scrambling to stand.

He was barely on his feet. Barely had time to lift his head before arms wrapped tight around him. White flashed in the corner of his eye, a glint of gold catching the light before he was peering down at the ground over someone’s shoulder. 

Purpled’s breath hitched.

“Punz,” he whispered. His voice shook and the arms around him tightened, dragging him closer. 

Purpled shuddered with an exhale. Trembling hands raised, tangling in the fabric of the other’s hoodie. 

It was jarring, the way everything clicked into focus. Grounding. He couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not. The racing of his heart chased off the calm, soothing numbness he had leaned into, lungs unable to take in enough air.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of Punz’s mouth. Quiet, barely audible. His eyes burned. 

“It’s okay,” Purpled breathed. His voice cracked. His eyes screwed shut. “There’s nothing you can do.” 

Nothing Punz could do. Nothing Purpled could do. Nothing anyone could do. In an hour, he’d be on the train. In a week, in the arena. 

In two weeks, he’d be gone. 

Purpled’s breath rattled. He opened his eyes. His vision blurred. “I’m sorry I won’t be coming home.” 

Punz held him tighter. “Don’t say that.” 

Purpled exhaled a humorless laugh. It almost sounded like a sob. 

“I won’t win. You know I won’t.” 

“Don’t say that,” Punz said again. More forceful. His voice was strained. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was Punz shaking or him. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” 

“You can’t promise that.”

Purpled’s eyes stung. Tears spilled over, dripping onto white fabric. He waited. 

He was almost hoping for a rebuttal. 

None came. 

For a long few moments, Punz didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Purpled didn’t either. 

And then Punz pulled away, hands on Purpled’s forearms pushing him back before they disappeared, too. His eyes shut at the rush of open air. He waited for the sound of footsteps. The door opening and closing, because Purpled had pushed too far in the last conversation he’d ever have with the one person who cared about him. 

Fabric shifted. Metal clinked. 

“Take it.” 

Purpled’s eyes snapped open. A gold medallion swung inches from his face. 

Purpled nearly choked. “What are you doing?” 

“Take it,” Punz repeated. Purpled’s gaze shifted to meet his eyes. Sharp pools of ice. Clear. Calm. Sure.

“No,” Purpled said immediately. More urgent, “No! What– Punz–”

“Purpled,” Punz interrupted. Purpled’s mouth clicked shut. His expression tightened. “Take it. Please.” 

Each tribute had the right to a token. A small item from a family member, a friend. As long as it was approved by the gamemakers. But-

“No!” Purpled snapped, pushing Punz’s wrist down. “Punz, I’m not- I’m not coming home! When I die, it dies with me, and you’ll never get it back! I-”

“You will,” Punz said, unphased. As if Purpled’s world wasn’t shattering right in front of him. As if the scene he made at the reaping never happened at all. “Take it,” he said again. “As a promise to make it home. A promise you’ll try.”  

“It doesn’t matter if I try,” Purpled bit out. His breathing was shallow, too shallow. “Do you know how many people will die from exhaustion alone? Starvation? Exposure? Even if- if I survive, I’d never make it in a fight.” 

“So don’t fight,” Punz said.

Purpled stared, mouth opening and clicking shut again. Punz raised an eyebrow.

“People have won making traps. Finding allies. Nine’s had a winner who just hid until the final two.” 

“I-” Purpled faltered. Swallowed. “I can’t- you know I can’t-”

“You’re a smart kid,” Punz said. “Be careful. Play your cards right. Make the most of training. You’ll figure it out.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

Punz watched him for a few moments. Studying. Purpled shifted under his gaze. 

“You will,” Punz said.

The silence stretched. 

Punz held up the medallion. 

Purpled scoffed.

I’m not taking it. 

Not when he’ll never get it back.

Not when-

He swiped the chain from Punz’s grasp. 

Punz lowered his hand. Purpled’s fingers curled around the chain and he let himself drop to sit on the couch. Punz moved to sit next to him, silent. 

Purpled used his sleeve to scrub at his eyes. Punz’s hands shook as he folded his arms. Neither acknowledged it. An odd sort of calm settled over the room. Purpled didn’t have the energy to break it. If he spoke he knew it would shatter and he’d done enough crying for the day.  

Seconds ticked by. Minutes passed. Punz didn’t speak. Purpled didn’t, either, the medallion hung uselessly in his hand. 

Eventually, footsteps came down the hall. Punz’s shoulders tensed. Purpled held his breath, setting the necklace down at his side. 

Punz stood. Purpled stood, too, and this time he was more prepared Punz dragged him into a hug.

“You’ll be fine,” Punz assured him, quiet. “You’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Purpled breathed. 

The footsteps stopped. The door swung open. 

“Time’s up,” a harsh voice called. He looked over Punz’s shoulder at a peacekeeper by the door, foot propping it open. 

Purpled’s heart thundered in his chest. Punz’s arms tightened briefly before he pulled away. 

“You’ll be fine,” Punz said for a third, and final time. He waited for Purpled to meet his eyes before continuing. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

Purpled opened his mouth to speak. He couldn’t find the words and before he knew it the room was empty, the door slamming shut. Loud. Final. 

Purpled’s knees felt weak. His breathing stuttered. He fell to sit down again. 

His hand drifted to the side, finding the medallion. His gaze dropped, thumb smoothing over the “P” engraved in the middle. His fingers curled around it, tight. 

And then he waited.

Chapter Text

Purpled wasn’t sure how long he sat there for. Turning the medallion in his hand, watching as light glinted off of the gold.

The sound was faint, at first. So quiet he nearly missed it. A voice, a distant voice, muffled through the door. Getting closer with the sound of steady footsteps; multiple sets. 

His head snapped up. He hastily pulled the medallion over his head, tucking it under his shirt. He tugged at his hoodie to smooth out the fabric, hiding the bulky chain from view as footsteps grew closer, closer. 

They slowed outside of the door. The handle twisted, before it swung open. Bright green eyes swept around the room behind two lenses, quickly settling on him.

“Your time is up, Purpled Valor!” Charlie said, beaming, his eyes crinkling. 

Purpled’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He dipped his head in a brief, polite nod, pushing himself up. He crossed the room with quick, quiet steps, brushing past Charlie and into the hall, where Sora was already waiting. Her arms were folded, face stained with tears, gaze trained stubbornly ahead. 

“We have been having some minor issues,” Charlie said as he pulled the door shut, almost sounding sheepish. Sora scowled, her fingers digging into her arms. “We’re running just a little bit behind schedule. But that’s okay! We…” 

Charlie gestured emphatically as he spoke, a bounce in his step as he started down the hallway. Purpled fell into line a step behind him, glancing over his shoulder at Sora. She refused to look at him, or anywhere in his general direction, really, angling herself away. 

Purpled turned his gaze ahead again, biting back a sigh. He used to think that at least since it was two people being drawn, you weren’t alone when you were sent into a games. But Sora didn’t seem too enthusiastic and Purpled didn’t have the energy to pretend to be friendly, even if the smart thing to do was gather allies.

Shaking his head slightly, he tried to tune into Charlie’s words. He tried, but the group of armed peacekeepers fell into line with them as they rounded a corner held his attention. They walked with them through the halls, pushing through the manor’s doors to a car waiting on the street.

Cars weren’t rare in Seven. Most people had ridden in one plenty of times in their lives. The fields relied on trucks to carry wood and the warehouses relied on imports from all across the district, and no one had the time or energy to walk that far. 

Despite how common they were, Purpled had only been in two. Exactly two. His parent’s car when he was younger, and a rental Punz had bought to go on a job across the district. But he barely remembered the first and the second had been falling apart, windows cracked and the seats falling apart.

This one was different. A limo, he thought. It was longer, sleek black, the windows tinted so dark he couldn’t see inside. It made him uneasy as one of the doors was pulled open and he was ushered inside, sliding onto a row of seats.

The interior was nice. An expensive dark leather of some kind, and the windows were light enough that he could see outside. 

Regardless, he was glad that the ride to the train station was short. Charlie seemed more than happy to fill the silence with his own chatter; most likely important chatter, but the endless cheer that bled from his voice was too draining to listen to. Purpled opted for resting his head against the window instead, watching the scenery fly past, cool glass soothing the headache pounding behind his eyes.

People pointed as they passed, whispers drifting along the streets. Cameras pointed towards the car, reporters closing in on the vehicle as it parked. Peacekeepers pushed them back, clearing a path from the car to the train station’s platform, but it didn’t stop the swarm of reporters clamoring to get their attention.

“Miss Lloyd!” one was shouting as they slid out of the car, starting up the few steps. “Miss Lloyd, how would you say you feel-”

“Valor? Mister Valor-” 

Sora shoved down a microphone as it was pushed in her face. Purpled couldn’t blame her, feet locked in place with the flashing lights and the unending sea of questions being shouted at him, the movement of the crowd being the only thing pushing him forwards. 

Throughout it all, Charlie smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world, standing with perfect posture and his arms clasped. 

Purpled fought to keep the irritation off of his face.

Like everything had that day, the impromptu mess of interviews went slow and quick at the same time. A blur of voices and flashing lights that drew on agonizingly long. He couldn’t recall a single thing they had asked him. He wasn’t sure if he had even managed a word in response before another reporter was trying to get his attention. 

Finally, finally, the train doors slid shut, cutting off the noises of the crowd. Charlie’s hand on his shoulder guided him down a row of booths, the sound of his voice buzzing in his ears. Sora walked a step behind on Charlie’s other side, still clutching her arms.

“The hour is yours!” Charlie said, flashing a bright smile. He nodded towards two doors at the back of the train car, his hand falling from Purpled’s shoulder. “You have the time to shower, sleep, or even look around the train– whatever you want! Just be ready for dinner in an hour!” 

The words had barely left Charlie’s mouth before Sora was shouldering between him and Purpled, storming off towards the door on the left. Purpled exhaled, muttering a polite thank you to Charlie as he passed, slipping through the second door.

The room was bigger than he expected. The overhead lights were so bright they hurt his eyes, heavy blinds pulled shut over the windows. A twin-sized bed was pushed into the corner, a thick comforter folded neatly, an unnecessary amount of pillows stacked against the headboard. A chest of drawers was pushed against the end of the bed. A wardrobe was settled against the wall, a door just to the side of it– the bathroom, probably. 

Purpled’s gaze drifted curiously along the drawers, but he couldn’t bring himself to want to look around. He didn’t think he had the energy. He shuffled over to the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge. His hands found the gold chain looped around his neck. He carefully pulled it out from under his shirt, gaze traveling along the shiny metal.

So this is it, he thought numbly. 

The train jolted, light shifting through the blinds. The quiet sound of wheels whirring over the track rocked the cabin. 

I’ll never see Punz again, he pressed. Waiting for the words to hit. That was it.

He waited. And waited. 

No tears stung his eyes. No painful twinge of sadness or fear. Nothing settled over his mind to cloud his thoughts, no panic to jumpstart his heart. His eyes struggled to focus on the chain in his hand, seen through a thick layer of fog. The rough texture of the engraved design was little more than a distant feeling.

This is it, he told himself again.

And again.

And again.

The words never sunk in. 

A knock rattled the door. 

Purpled jolted so hard he nearly slipped off the edge of the bed, scrambling to hide the medallion back under his shirt. He stood, tugging at the collar of his hoodie, crossing the room. The door slid open to the sight of Charlie’s retreating form, walking down the row of empty booths.

Well, mostly empty, at least. Charlie slid into a seat next to a man, piercing yellow eyes tracking Purpled as he shuffled down the aisle. Black hair hung in front of his eyes, fluffy and unbrushed. Purpled tensed, movements stiff as he walked. 

Their mentor, Purpled guessed. One of Seven’s winners. One of Seven’s only winners. 

Purpled settled down in the seat across from them, pressing himself against the wall, leaning against the window. His gaze drifted across the plates already spread across the table, steam rising from dozens of meals he’d never seen before. The smell alone was enough to make him nauseous, the expensive ingredients a little too much to handle all at once.

Behind him, a door slid open and shut. Fast footsteps were his only warning before Sora dropped into the booth next to him. Her arms folded promptly, glaring across the table. Charlie’s smile didn’t waver. Their mentor stared, unimpressed. 

“Who are you?” Sora demanded, gaze locking on the stranger. Purpled pushed down the urge to bury his face in his hands. 

Silence stretched for a moment, awkward.

“That’s Corbin Hawthorne!” Charlie answered, when it was clear Corbin himself wouldn’t answer. Purpled’s shoulders relaxed a little, some of the tension over the group easing. Not much. “The winner of the eighty-fourth Hunger Games, and the second newest of District Seven’s mentors! He-”

“I didn’t ask for a background check,” Sora snapped, sitting up straighter. 

Purpled bristled. Charlie blinked, mouth clicking shut. Sora unfolded her arms, reaching for her silverware.

Corbin Hawthorne, the winner of the eighty-fourth Hunger Games. Twelve years ago. The name was unfamiliar, and there was no way he’d remember any faces. Pushing aside the fact he would’ve been, like, three at the time, Punz always insisted they kept far away from the chaos. Purpled gladly took no part in the celebrations when a winner came home, when eleven other districts mourned their lost children.

Corbin shifted across the table, drawing his gaze. “You two made quite the scene,” he said. Unsettling yellow eyes focused on Purpled. “Was that your brother? A friend?” 

Purpled’s fingers curled into a fist under the table, before relaxing his muscles. “My brother,” he answered shortly, unfurling his fist to lift a fork, picking idly at his plate.

Corbin hummed. “Your brother,” he echoed. 

Purpled’s jaw ticked, heel bouncing against the floor. He kept his eyes focused on his plate. He wasn’t sure why Punz mattered now. The reaping was over, Punz wasn’t there. 

“And you,” Corbin said. Sora shifted next to him. “Your friends, huh?”

“I don’t see why you need to know this,” Sora bit out. Purpled couldn’t say he disagreed. “Just tell me how to win already.”

Corbin sighed heavily. “Do you want sponsors?” 

Purpled looked up. Sora’s face was set in a scowl. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. 

“You get sponsors through being relatable,” Corbin said. “Being interesting. You need a persona unique enough for the audience to latch onto. You need something that’ll make you interesting enough for people to want to see you win.” 

They’re not the ones being sent off to die, Purpled thought bitterly, gaze dropping again. Why do they get to dictate how we act while we do? 

“And my friends being backstabbing little traitors is going to help that?” Sora scoffed. 

“Yes,” Corbin said, wearily. “Control your temper and you could pull the audience in your favor.” His attention settled on Purpled. “Play up the story about your brother, and people will be fighting to get you home to him. It’s about the story, not the games.” 

“It’s about the story to them,” Purpled said, eyebrows twitching together. “That’s not going to help us learn to survive.” 

“You live by getting sponsors,” Corbin said flatly. “Which is a lot easier when you’re likable.” 

Corbin shot a pointed look towards Sora. Purpled had a feeling he wasn’t exempt from that, though– he had spent most of his time staring blankly at the people trying to get his attention, struggling to process all of the questions being asked by reporters. He probably wasn’t making the best impression. 

“The careers are going to get support because they’re rich. They’re strong,” Corbin continued easily. “The outer districts most likely won’t get any. No one’s going to waste their time on them if they’re smart.” He tilted his head, scanning over Purpled and Sora, searching. Considering. “Seven’s a good middle ground. Play your parts convincingly enough before the arena, and you might live past the first day.” 

Purpled frowned, leg bouncing under the table, but Corbin had a point. The outer districts were too poor to be properly fed. They were usually half-starved by the time they got to the arena, even after the days of eating well in the Capitol.

The careers spent their lives training. They fought to volunteer, grouping together in the arena to kill off the other tributes, then kill off each other. They were the obvious choice for winners. The obvious choice to place bets on. 

Sponsors were less about likability and more about placing bets on the tribute’s lives, Punz had always told him. That the rich folk in the Capitol that were wealthy enough to sponsor only wanted to keep their pride intact, to gloat about picking right. About picking the prettiest candidate. It had nothing to do with their story if they didn’t have the looks and the best odds. 

“I want to live until the end,” Sora bit out. “I don’t care about this bullshit, how do I win?” 

Purpled wanted to agree. He didn’t, though, not really; sponsors could mean the difference between life or death.

The system was still fucked either way.

Corbin sighed. “There’s not a guide to the games. You take the help you’re offered or you get nothing.” 

Sora’s scowl deepened. Purpled stared down at his plate, pushing the food around his fork.

Dinner stretched out in a long conversation of non-answers. Corbin, well, encouraged was too nice of a word. 

Corbin scolded them on their presentation at the reaping and the train station, insisting they need to find a persona and stick to it. A strong girl looking to get revenge on her friends, or a heart-broken kid who was betrayed. A boy who was desperate to get home to his family, who’s brother was desperate for him to survive.  

It was all an elaborate act that Purpled didn’t have the energy for. He didn’t know how to sway the crowd like Corbin wanted him to, and Corbin didn’t explain in detail. He didn’t tell him how. He just told him to do it.

Corbin said they needed sponsors. He didn’t tell them how to get them, not really. 

Purpled couldn’t help that he froze up when the attention was on him. When he was home, when he was comfortable, with friends, it was simple enough to fall into an easy sort of confidence. When he was getting hounded with questions, voices ringing in his ears, it was hard not to get defensive. 

The conversation petered out eventually. Purpled hadn’t even realized Charlie was still there until he cheerfully pointed out one of the screens flickering to life, playing the recap of the reapings.

Theoretically, everyone was capable and supposed to watch each reaping. They were staggered for just that. Purpled hoped no one actually dedicated their day to watching kids getting sent off to die. 

Regardless of his opinions, he kept them to himself as Charlie pointed his gaze towards the screen. Sora leaned on her hand, angrily eating her food as she stared up at the replay. 

Purpled had picked at his food throughout the meal, trying to keep down what he could. He would have to eat what he could before the arena, where it would matter the most. 

The career tributes looked strong. One, Two and Four always looked strong, with a variety of tools and training and hybrids at their disposal. He shifted uneasily with each new face. 

The career district tributes were always intimidating. They always stood out. 

A girl from Six– Sybil– made her way smoothly onstage when her name was called, speaking with a dangerous air of confidence while the boy cowered. 

And then Seven’s played. Purpled held his breath. Sora stabbed her fork through her food as her screams echoed over the speakers, filling the train car with a cacophony of noise. 

Purpled watched, unable to tear his eyes away as his own name was called. Watching his empty eyes, dull and unseeing, unfocused as Punz’s voice rang in the background. Shouting his name. Screaming for the peacekeepers to let him go. The camera zoomed in on him fighting through the crowd towards the fence, only to get pulled away by black gloved hands.

Purpled’s hands trembled. He pushed his plate away, hands dropping to his lap to interlock his fingers. 

Focus, he reminded himself. Focus. This is a chance to learn. Focus.

A young girl was picked from Eight. Twelve years old, an avian, her wings curled around herself as she was led onto the stage. 

An older sheep hybrid from Nine, who stomped on the foot of a peacekeeper as they tried to grab his arm, only to walk to the stage himself. 

An avian from Ten-

Purpled nearly choked. 

An avian from Ten. The name Tommy rang familiar in his ears, but it wasn’t until the gasps rang out along the crowd that it truly clicked.

Techno. Technoblade. Techno the Blood God’s younger brother, Tommy. \

Hearing the screams, the voices from over the speaker. Techno’s voice, Wilbur’s voice. Purpled could almost see it through Tommy’s eyes, heart twisting painfully. The breath stolen from his lungs as he watched Punz. As Tommy watched Wilbur, watched Techno. 

He didn’t know Tommy. He didn’t know anyone from the other districts, why would he? 

But that? He knew how that nightmare felt. He’d lived it just hours earlier. 

Everyone knew Tommy. Everyone knew Tommy because Techno’s story was one that shocked the entirety of Essempi. One that everyone respected. They respected him, they respected Wilbur. They respected Tommy. They respected everyone in that family, everyone they identified with or related to or were connected with in some way.  

The district loved them. Essempi loved them. 

And still, the victor’s families being reaped wasn’t anything new. It was cruel, making it out of the games only to have your family ripped away. 

But it was common. No one escaped the games, not really. 

The last two reapings drew out equally as long, but they blurred together in Purpled’s mind. The moment Charlie and Corbin had dismissed them and Sora had stood, Purpled was walking towards his room at a brisk pace.

He felt sick. He felt sick. He had never watched the reapings before, none other than the yearly one he was forced to attend. It was easier to stop himself from humanizing the tributes if he never saw their faces.

Purpled was one of them, now. 

He understood the fear. The panic. The crushing weight that came with watching your family scream your name, pleading for you not to go. 

The door to his room slid shut behind him. He exhaled harshly, kicking off his shoes and walking over to the bed, practically collapsing on top of it. With shaking hands, he pulled the necklace out. 

The medallion settled in the palm of his hand, the chain looped around his neck. The edges of the scar on his palm peeked out around the edge of the medallion, thumb brushing against the surface. 

The careers. The girl from Six. The girl from Eight. Tommy from Ten. 

Purpled pushed those thoughts far, far to the side.

There was no point in feeling bad for the people who had been chosen to kill him.

There was no point in humanizing the tributes who would be dead in a week.

Chapter Text

Purpled woke to the quiet whirring of wheels over a track. The trail jolted to a stop, rocking the bed under him.

With a yawn, Purpled pushed himself up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was dark beyond the thick curtains. Early morning, if he had to guess. 

He went through the motions of waking up in a daze. He wasn’t sure if the lingering exhaustion was from a rough night of sleep, the stress of the previous day or something else entirely. 

The stress of the previous day. It was surreal. Looking around, part of him barely believed it was real at all. 

Cold water pooled between cupped hands. It was enough to jar him awake, the bathroom clicking into focus around him. He shuddered, splashing water onto his face to wake himself up before carding a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. 

He studied himself in the mirror for a moment, considering. He probably should change, but his hoodie was only slightly rumpled and he didn’t have the mental energy to try and sort through the drawers for something that wasn’t hideous. 

Purpled stretched. He glanced in the mirror. He shook his hair out for good measure before brushing out of the bathroom. 

The door to his room slid shut behind him as he shuffled out into the main train car, gaze drifting along the rows of tables. He realized with a start that the train was moving, cracked and dented stone slowly creeping by outside of the windows. 

Purpled rolled his shoulders, brushing off the realization. In a mirror of last night, Corbin was seated in the same booth, staring out the window (as if there were much to see at all). Charlie stood next to the table, glancing up.

“You’re awake!” Charlie greeted, grinning. “Just in time!” 

Purpled shifted at the words, frowning. Just in time? Just in time for what? 

Charlie nodded towards the table before he could voice his concerns, before walking down the row of seats, slipping right past Purpled. Purpled watched him go, eyebrows drawing together, before he dropped into the seat next to Corbin, shoulder pressed to the wall. He rested his forehead against the window, watching the stone as it slowly crept by. 

Charlie rejoined them moments later– this time, with Sora in tow, if the second set of footsteps said anything. Purpled didn’t spare the energy to look. The cold water from earlier had woken him up briefly, but the exhaustion was starting to settle back in. 

Something scraped across the table. It slid to a stop in front of him. He jolted, head snapping up, blinking as one of the Capitol workers set down two more plates. 

Just in time-

For breakfast.

Oh. 

Purpled shook his head slightly, clearing the fog in his head. As stupid as he felt, he couldn’t really blame himself. The Capitol was unpredictable. No one really knew the process before you went into the games. No one in the districts, at least.

Everyone knew about the reaping. And then there was the Tribute Parade the day after. Three, maybe four days of training, and then the interview with Jack. And then the arena. 

One week. 

Purpled shuddered. 

Swallowing down the brief flash of panic, he reached towards the cup resting to the side of his plate, trembling fingers closing around the glass. Water sloshed inside as he took a careful sip. It did little to clear his head, little to calm him down, but it hid the shaking of his hands, which was good enough for him. 

Minutes slipped by in silence, save for the sounds of silverware clinking and scraping against plates. This was the time to talk, Purpled knew. To get information. To figure out what to focus on during training, or learn about how Corbin won his games, or– or anything productive. Anything helpful. 

But Corbin didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer any advice. Purpled knew he should ask, but Sora didn’t and he didn’t either. He couldn’t find the words.

With a silent sigh, Purpled stared down at his plate. Light crept into the corner of his vision.

Purpled lifted his head. Light spilled in through the windows, flooding the car. Muffled voices reached his ears as the train pulled out of the stone tunnel. Purpled stared out the window. 

Thousands of eyes stared back. 

Purpled flinched back, breath catching in his throat. 

A crowd gathered on the edge of the train tracks, held back by a fence Purpled could just barely see if he strained to look. They cheered and waved and stared up at the train with wide eyes, whispering and pointing. Purpled felt paralyzed, movements rigid as he gripped the edge of the seat under him. 

“This is their first time seeing you,” Corbin’s voice cut in, and it took all of Purpled’s energy to drag his gaze over. “Outside of the reaping, at least. If you want to make an impression, now’s the time.” 

“How–” Purpled faltered, wide eyes flickering back to the window. “How?” 

“Interact with them,” Corbin said, shrugging. “Smile. Wave. Ignore them entirely. I don’t know. Preferably pick something that makes you likable. It’ll make my job easier.” 

“You don’t know?” Sora scoffed, settling back in her seat from where she had leaned to look past Purpled. “One hell of a mentor, you are.” 

Purpled swallowed. His gaze flitted across the crowd, recoiling at the sheer number of people filling the streets. 

“Pick something better,” Corbin said, looking from Sora’s scowl to Purpled’s deer-in-headlights look. “If this is your plan to earn yourself sponsors, you’ll both die off within the first day.” 

“You’re right, boss!” Charlie piped up, cheerful. “Their deaths are quickly approaching!” 

Purpled’s gaze snapped over, wide eyed. He shuddered. 

Corbin acknowledged Charlie with a glance. Sora slumped down in her seat, arms folded. 

Breakfast went by quietly. No one seemed too keen on breaking the silence. Purpled kept his gaze resolutely trained on his plate, ignoring the burning feeling of thousands of eyes trained on him. 

Sora picked at her plate. Charlie’s smile stayed, unwavering. Corbin didn’t say a word.

Corbin hadn’t said much at all, really. Purpled had talked to him twice, but each time it felt shallow. The only times he got anywhere, they really were just talking in circles. Make a good impression, get sponsors, pray you don’t die off immediately.

Safe to say, he was feeling really prepared. 

The train had inched slowly along the tracks for some time. Finally, it shuddered to a stop.

Charlie was the first to speak, head popping up. “We’re here!” he chirped, eyes crinkling. “Get everything you need from your cabins, and then we’ll be on our way to meet with your styling teams.” 

Neither he nor Sora stood, staring at Charlie. It wasn’t like they had much time to bring anything, anyways. 

Charlie pushed himself to his feet after a long moment of staring, gesturing for him and Sora to do the same. Purpled stood, trailing behind them as they started down the car. 

Styling teams.

It made sense, Purpled supposed. For how adamant the Capitol was on keeping appearances, and the tribute’s extravagant costumes each year, he really should’ve been more prepared for it. Of course the tributes didn’t do their own hair, or makeup, or pick their own clothes– but the thought of having a team there to do it made him feel sick. He wasn’t too fond of having people invade his personal space and making choices about his appearance just for the entertainment of a crowd.

The train doors slid open. Purpled squinted against the onslaught of flashing lights, stepping onto the pavement. 

This time, thankfully, there was no stopping to chat with reporters, no pressure to interact with the crowd. No obligation to, at the very least. Charlie led them down the walkway, the crowd held back by metal fences not unlike the ones set up at the reaping. They approached the doors of a tall building, yellow-ish stone making up the walls with deep purple accents, large windows covering the upper floors. 

Two peacekeepers on either side held the doors open for them. Purpled ducked his head as they passed, focusing on Sora’s shoes ahead of him to see where he was going. A figure fell into step next to him, and Purpled only spared a brief glance to figure out it was Corbin. 

Soon enough, the four were piled into an elevator. Purpled’s foot bounced against the ground as Charlie hit two buttons– both below the ground floor, instead of the dozens upon dozens of options above. 

Corbin stepped off on the first floor, gesturing for Sora to follow. Purpled’s gaze drifted to Charlie, waiting for him to move first. He didn’t, the door sliding shut behind the two. 

Purpled couldn’t tell if the silence was more or less awkward with just the two of them. Charlie rocked next to him, hands clasped behind his back, humming to himself. Purpled tore his gaze away. 

Seconds ticked by. The door slid open. Charlie stepped out and Purpled followed just a step behind, peering down the long hallway. 

“Your stylist team is going to be a bit different than usual,” Charlie said, startling Purpled. “The teams were swapped around a bit this year, but don’t worry! They’re very nice!” 

Purpled hummed, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve. It wasn’t like he would know the difference. He could barely remember the name of Seven’s usual stylist, let alone the full team. Whoever they ended up being, he just hoped they could figure out a better theme for the lumber district than dressing as a tree. 

Charlie slowed a couple steps ahead. Purpled stopped behind him, watching as Charlie stepped up to a door. He raised a hand to knock, the sound echoing off of the metal. 

“One moment!” a soft voice called. Purpled looked down either side of the hall, listening to the faint sound of shuffling. Quick footsteps approached the door, before it creaked open.

Muddy blue eyes peeked out, pink hair framing a pale face. The woman startled, tilting her head back to look up at Purpled. Her fingers curled around the edge of the door, the sleeves of a knitted gray sweater pushed up past her elbows. 

“Hello,” she greeted. Purpled fought a frown at the hesitance in her tone. “You’re… Purpled, right?” 

What gave it away? Purpled nearly asked, gaze dropping down briefly to his hoodie. Were the eyes not enough? 

“Yeah,” he said instead, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets. 

“Okay,” she said, straightening, a little bit of energy seeping into her voice. “Well, hi! You can come on in.” She pulled the door open, smiling politely. “I’m Niki. Hannah and I will be the ones getting you ready.” 

The more she spoke, Purpled could pick up on the light accent– one he couldn’t place (though, most accents in Essempi were unrecognizable)– and the hint of confusion in her tone.

Regardless, Purpled dipped his head. He slipped past her, stepping inside. 

“Good luck!” Charlie called. “I’ll see you after the parade!” 

The door clicked shut.

“This is our guy?” 

Purpled startled at the voice, looking up. His eyes met with a deep forest green, looking him up and down. 

Another woman– Hannah, he presumed– was leaning against a vanity, holding a tablet. She wore a sweeping dress, flowy red lace covering the pink fabric, long brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders. Purpled’s gaze traced along the vine-like cord wrapped around her arm, red roses weaved in between, matching the green circlet in her hair– decorated with flowers to match.

“Yeah,” Niki said, voice lilting. 

Hannah stared for a moment. She looked down at the tablet in her hands, nose scrunching up.

Purpled shifted uncomfortably, standing awkwardly at the door.

Niki glanced over. “You can go ahead and sit down,” she said, nodding towards the chair in front of the vanity. “We can…” She looked at Hannah. “We could do his hair while we’re waiting, right?”

Hannah hummed idly. Niki dipped her head, nodding to herself, and Purpled took that as his cue to shuffle over to the chair. 

Purpled surveyed the room as he settled down, taking his hoodie off and folding it in his arms. If he knew anything about the Capitol, he knew they were going to be using an insane amount of products that he did not feel like trying to wash out of the fabric. He set it on the edge of the desk, opposite of Hannah. 

“Niki,” Hannah said. “You’re sure this is our guy. Like, absolutely sure.” 

Why wouldn’t I be? 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Niki called back, somewhere behind him. 

Hannah shifted. She leaned closer to the tablet, pinching to zoom in on the screen.

 “You’re…” Hannah squinted. “What are you again?” 

Purpled was quiet for a moment. He startled at realizing he was the one being addressed. He blinked. “What?” 

“Your eyes,” Hannah said, as if that explained everything. They were kind of weird, he guessed– but with magic running through the bloods of everyone in the districts, even the faintest amounts, he wasn’t sure why she was surprised. 

“I don’t-” 

“Hannah,” Niki scolded, stepping up to Purpled’s other side. She set a couple things down on the desk, picking through to find a comb. 

Hannah looked up, lips pressing together in a thin line as Niki reached to take the tablet from her hands.

“Could you go sort through the fabrics?” Niki asked. Her voice was light, with a certain edge of warning. 

Hannah sighed, but Niki waved her off and she pushed away from the desk. Purpled watched her go. Once she was across the room, his gaze swiveled to Niki.

“There’s… only two of you,” he said, hesitant. He looked up into the mirror as Niki moved behind him with the comb, tracking her movements. “Which one of you…?” 

Purpled didn’t know how to finish, letting the question hang in the air. 

“Hm?” Niki glanced up, confused. Realization seemed to hit after a moment. “Oh! Neither of us,” she said, looking down again as she reached for a pair of scissors. “Your stylist is Eret. They’re just running a little bit late.” 

Purpled paused at the words. As far as he was aware, you weren’t allowed to be late in the Capitol– appearances were everything– but Niki didn’t seem concerned and didn’t offer anything else. Purpled didn’t push. 

Silence lapsed over the room. Purpled didn’t bother to break it. There wasn’t much of a reason to interrupt their work, seeing as Niki didn’t seem to be planning on doing anything too drastic with his hair, trimming off the uneven ends. Hannah walked over occasionally, holding up strips of fabric next to his face or over his shirt, studying intensely for a few moments before she’d slip away again. 

By the end of it, Hannah had pulled aside one rack of clothing, wheeling it over. Niki pulled away with his hair looking almost silvery instead of its usual dusty blond, shimmering in the light with whatever products she had added. 

There was a brief lull where neither seemed to know what to do. Hannah was the first to move, pulling open a drawer. Purpled’s eyes narrowed warily as she pulled out a cup full of brushes– makeup brushes– taking out a few palettes as well before kicking the drawer shut. 

“Don’t do anything too extreme,” Niki said, glancing over as Hannah flicked open a case of eyeshadow. “Eret needs to be here before we do anything else.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Hannah said, dismissive. She picked up a brush, before it waved inches from Purpled’s nose. He flinched back. “But I’ve got to do something about that. His eyes are going to make his skin look so pale, and it is not going to work with the lighting out there.” 

Purpled blinked a couple times, biting back any comments. Niki shot Purpled an apologetic look, slipping away to pick through the rack of clothes herself. His expression twitched as Hannah shifted closer, but he didn’t argue; he knew better than to think that would get him anywhere.

Neither Hannah nor Niki seemed to mind his silence, chatting idly while Hannah tested different products on the back of his hand. He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, or what the purpose was– and as the minutes stretched on, he was becoming more convinced that it was because she was bored more than because she thought it would help “work with the lighting”. 

Regardless, Purpled kept still as she wiped the products off of his hand, leaning forwards to actually do something. His hand drifted to the medallion around his neck, mindlessly fidgeting with the chain. 

Purpled wasn’t quite sure when it had faded, or if it truly had at all, but he could feel a wave of exhaustion starting to creep into his thoughts again. He was content to zone out, listening idly to Hannah’s instructions.

The minutes stretched. Hannah turned his head, applying some sort of black pencil under his eye. Her eyes narrowed, studying his face. Her gaze dropped to his hands. Something in her expression shifted.

“Did you get this approved?” Hannah asked, dropping the pencil. She reached out.

She reached for the medallion. 

Purpled caught her wrist. “Don’t,” he snapped, voice tight. Angrier than he meant. Hannah startled, yanking her wrist back. 

“What the hell, kid,” she breathed, shooting him an odd look. Purpled shrank back. “I was just– jeez.” 

Purpled swallowed. His fingers curled around the medallion, the edges digging into his skin, hands trembling from the fading shock of adrenaline. His gaze flitted from Hannah’s tense, almost wary expression to Niki, who’s movements had paused, blue eyes wide. Hannah rubbed at her wrist.

Purpled’s eyes dropped to the floor. 

The conversation didn’t pick back up. Hannah finished in silence. She flicked the palette shut, the sound quiet but final, moving to join Niki by the clothing rack. 

Purpled waited until she was a safe distance away. Slowly, he looked up towards the mirror, pushing down the prickling feeling of unease. 

Whatever she had done wasn’t a lot. She’d put some sort of foundation on his face, that… honestly, didn’t really do anything. He was pretty sure his skin tone looked the exact same, but he wasn’t going to be the one to say anything. 

She had put some sort of blush on, used some sort of darker shades on his jaw and cheeks– he couldn’t see the difference. The only thing that did stand out to him were his eyes. 

They looked sharper. More defined, in a way, tones of brown just dark enough to make their violet shade seem to glow. 

When most people in the Capitol wore makeup, it changed their face entirely. Ghostly shades of white with bursts of color, or sharply defined features that looked almost unnatural– even for the unnatural traits people often possessed. It made them look entirely different. Unrecognizable.

Purpled still looked like himself, he thought. He still looked like Purpled. He still looked like Punz. 

The only things that had ever set them apart were the eyes and the hair. Ice blue and bright violet. Pale and dusty shades of blond. 

Purpled’s eyes looked brighter, sharper. His hair looked shinier, like specks of stardust (or a less obnoxious sort of glitter) had been combed through the strands. 

He wasn’t sure whether to marvel at the difference or mourn the reason behind the change. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad it wasn’t someone else or horrified it was him. 

If it wasn’t me, it could’ve been Punz, he wanted to reason. He knew it wasn’t true. Punz was above the age limit and would’ve volunteered in a heartbeat if he’d had the chance. If it wasn’t Purpled, it would’ve been someone else, some stranger that Purpled would never have to know and never have to care about. He would have been back at Seven, huddled close to the fire with Punz and some shitty, falling apart blanket. He would’ve been home. 

A light, careful knock sounded at the door.

Purpled wasn’t home. He was here. 

Hannah and Niki both paused. Purpled glanced up to the mirror, watching the door. 

He just needed to find a way to make it home.

Chapter Text

Purpled watched the mirror. The door creaked open. His breath caught.

“Eret!” Niki greeted, her voice light, welcoming. 

“Niki,” a voice echoed, startlingly deep. 

It sounded too warm for the blank white eyes that met Purpled’s own in the mirror. A figure stepped inside the room, sunglasses pushed up to rest in long curly brown hair. 

“We did what we could while you were gone,” Niki said, hanging a couple hangers on the clothing rack, peering over it towards the door. “Hannah did some color matching and tried out some different patterns, but we agreed to leave any decisions until you were back.” 

Eret hummed. Purpled couldn’t tell where they were looking, but finally, finally their head turned. Purpled had never liked eye contact, but something about Eret’s gaze was searching. Too intent. 

And their eyes were weird.

In a few long strides, Eret crossed the room. Heels clicked, the skirt of a long red dress ghosting over the floor towards Hannah and Niki. 

Hannah didn’t look up, her focus on the rack. Quiet. Eret’s head tipped to the side, turned in her direction.

Purpled quickly looked away. 

Eret seemed nice enough upon a glance, as eerie as their eyes were. Their voice was low as they talked with Niki and Hannah, pushing clothes around and sorting through hangers. 

That didn’t mean much. Not in the Capitol. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was guilt or fear that had him shifting in his seat, straining to hear their conversation. 

Fighting was already prohibited with other tributes. How would Eret react when they figured out Purpled had lashed out at one of their stylists? How long would it be until peacekeepers were called in? 

He listened. He watched. But Hannah didn’t say a word, and Niki didn’t bring it up. If Eret noticed something was up, they didn’t ask. 

“Green could look alright with the necklace,” Eret was saying, thoughtful. “Or maybe gold, to match? I’d hate to go purely black or white. Prints would be too much with his eyes.” 

“I’m not sure we can factor in the necklace,” Hannah grumbled. 

And there it was. 

Purpled swallowed, hand tightening around the medallion. 

Eret glanced up. 

“He hasn’t gotten it approved yet,” Niki said, soft, tentative. There was hesitance in her tone, enough to make Purpled flinch. Hesitant, as if she were afraid he’d lash out. Again. 

Purpled drew in a breath. He pushed down his rising panic. Guilt. Fear. Whatever it was. 

He knew he would have to get it approved. In a place like this, with such heavy security, there was no chance he could hide it for that long; but it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault Hannah had reached for it without warning. It wasn’t his fault he’d reacted to defend himself. 

Isn’t that what he was here to do? Defend himself from the people trying to murder him? 

With a start, Purpled realized Eret was looking over. He met their eyes. It sent a wave of unease prickling across his skin but he only squared his shoulders, sitting taller.

He wasn’t giving it up. Punz had given it to him, and if they took it, he might never get it back.

“That… might be an issue,” Eret said finally.

Purpled’s grip around the medallion tightened. 

They were doing their job. If they left every token unchecked, there would’ve been dozens of weapons snuck into the arena. Rings with spikes. Lockets with hidden compartments. Bracelets that held enchantments. If the Capitol went so far as to limit the magic and non-natural abilities entering the arena, it only made sense they would monitor the items going in, too.

But to do that, they would have to take the necklace from him. And he might not get it back. 

No one was speaking. Or maybe they had been and were just waiting for him to respond. Purpled swallowed.

“It’s just a necklace,” he said, voice tight. “It’s not enchanted.” 

“I’m sure that’s true,” Eret hummed. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “Still, it’s required to check. It may land us all in a lot of trouble down the line if we don’t.” 

“We might have time to get it approved before the parade,” Niki offered, tone lilting up, almost a question. 

Purpled hesitated. “How do we get it approved?” 

“We have a review board,” Eret said. “It’ll be sent to–”

“You’re not taking it.” 

Eret blinked. Purpled smoothed his thumb across the surface of the medallion, heart pounding.

“It will only take a few hours,” Eret assured, slow. 

“You’re not taking it,” Purpled repeated. His shoulders drew in. “They can send someone to look at it here.

Hannah and Niki shared a look. Eret stared. Purpled shifted, forcing himself to remember to breathe. 

It wasn’t getting past the check. They were going to take it away. He knew that. There were no enchantments but the chain was too thick and too heavy. The medal was almost the size of his palm. He could probably use it as a weapon, if he swung hard enough. That alone was enough to get it disqualified. 

“I’m not entirely sure that will be possible,” Eret said, startling Purpled out of his thoughts. “Niki’s right. I’m sure if we send it now, you’ll have it back in time for the parade.” 

Purpled opened his mouth to speak. His throat tightened and he closed it again. “Will I–” Breathe. “I’ll get it back, yeah? Even if they don’t allow it?” 

“After the games, yes.” 

Like he’d make it that far, anyway.

“I can’t have it until the arena?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Eret said, frowning. “If it’s not approved for the arena, it most likely isn’t fit to have during training, either.” 

It was a necklace. Purpled wasn’t sure what risk it posed to anyone else during training of all things. 

Niki shifted. “I could run it down to-”

“No,” Purpled cut in. “If they have an issue with it, they can come find it themselves.” 

Three sets of eyes stared him down. 

“Please,” Purpled tried one final time, desperation creeping into his tone, his throat dry. 

Eret pursed their lips. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

That was enough for Purpled. 

From then on, he stayed quiet, letting the stylists work. Eret had already agreed to try, in whatever way that meant; he didn’t want to mess that up. 

He didn’t move as Eret touched up his makeup. He didn’t argue as Eret restyled his hair. He didn’t say a word as he was handed different outfits to try on. Mostly.

“I am not dressing up as a tree,” Purpled warned, eyeing Eret warily as they folded a couple hangers over his arm, watching carefully for any familiar prints. Like the ones they wore. Every. Year. 

Eret only glanced over, lips twitching up in an amused smile.

District Seven was unlucky. Of course, all of the districts were unlucky, but at least most of them had options. Or their option was a decent one. Seven had a certain curse of dressing up in a tree print with some added accessories to call it fashion. If Purpled was going to die a gruesome death, he would rather one of his first and last public appearances being somewhat respectable. 

Thankfully, though, Purpled didn’t see any tree prints, and Charlie did say the stylist teams had been swapped around. The one Purpled had been stuck with was nice enough. Maybe it would turn out alright.

After hours of more clothes, somewhere along the line, there was a break for lunch. Purpled didn’t have much of an appetite, but Eret’s arrival had eased some of the tension and he made himself eat at least a bit. It wasn’t a good idea to go into the arena without proper strength, anyways. He couldn’t afford to miss out on meals just because of a bit of nausea and unease. 

And so Purpled pushed past lunch, and it was back to work. Hannah, Niki and Eret seemed content to fill the silence. They addressed him only a few times, but when they did, it was pleasant enough– even Hannah, who wouldn’t even look at him. 

It didn’t stop Purpled from cringing at the ring of red around her wrist, just barely starting to fade.

I’m sorry, he whispered soundlessly. 

No one was looking. 

Purpled and Sora had not, in fact, been dressed up as trees, much to his relief. 

At least, not exactly. 

“What are we supposed to be?” Sora grumbled, a hand pressed to the side of their wood-stained chariot, wobbling in her heels. 

“Willow trees, according to Eret,” Purpled said.

When they had met up with Sora’s team in the stables, Purpled was barely surprised to see they were dressed in matching outfits. They were both wearing pale shades of green and white, tassels hanging down from the cuffs of their sleeves and the bottom of Sora’s dress to look like the long branches of a willow tree. Patterns in shades of brown with undertones of silver were weaved throughout the fabric, accented with gold jewelry, their hair and makeup simple but near. 

The only thing that he and Sora didn’t have in common was the bright gold medallion hanging proud around his neck. 

Purpled wasn’t sure how Eret did it. There had been a period between breaks where Charlie had come in and slipped away just as quick, only to return hours later with news. When Eret shared that the medallion had been cleared, Purpled was confused. No one had been around to inspect it. It hadn’t left his sight. 

He didn’t ask. He didn’t care enough to. He was allowed to keep it and that was all that mattered. 

Despite that, it didn’t do much to ease his discomfort.

The stables were loud. Large roofless chariots lined the gravel pathway, surrounded by prep teams and other kids with varying levels of anxiety written across their faces. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was comical or sad to see the confidence drain the further down the line. District One standing tall side by side, all the way to the two District Twelves cowering together. 

They were inside, still, the large doors out to the city shut. It did little to muffle the voices of the crowd, blending together into a cacophony of noise. 

Purpled hadn’t seen the size of the crowd, yet, but he could hear them. The sound of voices droning over the already echo-ey stable. He was amazed the horses weren’t bothered by the sound. 

“Has Corbin talked to you about your plan, yet?” 

Purpled jolted, whirling around. Eret stood tall with their hands clasped, raising an eyebrow.

Purpled bit back a curse, swallowing. He shook his head. “No. Not really.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?” 

“No reason,” Eret hummed. “I’ve just had a talk with some of the other stylists. Most of their teams already have figured out what image they want to show the crowd. Something to show they’re a team.” They turned their head, the white glow across their face shifting as they looked down the line. “It’s something to keep in mind, is all.” 

Sora folded her arms wordlessly. Purpled frowned. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Eret dipped their head, stepping back.

Sora and Purpled waited side by side. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was tense. Purpled kept his gaze trained carefully anywhere else. He was sure Sora would snap at him if he tried to start a conversation, and he didn’t feel much like talking, anyways.

Movement at the front of the line caught his attention, though. He watched as the two District One tributes piled into their chariot, something in the voices beyond the doors shifting. They were cheering. 

“Ah. I guess that’s your cue,” Eret said. Purpled fought back a flinch at how suddenly close they sounded.

Instead, he drew in a breath, nodding. He shot Sora a brief glance before he grabbed onto the wall of the chariot, fingers hooking onto the side as he boosted himself up. He turned, glancing down.

Sora hesitated. She took a wobbly step forwards in the gravel, Eret shifting a step forwards on her other side, hands hovering by her arm.

“I’ve got it,” Sora snapped, brushing them off. 

Purpled winced. Eret only nodded, stepping back.

Sora stepped forwards again. She held onto the wall of the carriage, much like Purpled had, struggling to keep her footing in her heels. Purpled debated on whether or not to offer a hand, especially after seeing her turn down Eret, but before she could reach a decision she was stumbling onto the chariot next to him, rocking unsteadily. She glowered when she caught his stare. 

Purpled sighed silently, turning away. 

Up and down the line, he watched the row of tributes getting settled in their own chariots. Most stood stiffly apart. A few huddled closer. Some leaned over the side, talking to their two head stylists.

Two. Purpled and Sora only had Eret, as far as Purpled could tell. He’d seen Sora’s team, but none of them really talked, hanging back with Niki and Hannah. 

The speakers inside the stables crackled to life. Purpled yelped as music blared, Essempi’s anthem echoing through the stables. The doors creaked, the first carriage slinking forwards. 

Sora stiffened next to him, hands curled into fists. Purpled swallowed down his nerves, folding his arms. 

One by one, every thirty seconds or so, each chariot in front of them pulled out. District Two. Three. Four. 

District Five’s was just inching closer. Six’s was close behind. Purpled shifted uncomfortably as their own plodded closer. There was a burning heat between his shoulder blades, unease growing at the knowledge of so many people behind him watching.

Purpled tore his gaze away, twisting to finally look over his shoulder. No one was watching. No one was looking at him, at least.

They were all varying degrees of nervous. Eight. Nine. Ten-

Feathers shifted and Purpled whirled around to face forwards again, shaking his head. It wasn’t the time to think about that. 

District Six’s chariot took off through the doors, setting off a new round of cheers. Purpled’s shoulders drew in at the sound. Their own chariot crept forwards.

Eret caught Purpled’s attention, smiling up at them from the ground. Their mouth moved, voice drowned out, but the steadiness of their posture had some of the tension easing anyways. 

“–to District Seven!”

The floor lurched under his feet, and Purpled stumbled forwards, catching himself on the front of the chariot. The team of horses charged out the doors. 

Light flooded his vision and his ears rang, voices and music and hooves against concrete crashing like static in his ears. The crowd roared with cheers and he couldn’t tell if it was the sheer amount of people making his head spin or the ground rocking beneath his feet, bouncing with each step.

Just as he thought it would die down, it started up again, louder. Deafening. He could hear the sound of hoofbeats growing louder and he didn’t have to look to know Seven’s chariot had joined them.

What was he supposed to do? The crowd pointed and waved, did he wave back? Did he even look? Was he supposed to ignore them all together? 

If it were up to him, he would’ve sunk to the floor and closed his eyes until it was over. Maybe he could sink into the floor or teleport away and end up far, far away from all the chaos. 

That was an option, though, so instead his hands tightened around the wall of the chariot to keep his footing. He stayed focused on the back of District Six, watching the wheels glide across the ground. He avoided the eyes of the crowd as the ground shifted from concrete to a stone brick pathway. The horses shifted, turning the corner. Buildings loomed into view.

Purpled’s breath caught in his throat.

A large mountain made of pure obsidian. It towered high, at least two or three, maybe four stories high. Vibrant purple gems embedded into the sides, some odd purple stone coating the bottom of the fountain. The water was deep shades of violets and blues, almost black, stars glimmering in the essence of the void. 

The Fountain of the End. Constructed of the last supplies they had gathered from the End before the portal was sealed off completely. He’d only seen it in brief flashes of videos in school and the rare few times he’d watched the Tribute Parade. 

It was breathtaking. The videos never did it justice. Looking into the water– was it water?– was like looking up at the night sky, clear and cloudless. A telescope peering into distant galaxies. 

Purpled couldn’t tear his eyes away. Even as the chariot rocked over the bumpy ground, even as the crowd watched his every little move. The horses rode in loops around the large fountain, giving them plenty of time to interact with the crowd, but Purpled couldn’t bring himself to care enough to try. 

Time had barely passed as the music swelled, then quieted to an end. The horses slowed before stopping all together. The chariots stopped in a ring around the fountain, right across from the Training Center. Right in front of the president’s manor.

A balcony loomed over them. Thousands of eyes stared. 

And then it was a thousand and one. 

Deep red eyes gazed down over the side, scarred hands curled around the railing. Ram horns curled back into dark brown hair, dressed in a suit and tie. 

Purpled had to tear his eyes away, the brief flash of his eyes jarring him back to reality.

President Schlatt.

Schlatt cleared his throat. It was shocking how quick the crowd went silent. It would be the same speech he told year after year, time and time again. Delivered the same way with the same timing and the same inflections.

Not that Purpled would be able to tell, anyways. It was hard to memorize a script Punz never let him hear.

Regardless, he knew he should be listening. Schlatt’s voice boomed through speakers and crackled with static but the words rang soundlessly in his ears, hands curling tighter and tighter around the front of the chariot. 

Seven’s chariot was stationed near the front, the balcony almost looming over them. Turned away from the fountain. Purpled almost wanted to turn to get a glimpse of it, just one last time before they were being whisked away to their fate.

Schlatt’s voice faded as if the seconds had been minutes. Maybe they had been. The anthem blared. 

The chariots pulled forwards for one final loop of the fountain. The allure of the monument had disappeared, Purpled’s heart thudding in his chest. 

Just like that, the chariot pulled inside of the Training Center and jolted to a stop. One, two, five more chariots pulled up alongside them.

Purpled felt like he could breathe, finally. He wasn’t sure when his chest had gotten so tight. He wasn’t sure why. 

He drew in a deep breath. Then another. Watched as the other tributes stepped down from their chariots, their prep teams and mentors and escorts surging forwards to greet them.

He hadn’t realized Eret was there until he was being offered a hand down, Sora already on the floor kicking off her heels. Purpled accepted it wordlessly. 

“You did great,” Eret said, their smile nothing but polite.

I doubt it.

“Thanks,” he said instead. 

Wind swept through the room, cutting off any response as the doors to the Training Center swung shut.

Five days until the games.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors slid open.

Purpled stepped out, looking down either side of the sprawling hallway. There were only a handful of doors, few and far between. 

Twelve districts spread between two floors, at the top of the Training Center. Purpled felt dizzy just thinking about how high in the air they were. 

Charlie led the way down the hall. It was a silent walk save for the sound of his heels clicking against the floor, a bounce in his step. Corbin and Eret walked side by side, Sora just a step behind. And Purpled was content to stay at the back of the group, taking his time to memorize each turn they took, each hall they went down, each floor they pressed.  

Charlie slowed to a stop in front of a door. He pushed it open, waving everyone in.

“This is your new home!” Charlie said. He bounced on his heels once. “Training will start tomorrow at eight, so to get the ideal amount of rest, curfew will be at ten!” 

“Ten?” Sora asked, her nose wrinkling. “So, what? We’re locked in our rooms after that?” 

“Yes!” Charlie agreed cheerfully. “Well– no! It’s just ill-advised to leave our unit after that time. Very ill-advised. You are free to sit in any of our common areas, though!” 

Purpled glanced around. The only ‘common area’ he could see was the large dining table stretched across the room, a dozen or so chairs lining the table. Other doors lined the walls, and he counted one, two- six doors. 

The mentor, the escort, two stylists, two tributes.

Corbin, Charlie, Eret–

Just Eret, Purpled thought, Charlie’s voice a low droning sound in the background. When they had split off from the stylist groups, Purpled had been waiting for one to split off from Sora’s group. He knew that the head stylists were meant to act as a sort of mentor for the interviews and how to present throughout the week. Two stylists, one for each tribute. 

But no one had stepped away, and no one had joined them since. Just Eret. 

“Dinner is in an hour! Please be there on time so we can discuss tomorrow’s schedule,” Charlie was saying. Purpled quietly hoped he didn’t miss anything important.

After a round of vague agreements, Charlie let them go. 

Purpled lingered, watching the others disappear into their respective rooms. Charlie pointed him in the direction of his own.

As the door shut behind him, he exhaled.

The room was large. Larger than the train, with much nicer lighting. The floor and ceiling tiles were raised slightly, light pouring out from the cracks. The entire wall opposite of the door was just windows, overlooking towering buildings and the winding streets of the Capitol. The bed’s headboard was pressed against the glass, but after a bit of poking around he was able to find a remote that would control the blinds, or frost over the glass, or block out the outside completely– or any other number of options that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with. 

Instead of a TV, there was a large projector on the wall. It wasn’t flickering or dim, instead a bold image, the clock blinking in the top corner. Just turning eight. Dinner in an hour, curfew in two. Training in twelve. The arena in–

Purpled shook his head. His thoughts felt too quiet after the parade to do any math. 

After thoroughly investigating the room and finding nothing else of note (at least, nothing he could actually operate; everything was so high-tech for no apparent reason), and a quick shower, Purpled found himself hovering near a circular hole in the bathroom wall. 

He knew what it was– not a laundry chute per se, but something close enough to it. Because he could see it didn’t go far at all, but he could feel the faint hum of magic in the air when he’d put his hand close by, skin buzzing. 

On one hand, he knew it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t get a chance to wear his hoodie much at all during training. Not only would it suck , and he’d definitely overheat, but he was ninety percent sure they had specific outfits they were meant to wear during it. Mimicking what it would be like in the actual arena, he thought. 

On the other hand, it was like the medallion. He didn’t want to give it up. He wanted it clean, he didn’t want it gone–

This is so ridiculous, he thought, abruptly shoving the hoodie out of his arms. Just get it over with.

He watched it pass the edge of the wall. He watched it disappear in a mist, a violet ring lighting up around the hole before fading. 

Purpled exhaled, quickly turning away and brushing out of the bathroom. 

The Capitol was weird. All of it was weird. 

Everything ran on electricity. Electricity and magic. Everything was powered by something. Instead of lighting a lantern or coaxing a flame to life in the fireplace, the lights would turn on automatically. The mirror in the bathroom was framed with what looked like end rods, but something about them gave Purpled the sense that they were fake. 

The room here was a lot bigger than his and Punz’s home. A lot bigger than the room on the train, even. It had a cool view. Tall buildings almost blocking out the night sky, lights glaring in the darkness. Outshining the stars.

Purpled felt a dull pang in his chest. 

He’d always liked the stars. He wanted to see them more. Somewhere where they weren’t drowned out by artificial lights.

The Capitol was pretty. Still, Purpled thought Seven was prettier. Seven had groves and a clear sky and hand-carved wood designs. The Capitol had nothing except their own self-importance, so self-absorbed they felt the need to outshine the sky. 

A knock sounded at the door.

Purpled closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “Coming!” he called. He stood. 

Dinner was quiet. Most of their meals were quiet, Purpled was quickly realizing. 

Charlie seemed to have no problem leading the conversation. Eret chimed in politely, cutting off sharp remarks from Sora and filling the awkward silence between Corbin’s lack of input and Purpled’s own reservedness. 

There wasn’t much to talk about, anyways. Charlie went over the schedule for the week, most of which Purpled had already forgotten. Three days of training, a day of interview prep, the interview, and then the games. 

And then the games. 

Five days until the games.

Stars twinkled outside of the windows. Purpled couldn’t see them over the city lights.

He wasn’t sure how long it took to wash clothes when you weren’t doing it by hand or with some shitty machine, but he was sure with the amount of magic they wasted, they would’ve figured out a way to have it done by now. 

They had gotten there at eight. It was nearly ten. He’d been waiting for–

Maybe he hadn’t been waiting that long. Maybe he was a little bit impatient. Just a little bit. But he was growing restless and the thick gold chain around his neck wasn’t enough. It was too exposed without the violet fabric to hide under.

If Purpled needed to go somewhere to get it back, he wanted to go now. 

Drawing in a breath, Purpled stood. He stretched, spine popping from how long he’d sat slouched over. The silverware was making his hand ache, irritating the scar. He didn’t have the energy to do much else than sit there.

The lights slowly rose as he stepped out into the main room, stopping at a dim setting. He’d seen each person disappear into their respective rooms, earlier, and somewhere along the line during dinner Charlie had cheerfully announced that he was free if they needed anything. 

Charlie was unnerving. Purpled wasn’t sure how he managed to smile as much and as genuinely as he did. But it meant if anyone were going to help him this late (by the Capitol’s standards, at least), it would be him.

Purpled wandered over to Charlie’s door. He raised a hand. He knocked once, twice.

And…

Silence. Crickets. If there were crickets, at least, he would’ve heard them. 

Purpled frowned. He considered knocking again, but he was pretty sure that was it for his seeking people out social battery for the night.

“Purpled?” 

“Holy fuck-” Purpled’s head snapped to the side. 

Eret peered out of their cracked open door, blank eyes casting a glow across their face, drawing long shadows. They opened their mouth to speak.

Purpled cleared his throat. “Eret,” he greeted casually, willing his racing heart to calm. 

Eret’s lips twitched. Purpled couldn’t tell if they were fighting a smile or a frown. “Charlie’s out right now,” they said. “Do you need something?” 

“No, no,” Purpled said, folding his arms. “Just– do you know where he is?” 

Maybe he should just ask Eret instead. They secured the medallion for him, right? 

“He ran out for a meeting,” Eret said. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon–”

“How soon?” 

It was stupid to be this stressed over a hoodie. Purpled couldn’t bring himself to care.

Eret’s eyebrows twitched together. “I’m not sure,” they said. “It could be anywhere from ten to thirty minutes, knowing who he’s seeing.” 

“Okay,” Purpled sighed, gaze dragging to Charlie’s door. “Thanks.” 

The silence stretched.

“I could help,” Eret offered. “I could try, at least. What’s wrong?”

“Just-” Purpled exhaled harshly. He was second guessing it way more than he needed to be. “I need my hoodie back. Before-” He shook his head. “Just- how long does it usually take? To wash, I mean? How do I get it back?” 

“It should automatically be sent back to your room, when it’s done,” Eret explained. “At this hour, though, you might have to wait until morning. There’s a room it’s sent to, but the magic used to power the transport system charges overnight–”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Purpled said. “Where’s the room?” 

“Down the hall,” Eret said. “At the very end.” 

Purpled nodded. He glanced around for a clock, eyes settling on the one over the door. A little under five minutes. 

“Thank you,” Purpled breathed. “Thank you, Eret.” 

He didn’t wait for a response. If he was thinking a little harder he might’ve slowed down, but before he could blink he was out in the hall, easing the door shut behind himself. 

The hall was quiet. Eerily so. It was dark, too, the only light spilling faintly from under the sparsely scattered doors. 

End of the hall. Purpled looked left. Looked right. He moved, footsteps quick and quiet, fingertips brushing the wall. 

He had less than five minutes. The hall was long, but a walk down the hall couldn’t take that long. He didn’t want to risk rushing too much and having his steps echo so loud it woke up the whole hall, but despite his confidence he would be on time, he didn’t want to stick around to find out what would happen if he wasn’t. 

The longer he walked, though, the longer the hall seemed to stretch. Their own living quarters were right in front of the elevator. He passed Eight’s after a long stretch of silence. And then Nine’s. And then Ten’s, too. 

Quiet voices were muffled through the door.

Purpled stopped. 

It was less of a desire to hear what the words were, he thought, and more of the surprise that there was anyone awake at all. Not exactly like it could be easy to sleep, but he thought most people would be exhausted after the parade. He knew he was. 

It didn’t help that the warbled voices were the only sound in the otherwise silent hall, and it felt a bit creepy to keep walking. He should probably just turn back before he got in trouble– he’d definitely been walking for five minutes, or close to it. 

Whether he turned back or not, though, he wasn’t going to get back in time anyways. 

Rolling his shoulders, Purpled stood up a bit straighter. His fingertips dragged against the wall as he stepped forwards.

A hand caught his arm. Purpled stifled a gasp as he was pulled around, eyes trailing from the black glove up along a white sleeve.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Fuck. 

Dark eyes glared at him. No mask, no visor. A clear view of smoldering eyes, like staring through a shard of onyx into an open flame, a warm, dim glow cast across a tan face. 

Purpled opened his mouth to speak. His gaze dropped to the hand on his arm. He closed it again. Looked up. 

They locked eyes. Violet and fire. 

The peacekeeper’s eyes widened. He abruptly let go. The fire extinguished to simmering coals, stepping back. “You can’t be out here,” he said, with a stillness that made Purpled pause. 

He wasn’t sure what to say. The peacekeeper was wearing the same uniform. The same gun strapped to his back. Any face gear was traded for a white bandana that tied back unruly raven hair, doing little to stop the strands falling into his eyes.

“You can’t be out here,” the peacekeeper stressed, voice rising. “You– what are you doing?”

Urgent. Urgent but not angry. 

“Uh,” Purpled said smartly. 

The peacekeeper scowled. 

“Storage,” he managed after a moment. “I think. I was looking for my jacket–” 

“Your jacket,” the peacekeeper scoffed. “You’re out here because–” He shook his head, cutting himself off. He seemed to come to some decision in a split second, standing straighter. “Fine. Walk with me.” 

The peacekeeper brushed past him, pace brisk as he walked down the hall. Purpled scrambled to keep up. He was sure this was when he would get, like, a gun pulled on him. Or something. Or have some crazy spell fired at him. 

But instead he was being walked to find his stupid jacket that could’ve waited until morning. 

The walk was spent in silence. The peacekeeper moved ahead to a door at the end of the hall, as it loomed into view, disappearing inside. He was only gone for a few moments before returning, shoving a bundle of purple fabric into Purpled’s arms. 

Purpled exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he pulled the hoodie close. He draped it over one arm, hand drifting to hold onto the medallion. The peacekeeper’s eyes followed the movement. Got it. You’re fine. No reason to get all stressed over it. You have bigger things to worry about.

“You know,” the peacekeeper started. “You are so lucky I found you.”

Purpled frowned, glancing up. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he echoed. “If it were anyone else, you would’ve been leaving with more than that one scar.” 

The peacekeeper nodded at his hand. His hand tightened briefly around the medallion before the harsh edges irritated his skin, the ache from dinner still not quite faded. He released it, blinking down at the raised skin of his palm and jagged edges. He flexed his fingers.

The peacekeeper sighed. “Come on,” he muttered. “Before someone else catches us out here.”

The walk back felt quicker. Lighter, somehow. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was the relief of having his hoodie back or the relief of not getting murdered, but he was satisfied either way. He was let off surprisingly easy, with a quick “don’t let me catch you again” and a heavy sigh, before the peacekeeper left, slamming the door.

Purpled expected the people of the Capitol to be harsh. Peacekeepers especially. But so far, they were… not living up to it. 

Some of the tension bled from his shoulders. 

“They’re not going to like that you snuck out.” 

Purpled choked on a breath. Could he go fifteen minutes without someone trying to give him a heart attack? 

Purpled let out a slow breath, turning. He locked eyes with Sora. “No one will know unless you tell them,” he shot back. 

Sora scowled. Her arms folded, leaning against her door frame. “You weren’t very quiet about it,” she said. “Your friend there gave you away by slamming the door.” 

“He didn’t get me in trouble,” Purpled said easily, pushing down the growing feeling of unease. “It’s fine.”

Sora’s expression twitched, glancing from him to the door. 

Purpled didn’t stick around to hear if she had anything else. He quickly brushed past her, slipping into his room. He tugged his hoodie on before dropping onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

His hand ached dully at the movement.

Chapter Text

Purpled shifted in his chair. His fork clattered against his plate for the thousandth time, a warm, dull ache coursing through his hand.

It had woken him up at four, five– maybe six in the morning. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all but each time he’d tried to rest again, a new wave of pain jarred him awake. 

“That hand of yours has really been bothering you, huh?” 

Purpled’s gaze snapped to Sora. Her voice was hushed, leaving the conversation across the table uninterrupted. She shot him a sideways glance as she stabbed her fork against her plate. 

“I guess,” he said. He flexed his fingers, before reaching to pick up his fork again.

Sora hummed. “Are you right or left handed?”

Purpled’s eyes narrowed at the casual tone. Friendly wasn’t the right word, but it was friendlier than she had been since the reaping. 

“Right.” 

“Unlucky,” Sora said simply, glancing at his hand. “Hope it goes away before the arena.” 

Her voice was light. Unassuming. But her gaze lingered too long and Purpled shifted uncomfortably, trying to pick apart the words.

Was it a taunt? A threat? Was she pointing it out just so he knew that she knew? Was it somehow her being honest? 

Sora looked away and he did too. Sora didn’t comment and he didn’t either. 

Purpled tore through the cabinets in his bathroom, scowling as he came across nothing but cleansers and soaps. 

All he needed was something. Bandages, some sort of salve– anything he could put on his hand, the scar raised and warm to the touch. It was an angry red, pulsing with pain.

Clearly the one potion hadn’t been enough. It sealed the wound and chased off the swelling for a while, but one wouldn’t be enough. He knew it wouldn’t. 

Punz probably knew that, too. Which fucking sucked. It was a stupid decision. Spending nearly all of their money for the week on a potion with the chance it wouldn’t matter? What was he thinking? He could’ve bought groceries, better blankets, an electric heater, a new pair of shoes–

Purpled tipped forwards and gripped the edge of the sink, exhaling harshly. His hair hung in front of his eyes as he stared at the drain. The cool ceramic was soothing for all of three seconds until the pressure caught up and he reeled back with a hiss, shaking his hand out.

A loud alarm rang out from his bedroom. 

Purpled scowled. He stumbled backwards out of the doorway, glaring at the projection on the wall. He turned off the alarm.

8:00 a.m. 

He reached to steady himself on the doorway, glancing into the bathroom. He briefly met his own eyes in the mirror. 

His gaze quickly dropped to the chain around his neck. Light glinted off of the gold, bright against a black shirt.

Black. Not violet. Eret had given him and Sora their own uniforms to wear. He was sure they looked the same for all of the tributes; leather and mesh over a thin rubbery fabric, with their district numbers knitted into the shoulders. Leaving enough room to move but thick enough to conceal from the elements, similar to what they would wear in the arena, apparently. 

Purpled drew in a deep breath.

His thumb smoothed over the medallion.

Wish me luck, Punz. 

He tucked it under his shirt. 

The Training Hall was a large, echoey room. Rows of training dummies lined the walls. Tables with holograms– or illusions, Purpled couldn’t tell which– dotted the room. Platforms hung from the ceiling. Walls towered with different surfaces to climb, nothing to fall on but thin mats beneath. Obstacle courses. Weapon racks. Hushed voices filled the room. 

It made Purpled’s head spin.  

The doors slammed open. Voices cut out. 

A swarm of peacekeepers marched inside, forming two lines on either side of the door. Three continued walking forwards. They slowed to a stop in front of the loose ring of tributes. White uniforms, black gloves, guns slung over their shoulders– but these three were different.

One had a flame embroidered over their heart. The other had slits in their hood to let tall antlers stretch into the air. 

The one in the center stepped forwards. An Eye of Ender was knitted over his heart, just like the other’s flame. A round porcelain mask hid his face, a black smiley face painted cleanly across the surface. Dirty blond hair curled around the sides. Two netherite axes were strapped to his belt, the surface rippling with a blue and violet sheen.

Purpled didn’t recognize the other two, but he recognized him.

Dream. The Lead Peacekeeper. 

No one spoke. For once Purpled found himself actually paying attention to the information being given. Dream gestured around the room, pointing from station to station, listing them off and rattling out a list of rules.

No fighting other tributes, in or out of practice. There would be trainers on stand-by to practice with. All weapons had to be returned. Lunch was not required but highly suggested. Experts were stationed at each table, each activity; there was no requirement to interact but they were only there to help. No using magic offensively before the arena, or it would be ‘taken’ earlier than the start of the games. 

And finally– 

“The Gamemakers will be overseeing your progress,” Dream said. His head didn’t turn but he raised a hand, making a sweeping gesture towards a large window stretching across the top of one of the walls; a viewing deck. “Do your best to stand out.” 

The silence hung in the air for a long few moments. 

“You’re dismissed.” 

The crowd dispersed. The careers nearly shoved each other over, loud, harsh laughs ringing out as they made a beeline for the weapons. A couple people split off towards the obstacle courses. Most lingered for a moment before drifting towards some of the utility stations.

Purpled couldn’t bring himself to move yet. He surveyed the room, a light frown tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure what would aggravate his hand more or what would help find ways to get used to the pain. What was smart to get out of the way or what to avoid until later.

“Where are you going?” 

The voice jarred him out of his thoughts. His gaze swept to Dream, hands folded behind his back and his head tipped to the side, watching, but it wasn’t him who spoke. Sora stood at Purpled’s side, arms folded. Her foot tapped impatiently against the ground.

“Well?”

“I’m not sure,” Purpled admitted, pulling his focus away. He looked from table to table. “Probably… I think I’m starting with the utility panels.” 

Sora’s nose scrunched up. “Why? We already know how the forest works.”

“There’s more than just nature,” Purpled said. “And we might not even be in a forest. I’d like to know what we’re preparing for.” 

Sora looked him up and down, unimpressed. “I’m going to find a weapon,” she said, finally. Her gaze lingered on his hand for a moment, before she turned sharply on her heel, stalking off.

Purpled sighed. He rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back towards the door. Two peacekeepers stood at attention on either side, guns held in front of their chests. The others had started to spread out across the room, some standing against walls, others moving to monitor specific stations. Most hung near the training dummies. 

Dream stood tall. The two peacekeepers flanking him stood just a step behind. None of the trio had moved. Purpled couldn’t remember their names for the life of him, or if he’d ever even heard them before; but they had to have had some importance. 

The one with the flame was probably training to be the next lead, if he had to guess. The one with the antlers, Purpled couldn’t say. Maybe some overseeing role, or someone in charge of organizing the stations. 

Regardless, the curved smile and blank eyes and the fact that he couldn’t see where the other two were looking behind their visors was starting to get on his nerves. He turned away, quickly moving further into the room to get out of their line of sight. 

As Purpled walked, his stomach twisted at the sheer amount of utility stations. Tying knots, starting fires, building shelters, purifying water… all of it was standard, of course. All of it was necessary. One of the biggest risks going into the arena was being uneducated and dying to exposure.

Of course, that was why they had the stations in the first place, Punz had always told him. It wouldn’t be a very fun game if everyone died of dehydration within the first three days.

At the very least, Purpled already knew a lot of the basics. Different jobs in Seven required long hours in the plantations. Sometimes days. Mostly on purpose, sometimes not. If something happened out there, it was important to know how to hold your own; not that Purpled thought he was old enough for it to be necessary. 

The other stations were a bit more tricky. Insects, animals, plants. Dealing with ice. Figuring out what was edible and what wasn’t. 

He wasn’t sure if the training stations were this broad every year, but the amount of options was disconcerting. 

As he was searching for a new table, preferably something easy to start out with, his attention caught on a duo. A boy and a girl stood at one of the plant panels, each with the number ‘11’ knitted on their shoulders. 

The girl turned, meeting Purpled’s eyes. She straightened as he jolted back. Brown curls fell over her shoulders, warm gold eyes lighting up. She bounced onto the tips of her shoes, raising a hand to wave. The boy next to her twisted, dark hair falling over pure black eyes; a polar opposite to Eret’s. 

Purpled hesitated. 

“Come on!” The girl called, waving him over. “You look like you could use a hand!”

Did he really look that lost?  

Purpled bit the inside of his cheek. With a silent sigh, he walked over, briefly meeting the boy’s eyes as he slowed.

“Hi!” The girl chirped, holding a hand out. It took Purpled a moment to process, fumbling to shake her hand. “I’m Marigold! This is Micah! Do you want some help?” 

“You don’t,” the boy– Micah– said, eyebrows pinched together.

“You do,” Marigold said, nudging Micah to the side. “What do you want to learn?” 

Purpled opened his mouth to speak, faltering. He looked from Micah, exasperated and more than a little wary, to Marigold, eyes wide and earnest. 

“Nothing specific,” Purpled said. “I’m just… figuring out where to start. I’m trying to learn more about the arena, I guess.” 

Marigold nodded seriously, nudging his shoulder. He turned to face the screen, glancing down at her. “I think this is a good place to start!” she said. “Plants! Poisonous plants!” 

Purpled followed her gaze. He glanced through a long list of flowers and berries, square icons with colorful photos lining the screen. 

“I already sorted them,” she said. “These are all the dangerous ones! The ones you want to avoid. Like this one–” She leaned forwards, tapping on one of the berry bushes, a cluster of dark violet. “–is pokeweed! Not the most toxic out there, but touching it can transfer it to your blood. It grows around forests and fields, but only the edges, so it’s not a huge threat.” 

Purpled’s eyebrows furrowed, scanning the plant. It looked… somewhat familiar, but he was sure it wasn’t the same plant. All berries just looked the same. Probably poisonous and unappetizing. 

Marigold swiped the image away, bouncing from foot to foot. She rattled off plant after plant, talking a mile a minute and gesturing with her hands. It was a little overwhelming, and Purpled wasn’t sure where she was even getting half of the information. There wasn’t any information written, no names. Only images.

“–and this,” Marigold was saying, pulling up another flower. “Is nerium. Oleander. It’s super drought resistant and does best in the sun, like… tropical regions! It’s super toxic. Pretty much the most toxic one there is. The roots, leaves, stem, petals–”

Her voice faded as Purpled scanned the petals. Five on each flower, an array of light pinks to white to hot pink and red, unassuming and pretty. Like they could be grown in a garden and no one would bat an eye.

Purpled opened his mouth to speak. He closed it again as Marigold listed symptoms, as she did with all the others. “That’s… a good thing to look out for,” he said slowly. “All of it. Thanks.” 

As Marigold rattled off more facts, Purpled listened carefully. Tropical environments. The bitter cold. Roadsides. Only grows in shadow, only grows in the sunlight.

Each plant was different. Unique. Even though poison could only do so many things, take so many forms; that wasn’t what Purpled was focused on.

Permacrest only grew in the tundra, according to Marigold. Oleander, as she seemed so fond of, seemed to grow better in places like a jungle. Others grew in water. In the forest. Plains. Mountains.

It didn’t make sense. It was all so scattered, interlacing a list of biomes and weather requirements that didn’t match. 

“And this one–” 

“Mari,” Micah cut in with a sigh. “Let him go. You just want to talk about nature.”

“I do not,” Marigold said, pouting. “I’m helping him!”

“I don’t think you are. He’s trying to learn-”

“I’m telling him what to look for , that’s-”

“Yeah, but-” 

Their voices overlapped, exasperated and insistent.

Purpled took that as his cue to slip away.

Purpled spent another hour or so flitting around the different panels.

He… wasn’t entirely sure what he needed to be preparing for, still. None of the stations were helpful. It was just an overload of information, each one handing him conflicting signals. Snowy mountains, a burning desert, an overgrown forest. A jungle. An island. It didn’t make sense. 

Giving up on that plan, Purpled switched gears to training with weapons. He ignored Sora’s pointed look when he started over, sorting through the racks. 

There was a lot to consider. A lot of options and a lot of factors. 

Most of the weapons were heavy and awkward; he wasn’t the strongest guy out there, but his hands were shaking more than usual and his arms sank under the weight of even the lighter swords. The hilts of the different blades would dig into his palm, sending a new shock of aching pain– which he’d nearly gotten used to– through his right hand. 

He tried anyway. There was no reason in putting it off.

Throwing knives were an immediate no. His precision was decent, but he couldn’t figure out the proper weight to put into them. Each one bounced off of the target or was a minor injury at best. 

Swords were a bit more complicated. One-handed gave him too little control. Too heavy for his scarred hand, too clumsy with his left, and he didn’t want to have to use both hands for one weapon.

Bows were an entirely different issue. He seriously underestimated how much effort it took to pull the bowstring back, let alone pull it far enough to get the arrow near the target. The string dug painfully into his hand and he nearly dropped his bow, quickly giving up after the third or fourth try. 

Purpled didn’t want to be limited to a long-ranged weapon, anyways. He wasn’t trying to pick fights, but if he was dragged into one, he’d rather be able to fight up close. 

After all of that, he took a small break. Just long enough to give his hand time to stop trying to kill him. His attention drifted along the training room, watching some of the other tributes. 

Some, like Sora (and the careers) were training with weapons. A couple were running obstacle courses. Others were drifting between stations, sparring with the instructors or taking breaks around the room. 

“C’mon, Denver! Let’s go!” 

And some were Tommy. 

The avian’s voice snapped Purpled to attention, gaze drifting up to the heavy beating of wings. 

Purpled’s hand twitched towards the weight around his neck. He curled his fingers into a fist instead, pushing away from the wall. 

Tommy was in the air. His weight bobbed up and down, hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered on the other tribute from Ten– Denver, if he heard right. She was climbing up a long net, connected to the side of a small square platform, at least twenty feet in the air. 

On the other side of the platform was what looked like a rock formation. Purpled walked over with quiet steps, brushing a hand across the surface– too smooth to be real, but definitely jagged enough to prove difficult. 

There was probably only a limited time until lunch. It would probably be something quick to practice, and the aching in his hand had started to die down.

In the arena, he wouldn’t have time to wait to heal. He would have to keep moving. He was going to have to learn to push through one way or another.

“Yeah! Denver! You didn’t fall and die!” 

Purpled rolled his eyes, blocking out the sound of Tommy’s voice, the accent ringing in his ears. He took a moment to figure out his foothold and where to place his hand, before hoisting himself up. 

There wasn’t anything to catch him if he fell. No harness or mats at the bottom. But there were none in Seven, either. 

Of course, rocks weren’t the same as trees. Trees were much simpler, he thought. It took some strength, but there were clear places to hold onto and an easy path to navigate. The worst part was predicting which branches wouldn’t snap.

Rocks were different. Any part could crumble at a moment’s notice. The edges were jagged and sharp and dug into his hands. It stung and the pain made his head spin, his hand burning, but he ignored it. He would face worse than this in the games. If he made it that far. 

It took longer than Purpled would’ve liked to admit to make it to the top. He was out of breath and his face was warm by the time he was pulling himself up, collapsing back against the metal platform with a dull clang. 

Wings fluttered and metal creaked. A weight dropped next to him. Purpled scrambled to push himself upright, blinking away spots from the sudden shift in position.

Tommy sat at the edge of the platform. His legs were swung over the side, wings splayed as his heels kicked at the net. Dark eyes scowled up at them, the girl from Ten making her way down the net.

“Quit it, Tommy!” Denver called up. “If you’re not going to train, at least don’t be an asshole!” 

“I am training,” Tommy said, turning and pointedly picking at one of his feathers, flicking away imaginary specks of dirt. “I’m perfecting my flying.” 

Denver looked up, movements pausing. Her expression twitched. “Yeah, because the Capitol will let you do that in the arena.”

Tommy didn’t dignify that with a response. Purpled thought it was a good point. It wasn’t worth it to waste time. If the Capitol could find ways to take away magic, why would they leave people like Tommy with a clear advantage? 

Purpled glanced briefly at Tommy, looking from dusty white feathers to blue eyes.

Purpled flinched back, dropping his gaze. Bright blue eyes were focused on him. His heart twisted in his chest. 

Bright blue like crystals, not ice. He missed the ice. 

“Woah, man,” Tommy’s voice rang, words rattling with a startled laugh. “You good?” 

“Fine,” Purpled said, tone clipped. His fingertips twitched, the medallion a heavy weight over his chest. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy drawled. “Right.” His wing flared, nudging Purpled’s shoulder. “What’s your name, huh?” 

He sighed. He forced the tension from his shoulders to ease, leaning back on his hands. “Purpled,” he said.

He caught Tommy squinting at him from the corner of his eye. “No, really,” he said. “What’s your name?” 

Purpled had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He was half tempted to ignore the question and climb down, but he leaned a little too much weight on his hand and a burning pain shot through his skin. He quickly turned down the potential of aggravating it further. 

“Purpled,” he said again. 

“Huh,” Tommy said. 

He glanced over. The avian stared for a few moments, studying his eyes. Purpled’s skin prickled with unease, looking away just as quick.

Finally, Tommy did too. “Well, that’s fitting.” He suddenly pitched his weight forwards, leaning to peer over the platform. “Oh, sick! Looks like lunch is ready.” 

Without another word, without a moment to process, Tommy pushed himself off the platform. 

Purpled jerked forwards, eyes flashing wide. Tommy’s wings snapped out, a couple feathers floating to the ground as he glided seamlessly to his feet. 

Purpled scoffed. Show off. 

He looked from Tommy regaining his footing to the group starting to filter out the doors. He moved quickly, scaling down the net, which was thankfully much easier than the rocks.

He caught a glimpse of Tommy waiting at the bottom, watching through unruly blond hair. 

Denver tugged him forwards before Purpled could drop to the ground.

Chapter Text

Purpled dug his heels into the ground, skidding to a stop. The cafeteria doors swung shut behind him.

He pressed a hand to the doorway. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, gaze sweeping across the room.

The room was large. Empty. Bigger than his school’s entire gym and lunch room combined, rows upon rows of long tables sitting barren. The others sat scattered. Some alone, some paired in districts.

Unsurprisingly to Purpled, the careers sat together. What was more interesting was Sora standing with her hands planted on their table, six sharp sets of eyes glaring up at her. Their voices were hushed, intense. Too quiet for him to make out. 

His skin prickled with unease. He looked away. It wasn’t any of his business. If Sora wanted to piss off the careers, that was her right; he would just be seated far away from them.

He searched for an empty seat.

Violet eyes met with gold.

Marigold perked up. She waved enthusiastically, expression brightening as she caught Purpled’s eye. Micah sat to her left, shoulders caving in slightly under his gaze, Tommy across from him. The two kids from Twelve sat close, huddled together.

Purpled faltered. Tommy looked up, blinking. He nodded to the seat next to him.

So much for sitting alone. 

With a weary sigh, Purpled walked over.

“Look at us!” Marigold beamed, bouncing in place as Purpled slid into the seat across from her. Tommy shifted at his side, tucking his wings close. “The careers think they’re so scary in their group over there, but then there’s us-” 

“Mari,” Micah cut in, bumping her shoulder. “I think they get it. Let them eat in peace.” 

Marigold… did not. 

Tentative conversation drifted around the group. Marigold had no problem filling the silence, chattering on about the games and the other tributes. Tommy jumped in to fill the pauses, the only one really responding to her rambles.

Purpled pretended to tune it out, picking at his food as he sized up the group. Listening for anything he could use. 

During a lull in the conversation, he caught Tommy’s gaze lingering on Marigold and Micah. Pensive, almost, his eyebrows drawn together, eyes dark.

Tommy glanced over. He met Purpled’s eyes. 

Purpled hurriedly looked away. 

It didn’t take long for Marigold to start talking again. She talked skills, poking at the others to get them to speak up, too.

Purpled already knew that Marigold knew about plants; that much she had made very clear. According to her own judgment it wasn’t all. She was fast, hard to catch. Harder to hit. 

Not much of a fighter, though. All he’d need to do was get the drop on her.

Micah looked startled when her gaze turned on him. Reluctant, he offered that he preferred ranged weapons– a bow, specifically– but he was much more inclined to hide. 

Purpled’s eyes narrowed warily at the words. 

Bows took a lot of strength to handle. At least, they did if the string wasn’t attuned for the person using it; and he doubted the Capitol would be that courteous in the arena. Micah didn’t look like the strongest guy out there, but the inky void of his eyes made it glaringly obvious he wasn’t human. Maybe he was stronger than he looked. 

Or maybe Purpled was just thinking too far into it. His head had started to feel fuzzy about halfway through the conversation; maybe his thoughts weren’t making much sense at all. 

Tommy was less interesting. Growing up in Ten, district of livestock, he knew how to deal with animals. He didn’t elaborate on anything else, picking at his feathers as he spoke. 

Purpled thought it was bullshit. Growing up with Techno, a victor, he had to have more skills than that. 

He didn’t say a word about it.

The two kids from Twelve didn’t have much to say for themselves. The conversation drifted and he gave up on listening, resisting the urge to lay his head down on the table and just sleep. He only caught snippets of conversation between the muddled mess that was his thoughts. 

Talk of an alliance. Marigold asked about Denver, about Sora. Tommy gestured with his wing. Purpled waved lazily towards the careers. 

Marigold seemed enthusiastic about being allies. Purpled didn’t have the energy to be the one to tell her it wouldn’t work out.

The careers were strong. The strongest tributes there were. It didn’t matter who or what they were. They grouped together and they hunted down the others only to fight to the death in the end. 

Purpled couldn’t picture Marigold or Micah in a battle. He could see them running and getting stabbed in the back.

He couldn’t picture the kids from Twelve lasting long. They were timid, weak. Malnourished. 

Tommy’s wings were a target. Big, clumsy. Purpled doubted he’d make it out of the bloodbath alive. 

Purpled didn’t feel like thinking about his own odds. Not when someone was counting on him to get home. (Wasn’t someone counting on Tommy to get home, too?)

Alliances were smart in theory. As long as Purpled stayed detached and focused on himself, maybe he had a chance. Maybe the others would get picked off before he was. (Didn’t they all have someone waiting for them? One person? A parent, a sibling, a friend?) 

Purpled didn’t think it would last. He knew it wouldn’t. 

But it couldn’t hurt to learn more about the enemy.

Time dragged by painfully slow. Eventually, lunch passed.

Purpled pushed his half-eaten tray away as the doors to the cafeteria were pulled open. The other tributes started to stand, collecting themselves and starting for the doors. Purpled followed at the back, gaze trained on the ground. 

He passed through the doorway. Feathers rustled. He glanced up as Tommy slid a step back, slowing to walk next to him.

Purpled shot him a look.

“I think Denver’s abandoning me,” Tommy said with a weary sigh. Purpled couldn’t tell if he imagined it or if there was a brief pause, the avian watching for a moment. His expression brightened to a grin. “Want to train together?” 

Purpled considered it for a moment.

He could. He should. He needed to meet people. He needed to figure out more about Ten. About Denver, about Tommy. Find their strengths and weaknesses. If they were potential allies or an easy enemy.

Tommy’s eyes flickered between his own.

Bright blue. Ice blue.

He missed Punz.

He wondered if Punz missed him too.

Did Tommy miss Techno? Did Techno miss Tommy? Could Purpled really use him for information when Tommy had people waiting for him at home? Could he–

“No thanks,” Purpled blurted. “I can– I’d– I’m fine alone. Sorry.”

Tommy’s wings rustled. Purpled’s lips twitched against a frown, hurriedly looking away.

“You’re no fun, man,” Tommy huffed, but there was no real venom in his tone. His wing brushed Purpled’s side as he passed, slipping away. 

Purpled swallowed past the tightness in his throat, following him into the training room.

He opted to spend the rest of his time on low-stakes activities. The fog in his head and the ache in his hand were enough of a reason to take it easy.

The utility stations were barren, giving Purpled as much time as he needed to pick through each section and talk with the advisors. He picked up easily on their techniques and mimicked their tricks, trying to hold onto each little piece of information before it could slip away.

The loud sounds of weapons on weapons and shouts of pain echoed through the training room. Purpled knew he should join them. If the infection was coming back fully, he’d need to build what strength he could before he was too weak or tired. The thought alone felt draining. 

Hopefully a night of rest would chase off whatever the health potion couldn’t. 

Dinner was ready by the time training was done. Purpled almost wanted to skip it and head straight to bed. He knew it wasn’t an option. 

“How was the first day?” Eret asked from across the table, plates clattering as they were set down. 

“Fine,” Purpled said, reaching to cradle his glass of water between his hands. The coolness was welcome, jarring him awake at least a little.

“He didn’t do anything,” Sora scoffed, heel bouncing against the ground. “He was hanging out with the Elevens the whole time.”

“I really wasn’t.” 

“You were,” Sora insisted. “You were sitting with them at lunch.” 

Purpled didn’t have enough energy to put much bite into his words. “And you were trying to get killed by the careers. What’s your point?” 

Sora scowled. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Sora?” Eret cut in. “What about you?”

Sora’s mouth clicked shut, tearing her gaze from Purpled. “I was looking at weapons,” she said, sitting a little straighter, chin held higher. As if that really meant anything. 

Why does it even matter to you? Purpled wanted to ask. You’ll want me dead in the end, anyways.

Purpled held his tongue. It wouldn’t be good to start an argument, and he didn’t exactly trust himself to say anything when he was already tired and irritated. He just wanted to eat and go to bed. Maybe see if he could get anything for his hand. It wouldn’t be a very interesting fight in the arena if he died to an infection that he sustained outside of the games.

“I wasn’t wasting my time,” Sora said, shooting Purpled a pointed look. 

Eret drew in a breath. “Maybe-”

“She’s right.” 

Purpled’s gaze snapped up to Corbin. Piercing yellow eyes stared him down from across the table.

“I think it couldn’t hurt to get to know the competition,” Eret said.

“Teams are always picked off first,” Corbin said, flat. Unimpressed. “You’ll get targeted.” 

“If they have a group, they can fight back.”

“They won’t make it very far.” 

Purpled’s eyebrows knitted together. He rested his head on his hand, picking at his food. 

Dinner passed by quietly. Corbin shut down any chance at justification, and Purpled didn’t have the energy to argue. 

As dinner wrapped up, plates were collected, the room gradually emptying. Sora and Corbin retreated to their rooms. Eret excused themself with a polite wave and a few murmured words to Charlie, slipping out into the hall instead of their room.

Charlie stood, pushing in his chair. He started to follow Eret.

“Charlie,” Purpled called, standing. 

The escort’s gaze snapped up, head tipping to the side. Startled. The only thing other than cheer Purpled could remember seeing. “Yes, Purpled?” 

“Is there–” Purpled faltered, glancing at the cracked door. “There wouldn’t happen to be any health potions available, is there? Or– medicine? There wasn’t any in…” He trailed off, nodding towards his room.

“Nope!” Charlie chirped, bright. “Any injuries sustained during training is the fault of the parties involved, and therefore not the Capitol’s responsibility!”

“What if it’s not an injury?” 

Charlie blinked. “Why else would you need medicine, Purpled?”

Purpled huffed a frustrated breath. “Just– theoretically. If someone was getting sick. Like, too sick for it to be a fair fight in the arena. Would it be available then?”

“Definitely not!” Charlie said. Purpled’s heart sank. “The Capitol deems medical care unnecessary as statistically you will die within the first day!”

Purpled opened and closed his mouth, fumbling for the right words. Charlie’s smile didn’t waver. 

The door creaked open. Eret poked their head inside. “Charlie,” they prompted. Polite but urgent. 

“I hope that helped!” Charlie said cheerfully, before turning on his heel and following Eret into the hall.

Purpled stared at the closed door.

Chapter Text

Purpled shifted for what had to have been the hundredth time, a deep ache coursing through his hand.

It was early. Early enough that it was still dark; the sun hadn’t even started to rise, the sky dark shades of violet and blue. Stars twinkled beyond towering windows, winking in and out of view.

Purpled shifted again. Closed his eyes. His heart slowed.

His hand throbbed.

With a sharp sigh, he opened his eyes, using his elbows to push himself up. Fire shot through his veins. Heat pressed in on all sides, only briefly quelled by a rush of cool air. 

He stood. Nausea crashed over him in waves and his vision flickered. He stumbled a few steps blind before his shoulder hit the wall, hand sliding along the wall to find the doorknob. He pressed down, using his foot to kick it open.

Light flooded his vision, a low whir filling the room. The faux end rods framing the mirror flickered to life. He flicked off the automatic overheads, leaving the room in just their gentle glow. 

He met his eyes in the mirror.

Dull. They were dull. His skin glistened with sweat, pale skin flushed a cherry shade of red. He hadn’t realized how much he was slumped against the doorway until he saw it in his reflection, trembling hands clutching onto the frame. 

His breathing rattled. His heart pounded. Even a few steps was too much. 

It was familiar, unfortunately familiar. He remembered the build-up after he’d cut his palm. Remembered Punz’s shift from waving it off to hovering over his hammock, hissing curses as his temperature climbed. Purpled had barely been coherent enough to hold a conversation, let alone train. 

Punz had been trying his best. He’d steadily drained their money on potions and it had only worsened over that week– and now Purpled was expected to train like this? If it didn’t get better when he was resting, how bad was it going to get now? 

Charlie already said he wouldn’t be getting any healthcare. The Capitol didn’t care. Why would they? He could probably collapse during training and he’d get dragged to the side to be out of the way, if even.  

Purpled drew in a breath. He released it with a harsh exhale, pushing away from the doorframe. He wobbled a few steps forwards, ribs catching on the sink, flicking it on.

The coolness was a welcome shift on his hands, but the water pressure sent sharp spikes of pain across his skin. He scowled, splashing water on his face. 

It didn’t help. Heat seared the air after a few fleeting moments, exhaustion creeping into his thoughts, though he knew he wouldn’t catch much sleep before breakfast. And he needed to eat; he couldn’t be losing his appetite before his games. He’d dehydrate within the first day. 

Purpled swallowed down that thought. 

He glanced around the bathroom one final time. Opening drawers and compartments and half-heartedly pushing aside containers and bottles.

Nothing, nothing. He knew there would be nothing. 

With a defeated sigh, Purpled rocked back off his knees, settling on the ground. The tile was cold. Soothing. He rested his head back against the wall.

When his eyes slid shut, he didn’t try to open them again.

Eret woke him some time later with a steady knock on the door. 

Purpled dragged himself to his feet. Moved on autopilot as he changed into their clothes for training. The sound of the door closing behind him was his reminder he had left his room, knees almost buckling as he dropped into the chair next to Sora. 

It almost reminded him of those days back at home. The lightheadedness, the dizziness; the lingering effects of hunger, when their budget for the week ran low and their meals stayed scarce. 

The thought of food made Purpled feel sick. He forced himself to eat anyway. Starving would be a stupid way to die. 

He didn’t eat much. He rested his head against the table before too long, meaningless conversation drifting around the table until a voice broke through. 

“Purpled?”

Purpled lifted his head. Burning white eyes stared into his own, dark lenses pushed up into curly brown hair. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Eret asked, lips twitching against a frown. 

Purpled flashed a weak thumbs-up. He dropped his head to the table.

Eret dropped it.

Sora did not.

She threw out a few jabs throughout the meal– literally and figuratively. Her voice was sharp, elbow digging into his side when he’d respond too slow or start to drift. Purpled barely noticed the pressure until he was nearly leaning out of his chair.

In his haze, he nearly mistook it for concern. But the underlay of worry in her tone didn’t sound like it was for him.

It made sense. If he died early on, she’d be an easy target. Alone, no potential teammate. No one else liked her. Purpled didn’t like her, he just tried to be friendly enough since they were in the same space.

Purpled tuned her out. Eventually, she gave up. Breakfast slipped by.

He had to blink black spots from his vision when he stood to push his chair in.

The day was a blur. Everything was a blur.

Purpled dragged himself through training. Walking made him dizzy so he took his rests between stations, sitting when he could and supporting himself on anything close by. Voices crashed like static in his ears. He could barely focus enough to listen. 

He felt sick. Moving made it feel like he was overheating and he could feel the warmth rising to his face.

Purpled didn’t make it long. Or maybe he lasted a while before he had to call it. Just a quick break. 

He blinked and he was on the ground, back pressed against the wall; out of the way but with a clear view of the room. His vision swam.

“Hey!”

Purpled blinked. Blink again.

A face popped into view. Marigold leaned down to be at eye-level. Purpled wasn’t sure how he hadn’t seen her approach. He decided he didn’t care. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, eyebrows knitting together. Her voice sounded muddled, like he was listening from underwater. “You don’t look too good.” 

Is it really that noticeable? Purpled wanted to ask, but of course it was. He felt like he was dying and he probably didn’t look much better. He was sure sitting on the floor in the middle of the training room wasn’t helping his case either. 

“Purpled?”

Purpled snapped to attention. “I’m fine,” he said hurriedly. He waved her off. “Just… taking a break.”

“Are you sure?” Marigold asked. “I can go get one–”

Purpled shook his head. It made everything spin. It felt like he was falling over. He planted his hands against the floor, catching himself.

“I’ve got it,” Purpled said, breathless. “They won’t– they won’t help anyways.” 

Marigold frowned. She opened her mouth. A garbled voice rang out and with a small, worried smile, said her goodbye and ran off. 

Purpled stared after her.

Worried. He didn’t know if the tributes were always this close-knit but it was odd. Someone being sent to her death and still remaining so cheerful, so trusting. Trying to pull together allies instead of letting everyone cower in their own corners.

What did it matter to her if he was sick? If he wasn’t okay? It would make it easier for her in the long run. 

Purpled didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think at all. 

He knew he had to get back to training. A good distraction, if his energy weren’t steadily draining. It felt like he hadn’t eaten at all. Was this how Punz felt? This was how Purpled felt some days, and he ate much more than Punz ever let himself. 

Sound echoed, jarring him to focus. He blinked open his eyes. Everyone’s position in the room had changed. Maybe he had been sitting there longer than he thought. How long ago had Marigold left him?

Sound echoed. Laughter, he realized. Voices rang. He could’ve sworn he heard his name. 

A hand snapped in front of his face. Purpled barely managed more than a slight flinch.

“What are you doing?” Sora demanded. He must’ve stared too long. “Hey! I’m talking to you! What are you doing?”

“Um.” Purpled fumbled for a moment, mouth opening and closing. “...What?” 

Sora scowled. “Get up,” she hissed, voice hushed. “Everyone’s staring at you and now they’re picking on me.” 

Purpled’s thoughts blanked. Everyone? 

“Oh,” Purpled breathed. Training. Right. The others in the room. Everyone.

“Yeah, oh,” Sora scoffed. “Get up.”  

Purpled swallowed. He glanced past her to the rest of the room. Peacekeepers ignored him. A group huddled by the sparring mats– five or six people. The careers, maybe. They didn’t bother to hide their staring.

Sora followed his gaze, expression souring. “Fuck off!” she snapped, voice carrying. 

A boy called back, hands cupped around his mouth. His voice echoed in the large room and Purpled’s head ached, still reeling from the sudden shout.

Sora wasn’t defending him. He knew that. She was saving her own reputation. He knew that.

But she was right. He needed to get up. 

He just… needed a few more minutes of rest first. 

Purpled’s back hit the platform with a hollow thud, head bouncing off the metal. His eyes tightened, a throbbing pain radiating through his skull. 

He had dragged himself between stations. Slept through lunch. Pretended to think about weapons and glanced through the racks, but none of the information was really processing.

Axes. He used those back in Seven. Maybe he could use them again.

No, he reasoned. There was a reason he hadn’t wanted them, wasn’t there? He couldn’t remember what it was. Had he even thought about axes at all? He was thinking about them now, for sure. 

He hated axes, he decided. His hand wouldn’t hurt if they hadn’t caused it. If he hadn’t been so clumsy, and… maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. 

Purpled’s nose crinkled. He shifted, pushing himself up on weak, trembling arms. The floor was a dizzying distance below him, like it was miles and miles away and he was sinking through the floor and falling. Like the metal platform was swaying in the air. Like the tiles were liquid and–

Gods, maybe he shouldn’t have been trying to think at all. 

He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. It wasn’t a problem of being awake enough, he didn’t think. He was plenty awake. His brain was just fuzzy like he wasn’t. 

He hoped it would help anyways. It didn’t. 

It all felt familiar. Like the ground was swaying and he was back in his hammock with a few blankets piled over him and the fireplace crackling. If he looked to the side maybe he’d see Punz kneeling next to it and preparing their dinner, or sitting on the ground reading a book. Light would glint off of his medallion, the one hanging around Pur– no, Punz’s– neck, and…

He blinked and the image vanished, slipping through reaching fingers like tiny grains of sand. His fingertips brushed against fabric, his shirt, solid gold hiding beneath. 

Purpled looked to the side. There was no warm fire or prepped meal. Instead there was the row of training dummies and racks of weapons far, far below, the careers gathered around. Sora, too. Talking. He couldn’t hear them over the sounds echoing throughout the room but he could see their mouths moving, gesturing and shifting like they were arguing. 

Sora tore something from one of their hands; a dagger, it looked like, though it could’ve been a really small sword. Or maybe a normal sword and his depth perception was just way off. She waved it in the air–

The sound of wind flooded his senses and it was close, too close. Not wind. Maybe it was. He couldn’t tell. It sounded heavy and like wind through the trees, wind through the trees back in Seven but harsher.

A weight dropped next to him. Feathers brushed his arm and his eyes followed the movement, watching Tommy lean back on his hands, legs swinging over the side of the platform. Familiar. Like it had just happened a day ago.

Because it had, but that was besides the point.

“Dude,” was the first word out of Tommy’s mouth, jarring enough to hold his focus. “You look like shit.” 

Purpled barked a startled laugh. It rang clear, clearer than any sound had been since he’d woken up. “I’m sorry?” 

“You look like shit,” Tommy repeated, enunciating each word carefully. He started to reach a hand out, which was clumsily swatted away. He frowned. “Seriously, are you feeling okay, man? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Purpled said, waving him off. Blue eyes tracked his hand. “I’m fine, yeah? I’m fine. Just a little sick, I think.” 

“A little?” Tommy spluttered. “You- you think? Why haven’t you gone to–”

Purpled scowled, eyes tightening. “I have.” 

“Okay? And-”

“No. They aren’t going to do anything about it.” 

“Well, that’s not fair,” Tommy said, wings rustling. His eyebrows drew in. Purpled couldn’t decipher the tone, looking between his eyes. “What’s the point of taking away all our cool powers and shit if they’re just going to let people go in sick?”

“You really like that word, huh?” Purpled blurted.

Tommy blinked. “What?” 

“What?”

Tommy stared for a moment. Purpled stared back. The avian’s nose scrunched up and he looked away, wings rustling.

“You’re a weird one,” Tommy said. He leaned forwards, and Purpled was half expecting him to jump like he had before, but instead, “Why are you up here again, huh?” 

Purpled shrugged. “Something to do.”

Tommy shot him an odd look. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Purpled echoed. He shifted to sit with his legs crossed, just a little further from the edge than Tommy. “It’s just… something to do. That isn’t a complete waste of time.” He nodded towards the ground. “You can watch the others from up here.” 

“That’s boring.” 

“It’s not,” Purpled said. “It’s helpful.” 

“Helpful?” 

“You get to learn,” Purpled said, as if he’d been paying enough attention to anything to learn a single thing. “See what weapons people choose and how they use ‘em.” 

“So you spy on people,” Tommy concluded. “That sounds awfully boring, big man.” 

Purpled blinked, glancing over. “What?”

Tommy looked over. Something in his expression soured. “Sorry. Purpled.” 

Purpled faltered. He didn’t have time to decode that before Tommy was moving on.

“Why are you sick, anyways?” Tommy asked, leaning back on his hands, like Purpled could control that. “Was it the food? Apparently people can get really sick from the diet change.” 

“It wasn’t that,” Purpled said, frowning. “I’ve been sick for like, the past two weeks.”

Tommy squinted, scrutinizing. “You were fine yesterday,” he said. “And at the parade.” 

“I had a potion then.”

“Oh,” Tommy scoffed. “So they’ll give you one for the TV but not now? Real great priorities, guys–”

“It wasn’t them,” Purpled snapped. They didn’t deserve any credit. The Capitol didn’t do anything. “My brother bought it for me.” 

“Was that who that guy was? Making that whole scene at the reaping?” 

Purpled flinched. He curled his hand into a fist, fingers pressing into his scar. A wave of warm pain shot through his veins. “Don’t act like yours didn’t act the same way.” 

“Hey,” Tommy said, wings bristling. “I didn’t say–” 

“You didn’t have to.”

He didn’t want to think about Punz. He wanted to be home. If he was going to feel this awful again then he wanted to be home. He wanted to be but he wasn’t so there wasn’t a point in thinking about it. 

“My brother almost tried to fight the peacekeepers,” Tommy said, voice cutting through the silence. He breathed a laugh. “Both of them, actually. And– and my friends, too. Tubbo and Ranboo. I thought they wouldn’t make it to the visit.”

Purpled’s breath hitched. 

“They did, of course,” Tommy said. Casual. “Because they’re just awesome like that. But it was scary, you know? Waiting. Just.. hoping they’d be there.”

He did. He did know. 

 “It is scary, right?” Tommy asked. In his haze, Purpled couldn’t tell if he was seeking validation or offering understanding. “Seeing the people you know act like that…”

“They’re scared, too,” Purpled said. Hushed. 

“Everyone is,” Tommy agreed. A beat of quiet, then, “Except for those fuckers over there–” 

He gestured with a hand. Purpled looked up, a little jarred by the shift in tone, watching the careers bickering. Sora seemed to have moved on, stolen weapon in-hand, a few targets down. 

Tommy leaned forwards, his whisper nearly as loud as his normal voice. “Did you know one of them’s named Spider? Like the bug. Who names their child after a bug?” 

“Your friends were named– what, Tubbo and- and Ranboo?” Purpled deadpanned. “Spider’s at least a word.” 

“Hey, asshole!” Tommy snapped, smacking him with his wing. “Like yours is any better!”

Purpled glared, shoving away the wall of white feathers. He drew in a breath to speak.

“No, no, shut up,” Tommy said, waving his hands. “Listen, just– listen man, okay? His name is Spider. And– and there are like four other people, who, like–” He fumbled for words for a minute. “Animal names, right? Some girl’s name is Sparrow. Like, what is it with people naming their kids after animals?”

Purpled raised an eyebrow. “That’s two people, Tommy.”

“And they’re both named something weird!” 

Purpled rolled his eyes. “Is she one of the careers, too?”

“No,” Tommy said. “One of them’s named Forrest, though. With an extra ‘r’.” 

“Why do you know this?” Purpled asked, squinting. “Why– why does it matter? They’re just names–”  

“No, my friend, they’re conversation topics.” Tommy grinned. His energy seemed to falter after a moment. “Sam wanted me to learn ahead of time. In case I ‘overheard some information and could put a name to a face’.”  

“That’s smart,” Purpled said.

“It’s boring is what it is,” Tommy grumbled. “Seriously, I do not-” 

Something crashed to the ground far, far below. Multiple somethings. Heavy. 

Purpled flinched back. His shoulder hit Tommy’s, white feathers bristled. 

“What the fuck?” Tommy hissed, leaning over the edge. Purpled leaned with him.

Blood stained the ground.

Chapter Text

Blood seeped through cracks in the floor. Tommy’s wings bristled. Purpled’s mouth opened. Closed.

A scream echoed. Shrill and raw.

Silver flashed. Plunged into flesh. Once. Twice. Three times. 

The sound cut out. 

Purpled felt sick.

Blood dripped from the edge of a blade. Pooled beneath a fallen rack. Stained weapons littering the ground.

Purpled felt sick.

Blonde hair matted red. A boy spat at the floor. Peacekeepers charged forwards. Towards the thing– the body on the ground. 

Purpled felt sick. 

The world swam. Titled. Air rushed past him. The platform shifted. He was parallel with the ground.

“Woah!” 

Hands yanked him back. Weight secured him against someone’s side, fingers digging into his arm. A blanket of warmth draped over his shoulders.

“Purpled–” 

The image burned. Unseeing eyes. Red on her throat.

“Hey?”

That wasn’t real. It wasn’t the games.

“Hey.”

It wasn’t the games.

It wasn’t their time. Not yet. 

A hand snapped in front of his face. Sharp, loud. Purpled gasped a breath, blinking black dots from his vision. Voices crashed, clamoring to be heard from below. Peacekeepers. Trainers. Tributes.

Tommy. 

“Are you okay?” Tommy’s eyes were wide. Face pale. A wing draped over Purpled’s shoulder, the other tightened to his back. Pulling him from the edge of the platform.

“Sora,” Purpled croaked, mouth dry. He felt dizzy. “That was-” His throat tightened. The words died on his tongue.

Tommy’s eyes widened. Darkened. 

“Fuck,” Tommy breathed. “Fuck, man, that’s–” White feathers smoothed down. Bristled. Flattened again. “Maybe– maybe she’s– maybe they can–”

Blood on her throat. Eyes unblinking, unseeing.

“They can’t,” Purpled said.

“They have to,” Tommy said. His voice rose. “That’s not allowed. That’s not allowed! They can’t– they can’t do that!” 

Purpled knew Sora had been on thin ice with the careers. Hanging around their table. Pestering them during training. 

“They can’t,” Purpled agreed, voice hollow. “It doesn’t matter.”  

The Capitol could never turn on them. Not their beloved careers. 

Peacekeepers marched out of the room. Carrying a bloodied body. Leading away a single boy from the group of six while the others talked. Laughed. Nothing more than a hand on his shoulder. 

Nothing would happen to him. He knew that.

Purpled felt sick. 

“That… that was your teammate?” 

He drew in a shuddering breath. His hands curled into fists. Warm pain shot through his veins.

He didn’t like Sora. No one liked Sora.

No one deserved to die.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked.

He knew he would see death. Experience it himself, probably. He just didn’t think it would be this soon.

He was supposed to have time. A few more precious days before blood was spilled. A few more days to get himself together. To chase off the heat that clung to his skin and the tightness in his chest. To steady the sway to the world and the waver of his vision. 

Staff came in and out. Waved people away. Picked up the weapons. Wiped up the blood.

Purpled didn’t move. Tommy didn’t move. He didn’t realize the hands were still holding him steady until he realized he was leaned against the other’s side. 

“Fuck,” Purpled breathed.

Tommy squeezed his arms.

That wasn’t allowed. That wasn’t allowed. They weren’t allowed to kill before the arena. What would they do now? Reap another victim? Resuscitate her? Could they do that? 

“What– what the fuck.” 

Purpled’s voice rattled. Hushed. Breathless. His chest felt tight. His throat felt tight. 

It was too quick. Too sudden. Too abrupt. It didn’t feel real. 

“Everyone get back to training!” A voice barked from below.

For a long few moments, neither moved.  

“We should move on,” Tommy said. Quiet. Timid. “Tomorrow’s the last day.”

That wasn’t right. He hated that. He hated that tone. 

He–

“Purpled,” Tommy prompted. “We should get down.”

Purpled drew in a breath. Held it.

You have three seconds to get your shit together. 

Tommy’s wings rustled.

One.

Purpled’s fingers twitched.

Two.

His eyes burned.

Three.

In a rush it was gone. The tension bled from his shoulders. He breathed easier. His expression smoothed out. 

Tommy faltered. Opened his mouth to speak.

Purpled cut him off. “What next?”  

Purpled heard the sound of wings beating until his feet hit the ground. He heard the sound of voices. Of a scream ringing in his ears. Of a crash.

Tommy only hung around for a minute before splitting off. 

The day blurred. 

Maybe it was a hallucination. He’d had a few of those when he was sick at home. He’d sat through hours of Punz at his side, talking him through what was real, what wasn’t. 

But Tommy had seen it too. Tommy reacted too. He saw it too. 

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

He pushed down the flood of emotions and they never came back. He reached for the fear, the terror, the dread and it slunk away. 

Just like it had with Punz.

This is it, he had told himself, over and over again. Waiting in that sitting room with Punz. This is it.

It never stuck then. 

Sora’s gone, he told himself. Sora’s gone.

It didn’t stick now. 

Purpled pushed past that. Pushed past the haze. The pain in his hand. The fire in his veins. The pounding of his heart. 

Tommy was right. There was one day of training left. Just one day. Tomorrow he would have the majority of the day before he was called in. Before he had to choose a skill and show it off. Before he had to pull together the energy to be able to stand at all.

He didn’t have a weapon. A skill. Climbing trees wasn’t impressive; anyone could do that. He didn’t know how to use any weapons. Not properly. Not the way some people could.

So he trained.

He looked at weapons. He missed the targets almost every time. 

He looked through the stations. None of it stuck.

He sparred with the trainers. They commented on his techniques. His movements. Most scolding. Some didn’t bother at all.

Purpled stumbled back after breaking away from another match, catching his breath. Wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Trying to settle his racing heart.

He needed to learn somehow. His condition would only get worse in the arena. If he couldn’t fight now, how was he meant to when his life was really on the line? 

It felt impossible the longer time stretched on. His muscles burned and the slightest tilt of his head made him dizzy. His knees would buckle when he’d try to hold his ground and forming a proper fist felt like knives digging into his hand, heat sweltering in the room. The world was covered in a thick haze, movements blurring. 

The trainer stood a few feet away. Hands on her hips, foot tapping against the ground. Untouched. Waiting for him to reorient. 

Purpled sucked in a breath, forcing himself to stand straighter. His muscles ached in protest.  

A hand landed on his shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.” 

Purpled jolted. His head turned. The voice sounded familiar. He only caught a glimpse of a white uniform and black visor before he hurriedly looked away.

The woman across the mat opened her mouth. Her eyes tightened, dipping her head with a quiet “yes, sir”. Tension hung thick in the air as she collected her weapons and left. 

The hand on his shoulder loosened. Fell away. The peacekeeper walked to take the trainer’s place, slinging off their gun and pulling off their gloves, kicking them to the side. 

They turned.

A flame was embroidered across their heart.

Purpled fumbled for words. A peacekeeper. A peacekeeper with a rank.

They reached up, pushing their helmet up and over their head.

Burning onyx eyes. Flames dancing on coal. A white bandana tying back unruly raven hair. 

“I know you,” Purpled blurted. 

The man blinked. Raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You didn’t have that before,” Purpled said, gesturing. The words spilled from his lips before he could catch himself.

The man only spared a brief look down. “New uniform. It was a last minute promotion.” 

Purpled nodded idly, the words barely registering at all. 

You helped me, he wanted to say. It was just over a hoodie but at the time it felt like the world. 

How selfish. Worrying over a piece of clothing when his teammate was– 

“Alright, alright,” the man said, rolling his shoulders. He strolled back a few steps. “You ready?”

Purpled jolted. “What?”

“You weren’t done sparring, were you?”

“No,” Purpled said hurriedly. “Is this even allowed? Fighting with the peacekeepers?” 

A scoff. Smoke curled past his lips. “We’re not fighting. It’s training.”

“You’re a peacekeeper.” 

“Yeah, and I’m bored,” the man said, scowling. “Sue me. Do you want to fight or not?” 

Purpled drew in a breath.

Smoldering eyes glared. Purpled’s mouth clicked shut. 

The man’s posture relaxed. He stepped back, easily falling into a wider stance. He raised his hands. He gestured and with a slow breath Purpled tried to do the same, wobbling as the floor seemed to shift under him.

The peacekeeper’s expression twisted. “Try again.” 

“What?”

“Try again.”

Purpled frowned. He stood straighter. Eased back again. 

It was a few minutes of back and forth. Of pointers that barely stuck, barely worked, but he tried anyway. The man had a rank– surely that’s what the patch on his chest meant– and he had been standing with Dream of all people. He had to know what he was doing at least a little bit. 

The peacekeeper didn’t let them move on until he was standing steady. Purpled certainly didn’t feel very steady. The ground was still rocking and his vision felt dimmer than it had earlier. But the man seemed happy enough with it and soon was calling for them to start.

The word ‘go’ had barely left his mouth before the man lunged forwards. 

The first hit connected with Purpled’s side. The next his shoulder. A whirlwind of movement that made his head spin.

The man slid back, gearing up for another hit. Purpled pivoted. Something hooked around his ankle, and in a rush of air he was staring up at the ceiling, back against the mat. The pain came a beat later, ribs aching.

“Huh.” 

Purpled’s head snapped up. He propped himself up on his elbows. 

The peacekeeper stared down at him, eyebrows twitching together. He offered a hand. “I thought she was the problem but wow. Maybe you should just stick to something lighter for the day.” 

“No,” Purpled bit out, taking his hand. The man hauled him to his feet. “I’m fine. Just getting used to it.”

The man studied him for a few moments. Searching. And then he shrugged, backing up. “Whatever you say, kid.” 

Purpled scowled at the word. His heart twisted. The medallion–

Purpled’s hand curled into fists. Nails digging in just to send sparks of white hot pain across his skin.  

The sickness, the dizziness, the pain, the heat. It all felt so distant and so distinct at the same time. Fighting for his attention to the point it faded to the background, just a mild discomfort. Another fact of life.

A life which could easily be taken away. A life that he might not have much longer. His deadline was always the games. He wouldn’t make it past the bloodbath, he was sure. 

Sora probably thought that, too. She probably thought she was invincible. 

The careers proved her wrong. Her death proved him wrong.  

The man cracked his knuckles, easing into position and bracing. Purpled’s head snapped up. “You hit first this time.” 

And so he did. 

“One more.” 

The man looked over his water bottle at him, scrutinizing. “You sure you’re up for that?” 

Purpled’s breathing was harsh. He felt hot. His face was probably flushed a bright red, heart beating so loud he would be surprised if the whole room couldn’t hear it. 

“I’m sure.” He swallowed. He widened his stance. He pretended it wasn’t because he felt like he was falling over. “Just– one more. One more.” 

The peacekeeper stared. And then he shrugged, screwing the lid back on and dropping the bottle to the side. “Sure.” 

The peacekeeper cracked his knuckles for what had to have been the hundredth time since they started, sauntering back. Purpled drew his shoulders up, hands raising with an exhale.

He wasn’t sure how long they had gone at it. How many hits had been landed on him and how many he dealt in return. He was getting better; he was. He had to be. Maybe it was just getting to know his opponent, looking for the little cues or the subtle shifts. Learning when to pivot and when to hold his ground. How to throw proper punches and deflect them in the same breath. 

How to ignore the room spinning and the spots in his vision. 

“Go!” 

Pain flared along his shoulder. The man’s elbow swung back for his jaw and Purpled ducked before it could connect, striking for the peacekeeper’s open side. 

A fist caught him in the stomach. He reeled back with a choked gasp but caught his footing just in time.

When an ankle hooked around his own he was ready, moving with it instead of holding his ground. When the man swung he ducked. When he moved, Purpled moved too. When the man left himself open, Purpled struck. 

It felt almost like a dance at that point. A game. Back and forth until one of them didn’t have any moves left to make. 

The peacekeeper struck. Purpled dodged. Struck back.

His breathing was harsh, shallow. His muscles burned. 

The peacekeeper struck. Purpled dodged. Struck back. 

He wondered if Punz would be proud of him. Watching him fight. Watching him hold his own.

The peacekeeper struck. Purpled dodged. Struck back.

Fighting through what had to be a fever. Just because he knew he had to.

The peacekeeper struck. Purpled dodged. Struck back.

Did Sora put up a good fight? 

The peacekeeper struck. Purpled dodged.

Did she even have the chance? 

The peacekeeper struck. Purpled dodged.

The peacekeeper struck.

The peacekeeper struck.

The peacekeeper–

Warmth curled around his arms. Cotton blocked his ears. His heart beat fast, too fast. It felt like he wasn’t breathing.

Voices were muddled. Voice. Just one. Maybe.

Purpled blinked. It was dark. Really dark.

“Purpled.” 

Pressure on his arm. His shoulder. Shaking.

“Purpled, hey.” 

It was reminiscent. An accented voice pulling him from the edge of the platform.

“Purpled.” 

He blinked. 

Light flooded the world. 

Cold dark eyes peered down at him from behind a layer of static and dark hair, eyebrows creased. “You with me?” 

Purpled blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again.

“What?” he croaked.

The man scoffed. “Yeah, you’re done.” 

“What?” Purpled shifted, elbows pressing to the ground. He pushed himself up. “No-”

Hands pushed him back down. “Yes,” the peacekeeper said. “We need at least one tribute from Seven alive.” 

The words felt like plunging into an icy river. Purpled’s expression tightened. He had thought it was true but– 

“So she’s really gone?” 

The peacekeeper froze. Scowled. “Doesn’t matter. Think you can stand?” 

Purpled swallowed. Nodded.

The man pulled back, brushing himself off. He offered a hand. 

Purpled took it. The peacekeeper pulled him up, hand sliding up his arm to grab his elbow when he stumbled. He pulled away once he was steady, stooping to collect his things, gun slotting into place and pulling his gloves. He gestured for Purpled to walk.

He only wobbled a step forwards before the peacekeeper sidled up next to him with a huff, letting him brace against his side.

Purpled glanced over. “Where’re we going?” 

“Back to your suite.”

The man raised an eyebrow, almost daring him to protest. He didn’t. 

He could feel the eyes on them as they walked. The training room was big but the walk seemed miles long. Like each step drained more and more energy. 

Someone snickered. Voices whispered. Footsteps clicked.

Purpled ignored them. The peacekeeper urged him on.

Somehow, Purpled survived the walk through the halls. To the elevator. Down the hall. His breathing was shallow by the time they were slowing outside of the door, clutching the arm around his side to steady himself. 

The peacekeeper only shot him a brief look as he reached, twisting the doorknob. “Get some rest. You won’t be doing yourself any favors pushing yourself like that.” 

Purpled hummed, lowering his gaze.

The man sighed. He pushed the door open.

Voices abruptly cut out. The man’s shoulders lowered as Purpled’s head snapped up. 

“Purpled!” Charlie greeted, wide-eyed. “You’re home… early!” 

He sounded nervous. Guilty, almost, voice pitched up. 

The man next to him shifted.

Giant gold wings. A scar running through his eye. Demeanor casual, looking him up and down.

Purpled’s mouth opened. Closed. “Who are you?” he demanded, gaze skipping from the peacekeeper to Charlie. The rest of the room was empty. No Corbin, no Eret, no–

“Quackity,” the avian said. 

His lips pulled back with a sharp smile, tugging at his scar. He held out a hand. Purpled stared down at it. 

“I’ll be your mentor from now on.”

Chapter Text

“Where’s Corbin?” 

The words spilled from his lips before he could think twice. A demand more than it was a question.

The avian– Quackity, he said his name was, how fitting– took his time to answer all the same. 

“He’s been… relocated,” he said slowly, like he was picking through each word. “Clearly, he wasn’t very fit for the job.” 

He wasn’t. Purpled agreed. The lack of direction and aloofness had been throwing him off since they met. But there was no way, absolutely no way that Corbin could have been booted out in time. It had only been a few hours. If the Capitol cared that much, they would just reap a new tribute. Not pull a new mentor.

Purpled’s expression tightened. “Where’s Eret?” 

“Busy,” Quackity said. “They do have a job.”

Purpled’s shoulders tensed. The peacekeeper’s hand squeezed his arm. He only sank heavier against his side, looking the avian up and down. 

Quackity’s wings rustled. Light flashed across golden feathers, stark against a dark red button-up and black dress pants, black suspenders strapped over his shoulders. Gold accents lined his clothes, chains hanging from crystal earrings. Dark raven hair was swept neatly away from his eyes. One dark, the only a pale, milky white.

A scar ran through that eye. Long and jagged, raised at the edges and pale. Healed for a while. It cut through his eyebrow, nicking the corner of his lip. 

“Your hand,” Quackity said finally, Purpled’s attention snapping back to his eyes.

“What?” 

“Your hand,” he repeated. “It’s been bothering you?” 

Purpled’s gaze dropped to his palm, curling his fingers. Pain shot through his arm. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

Quackity hummed, studying him. His gaze jumped to the peacekeeper, then to Charlie, before turning around. The sound of a zipper cut through the air. The man propping him up shifted again. Purpled would’ve been embarrassed about using him as a crutch if the new wave of pain wasn’t making his vision swim. 

A small container appeared at eye level. 

“Here,” Quackity said, lowering it and screwing off the cap. 

Purpled leaned to peer inside, eyebrows twitching together. Some odd shimmering pink solution glowed inside. Too solid to be a potion, but the glow was the same. Health, it looked like. 

Quackity scooped some of it onto his fingertips, setting the container down and holding out his now free hand. It took him a moment to catch up, slowly stretching out the hand with the scar, settling it into the avian’s palm. 

Quackity spread it across the scar. It was instant relief; pain faded, heat retreating. In its wake settled a bone-deep exhaustion, hand trembling with a sudden weight as it was slowly lowered. His weight tipped towards the peacekeeper, who quickly adjusted.

“I’ll leave this with you,” Quackity said, holding up the container as he screwed the lid on. His gaze only lingered a moment before setting it on the table. “Put it on twice a day until the arena, once when you wake up and again before you go to bed. Any infection should be gone completely in a few days.” 

Purpled frowned. Will it last? he wanted to ask. 

“Are you allowed to do that?” were the words he managed instead, wobbling as he pushed to stand straighter. 

“Do what? Keep the kid I’m being paid to protect alive?” Quackity raised an eyebrow. “That’s kind of my job.” 

“Charlie said-” 

“The rules have clearly changed,” he interrupted. “If tributes are allowed to kill before the arena then I see it more than fair to make sure my own is healthy enough to fight back.” 

Purpled’s skin prickled at the words. His tone was light, unassuming, but Quackity’s smile was sharp. His eyes piercing, intense. Dark with a lurking sense of danger. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was meant as a warning to him or not. 

“This…” Purpled faltered. “This doesn’t make sense. I thought the-” 

“There’s time for questions later,” Quackity said, waving him off. “You need some rest. We’ll talk before dinner, okay?” He glanced towards the peacekeeper. “You can go, Sap. Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”

Purpled glanced up. Smoldering onyx eyes flickered down. His hold loosened. Purpled took the cue to step away, reaching for the back of a chair to brace himself. 

The peacekeeper- Sap?- tracked him for a moment. “Rest,” he said eventually. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

With a sharp nod to Quackity, Sap turned, slipping out into the hallway.

The door shut with a click.

Purpled knew he had been exhausted, but it hadn’t really set it just how bad it was until he woke up.

He felt lighter than he had in days. His head was clear. The world was steady as he stood and stretched, the temperature comfortable in the room. 

It was a crushing relief to be able to move properly again. To breathe easier. He had the energy to take a quick shower, getting changed out of his training clothes and settling back into the comfort of his hoodie. 

He didn’t have the luxury of resting, though. It was still early; the sun was only half-way set, a good hour or two before dinner. If he wasn’t spending this time training, he needed answers.

Quackity was already sitting at the table when he slipped out of his room. Shuffling a deck of cards alone at the table, collecting them from piles. He glanced up at the sound of his door, smoothing the cards together into one stack before sliding them into a box. 

“Purpled,” Quackity greeted, gesturing to a chair across the table. “Feeling any better?” 

Purpled shuffled over, dropping into the chair. “Yeah,” he said, folding his arms. “Thanks.” 

“I’m sure you have questions,” Quackity said, turning to slip the card deck into a black leather bag. “I’ll answer as many as I can, but-” 

“There’s no way they would replace Corbin that quickly,” Purpled interrupted, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

It had bothered him earlier, he just couldn’t quite connect the words in the way he wanted; but now he knew why. He knew what the problem was. 

Quackity raised an eyebrow. “It’s the Capitol, Purpled.” 

“Yeah it’s the Capitol.” Purpled scoffed. “We’re meant to die anyways. So what if a tribute dies a little earlier than expected?”

“Well, that’s not very good for business, is it?” 

“Murdering kids in an arena is a pretty shitty business already. Not sure if it can get much worse.” 

Quackity huffed a wry laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He shifted, kicking one leg over the other. “If you really want to know,” he sighed. “I’ve been trying to get a spot for years. Typically, a winner is meant to be their district’s mentor the very next year. In my case, they thought I wasn’t able enough, what with the injuries and all.” 

Purpled’s expression twisted. “Couldn’t they just heal you?” 

“They did,” Quackity said. Bitter. “Wing’s still fucked and I can’t see out of this eye for shit.” 

Purpled glanced towards his wing; there wasn’t a single thing wrong with it, not that he could see. He frowned, pulling his gaze away. “So why would you want to be a mentor? If you’re still hurt, why not go back to Seven, and have– well, have your life to yourself?” 

Quackity sighed wearily. “Let’s put it this way.” The avian’s expression smoothed out, sitting straighter and leaning forwards. “I know a lot of people,” he said. “A lot of people in real high places. Lots of people out in the districts, too. And right now?” 

Purpled swallowed. 

“They’re counting on me to be here.” Quackity’s nail tapped the table. “Not lounging around at home. They need me here so I can protect you.” 

Purpled drew in a breath, calming his heart. What did that mean? Was Seven really that desperate for a win? Was a sponsor- some contact of Quackity’s- really that determined for their bet to be right? It was a little early to be better on winners. Had the news spread about Sora already? 

“What difference does it make?” Purpled finally asked, quiet. “If you’ve never done this before– if, if someone’s trying to make a difference in the games– why do people want you here? Why not someone else? Why are you better than any of Seven’s other mentors?” 

“Why don’t you ask Sora?” 

Purpled went rigid.

Quackity merely smiled. “Any other questions?” 

Purpled opened his mouth to speak. He reached for words. He faltered instead, mouth clicking shut.

“Alright, then!” Quackity clasped his hands. “Onto the important things. Let’s talk the games.” 

Purpled drew in a shaky breath, exhaling slowly to chase off the weight over his chest. 

His hopes weren’t high. So many things had happened in the past day, the past few hours, the past few minutes. Corbin hadn’t taught him much at all. He’d learned more from Sap than he had since the week started.

“Where are you at with your training?” Quackity asked. “What’ve you been working on?”

“Not much,” Purpled admitted, shifting in his chair. “Looking through the stations. I’ve been trying to find out what arena we’ll be in. And talking to some of the others, I guess.”

Quackity hummed. “Have you learned anything?”

Purpled sank down a bit more. “No.” 

“Then don’t waste any more time on it,” Quackity said. “You’ve been talking to the others? Any friends? Allies?”

Friends. Who would be stupid enough in a place like this?

Marigold. And Tommy.

“I guess,” Purpled said. “I’ve been sitting with the kids from Eleven and Twelve at lunch. And Tommy, District-”

“Ten,” Quackity filled, demeanor shifting. He almost seemed to lighten. Purpled’s eyes narrowed warily. “And what’s that looking like? You think you’ll group together in the games?” 

“Maybe,” Purpled said. “I don’t know. The careers always get all the supplies, I figured between the five of us…” 

“You could take what you could and run.”

Purpled exhaled. “Maybe. I don’t- I don’t know.” 

Quackity hummed thoughtfully. “You need to drop them.”

Purpled blinked. “What?” 

“Putting aside the fact that you’ll be easy to track, seeing two large groups is only going to scare the others,” Quackity said. “The careers are bad enough, but no one wants to be up against you and them late-game. Having the lesser districts together is just begging someone to take you down first.”

Purpled hummed, nails tapping against his arm. He frowned. It was a good point. “So no allies?” 

“Not that many allies,” Quackity said. “Pick one.” 

“There are two teams and then Tommy.” 

“Then pick Tommy.” 

Quackity’s words were simple, like he was stating the obvious. But something about it felt off.

Purpled’s eyebrows twitched. “Why him?” 

“Because it’s easier than splitting up the pairs. He’s not on good terms with his teammate, from what I can tell.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I’m- I’ve talked to his mentor, Sam,” Quackity said, waving it off. “He’s a smart kid, quick learner. Knows his way around because of his brother and all.” 

“Yeah, Technoblade, right?” Purpled’s heel bounced against the ground. “Wouldn’t that make him a target? And me by extension?” 

“You’re already a target. If you’re together you can protect each other.” 

“And if it gets to us in the final two?” 

“I like those odds better than it being you and a stranger. If it comes down to the two of you, you’ll know each other’s weaknesses. Your strengths. It’ll be a more even fight.” 

Purpled frowned. “So you want me to make him trust me and then kill him.” 

“Not what I said.” Quackity sighed. “Look, don’t go looking for trouble. Especially not with him, please. But if it comes down to it… use what you know to your advantage. Okay?” 

He… guessed that made sense.

“Okay.” 

Thankfully, the conversation drifted from there. 

It was what Purpled had been expecting from Corbin. What he had wanted. A plan for the arena. Something to do with his time, a way to prepare. Despite his reservations, despite what felt like an oddly crafted story, Quackity was helping and it was all that mattered. 

“We know what you need to work on,” Quackity had said. “What can you already do?” 

And so he explained. He told him about the orchards back at Seven and how sometimes he’d help in the fields. That his family struggled to earn enough money so occasionally he did chores for the neighbors, or poked around town looking for jobs. That he was strong and fast if he had the rest and the meals. That he had never really been trained with an axe, but he’d learned. 

Purpled didn’t bother to say where. He didn’t want to say Punz’s name. He didn’t want Quackity to know he only had one person waiting at home for him, and that one person might not even have enough money to eat. Because of him. Because he got himself hurt and he didn’t take care of the wound. 

“Okay,” Quackity said when he was done, eyes narrowed down at the table in thought. “Okay, that’s– good. That’s good. You’ve got a good set of skills, you just have to pull that together.”

He had been trying. Really, he had. 

It wasn’t easy when he was barely standing and couldn’t pull together a coherent string of thought. 

At least he had a solution, for now.

What was he going to do in the arena? What could he do? What-

“Your immune system has already taken a hit,” Quackity said, as if he could read his thoughts. “And I’m sure you know as well as I do how far behind you are. But you’ve still got a day of training, yeah? Make the most of it. Eat as much as you can. Tomorrow, you get out there and you find what weapon you want to use, hit a couple targets, then ditch it and head for the obstacle courses.” 

“The obstacle courses?” Purpled echoed, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, the obstacle courses,” Quackity said. “The Gamemakers are going to be testing for your training scores tomorrow. Unless you can think of something better, from what you’ve told me, agility is going to be your best bet.” 

“So… weapons and then obstacle courses,” Purpled said slowly. “Got it.” 

“Maybe spar with Sapnap, too,” Quackity said. Sapnap. So that was his name. “Not too long, though. Don’t let the other tributes see how you fight, just get some practice in. Okay?” 

Purpled’s lips pressed into a line, nodding. Words swirled around his brain, trying to process the flood of information. “Okay.” 

“And don’t try too hard out on the obstacle courses–”

Great. More instructions.

“–because without Sora, you’re already a target. If you score too low, you’re fucked. If you score too high, you’re even more fucked. Got it?” 

Purpled sighed heavily, dropping his forehead to rest on the table. Too many instructions, man. “Got it.” 

Feathers rustled, a quiet hush in the otherwise silent room. 

“You’ve got people waiting for you back home,” Quackity said, quiet. “Your brother I’m sure would kill to get you back. So do your best.” 

Purpled hummed. “I’ll try.” 

“Alright.” A beat passed, before Quackity’s chair scraped the floor. He stood, stretching. “Well, we’ve done what we could. I’ve got some things to attend to.” He lowered his arms, wings settling. “Eat dinner, get some rest. And tomorrow?”

Purpled looked up.

“You better hit the ground running.”

Chapter Text

Purpled woke up. Actually woke up.

For the first time in days, the world was clear. His hand didn’t ache as much as he applied the salve to his scar, glimmering in the light of the rising sun. The more he looked at it the more he thought it looked like a health potion. Just more… solid. 

Whatever. He didn’t really care what it was. As long as it worked.

He got ready in less than half the time it had taken him the day before. He had nearly half an hour to spare until breakfast. The time crept by all the same. When it was a reasonable enough time to leave his room, he did.

Only one person sat at the table. Two plates were set out.
“Purpled!” Charlie greeted, with a cheer that just mere hours ago would’ve tired him out. He couldn’t match him in energy, but for once, he could tolerate it. “You’re alive!” 

“Charlie,” Purpled echoed, raising an eyebrow as he pulled a chair out. “I… am. Where’re the others?”

“They’re in a meeting!” Charlie said. “They’ll be back before dinner!” 

Before dinner. An awfully long time slot. 

“Another meeting?” Purpled asked, choosing to brush that off. “Is this just– is this a thing? For all teams? Everyone leaves every day for another meeting?” 

“Nope!” 

Purpled blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. “Right,” he said slowly. 

“Are you ready for the last day?” 

The words were so abrupt it took Purpled a moment to process, eyebrows twitching together. “...what?” 

“It’s the last day of training!” Charlie beamed. “Are you ready?”

No. No he absolutely was not. 

The last day of training. Three days until the arena. A day for training, a day for interview prep, a day for the actual interviews. 

And then the arena.

Maybe it wasn’t completely hopeless. He could actually stand now, for one. He had a plan (as bare as it was). He had something he could show the Gamemakers. It probably wouldn’t land him a great score, but Quackity hadn’t wanted him to go above and beyond anyways. Not that he could if he tried, he was sure. 

Purpled’s gaze dropped to his plate. 

Despite the fact that he wasn’t as fucked, he was still fucked. There was still a lingering sense of dread following him around that he chose not to acknowledge. There was still the crushing weight of reality that he might not even make it past the bloodbath. He might not make it to the arena.

It was nearly unbearable for him. Was it unbearable for the Capitol? How did Charlie do it? Eret? Quackity? Any of the escorts, the stylists, the mentors? How did they spend year after year sending kids off to die? Hanging out with them for a week just to see it all go to waste? 

Quackity said he had fought to get there. Why did he want this? 

Eret seemed kind. Genuine. Did it not tear them apart?

And Charlie, with his undying cheer–

Purpled glanced up. Bright green eyes stared back. 

He flinched, recoiling away from the intense gaze. His eyes dropped. Right. Charlie was waiting for an answer. Just not prompting one. Waiting. 

Fuck, what had he even asked?

“Yeah,” Purpled managed, haltingly. “I’m- yeah. I’m good. I’m ready.” 

A lie. Purpled knew that. He knew that Charlie knew that. 

Charlie smiled all the same. 

Purpled’s hand ghosted along the hilts of various different blades. Knives and swords lined neatly in a row, spears leaned against the wall. Axes hanging from hooks. Bows laid proudly on display. 

He had taken Quackity’s advice. Find a weapon. Practice. Straight to the obstacle courses. Stay there until you’re called for your assessment. 

He had hours until Seven would be called. The Gamemakers wouldn’t start calling them back until after lunch, and even then, there were so many tributes before him that he had time. He just had to make use of it.

He wasn’t. He felt paralyzed with all of the choices. Purpled knew he’d looked through these before; turning down some, completely ignoring others. But his memories of the past few days were fuzzy at best. Flashes of images more than they were memories. 

“Oh my god.” 

The voice spoke startlingly close to his ear. Feathers rustled. Purpled choked on a breath as an arm hooked over his shoulders, stumbling as the weight nearly dragged him down.

“Denver’s so annoying,” Tommy complained, falling against his side. Purpled shifted to accommodate, scowling down at him. “She just left me! I was abandoned, Purpled, abandoned, I’m all alone–” 

“Oh no. How sad.” Purpled shoved him away. 

“Wow, okay, asshole,” Tommy scoffed, stumbling back. He physically geared himself up for what was definitely some string of curses, then stopped. He tilted his head. “What happened?” 

Purpled’s expression twitched. Was he hurt or something? “What?” 

“You looked like shit,” Tommy said. “Like, just yesterday. And now you’re…” He gestured vaguely towards his face, squinting. “Looking less like shit.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Purpled deadpanned. He turned to scan the weapons racks again. He made no move to dismiss Tommy, though; Quackity had wanted them to work together, after all. Sigh.

Tommy huffed. Purpled ignored him. He huffed louder and stepped closer, wing brushing his side. “What’re you looking for? 

Purpled hummed. “Weapons.” 

“I can see that, dickhead,” Tommy said. “What type?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Purpled said, fingertips skimming the blade of a sword. “Something… I want something close-ranged. Some sort of blade or something. I just don’t know how to use half of these.”

“You’re from Seven,” Tommy said. Flat, like that was meant to mean something.

Purpled glanced over. “Yeah?”

“Well– you worked with axes, yeah?” 

“Not really,” Purpled said. “I mean– a few times, sure. But those are– they– they’re just a tool. I don’t know how to use them against people.” 

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want everything Punz taught him to be used here.

“Surely it can’t be that hard,” Tommy said. “Chop-chop! No more blood for you! See? Easy.”

Purpled scoffed, shaking his head. “Shut up.” 

“Or! You could pretend that they’re trees!”

Purpled leveled him with a sharp glare. 

Tommy grinned. 

“I’m just saying, man,” he pressed, taking an axe off of the rack. “Try it? It’s best to use something in your element, yeah?” 

That… was true. He didn’t have time to be lingering on this, did he? Quackity wanted him to figure it out and then go. 

“Fine,” Purpled said, grabbing the axe from his hands. “What have you been looking at?” 

“Swords,” Tommy said. “Both for the arena and showing the Gamemakers.”

“Swords?” 

Tommy shrugged. His wings rustled. “I have formal training. Tech used to let me practice with him.” 

Purpled hummed. His eyebrows pulled together, gaze drifting to his wings, studying the white feathers. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Tommy’s nose scrunched up. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Swords are melee,” Purpled said. “You have to be close to use them. Your wings would be-” Easy to stab through. Easy to pin to something to take the killing shot. “-an easy target. I mean– you could probably swing a little too far and accidentally cut yourself.” 

White feathers bristled, crystal blue eyes drifting to the weapons rack.

“What about throwing knives?” Purpled offered.

“Huh?” 

“You’d have the advantage of distance,” Purpled said. “They’re small, you could keep multiple of them with you, if you can find them in the arena. Someone gets close you can still stab with ‘em.” If we stick together, we could cover both bases. Distance and close-range. 

Purpled dismissed the thought. He focused in on Tommy, the avian studying him, considering.

“You really think my aim’s that good?” It was light, joking. Purpled rolled his eyes.

“You have time to practice.” 

And so they did. 

It was a silent agreement. Tommy fell into step with Purpled, scooping up a handful of throwing knives before joining him on the mats. They picked targets in silence. Moved together as a duo when they shifted to the training dummies instead. Shifted to give each other room to maneuver, stayed close enough to talk quietly. 

Purpled rocked on his feet. He tested the weight of another axe as he lifted it, swinging it experimentally in the air. Same as all of the others he had tried.

It was… lighter than he was used to. Sturdier. The ones back in Seven were heavy and awkward, the hilts leaving splinters in his hand. This one was a smooth metal, light glinting off of the sharp blade. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Purpled’s gaze fixed on the training dummy at least fifteen yards away. He reeled back. Threw the axe. 

It was a routine easy to settle into. The swing of the axe, cutting clean through the fabric-mesh of the training dummies. The sharp thwips of Tommy’s knives, each one landing closer to the heart. 

It was comfortable. Working together in an easy sort of silence until Tommy broke it.

“How are you holding up?” 

Purpled glanced over as he stumbled back. His shoulder ached. His fingers loosened around the axe’s hilt. “What?” 

“With the whole…” Tommy hesitated. “You know, without Sora.” 

Dread squeezed his heart. 

Purpled hadn’t forgotten. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t want to think abot it. The blood, the scream–

“Purpled?”

He pushed those memories far, far to the side.

“Fine,” Purpled said, shrugging. He turned away, focusing on the dummy marred with slashes. “What about Denver? You two don’t seem very friendly with each other.” 

Tommy huffed an awkward laugh. “I wouldn’t say that…” 

He’s not on good terms with his teammate. That was what Quackity had said, and Tommy’s answer wasn’t exactly convincing him otherwise. 

“Uh huh,” Purpled said, raising an eyebrow. “Where is she, anyways? You said she abandoned you?” 

“She’s over with the kids from Nine,” Tommy grumbled, wings rustling. “They’re forming their own little club without me.” 

Purpled hummed. He wasn’t quite sure who the kids from Nine were– he barely even remembered what Denver herself looked like. The room wasn’t necessarily crowded, but it was big. Groups clustered together. Districts usually stuck close. 

Purpled glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t see Denver, nor the kids from Nine. Not that he would even recognize them. 

He didn’t see them.

Instead, he saw the eyes on him. The way the careers shifted. The way their eyes tracked his movement, sharp and intent.

Purpled swallowed, hurriedly turning away. 

Tommy tossed a knife in the air, narrowly catching it by the hilt.   “What?” 

His eyes tracked Purpled. The intensity felt suffocating, and Purpled just wanted him to look away.

“Nothing,” Purpled murmured.

You’re already a target, Quackity had said.

It was getting increasingly clear that he was right. 

Purpled leaned his head back against the wall. Tommy dropped to sit next to him, exhaling harshly. 

Nonstop movement clearly wasn’t good after being nearly out of commission for days– no, weeks in a row. Purpled knew his body was struggling to keep up, even with whatever topical salve Quackity had given him. Clearly he couldn’t have been that behind, though, if Tommy sat down just minutes after he did.

He waited. A minute stretched out, then two. Catching their breath in silence. Purpled waited for Tommy to be the one to break it. He usually was.

When he didn’t, Purpled internally cursed.

Quackity told him to drop the others. To team with Tommy. Would Tommy even want to? Sure, they were hanging out before the arena, but that was before. Everything changed the moment you were out there. Alliances meant nothing when it was life or death.

He still had to try.

“Are you and Denver going to stick together?” Purpled’s voice was weaker than he would’ve liked. Hesitant. “In– in the arena, I mean.” 

Gods, he was not used to this.

Tommy slumped against the wall, wings crushed awkwardly behind him. Purpled hid a wince. “Probably not,” he admitted, face still a little flushed from exertion. “...I don’t… think she likes me very much. At all. She’d probably kill me the second she sees me.” 

Purpled bit the inside of his cheek. 

He wasn’t one for reaching out. For making friends. Back at home he had Punz and that was it. That was all he needed. But it’s what Quackity had wanted him to do, and it was his best chance at living, so he had to try.

“Right,” Purpled said. “Right. Are you… staying with Marigold?” 

“I don’t know,” Tommy said, quiet. “She’s– she’s really cool! She is, I just…” His expression darkened. He swallowed. “I don’t… know if it’ll last, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Purpled said. He rested his head back against the wall again, staring up at the ceiling. “I think it could work, if it was a smaller group.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

He could feel Tommy’s eyes on him. He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath. 

“We can stick together,” Purpled offered. “It would be safer.” 

The silence stretched. There was a shift of abrupt movement and Purpled’s eyes snapped open, bracing–

Tommy sat up straight, eyes bright. “Really?” 

“Really,” Purpled said, shoulders lowering. His lips twitched against a smile. “It’s safer than us going on our own, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, smiling. It fell just a beat later. “Are- are you sure? You’re not going to like, murder me out there. Right?”

Purpled huffed. “No? Why would I?”

“Because that’s the whole point of this?” Tommy said, wings bristling. “Getting to know people and then backstabbing them the moment you’re out there. Techno always said…” He trailed off, expression darkening.

“Hey,” Purpled said, eyebrows knitting together. “I get it, it’s fucked. But what good would it do me to betray you? My teammate is dead, and no one else here likes me. You’re the only shot I have at having someone to watch my back.”

“That’s not true. Marigold likes you.”

“Marigold likes everyone.” 

Tommy huffed, folding his arms. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He was quiet for a moment. He glanced up. “So… we’re allies, then? No murdering each other?” 

“No murdering each other,” Purpled confirmed. 

The silence stretched. Purpled hazarded a brief glance. Tommy’s eyes looked him up and down, studying. 

He grinned. “Well, since we’re friends now–”

“Allies, Tommy.”

“Friends, Purpled.”

“I never said–”

“Since we’re friends now!” Tommy raised his voice, drowning out his protest before lowering to a normal volume. “We should learn about each other, yeah? What makes it worth it to be allies? What can you do that I can’t, hm?” 

Purpled raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Like– skills,” Tommy said. “I’m stealing your information, y’know? Like– like back in Ten, I worked with animals a lot. So obviously I’ll just collect an army of animals to murder all of the others for us. What can you do, huh?”  

Purpled stared, incredulous. “What? What the hell are you even saying?” 

Tommy groaned. “I worked with animals. I know a lot about them. I trained with Techno so I’m not a total loser when it comes to combat. Come on, Purp, keep up.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Purpled sighed. “I… can use axes, I guess. I climbed trees. That’s about all I got.” 

“Oh, come on. You can do more than that, can’t you?” 

Purpled frowned. He shifted, shrugging slightly. “Not really.” 

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. He shook his wings out, humming. “Well, we can work on that.”

“We have one day.” 

“Less than a day, actually,” Tommy corrected. “And you can still use the time to practice! What do you want to do next?”

“Quackity wanted me to go to the obstacle courses.”

“Quackity?” Tommy echoed. “What kind of name is that?” 

“It’s worse when you realize he’s an avian.” 

“Is he a duck?” 

“I have no clue what he is,” Purpled said. “His wings look like– like pure gold.” 

“Fuckin’ fancy Capitol people,” Tommy grumbled. He shook his head. “Fuckin’ hate ‘em.” He cleared his throat loudly. “Obstacle courses! Right.” His nose scrunched up. “Why does he want you to go there?” 

“He wanted me to work on agility,” Purpled said, shrugging. “He said it was what he wanted me to show the Gamemakers.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he hissed. “Right. Training scores.”

“Yeah,” Purpled said, eyebrows raising. “We already talked about this.”

“No,” Tommy said, scrambling to his feet. “Well– yeah, but– I should probably go learn how to use those knives, huh?”

Purpled huffed a laugh. “Probably,” he agreed.

Tommy hopped back a step, walking backwards. “Good luck! Don’t fall and die!” 

Purpled watched him walk away. Tommy stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet before turning around, jogging back towards the training dummies.

More subdued, Purpled stood. He could’ve sworn he could feel eyes tracking him. Part of him was tempted to call out, to bring the avian with him.

Tommy was already halfway to the racks. It wasn’t worth it to bother him. 

Heaving a sigh, Purpled turned to run the obstacle course alone.

Chapter Text

Purpled collapsed into a chair, forehead dropping to rest on the table.

“Purpled!” Marigold’s cheerful voice rang in his ears. “You look like you’re feeling better!” 

Tommy snorted from beside him, nudging his arm. 

“Yeah,” Micah said, sounding much less enthusiastic.

Purpled batted Tommy away with a huff. He lifted his head, blowing strands of hair out of his eyes. Micah quickly looked away. 

“Yeah,” Purpled echoed, sitting up straighter. “Finally got some medicine.” 

The cafeteria was quiet around them. Low murmurs of conversation drifted through the room. Purpled exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair. His muscles ached, protesting the movement. His chest burned, some of the heat finally starting to leave his face from the constant movement of the past few hours. 

White feathers brushed his side. Purpled shot Tommy a sideways glance. Crystal blue eyes stared off across the room. Purpled followed his gaze, the corners of his lips tugging down at the sight of Denver, flanked by the two kids from Nine. 

He didn’t speak. Tommy didn’t either. 

Finally, after a long moment, he pulled his gaze away, meeting Purpled’s eyes. “How were the courses?” he asked, voice tight with a forced bright tone. 

Purpled quickly dropped his gaze to the table. “Tiring,” he said, huffing. “I didn’t ‘fall and die’, at least. Thanks for that advice, it really helped.” 

Tommy snorted, his wing flaring to smack him in the chest. Purpled scowled at him, gently pushing it down.  

The table creaked. Purpled’s attention snapped forwards as Marigold leaned forwards onto her elbows. 

“What’re you guys showing off?” she asked, eyes bright. “I don’t have much for myself, honestly… so I hope you have more of those nature tables in the room!”

The words had barely left her mouth before her gaze swept to Micah. Expectant. He shot her an apprehensive look, light reflecting in pure black eyes. Tommy shifted, feathers puffing up as his wings tucked close to his back. 

“I don’t know,” Micah said. “I’ll… um. A bow, I guess.” 

Purpled’s eyes narrowed. Brief memories of their conversation from the first day filtered back. Even with the haze he had been in, he had been right about one thing.

Micah’s strong. 

But he also seemed scared. Bows required strength, but they were meant for distance. In theory, he’d never have to get into a fight. He could pick people off from a distance. Perch somewhere high and stay there. Hunt for food. The only real issue would be finding and keeping the ammo. That, paired with Marigold’s skills…

Strong. Smart. But neither of them willing to engage. Not really. 

“What about you?”

“I’ll probably use a sword,” Tommy said.

Purpled quickly reeled in his thoughts, clearing them. He opened his mouth to speak. Faltered.

That… wasn’t what they had talked about earlier. It wasn’t what they had said. But Tommy didn’t waver and Marigold nodded, before gold eyes settled on Purpled.

“And you?” 

“Um.” Purpled drew in a slow breath, pushing off his confusion. “I’m-”

Tommy’s foot nudged his heel, a barely-there tap.

“-using a spear,” Purpled blurted. 

White feathers smoothed down in the corner of his eye. 

“A spear?” Marigold echoed, her eyes widening. “Woah! Where’d you learn to use that?” 

Purpled merely shrugged. “We have rivers in Seven,” he said, tone casual. “We need to get fish somehow.” 

A lie. A complete and utter lie. Seven rarely relied on fish, and those who for some reason dedicated their time to it– enough to keep for themselves and sell to the shops– had access to nets and rods. 

If any district would be trained in spears, it would be Four. Maybe One or Two. Of course, Four was the fishing district, they would know how to use nets and rods. But Punz had told him that they knew how to use spears. Tridents. Any weapon he could think of that could be a tool in the water. 

It was illegal to train before the arena. Giving everyone a ‘fair shot’. But there were always work-arounds, especially for the careers. 

Regardless, Marigold seemed to have accepted the answer, the conversation having drifted to the kids from Twelve by the time he tuned back in. Neither had much to say for themselves, voices half-hearted murmurs. Purpled glanced to the side.

Tommy caught his gaze, blue eyes shimmering with approval.

Lunch passed peacefully. Marigold had no problem filling in the time, badgering them with questions and sharing her own stories. It was a bit stupid, Purpled thought; he knew so much about her and Micah, if he were a worse person, they would be fucked in the arena.

He quickly dismissed those thoughts.

When peacekeepers filed in to lead them back to the training room, most tables stood and walked together as a group. His own included. 

Purpled lagged behind as they walked towards the Training Hall. To his relief, Tommy slowed to walk with him.

“What was that?” were the first words that spilled from his lips, Purpled’s voice hushed. “Swords? I thought we said…” He let the words hang in the air, frowning. 

“We shouldn’t…” Tommy faltered. His arms folded around himself, fingers curling around his elbows. “They shouldn’t know. About us. About- about what we can do. It’s just us now, right?” 

Purpled’s heart sank.

He exhaled slowly. “Right. Right, that’s-” 

Cold. But safe.

“Smart. That’s smart.” 

The quiet dragged out. Tommy’s gaze focused on the back of Marigold and Micah’s heads. His eyes tightened at the corners, eyebrows knitting together as Marigold laughed, hanging off of the other’s arm.

Purpled’s eyes narrowed as he watched. He blinked it away, voice shifting to something lighter to ease the tension. “Was saying spears a little too out there?”

Tommy jolted. He laughed, shaking his head. “They bought it, didn’t they?” 

Purpled’s lips twitched against a smile.

The silence was much more comfortable, and this time, Purpled let it settle. He followed Tommy through the large doors into the training hall, trailing behind him all the way to the training mats. 

“You’re not going back to the courses?” Tommy asked, sorting through one of the weapon’s racks.  

Purpled picked at his nails. “I don’t want to push it too much.” 

He was still exhausted from before lunch. His chest still ached, head a little light but not enough to call dizzy. His body probably wasn’t ready to be up and moving, yet, and he still needed to save his energy for the Gamemakers. 

Tommy plucked a sword from the rack. Purpled stopped at the edge of the training mat he picked, dropping to sit with his legs crossed. Tommy paid him no mind, taking up a spot in front of one of the training dummies. 

Purpled settled in to watch. If he wasn’t training himself, he could at least learn a bit about his teammate. 

Tommy’s movements were measured. Controlled. The brash energy and blinding smile that he had already been lacking seemed to wipe away completely, leaving cold (ice blue-) eyes and a sharp scowl, eyebrows knit in concentration. His movements were swift. Slices carved deep. His wings remained unharmed, carefully tucked out of the way. Purpled still winced when the blade swung too close. 

He noticed it, now. Tommy was stronger than he looked. Faster, too, even if his movements were a little awkward with his wings. 

And no one else got near him. No one got near Purpled, either. Glances shot their way as Purpled looked around, mostly lingering on him, avoiding the avian altogether. The closest people were peacekeepers, but other tributes seemed to give them a wide berth.

Maybe that was how Marigold got Tommy at their table. She took pity on him because everyone else was too scared to get close. 

Maybe not the careers. They probably thought they were just too good. 

Purpled scowled at the thought, shaking his head to clear it. He focused on Tommy.

He had never watched any of the other games, but this is how he imagined Techno’s victory. The way he fought. Focused. Feared. Carving through anything that got in his path. Even with his wings, Tommy’s movement was graceful once he fell into a rhythm, moving with practiced ease. 

Tommy was skilled. But he still would swing too far and stumble. His wings would still flutter and make him pause.

Tommy was skilled, but his wings were a liability. 

Purpled felt sick.

A target for an arrow. A knife. White feathers painted red. One good hit and Tommy’s balance would be too skewed to so much as walk, Purpled was sure. 

One snag on a branch and he could give away his location. Get his feathers caught, too tangled to run. Stark white too bright against the scenery, too distinct to hide. 

Purpled’s jaw clenched. 

No.

He was with Tommy now. The two were allies. A team. If anything happened Purpled would find a way to fix it. He would find a way. Techno would want someone to find a way. Tommy’s family would. His friends. 

Punz would want that, too. Punz wouldn’t want him to kill needlessly. To abandon someone when there was something he could do. Even in the arena. 

Purpled wanted to get home. He wanted to see his brother. But Tommy had to want the same thing. Surely he wanted the same thing. 

They had both learned things.

Techno taught Tommy how to fight. Punz taught Purpled how to survive.

Purpled would make sure at least one of them made it out. If it couldn’t be him– 

If it couldn’t be Purpled, then Ten would have another winner. He would make sure of it. 

Purpled’s thoughts darkened a little too much to be comfortable. Eventually, after scanning the room and confirming Sapnap wasn’t around to spar, he joined Tommy with a spear. 

They had a lie to hold up, after all. 

The silence between them was comfortable, a theme Purpled was starting to notice, but the energy in the room was off. Purpled’s gaze flitted around as he drew back from a dummy, flickering between faces.

Low voices droned above the clashing of weapons. Hushed conversations and furtive glances being sent towards the door. The careers were all huddled together against the wall instead of practicing, looking antsy. 

Purpled frowned. He glanced at the clock. Around the room again.

Twenty four-

Twenty three tributes. Each with a ten minute time slot to show off their chosen skills. And as far as he had noticed, no one had been called back yet. 

Purpled lowered his spear. It took him a moment to do the math; it was a bit skewed with one less person, but roughly… four hours. He was sure the Gamemakers wanted the assessments over with by the end of training– so they would want to be done by eight. And that would give them time to decide and announce the scores after dinner.

If they wanted to be done by eight, they would have to call people back by four . And it was well past then, nearing five. 

Purpled looked up towards the viewing deck. He had been paying it no mind for the past day or two, but–

Empty. It was empty. No Gamemakers. No peacekeepers. Nothing. 

Purpled’s shoulders tensed. He slid a step back, reaching out blindly, a hand settling on Tommy’s shoulder.

A hand gripped his arm in return, the avian turning to look. He opened his mouth. Paused, eyebrows knitting together.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked, sword dropping to swing down by his side.

“They’re not–” Purpled nodded. “Look.” 

Tommy followed his gaze. “Woah,” he breathed, eyebrows shooting up. “They must have a hell of a lot of confidence leaving us alone like this.” 

“There are still peacekeepers down here,” Purpled said, half-hearted.

“Not a lot of them.” 

Purpled frowned. He twisted, gaze sweeping around the room. 

Tommy was right. There were peacekeepers. Stationed around the sides of the room, spread across the sparring mats or at the different stations to lend a hand. But there weren’t a lot of them. Not as many as Purpled could remember with his spotty memory. Hell, there weren’t even as many as there were earlier that day.

The doors slammed open.

Tommy chirped sharply, flinching into his side. Purpled held on tighter as peacekeepers stormed inside, guns slung off their shoulders and held in front of their chests. Reminiscent to their introduction, the peacekeepers fanned out. They stopped in place. Only three marched forwards.

Dream. Sapnap. And the… one with antlers. 

“What the fuck,” Tommy whispered, wings bristling.

Purpled pulled him closer.

Dream moved, just a step in front of the other two. He clasped his hands. “Sorry for the interruption,” he said. Measured, polite. “I have a brief announcement to make.” 

Blank beady eyes stared out across the room, a porcelain smile unwavering. Unfeeling. No one spoke. No one moved. 

“Due to yesterday’s events, there has been a brief change of plan,” Dream continued, voice ringing out. “On behalf of District Seven, tomorrow, everyone gets a day of rest.” He let the words sit. Then, “Purpled?” 

Purpled went rigid.

“You may use the day to train.”

Chapter Text

You may use the day to train.

Purpled stared. Blank porcelain eyes stared back. 

You may–

Him. Just him. The only person who would’ve pulled that off was Quackity, but that didn’t make sense. Quackity’s whole plan had been to fly under the radar. Were they not meant to announce it? Was Dream meant to make it more subtle? What-

“Hey! What the hell?” 

One voice broke the silence. That was all it took before a chorus of others joined it. Loud, angry. Demanding. Purpled recoiled at the burst of noise, anger painted across the faces of the tributes around the room.

“Now who decided that?” 

“There’s no way that’s fair!”

“The fuck did he do to deserve this?” 

“Quiet!” Sapnap barked. 

The sound ceased. 

Sapnap stepped forwards. A gloved hand rested on his gun. “Everyone get back to training.” No one moved. “Now.” 

A pause. Murmurs slowly filled the room. Purpled folded his arms, fingers curling around his elbows. He couldn’t make out the words but he could hear the anger, the simmering discontentment.

Tommy’s wing brushed against his side, a buffer between him and the rest of the room that he gladly leaned into. 

He should’ve been… thankful, right? If it really was Quackity, then he was doing him a favor. He had a chance to catch up to the competition. To get himself back in the game. The attention on him was unnerving to say the least, but Quackity wouldn’t have done this without good reason.

White feathers bristled against his side. Purpled’s attention swept to Tommy.

“What does he want?” Tommy hissed. 

Purpled followed his gaze. He drew in a sharp breath as he saw Sapnap approaching, shoulders squared. 

Tommy bared his teeth, nearly a snarl, muscles wound tight. Purpled would’ve laughed at the sight if he weren’t still reeling from it all. 

“Hey, asshole! What the hell was that?” Tommy demanded, stepping forwards as Sapnap neared. Purpled pulled him back. Just in case. 

“Get back to training,” Sapnap said dismissively, tone lacking any real bite. His hand ghosted over Purpled’s shoulder as he passed. “Come on, let’s get a match or two in before dinner.”

Tommy twisted to watch him go. His scowl seemed to shallow, eyebrows creasing. He glanced at Purpled, confusion flickering across his face. 

Purpled shot him a small, sheepish smile. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Tommy drew in a breath. 

Purpled scurried off after Sapnap before he could get a word in.

“Three to zero. Wow, you suck at this.” 

Purpled sighed, a long-suffering, exaggerated sound. He threw an arm over his eyes. The mat was thin and hard beneath him, doing little to cool him down through his hoodie.

He moved his arm just enough to glare at the peacekeeper. “Shut up.” 

He was sore. Everything hurt. Sapnap had clearly been going easy on him the first time they sparred, because he definitely didn’t remember it being this awful.

“Can I just tap out here?” Purpled grumbled. He moved his arm, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough to see spots. He dropped them. Blinked up at the ceiling.

Sapnap’s face popped into view. “That a serious request, or are you just being dramatic?”

Purpled’s nose crinkled. “No.”

Sapnap hummed. He held out a hand. Purpled took it, the other hauling him to his feet. He winced as his head pounded, taking a moment to adjust to being upright.

Sapnap eyed him warily. “Right,” he said, shifting a bit closer. “Hey, you aren’t going to drop on me again, are you?” 

Purpled scoffed. “No. I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He clapped his shoulder, flashing a sharp grin. “Come on, then. At least try to get a hit in this time.” 

Purpled shot him a half-hearted glare, watching the peacekeeper stroll back. He had gotten a few hits in, thank you very much– a few good ones. He could still see the red blooming by Sapnap’s collarbone, the redness of his jaw from where he’d landed a particularly nasty hit. He wouldn’t be surprised if by this time tomorrow they were both bruised.

“Ready?”

Purpled’s attention snapped to his eyes. He nodded, rolling his shoulders. 

Sapnap nodded sharply in return, cracking his knuckles for the thousandth time since they’d started. Purpled’s expression twitched at the sound. 

Punz had always used to scold him for that. It was a bad habit of his when he was younger. Something about-

“Go!” 

Sapnap leapt. Purpled pivoted, wind rushing past him as he spun on his heel. Sapnap dug his heel into the ground before he could overshoot too far. He twisted. Purpled moved a second too late as his elbow rammed down, pain flaring along his ribs. 

Purpled danced back. The next hit bounced off of his arm, raised to block. The next his shoulder. Sapnap swung, landed. Purpled hit back. Sapnap hit harder.

He remembered it feeling like a dance, back when the world was foggy and he could barely keep himself on his own two feet. Now, it was a rush. A rush of energy and power and freedom and anxiety. Exhilarating and terrifying all in the same breath. Numbing the pain and the shock of each hit, allowing him to strike back with little hesitation. 

Part of him wondered if it would be the same in the arena. When it was truly life or death. He knew Sapnap wasn’t trying to outright kill him, so surely it had to be a different feeling. 

Sapnap’s fist clipped his jaw. He choked on a yelp, head snapping to the side. He swung blindly.

Purpled realized his mistake a second too late. He moved to block himself again but Sapnap swung for his chest– 

His knuckles bounced off with a clang! Metal dug into his skin. Purpled choked on a gasp, dropping to sit as Sapnap reeled back, winded. 

“Prime– holy fuck–” Sapnap hissed a string of curses, shaking his hand out. “What was that?” 

“Sorry,” Purpled wheezed, a hand drifting up towards his chest. His fingers brushed against the outline of the medallion. “Sorry. Forgot- forgot I had this on.” 

Sapnap huffed, looking down at his knuckles. Purpled winced, though he didn’t see any blood, which was a relief. He didn’t think gold was that strong, anyways. (Though, part of Purpled had to wonder if the medallion was really gold gold, because he couldn’t see Punz giving away anything that expensive anyways, even to him.) 

Purpled swallowed. Shook his head to clear it. He drew in a deep breath, wincing at the ache in his chest. “Is your hand okay?” 

“Yeah, fine,” Sapnap grumbled. “Just a scratch.” A grin split his face. “Break and then we go again?” 

Purpled’s eyebrows shot up at the quick recovery. And Sapnap called him the dramatic one? Clearly he wasn’t hurt all that bad– 

“Yeah,” Purpled said with a huff. “Sure.” 

That was probably Purpled’s cue to take off the medallion. As much as he didn’t want to hurt Sapnap, and also didn’t particularly appreciate the bruise that would most likely be left from the medallion digging into his skin, there was nowhere safe to put it and he didn’t feel like walking back to his room. Sapnap would just have to aim better.

For better or worse, he did. 

He landed nearly every hit. He had been already, but he was hitting more than earlier. Purpled knew his reaction time was starting to slow. He knew that Sapnap knew his reaction time was starting to slow. There was less force behind the peacekeeper’s punches and he slowed his movements to match, lingering longer than he needed to after particularly rough hits as Purpled tried to pull himself together. 

It took Purpled’s knees buckling during one of the matches to finally call it. Sapnap dropped to sit next to him, nudging his shoulder as he caught his breath.

“You know, I’m impressed, kid,” he said. “You’re a hell of a lot better than I thought you’d be. Punz would be proud.” 

Purpled really wasn’t doing that great, as far as he was aware. He was managing to keep up but that was only when Sapnap would slow down to match. Even if he held his own, it wouldn’t last in the arena. Not for long. Not-

Punz.

Purpled’s gaze snapped to Sapnap.

He didn’t think he’d ever talked to Sapnap about Punz. He’d been trying to keep quiet about his brother in general. Everyone saw him at the reaping, sure, but no one should know his name. Not here. Not unless he let it slip, or… something. 

He probably did. He’d probably said something to Quackity or Eret and they said something to him. 

Purpled exhaled. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.” 

Training went by smoothly. Purpled pretended not to notice the eyes boring into him from all sides, a lurking sense of danger washing over him; but no one dared get close. Sapnap was imposing enough with his helmet and visor on, but the smoldering looks he sent were enough to have Purpled avoiding eye contact, and he knew Sapnap wasn’t going to do anything. Not to him, at least. 

Despite his promise to Tommy, he stuck close to Sapnap until the day was wrapping up. He would’ve rejoined the avian if he thought it was safe, but others had already joined him by the weapons racks and he didn’t feel like getting into a serious fight yet. 

When training was finally over, Sapnap walked Purpled back to his floor in silence. Part of it was relieving, having the extra sense of security. Part of it was also terrifying knowing it was just another thing making him stand out in front of the other tributes, having a peacekeeper– a ranked peacekeeper– guarding him.

Oh well. It wasn’t like they could act on their anger. Not with Sapnap right there. 

Sapnap squeezed Purpled’s shoulder. He snapped to attention.

“You going to go in?” Sapnap asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” His eyes widened, attention skipping to the door. “Uh- yeah. Yeah, sorry.” 

Sapnap rolled his eyes, an underlying warmth to it. “Have a good night, Purpled.” 

Purpled huffed. He watched him go. Inhaled, exhaled, turning back to the door. Now that he was back with it, his never-ending thoughts seemed to make a comeback, too– and gods did he have a lot of thoughts for Quackity. A lot of questions. And he really hoped there were some good explanations. 

Purpled reached out, fingers curling around the doorknob. He twisted. The door swung open.

“–just a big fuck you!” 

Purpled went rigid in the doorway.

Pure white fiery eyes skipped to him. Charlie waved.

Quackity paced, shoes clicking sharply against the floor. His wings rustled agitatedly, a feather or two floating to the ground. 

Purpled slowly eased the door shut behind him. 

“You know, because that’s just the type of bullshit he’d pull,” Quackity laughed, only sounding a little manic. “Because why– why did I ever think he’d just leave it alone? Of course, of course–”

Eret cleared their throat. “Purpled.” 

Quackity stopped.

Purpled opened his mouth to speak. Faltered. “Um.” 

Quackity twisted. He seemed frozen for a moment before he jerked forwards, storming over. Purpled braced, shoulders drawing up–

Hands settled on his forearms, squeezing. The avian’s hands tightened like he was going to pull him closer and then stopped.

“Are you okay?” 

Purpled blinked his eyes open. He wasn’t sure when he had closed them. He looked from the avian’s intense gaze to Eret and Charlie. Worried, and– also worried, a look he was pretty sure he’d never seen on Charlie of all people. 

Quackity’s hands tightened.

“Yes,” Purpled said quickly. Then, a little more hesitant, “Are you?” 

“Thank the fucking gods,” Quackity breathed on a harsh exhale, dropping his hands. He staggered back a step, running a hand through his hair. “Good. That– that’s good. I’m glad.” 

“What’s going on?” Purpled asked, eyebrows knitting together. “What– what happened? What’s wrong?”

Quackity’s expression tightened. “They didn’t tell you?” 

About what? Was Punz–

Punz wasn’t there. Why was that his first concern? Punz was fine. He’d hold his own back at home. The Capitol wouldn’t touch him.

“Tell me what?” 

“Tomorrow,” Quackity said, voice tight. Purpled couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear. Maybe both. “The extension.”

“They… did,” Purpled said slowly. “You did that.” 

A thick, heavy silence hung over the room. 

Purpled faltered. “Didn’t you?” 

Quackity’s lips split in a sharp smile. It didn’t look happy. “No,” he said, strained. “No, I absolutely did not. We’re trying to blend you in, not paint a fucking target on your back–”

“We think it was a decision made by the gamemakers,” Eret said, stepping forwards. A hand settled on Quackity’s shoulder. “It’s most likely their form of a peace offering to Seven, for having lost one of you so early.”

" Bullshit,” Quackity growled, wings bristling. “He’s doing it to–”

“Quackity,” Eret interrupted gently. “We don’t know that.” 

Purpled was missing something. The franticness and fury in Quackity’s voice was new, a complete 180 from last night. And Eret… 

He was missing something. He had to be missing something.

“Why is it so bad?” 

He knew why. He thought he did, anyway. If it wasn’t Quackity, then it was someone else trying to draw attention to him. And it was working if the other tributes’ reactions said anything. 

But he needed information. He needed Quackity to tell him something. Maybe even just to get him to focus. 

“There’s– there’s too much,” Quackity said. He shook his head, wings fluttering. “Too much attention on you right now. If the careers weren’t after you before, they sure as hell will be now. And now you’ve got everyone turning on you, and combined with the training score, if that’s not–”

“Quackity,” Eret murmured, nudging his shoulder. “Yes, we are not in… the most ideal situation, at the moment. But surely there’s something we can do?”

“Probably not!” Charlie piped up. Purpled jolted. “His chance of survival is very low with or without this incident! Any damage control will ultimately prove meaningless, most likely before he even reaches the arena!”

Purpled nearly choked.

“Charlie!” 

Eret and Quackity’s voices were in sync, varying levels of horrified and scolding.  

Charlie tilted his head. “I apologize, Quackity and Eret, but everyone knows he was sick! He has no teammate, very little training, and most likely will get a very low training score! The probabilities of making it past the bloodbath-”

“Charlie,” Quackity groaned, sounding more like himself. Purpled couldn’t find it in himself to be relieved, face pale as he stared at Charlie. “Stop scaring the poor kid.”

Charlie tilted his head the other way. “I’m not, Quackity! I am simply stating the facts!” 

His voice was cheerful. Too cheerful. His smile never wavered. Purpled felt sick. 

Quackity exhaled slowly. He ran a hand through his hair. “Ignore him,” he said, turning to face Purpled. Slowly, slowly, he seemed to be collecting himself. “You know what, Eret’s right. We can find a way to work with this.”

Can we? Purpled wanted to ask, but he held his tongue. 

“I’m going to talk to the gamemakers about extending the offer to the others.”

Purpled stared. “What?” 

“Sending you to train alone is only going to piss off the competition, and the districts,” Quackity said. “We’re going to extend the offer so the others can use the day to train, too.” 

“I’m going to get killed,” Purpled said, incredulous. “Quackity– Quackity, they’re going to kill me-”

“No they won’t.” His voice was startlingly confident, sure. “It’s just one day. I’ll make sure Sapnap stays close. Did you work out a deal with Tommy?”

“Kind of?”

“Then you stay with him.” 

“That’s not going to stop them,” Purpled said, arms folding around himself. “You realize that, right? They killed Sora with everyone right there-”

“Sapnap won’t let you get hurt,” Quackity insisted. “I promise. But what you need to do is keep yourself moving. Don’t give them any attention. You need to show that you’re not scared.”

“So you want me to taunt them by ignoring them.”

“No. I want you to prove that you’re strong enough not to be worried.”

Purpled scoffed. “I am worried.” 

“They don’t know that.” 

Purpled bit the inside of his cheek. “So… what. I just- I just try not to die?”

Isn’t that what this whole thing was about? The games? Training? Charlie was right in a way. Anything they did now was only going to prolong the inevitable. One out of twenty three. In what world would it be him? 

“I need to go.” 

Purpled jolted. Quackity shook his wings out, brushing Eret’s hand off of his shoulder.

“I’m going to go talk to Dream,” Quackity said. “I’ll talk to Sam and the other mentors. If you need anything, ask them.” He gestured vaguely towards Eret and Charlie. 

Purpled’s mouth opened and closed, still trying to process. Quackity didn’t give him the chance to, brushing past him, opening the door and slipping out into the hall. 

“I should go with him,” Eret said, offering a polite smile. “Just to make sure he keeps a level head.” 

Purpled swallowed. He dipped his head, shuffling out of the way.

The suite was quiet with Eret and Quackity gone. Purpled spent most of his time in his room until dinner was called, silently settling across the table from Charlie. 

“You seem anxious,” Charlie said, finally breaking the silence. 

Purpled held back a scoff. He had been quietly pushing around his food on his plate for the past fifteen minutes, heel bouncing against the floor. 

He hummed instead.

“You know, Purpled, it could’ve been worse!” Charlie chirped “You could’ve been killed already. Statistically, you should’ve been!” 

Purpled wasn’t sure what statistics Charlie was using. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out, either.

“Great,” he said, deadpan. “So I’m lucky.” 

“Nope! Very unlucky, actually!” 

Purpled pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwing shut. “Do I even want to know?” 

“Do you?” Charlie parroted.

He hummed again. His chest felt heavy, too heavy to bother picking up the conversation again. He didn’t try. 

Thankfully, neither did Charlie. 

Purpled only managed a few more bites, pushing his food around with his fork before dropping it. He stood, pushing his chair in, quietly excusing himself before slipping back into his room. 

Purpled stared up at his ceiling.

It was dark. Too dark to see. He had messed with the settings in the room enough to turn off the lights and frost over the windows, blocking the glaring lights of the city just beyond the walls. 

Too much had happened. Too much was happening.

Losing Sora. Meeting Quackity. Becoming allies with Tommy. The announcement. Whatever mental breakdown Quackity had been having earlier that he honestly didn’t have the energy to pick apart. And Charlie– he couldn’t tell if Charlie was trying to antagonize him or if he really was just that oblivious. 

Purpled’s hand twitched. It drifted towards the weight on his chest, fingers curling around the cool metal of Punz’s medallion.

Punz.

Punz would be proud.

Would he? Would he really? Purpled hadn’t done anything particularly bad, but he wasn’t doing as well as he should’ve been. He had wasted so much time. Made too many people mad. He’d messed up enough that his teammate was dead and his mentor had to be switched entirely. 

He was ruining the medallion, too. It was scratched now, slightly dented from where Sapnap had hit it. One of the edges was chipped from where it had pressed into his skin. Punz had always treated it so carefully, so delicately. He remembered when he lost it and tore the house apart looking for it, back when they had enough furniture and decoration for it to truly be hidden. 

And he just gave it away. Just like that, he gave it to Purpled, knowing he would most likely never get it back. 

Purpled was going to try. Gods, of course he was going to try, but he wasn’t going to win. Seven was by no means the weakest district. He wasn’t the weakest tribute there. But the odds weren’t in his favor. They never were to begin with. 

Punz would be proud.

Purpled’s hand tightened around the medallion.

Gods, I hope so.

Chapter Text

Purpled woke up with an ache in his hand. 

He had never woken up so fast. He nearly fell off the bed in his haste to sit up, shoving blankets aside and fumbling with the table lamp, light flooding the room. 

The medallion thudded against his chest as he released it. He squinted, blinking down his scar.

His scar. A jagged scar that was pale and starting to blend in with his palm. A jagged scar surrounded by a ring of red, the outline of a ‘P’ pressed into his skin. 

Oh. 

Purpled exhaled. His hand shook. He slowly lowered himself back down onto the mattress, throwing an arm over his eyes.

Thank Prime. That Prime that the medicine was still working. He must’ve held onto the medallion the full night; Nothing more. Nothing serious. Just the necklace. With everything as messed up as it was, he didn’t need any more disadvantages. Not today. 

Purpled drew in a slow, steady breath. Flexed his fingers. His knuckles popped and cracked, rigid and sore from how tight he must’ve held it, for– what, seven hours? Eight? Probably longer. 

With another few moments to calm his racing heart, Purpled sat up again. Just to be safe, he added a little bit more of the salve onto his hand. Punz would want him to be safe. Punz would–

Punz would scold him for wasting resources, wouldn’t he? Punz would–

Punz would say not to bother. He wouldn’t be taking the salve into the arena. So maybe it was okay to use it now? So maybe Punz would–

Purpled shook his head. He dropped the container, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

It didn’t matter what Punz would say. He had training. The next day, the interview. And then the games. Two days until it wouldn’t matter.

Two days until Purpled was going to be sent to die. 

Nothing you do now will make a difference in the arena.

The sentiment hung over Purpled like a heavy cloud of dread.

His chest felt tight. The world was distant as he dragged himself through getting dressed, adjusting his uniform in the mirror before slipping out into the main room. His hand drifted towards the medallion, squeezing it. 

He shared half-hearted greetings with Eret and Quackity. They might have tried to talk to him, might have tried to get his attention. It didn’t matter.

Purpled wanted to go home. 

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Punz one last time and give the medallion back and have one last dinner by the fireplace before he had to leave. He wanted to spend one last night in the safety of his hammock. He wanted to have one more conversation, one more time where he’d pester Punz for a dog and inevitably be met with all the reasons why it was stupid to ask for one. All of the reasons why they couldn’t. 

Fuck, he missed it. Punz was home. Punz was safety. He couldn’t reach Punz here. Punz couldn’t reach him.

Out in the arena, Punz could try. 

Purpled didn’t think he wanted him to. He didn’t want to think about Punz standing outside of shops or loitering around restaurants that had TV’s just to watch the games. He didn’t want Punz losing sleep over this. He didn’t want him to worry. What was there to worry about when his fate was already sealed?

He didn’t want Punz wasting money, either. He didn’t want all of his morals and rules to go out the window just because of him. Punz was always strict with how he spent it, but sponsors could come from anyone. 

Sure, Quackity’s job was to secure sponsors and send them in, but he only convinced the people from the Capitol. Family, friends, a district gift… hell, even other districts; A sponsor could come from anyone. 

He hoped he would never get one from Punz.

If he ever got a sponsor from Punz then that would mean something was wrong. That Punz was losing hope. That Punz thought– no, knew– that he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own. 

Or maybe he was trying to save himself the guilt. Knowing Purpled would die and making one last effort so he could say that he tried. 

Or… maybe it would be reassurance. Something to keep Purpled moving forwards. A reminder for what was waiting for him back home. Just a little longer, he could almost hear Punz saying. I’ll be waiting. 

Pain shot through his hand.

Purpled hissed a breath through his teeth, hand jerking away from the medallion–

Again?

He exhaled. He dropped his hand, resisting the urge to reach for the gold again. He knew there wasn’t long before training, and he had still barely touched his breakfast, so finally he settled to eat. 

There was no use thinking about it anymore. Purpled was going to have to stop reaching for the medallion, anyways– he was going to need to hide it in just a few minutes. Just in case. He didn’t need anything else drawing attention to him. He had hidden it as a safety precaution from day one; He couldn’t risk it now of all times. 

With that, Purpled forced himself to settle. It didn’t take long to finish breakfast. He stood, chair clattering as he pushed it in.

“Hey.” 

Purpled’s head snapped up. Three sets of eyes were on him. 

“I talked to Dream,” Quackity said, a dark eye looking him over briefly before flitting back to his face. “The other tributes are going to be there for training, too.” 

Purpled’s eyebrows twitched. With the way he said it, he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe neither. Maybe just a warning. 

“Try your hardest out there,” Quackity said. “Push a bit more during training. Prove to them you’ll put up a fight– a good fight– but don’t show off. Don’t taunt them.” 

Purpled nodded numbly. “Got it,” he said, tone drier than he meant it to be. He swallowed. Tried again. “Got it. Thank you.” 

Quackity dipped his head in a nod. Purpled tore his gaze away, rounding the table. His skin prickled at the feeling of eyes boring into him, opening the door and slipping out into the hall.

He paused for a moment, collecting himself. He inhaled. Exhaled.

Muffled voices filtered through the door. 

“I don’t think Purpled is feeling very well!” 

“No, Charlie, I don’t think he is.” 

The training room doors swung shut with a heavy thud.

“Purpled!”

Purpled flinched, reeling back. His arms raised. Bracing for a hit, an attack–

Instead, blue eyes blinked down at him. Tommy’s expression twisted. “Chill, man,” he said, tugging him to stand upright. 

Purpled scowled. “Did you really have to jump me?” 

“Yes, actually.” Tommy blinked. “Well– no. But I think you would rather it be me than someone else.” 

That… was true. And he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel at least a little safer, knowing Tommy was waiting for him. 

Purpled looked him up and down. He squinted, before pulling his attention away, scanning the room. It looked like nearly everyone had shown up. He assumed everyone would, but it didn’t stop the disappointment and overwhelming dread from surfacing all over again. His focus skipped between faces, looking from Denver and the kids from Nine, to the careers, to–

Gold eyes lit up. Purpled tensed as Marigold met his gaze, sliding a step forwards. She didn’t make it far before Micah grabbed her awm, ushering her the other direction.

Purpled’s nose crinkled. 

Right. He was dangerous now. A target. He went against Micah and Marigold’s whole playing style. Distance weapons and skills that let them run. Micah might be strong, Marigold might be smart, but they weren’t fighters. They didn’t need him drawing extra attention to them.

Even if they were supposed enemies in the arena, he didn’t want them to get hurt. They seemed nice. Kind.

Tommy grabbed his wrist. Purpled’s skin prickled, snapping to attention as the avian dragged him forwards. He steered him across the room, away from the training mats where the careers were huddled and instead for the stations. There wasn’t a point in arguing, not with the way the careers were whispering. Staring.

Purpled hastily looked away. His hand drifted towards the medallion resting over his uniform, squeezing the cool metal. The ridges dug into his palm, grounding. 

Despite his best efforts, it was hard to focus. Between the eyes on his back and the flood of information as they glanced through the stations– none of which made sense, it was so all over the place– Purpled was too overwhelmed to process it. 

If Tommy noticed, he didn’t say a word. He was surprisingly quiet, only directing them towards different stations and looking through himself, his wing subtly raising to shield Purpled’s back. A shield. A barrier between him and the rest of the room.

It wasn’t helping. Purpled could still feel the attention on him, and the fact that Tommy was trying to make him feel safer was going to draw attention to him , too. The avian didn’t deserve to get hurt. Not because of him.  

“We should go to the rock wall,” Purpled blurted. 

Tommy startled, hand dropping away from the screen. He turned, meeting his eyes. Purpled flinched. He dropped his gaze.

Purpled wasn’t sure why that was the first place to come to mind. Maybe because it was above ground. A place to see the whole room. A place where no one could reach him without warning. 

Tommy scoffed. “I can fly, dumbass.” 

Purpled scowled, brushing it off. “What if something happens to your wings? You still need upper body strength for other things.” 

“I’m an avian, Purpled. I don’t get to be strong.” 

“What?” 

“Hollow bones or some shit like that,” Tommy said. “Techno always used to warn me not to push too hard or something could snap. Like- like literally my bones. Do you want to be responsible for that? Huh?” 

Purpled squinted. “Seriously?”

“Seriously!” 

Purpled hummed. His gaze dragged up to the hanging platform, the net and rock wall leading up to it on different sides. His hand drifted to adjust the chain of the medallion, considering.

“Can you do it just one time?” Purpled asked. “If it’s too much, you can fly the rest of the way.” 

Tommy groaned. “Fine.” 

Despite the initial agreement, it took a while to get Tommy to actually start climbing. The complaints were endless, and Purpled tuned them out as he easily scaled the rock wall, Tommy hissing and spitting curses beneath him.  

Thankfully, though, they both made it onto the platform with little issues. They didn’t linger long, Tommy more than happy to throw himself over and glide to the ground. Purpled merely rolled his eyes, taking his time climbing down. 

He barely had time to get his footing before Tommy was declaring it was “his turn” again to choose where they went, dragging him over to the weapons racks.

Purpled swiped two axes off of the rack as he passed. He hesitated when Tommy didn’t follow, glancing back as the avian stared at the rack, considering.

Tommy’s wings rustled. His gaze flitted from the blade of a sword to the line of throwing knives. 

Purpled huffed, moving to find two targets at the very end. There were a few other tributes at the opposite end of the row, but the careers seemed to have moved on. Tommy could spend his time deciding whether or not to keep up their little ruse, but Purpled didn’t think it really mattered. They weren’t staying with Marigold’s group anyways.

A sigh. Purpled rocked on his heels, dropping his gaze. The mat shifted under him. His axes swung at his sides, a rhythmic back-and-forth. An idle movement. Waiting. C’mon, Tommy, C’mon–

“Hey.”

An unfamiliar voice rang in his ears. Purpled’s breath hitched, hands tightening around his axes. He twisted.

Pure red eyes glinted in the fluorescent lights, black hair framing a pale face. Purpled looked from the ‘1’ knitted onto his uniform. Looked over his shoulder. 

Tommy was still by the weapons racks. Cowering against it, wings tucked close to his back. Two, three– five figures loomed over him. The careers. Strong, tall. Powerful. Hybrids of different kinds. They weren’t brandishing weapons, though– Tommy was. Tommy could fly. If something happened, maybe he had a chance.

Maybe. Maybe. But he was standing so close to where Sora had– 

Fuck.

“Well, isn’t that rude? Ignoring someone when they’re speaking to you? Did anyone ever teach you any manners?”

Purpled bristled, gaze snapping to the career in front of him. The boy from One. He was tall, slender. Looming over Purpled, who was by no means short for his age. 

He seemed… Purpled recognized him from the reaping. He recognized everyone from the reaping, but–

Spider.

That sounded right. 

Spider tilted his head. Purpled flinched as they locked eyes. His skin prickled. He wanted to look away, desperately wanted to look away, the eye contact was suffocating, but he couldn’t. He was stuck. Paralyzed.

“Now what is this?” 

Spider’s voice was smooth, taunting. A pale hand reached out. Reached for–