Once the interviews ended, the two District 1 tributes made their way to the main room to eat dinner, sleep, and say their goodbyes. Tomorrow, the two would be whisked away separately by their stylists to the arena, where they would wait until the Games officially started.

Dinner was silent, and when it was time to say goodbye, Crippet stood awkwardly as Porkeyes swallowed each young person in a bear hug, tears dribbling down his fat cheeks. “Good luck you two…” He sniffled before leaving.

Crippet cleared her throat and looked at both. “Remember, I’ll be backstage organizing your sponsors so while you’re in the arena, always think of communicating to me if you need anything and I’ll do my best to send it inside. The moment that cannon sounds , you get out of there Elizabeth, and look for water, and a place to hide. Anderso… Blaine, since you’re one hell of a runner, you can go look for any weapons on the outskirts if it looks safe, but if it’s a bloodbath you get your ass out. Understood? Then you go find some water and someplace safe. We don’t know what is going to be in that arena, so it’s important you find someplace to settle down and make a plan. Then you use your gut and go from there. Remember, never go head first into anything, and assess every aspect of a situation once you’re in it. And, no mercy. None at all. You will not receive any so do not feel guilty for anything you do in there. Just stay alive. Nothing is more important. Stay alive. Am I clear?”

Both tributes nodded.

“It has been a pleasure working with you. I wish you the best of luck. I wish I could help you, you poor creatures.”

“You’ve helped a lot Ms. Crippet. Thank you.” Blaine said slowly.

“Just doing my job.” Crippet replied with a smile, before walking out. Blaine could have sworn he saw her wipe away a tear.

“Well then Blaine.” Lizzie said, turning to look at the boy beside her.

“Well then Lizzie.” He said before Lizzie flung herself in his arms. Blinking his eyes quietly, he choked out, “I’m so sorry.”

“Just make sure you get back to District 1. And whatever happens in that arena, never come back for me.” Lizzie whispered quietly with a sob.

York coughed lightly from behind them and Blaine released the petite girl. “Go get some sleep. You’re going to need it. Blaine, I’ll see you tomorrow. Lizzie, best of luck.”
With a final nod to Lizzie, Blaine disappeared into his quarters, washing out the gel from his hair and slipping on pajamas before lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, afraid of what he would see if he fell asleep.

One, two , three hours passed before Blaine gave up, and rising, he slipped out of this room quietly and headed to the small living room, sitting down at the piano, stroking his hand over the keys. He could hear the pitter patter of raindrops against the window and thought if it was raining where Kurt was.

He started to play, prepared to sing what could be his last song. Opening his mouth, Blaine began to sing, bottled tears finally slipping over his cheeks.

Skies are crying
I am watching
Catching teardrops in my hands
Only silence as it's ending, like I never had a chance
Do they have to, make me feel like there is nothing left of me?


They can take everything I have
They can break everything I am
Like I'm made of glass
Like I'm made of paper
Go on and try to tear me down
I will be rising from the ground
Like a skyscraper
Like a skyscraper

He took in a breath, wiping his tears, straightening up in his seat, his voice taking on a determined edge. Anger at what they had done, what they were going to make him do filling him and he poured it out into the song, making it raw and stinging.

As the smoke cleared
I awakened, and untangled you from me
Would it make them, feel better to watch me while I bleed?
All my windows, still are broken
But I’m standing on my feet

They can take everything I have
They can break everything I am
Like I’m made of glass
Like I’m made of paper
Go on and try to tear me down
I will be rising from the ground
Like a skyscraper
Like a skyscraper

Go run, run, run
I’m gonna stay right here
Watch them disappear, yeah
Go run, run, run
Yeah it’s a long way down
But I am closer to the clouds up here

They can take everything I have
They can break everything I am
Like I’m made of glass
Like I’m made of paper, Ohhh woaah
Go on and try to tear me down
I will be rising from the ground

Like a skyscraper
Like a skyscraper…

He finished the song, and sat at the piano, thinking of home until he fell asleep on the couch, imagining the soft pillows he held against his chest were Kurt, and he clung to them as he sank into the dark.

-------------------------------------------------

A warm hand shook him awake, and Blaine opened his eyes and gazed at York, who looked down at him sadly.

“Up you go bud.” He said gently.

Blaine rose and followed his mentor numbly to the helipad at the top of the Training Centre, where he entered the awaiting hovercraft. There, an attendant gave him a shot which inserted a tracking device underneath his skin.
The windows were blacked out, so Blaine sat in silence with his stylist, twisting his hand in his lap, heart beating ever faster. As the hovercraft touched down, Blaine saw his hands were shaking and gripped them tightly to still them.

The stylist and the tribute were lead down narrow hallways until they reached Blaine’s launch room. He paused a little before he entered, reading the plaque outside the door :Blaine Anderson, District 1. He brushed his hand over it lightly as reality crashed into him. In the coming years, Capitol tourists would come visit this spot. He wondered what they would remember about him.

York softly pushed him inside and unwrapped the package that held the clothes for the games. It was the same for everyone, and York had never seen them, but he helped Blaine get dressed. Sturdy black pants, tight white sleeveless underarmor, a sturdy black t-shirt, soft but firm, and a black insulated jacket, and tall knee high boots with flexible soles. Everything fit his body like a well trimmed glove, accentuating the muscles in his arms and shoulders. The black flattered him, the tan of his skin and dark curls and rosy lips brought out. He was definetly going to give the crowd something to cheer about.

“Expect some wet cold nights,” York said quietly, “Every article of clothing is made to reflect body heat, and is water proof. Wait, you don’t want to forget these.” He added, handing the boy some black gloves made of similar material.

Blaine slipped them on, stretching his fingers. They were comfortable, but Blaine looked at them confused. There was a flexible rubber material on the palm and fingers.

York studied them closely before intaking a sharp breath. Motioning to Blaine to lift his foot up, He studied the sole before straightening out, nodding slowly and saying in a strained voice, “The material on the gloves and boots is made to help grip onto rock.”

Blaine looked up at his stylist quickely, eyes wide, “You don’t think…”

“I don’t know Blaine.” York sighed, “Now move around. Everything comfortable?”

Blaine nodded and sat down. He was offered food, but didn’t think his stomach could handle it so just accepted water, drinking it down slowly, sipping it as time went by. The glass sloshed in his grip as his hand shook.

An announcement rang out. It was time. Blaine stepped into a small cylinder, a tube that he would lift him up into the arena.

“Now I have a bowtie I’m sure you’ll love waiting for your victory interview. I’ll see you when this is over.” York smiled.

Blaine nodded back whispering a quiet thank you as the door slid closed, slipping him into darkness. The tube began to move slowly upward, his heart racing.

“Courage Blaine.” He said to himself as he heard the announcements from outside, getting louder and louder as the tube approached its destination.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.