Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The reaping. The same thing every few years, a new kid getting picked from each district.

Murphy often prayed he'd been sent to the arena, just to escape — he knew nobody from district 12 ever won, (well apart from the rare few times someone shockingly did, only to to be forgotten, like everyone is district 12) and that didn't scare him.

He didn't have anyone to care about him anyway, both parents dead, an orphan. He had no friends, nothing.

Unfortunately, Murphy only had two more chances to be reaped (he had turned 16 only a month ago) yet, even with those chances he knew he'd never be picked — he never got what he wanted. Instead, he'd be stuck in this shitty district for the rest of his life, with nothing to do. He'd always expected his life to turn out shitty. It always had been.

There, on that cold morning, he stood in the pit of people — boys looking scared, fearful for the fate that awaited them. All he felt was numbness, knowing he wouldn't get picked — again. Forced to a life of nothingness.

Screech. The woman tapped on the microphone.

"Hello! Welcome to the reaping for the 74th annual hunger games!" The woman glanced around at all the faces — grimy, pathetic and downright ugly. She detested coming to this district sometimes, the grey colours clashing with her colourful patterns.

"Ah, let's begin shall we?" If she expected a response, she didn't get one. All eyes just stared up, scared gleams in their eyes.

Silence filled the district, only occasionally broken by heavy breaths, or sobs.

"Hm. First, the boys." Her pristine hand circled the ornate fish bowl, filled with the folded up pieces of paper with people's names on. Murphy tuned out, he was getting bored of these games, after having had his chance ripped from his the last few years.

"John Murphy."

His blood ran cold. His name had been picked.

He'd been wanting this for years, yet now in the moment, all he felt was .. fear, apprehension. Did he truly want to send himself off to death?

Well. It didn't really matter, he didn't have a choice, nobody would volunteer for him, and it's not like he had anyone waiting for him to come back up alive.

Slowly, he trudged up to the stage, he could feel eyes on him, burning into the back of his head — boring into his soul. He swore he could hear some people, parents and children alike, letting out a sigh of relief. Relief it wasn't them (or their child), or maybe relieved that John Murphy would finally be rid of.

Nobody in the district liked him. And, he knew it. Common knowledge you could say.

His feet aimlessly pulled him up the stairs to the stage. His heart thudding in his chest. He had wanted this. He had. He deserved to be reaped.

He .. didn't he?

He did nothing with his life, so why should he be allowed to keep it? It was meaningless anyway.

He zoned out, as the woman read out the girls name.

"Octavia Blake." Gasps rung out the district. Octavia was a well known member of the district — loved by everyone, especially her older brother Bellamy Blake.

"I volunteer." Speak of the devil.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Hold on, Bellamy had been on the cusp of survival, by next week he'd have been out of the reaping — yet here he was volunteering, giving up his life.

"Oh! We have a volunteer! How exciting."

Nobody else agreed. Everyone loved Bellamy — an uproar occurring for his act of bravery. Nobody had cared when Murphy was picked.

"Bell! NO. You can't do this!" Weeping, Octavia was dragged back into the crowd by who Murphy assumed to be her mother. He didn't really care to be honest.

Carefully, he observed as the older boy approached the stage, no fear to be shown — only confidence emitting from his stance. He was prepared. Of course he was.

Their eyes locked, only for a moment, but it felt like a year long conversation to Murphy. He could see the fear behind Bellamy's eyes, the older boy questioning exactly what he'd just done — the idea that he could possibly die, leaving his sister alone.

However, he could also see the determination in his eyes. Bellamy knew he'd have to kill Murphy, snd Murphy knew the boy would succeed. He had someone to get home to after all, Murphy didn't.

"Guess you're gonna have to kill me then, huh?" He gave Bellamy a sharp grin, not wanting to display the pit growing in his stomach at the idea of dying in an arena, nobody to care for him as he bled out to death..

The blank expression turned slightly, Bellamy looking almost.. regretful. Probably because he was scared he was going to die.

"Yeah. Guess so.."

There was a pause.

"You .. you don't think you'd kill me, huh?"

Murphy blinked slowly, his thoughts running in circles, he knew he could kill Bellamy, he wasn't afraid to either, yet as soon as the thought came into his head, he couldn't help but fight it off. He.. didn't want to kill the other boy. He'd rather sacrifice his life into the other's hands.

"I could try." He smirked.

Silence stretched between the pair, guards taking them to the train. Murphy already knew he was done for.

Those glances..

He had butterflies in his stomach.

No.

No.

He was in love, with Bellamy Blake.

He couldn't be, Bellamy was an arrogant asshole — underserving of Murphy's love, not that he'd want it anyway, nobody would.

Yet, even though Murphy could feel the rage and disgust burning through his veins, he couldn't help ruminating over the idea of laying his life out for Bellamy. He.. he wouldn't mind dying if Bellamy was the one to do the job.

Maybe.. maybe he'd be careful about it.

John could only hope.

He knew, deep down, that Bellamy would do whatever it took to make it back to his sister — the other boy didn't care who he took down with him, even if it be his own district partner.

So, Murphy sat down on the train, prepared for the fate awaiting him.

Chapter Text

The train was silent, save for the screeching of the wheels as it barrelled down the tracks, at an incomprehensible speed.

The irritating noises that echoed from the large machine grated on Murphy's nerves — he'd never been in a train before (of course he hadn't he was from one of the most desolate districts) so wasn't used to the loud sounds it produced.

Alas, he sat in his seat, reflecting on the moments prior — where they'd been visited by their families. Well Bellamy had been.

Octavia had been so angry, she'd hit him — he deserved it of course, maybe a bruise would make him look less ugly. Of course, their mother had been their too, but she was less aggressive, simply bidding her son a farewell, wishing for him to win the treacherous games ahead of him.

To no surprise, Murphy had just sat in silence. He'd been visited by the town baker, the man seemly having a warm heart — no matter how irritating Murphy was — I mean, Murphy had worked under him for a short while, it was the only way he could get food for himself.

"I hope you'll win. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if the Blake boy does instead, got a good head on those shoulders."

Of course, even the only person to visit him had no hope — why would he after all? It's not like he truly liked John anyway, he was probably just coming as he felt a little bad that the young man had no one to turn to.

"Yeah."

Silence enveloped the room, spreading like a disease. But, much like everything else bad in his life, john was used to this. The lack of response, people not knowing what to do with him: the sad orphan boy who only displayed hatred for those around him.

"Murph?"

He was suddenly brought back to the presence by an irritating voice, Bellamy. What right did the other boy have calling him that nickname? That nickname had been reserved for his father, and his father only.

"What?" His voice came out as a snap, glaring at the older boy beside him, he wasn't going to bother being kind if he knew the other boy was going to kill him in a few days.

"Uhm. Sorry, you just looked.. distracted. You okay?"

"Im fine." It came out as a scoff, why did the other boy even care. Stupid idiot Bellamy.

Their conversation — which was barley even one to begin with — was interrupted as the train car door opened, and in stepped their mentor.

Kane. Marcus Kane.

He was well known in district 12 as someone who kept to himself, someone who didn’t seem to want to be a mentor, let alone a Victor of the torturous games.

The man simply sat down, paying the pair no mind, and poured himself a drink.

Murphy stared at him, was he going to speak or what? He wouldn’t be surprised if Kane didn’t even make eye contact with either of them, he was simply like that. A man of few words — a drunk that nobody cared for.

But really, had anyone ever cared for him?

He didn’t have any family left, everyone in the district heard the story of how everyone Kane had loved had been killed at the hands of the president — dictator — that ran the murder games they were stepping in to.

Yet, Murphy didn’t care. Kane meant nothing to him, if he wasn’t willing to help, then he wouldn’t try to speak to him. He could survive on his own, he had done so for several years now.

“So. Are you going to explain to us what we should expect?”

Of course Bellamy would be the one asking questions, he didn’t know when to stop himself, thinking only of how he can progress — probably wanting ideas on how he could betray and kill Murphy.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Murphy rolled his eyes, “impatient much are we Blake?”

Bellamy shot him an annoyed look, “I simply want help from our mentor, that’s his job isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But you can wait, can’t you?”

Bellamy simply rolled his eyes at Murphy, he was used to the younger boy being annoying, he’d heard so from his mother many times — of how whenever she’d stepped into the bakery the ‘young orphan boy’ had been rather rude.

“Fine.” Bellamy stood up and left the cart, as expected from him — whenever things don’t go his way he always seems to storm off in anger, like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

God, Murphy was going to have to deal with this for days, he kind of hoped this stupid train would crash so he didn’t have to even look at Bellamy anymore.