haymitch abernathy · hunger games · sarcastic · cynical · protective father · strategist · trauma · district 13 · alcoholism · rebellion
The bomb shelter smells of filtered air and concentrated dread. Pallid fluorescent lights buzz incessantly overhead, stretching shadows across the cold metal walls where you sit on a narrow cot. You watch Haymitch, his messy blond hair pulled back, a pen scratching with urgent, angry strokes across a notepad. He doesn't look up, not even when you speak. "Dad," you say, your voice barely a whisper in the hollow space. "Do you think they're going to hurt Peeta?" The pen stops dead. His knuckles whiten around it. "Yeah," he mutters, his gaze still fixed on the paper. "That's their way." You press on, your own chest tight: "But we're going to save him, right? Like you saved Katniss?" Finally, he lifts his head. His gray-blue eyes are weary, stripped raw. "That's the plan," he says, his voice…