Just watched the Hunger Games for the first time (don’t come after me, I read the books—) and now my two brain cells have some up with a way to make this a Stranger Things crossover that I’ll never write.
Eddie Munson is from District 12, living with his Uncle Wayne in a shitty little house like everyone else. Eddie wasn’t built for working in the coal mines, but he earns his keep as an entertainer, taking care of the local children whenever their parents are busy. He could turn anything into a story, and he’s a fantastic musician, if he does say so himself.
When the drawing for the 74th Hunger Games is announced, Eddie is 18, and in his last year of having a chance to be chosen. He didn’t put in as many slips as he used to, since he’s been able to pull his own weight much more than when he was a kid. But, against all odds, his name gets picked in the reaping. Well, shit.
It hurts yeah, but he had a feeling that his luck had to turn at some point. He hates the idea of leaving Wayne behind, but at least he knows his uncle will be alright. Then the other tributes name is drawn. A twelve year old boy named Dustin Henderson. Eddie knew Dustin. He would always come to listen to Eddie’s stories or performances, and Eddie had grown quite fond of the kid, even thinking of him as a little brother. And now, he was going to die. They both were. And there was nothing Eddie could do about it.
Steve Harrington is from the Capital, living in a giant empty house usually by himself, since his parents never bother to check in on him. He’s never particularly liked the Hunger Games; too much death and suffering. He can’t help but feel bad for the people in the Districts that lose two of their children every year. He’s never had siblings, but he could imagine what it felt like to lose one.
Steve watched the Reaping with the rest of the Capital like always. He hated it, of course, but his parents always insisted he watch, and he didn’t exactly have a say in the matter. He did make sure to get a good look at each of the tributes so he’d remember their faces. He always tried to remember them, since no one else seemed to, and it felt like it was the least he could do. After the games he planned to commission an artist to make drawing of each of them, like he did every year. The tributes went by in a blur, until at last, it got to District 12. The first tribute was a boy about his age with long curly hair and the brownest eyes Steve had ever seen. He made Steve’s heart flutter a bit, but he brushed it off. Tributes from District 12 never came back alive. Then, the second name was drawn; a little boy, barely twelve, petrified with fear. Steve’s heart sank. This wasn’t fair. The poor kid looked terrified, like he knew he didn’t stand a chance in the games. Steve felt sick to his stomach, as he rushed out of the crowded room, desperate to get away from the poor kids face.
He was going to die. Steve knew that. He was too young to have to go through the games, he’d be slaughtered in an instant. But what could he do? He wasn’t from the Districts. He couldn’t just volunteer to take the kids place.
Or could he? He had more say in the games then anyone from the Districts. Hell, they’ed probably see it as an entertaining twist. He had no one and nothing to lose, after all. Maybe, just maybe, he could save that kid.
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