This story is written for any thg/aph fans out there. I know you're there. And if there's nobody then sssh, this is my guilty pleasure, okay?

Just some stuff to clear up before we begin: unlike most other crossovers of this category, I won't be bringing too many nations into this story. It'll focus primarily on America and Canada, their relationship (because I am a sucker for the brothers okay) and maaaaaaybe England or France but we'll see. Also, whatever happened in the past will be revealed in the story so don't worry about it.

This story was inspired by RinaCath's own thg/aph crossover called Panem's Games, which I'd read almost two years ago and still induces nightmares sometimes. Kudos to you, dude.

No beta, though I am open to anyone who wants to beta for me. Any mistakes are mine. Sorry.

Chapter 1

"Don't leave me now!" He grabbed England's hand as they both lay on the ground, tears in his eyes. Around them, the sound of guns firing and explosions could be heard. "Have you seen Alfred? Have you?" The repeated words pounded in his head. Alfred, America, his brother...

England didn't reply, green eyes staring blankly back at him. And that was when he noticed the thin trail of blood making its way down England's pale face, a startling dash of colour against white.

A laugh punctuated the air. Canada whirled around, fists bunched up and ready to take on whatever was coming for him. But instead, a voice whispered directly into his ear, chills making its way up his body.

"America has fallen. The whole world has fallen. You're next, Canada."

"NO!"

Canada shot up in his bed, the last remnants of his scream still lingering in the air.

It was a dream, just another stupid dream that always came on the day the reaping took place. Blindly, Canada tumbled out of bed and tripped on a mat as he made his way to the tiny kitchen, the scent of warm soup quickly chasing away the nightmare from his mind.

America was stirring the pot of soup; he was already in his miner's outfit, dirty soil marring the top of the stove as he spooned the soup into two tiny metal bowls. Nodding at his brother as he placed the bowls on the wooden table and grabbed a seat for himself, America tore a measly piece off an old loaf of bread and dipped it into the soup. "Morning, Matt. And Happy Reaping Day to you! May the odds be ever in your favour!" An undercurrent of bitterness could clearly be heard, belying centuries of anger and frustration. When his brother didn't reply, America looked up. "You had that dream again, didn't you?"

"Does it even matter?" Canada said dully as he dipped his spoon into the bowl.

America's gaze softened. "You're my brother. Of course it does."

Nothing was said in the next few minutes as the two brothers ate their breakfast. The only sounds to be heard was the clanking of spoons against metal as they drank and ate, lapping up every single scrap of food.

America was the first to finish. Dropping his bowl into the sink, he took off out of the front door and waved one last time at Canada, who halfheartedly waved back at his brother with his spoon.

"I'll see if I can get another loaf of bread at the bakery when I get back before the Reaping!" America yelled as he hurried down the lane. It might have been Reaping day, but miners like America were still required to work half a day. Nobody wanted to waste any time around here in District 12.

With his brother gone, Canada started gathering up his own materials. With a glance at the clock and mentally counting down the time before the Reaping started, he took the basket of herbs he usually kept by the cold fireplace and rearranged them. Soon enough, there was a small knock on the door and Canada rose, opening the door to reveal a young girl with matted dark hair, her eyes staring pleadingly up at him.

"Who's sick this time, Anya?" Canada said kindly as he motioned for the girl to step inside the house, his voice still hoarse from shouting in his sleep.

"My brother, he's coughing and coughing, he doesn't stop." The girl was desperate. "Please, Mr Williams, can you help us, we need to get him up before the Reaping starts-"

Without hesitation, Canada grabbed the basket and followed the girl out of the door. The sun was just breaking over the horizon and despite the dust floating around in the air, Canada inhaled deeply. The inhabitants of District 12 were just waking up, the sound of people working and chatting in the air. As he walked, Canada was struck by how quiet the district had become in the past week. Every face he met was blank, expressionless. It was as if they were waiting for a bell to chime, signalling their imminent death.

It is Reaping Day, after all. Canada thought bitterly to himself as he adjusted the basket on his wrist and followed the girl.

Another year of the games. Another year of Panem's cruel games and tricks, manipulating his own citizens against each other and sowing fear in them. Another year of watching mere children fight to death on live broadcasts, killing each other brutally while the citizens in the Capitol cheered and cheered.

How could anyone be so cruel? How?

"Matthew!" Canada turned around as he saw Mr. Andrews, his supplier of herbs. "What're you doing? It's Reaping day, you shouldn't be out on your rounds!"

Canada waved back. "A healer never really rests, sir!" Even if it was Reaping Day. All the more to do his duty, to make up for his failures in the past by helping Panem's citizens one at the time.

"Where's your brother?"

Canada stiffened. "He's working the morning shift at the mines."

Mr. Andrews sniffled. "On Reaping Day? Isn't it illegal?"

Canada shrugged. He didn't care whether if it was illegal or not. It brought in the money for them. Hell, if it was illegal, good! Silent rebellion was better than willingly submitting to the rules.

The girl was waiting for him at the door of her tiny shack. "Mr. Williams, please..."

"I'm coming, don't worry," said Canada kindly as he made his way over to the house. Around him, people were starting to get ready for the reaping. The black market was closing early, the illegal goods carted away before the Capitol guards could see them and the people were hiding away all their food and anything precious to them. Nobody was taking any risks.

In a world like this, taking risks only resulted in suffering and ultimately, death.

America kicked the front door open with his boot. In his mind, he could just visualise his brother frowning at him, hands on his hip and saying, "America, we only have one door, please be more prudent with it."

Dropping his helmet on the table as he went, America entered the tiny bathroom and quickly rinsed his face and hands, staring into the cracked mirror that hung above the sink. His hair was getting long, the wavy ends touching his shoulders. Blue eyes glittered under his glasses which had been taped together with duct tape so many times he'd forgotten how it felt to wear glasses that weren't broken. Absentmindedly, he adjusted them and traced the small scar that ran down his right eye, a souvenir he'd acquired after the last fight with Panem.

"God bless America," he chuckled, a hollow sound that echoed. "Land of the free." The last word was whispered, a bitter reminder of his failure to protect his own people.

Quickly, America changed out of his dirty outfit. Canada had laid out a clean pair of clothes out for him on their bed before he'd went out and America changed into those, inhaling the fresh scent on the shirt.

America was just combing back his rebellious hair when Canada entered the bedroom. "Hey Matt, what's up? You look like someone just ran over your pet beaver."

Canada punched America lightly in the shoulder. "Shut up, Al. Go and wait outside, I need to change."

America rolled his eyes. "What are you, a girl?" One glare by Canada had his hands in the air. "Alright, geez! I'll wait outside!"

After what felt like an eternity as America tapped his feet impatiently on the floor, Canada emerged from the bedroom, his blonde hair sleeked back and all the dust scrubbed clean from his pale face. His clothes were identical to America's, prompting a gasp of mock outrage from America. "Did you buy these from a discount sale or something?"

"We're twins." was the response from Canada as he purposefully stepped on America's shoes, eliciting a squeak of pain from his brother in return. "Nothing wrong with wearing the same clothes, eh?"

The entire town was solemn as the brothers made their way to the square. People were huddled against each other and at the front, the eligible competitors of the Hunger Games were fenced in like sheep going to the slaughterhouse, their expressions ranging from fear to apathy.

America thanked his lucky stars that he and Canada's names were never entered into the Games as they were deemed too old to be eligible. But surely there were people in the district who noticed that the brothers never aged, forever staying young and youthful. Canada and America had argued on the issue countless times, debating whether to move to another district when the time was right. But district twelve was like home to them now after all these years, and to move away from all their friends and neighbours was something America had never even considered.

The representative for district twelve, Effie Trinket was already on stage as America and Canada jostled their way through the crowd. Despite the atmosphere, there were mutters among the older residents of the district. This year was a Quarter Quell, the third one ever to be held and bets were going around on the twist to the Games this year. Inwardly, America's heart pounded like a drum. What if everyone's names were in the glass bowl at the moment? His name, and more importantly, Canada's name?

"Good morning, everyone and Happy Reaping Day to you all!" Effie Trinket trilled in her annoying high-pitched voice, her hair dyed bright yellow and orange for the occasion. "May the odds be ever in your favour!" She paused. "Now, everyone knows what this year is... yes! It's a Quarter Quell!" She waited for a cheer from the crowd, but none came so she merely continued with her rehearsed speech. "Let us now look to the screen and view the President's address to Panem in celebration of this occasion!"

America's mouth twisted into an ugly frown as President Snow came onto the screen. Besides him, Canada seethed silently. President Snow was in his usual fine attire as he looked into the cameras and spoke, addressing the entire nation.

"Happy Reading Day to you, Panem!" President Snow rumbled. "As everyone knows, this year's games will be a Quarter Quell. I have here," he gestured to a glass bowl in front of him on his mahogany table, pieces of paper already placed inside it. "the twist to this year's Quarter Quell. What will it be? Even I have no idea. These twists for a Quarter Quell were written by those who ruled before me-"

"You mean Panem himself wrote those damn things," Canada whispered. America stepped on his foot, silencing him as a Capitol guard stared suspiciously at them.

President Snow dug into the glass bowl. All over Panem, breathes were held and nothing could be heard as the president finally fished out a small piece of paper from the bottom of the bowl before unfurling it.

"For this Quartell Quell, every single citizen of Panem under the age of thirty is eligible to enter the Games!"