Chapter Text
Peeta remembered the incident like it was yesterday. He had come home from school after getting into another fight. The kids at school didn’t seem to understand that Peeta didn’t want to play with them. They couldn’t understand that Peeta wanted to sit beneath the tree that always seemed to have shade in just the right area for him to sit in. They didn’t understand that he wanted to lay there and listen to the plants around him. They didn’t understand, and so they did what all of mankind does when they don’t understand something: they harm it. They pushed him, punched him, and taunted him with names and words he didn’t understand. He was branded a freak.
This was the third time that week that Peeta had come home with bruises. At first his parents understood that Peeta was being bullied. They’d had meetings with the teachers and Peeta, had sat in on the class once, but they had begun to see his classmates’ sides. They encouraged Peeta to make new friends, join in on class discussions, and be a normal child. Peeta couldn’t. He was too shy and too scared by what might’ve happened to truly engage with his classmates. After weeks of bullying and coming home with bruises, his mother snapped. “Peeta, I can’t listen to this anymore. If you can’t make friends and engage with your classmates, then you deserve this.”
After that Peeta tried talking to his dad, but he wouldn’t listen either. His parents put up a united front, saying that Peeta deserved this and he should get used to it if he wasn’t willing to change. Finally, one day after coming home and trying to talk to his mother again, she snapped again. This time with her hand. The sound rang through the house after she slapped him. She slapped him a second time after. Peeta still doesn’t know why. He’d asked once, after she hit him so hard he lay on the ground wheezing. “Peeta, you need to toughen up. How else can you learn? How else can you survive? I need to teach you to be tough.”
His dad didn’t hit Peeta, but he didn’t have to. His silence was enough, and when it became too much, he would send Peeta to his room without supper. There had been a weekend when his dad had sent Peeta to his room without food because he couldn’t look at him.
Peeta learned after to be quiet and look down. He couldn’t even begin to fathom why this was happening to him, what he’d done to deserve this torture and heartache. His only solace came from the large oak tree outside and flowers in the garden. It seemed that Peeta had inherited his grandmother’s green thumb, but instead of being able to grow flowers, Peeta seemed to be to grow anything. Flowers thrived, grass was greener, and the trees seemed grow better when he was near and able to tend to them. Peeta would sit under the tree and think about life. He would talk to the trees and flowers and plants in the garden, pondering questions such as why, how, and when would it end. He’d shed many tears in the garden and had come to terms with many things there as well.
It all came to a head when he began 8th grade. It was his final year before high school, and Peeta was excited. High school meant new opportunities when it came to classes. Peeta excelled in many of his classes (except math ugh) and he couldn’t wait to take the honor’s classes. These were classes taught at a higher level and Peeta couldn’t wait. He skipped home with a letter in his backpack from his English teacher, who watched and helped students transition to the honor’s classes. He was proud and he couldn’t wait to share the good news with his parents. Maybe, just maybe they’d be proud of him, Peeta thought. He had strived to become the best in academics when it was apparent that he was not meant for sports. He remembers graduating 5th grade, his parents being proud when Peeta was mentioned as an outstanding scholar. They had cake and ice cream and a party. The next two days were filled with love and hope, hope that they’d changed and the bad times were over. They were for a while.
Then Peeta had started middle school. The kids remembered him as the freak, the boy who spoke to trees, had no friends, and wasn’t interested in them. Now they also knew he was a nerd. He was picked on after the teacher turned their backs, at recess, in gym class. The locker room was the worst. The boys were convinced that Peeta would touch them or something, so they made his life worse. After coming home with a black eye, his mother beat Peeta till he had a hand-print on the side of his face and all over his back. Peeta knew that the trouble had really just started. It’d been like that for the past three years, but now, it would all be over. The kids who bullied him weren’t too bright to get into the honor’s classes, so Peeta would finally be left alone.
Peeta walked into the house smiling, ready to show his mom the note. Ready to begin a life filled with happiness, love, and hope. When we walked in the kitchen, he noticed a pale blue envelope on the table. Curiosity won over and he examined it. What he read filled him with dread and horror.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, I hope this letter finds you well. Here is all the information that you have requested for the St. Alphege School for Boys. The school is equipped to help young Mr. Mellark with any problems, as we have a rigid code of conduct. We have helped many young men throughout the years (see insert) and they have all turned out to be model citizens. After reviewing the grades, we believe your son would be a fine addition here. Thanks for considering this opportunity--- Vice Principal Alex Snow”
Peeta was in shock. His parents wanted to send him off to-to-Peeta looked at the brochure and become horrified. The school was a grey castle-like building. It looked a military version of Hogwarts, where the students (all boys) were forced to wear uniforms that resembled military garb. Peeta heard footsteps, and turned “What is this,” he asked his gob smacked parents.
His mother yanked it from his hands after marching over and his father at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Peeta, we feel that this is the best choice for you. You cannot make friends, you refuse to participate in anything at school, and you simply cannot continue to talk to the trees if you are to be anything in this world. You are bright and we’re glad for that, but this will help you,” his mother implored. “We’ve discussed it and we’ve decided that you will start there this year.”
Peeta was horrified. “Do I not get a choice? Why was I never told of this?!”
“We didn’t know if you could handle it,” his dad said, looking at Peeta finally.
“I don’t want to go. I refuse to go. Mrs. Page wrote a letter, and it says I’ve been accepted into the honors classes this year. I won’t go to some boarding school and waste what I have here.”
His mother was shocked for .3 seconds. Then, she marched over and slapped him to the ground. Grabbing his hair roughly, she said “Now you listen here, you brat. I will not have you become some freak because you can’t talk to people. I refuse to entertain the notion that will change in high school. We’ve already decided and there is nothing you can do to change our minds. Get used to it.”
Peeta was sobbing. He hated his life and he hated everything and he wanted to escape. He wretched himself free and ran outside, his parents following him. “You also better be prepared, because when you return, that tree will be gone,” his mother screamed.
Peeta stood before the tree and he felt different in that moment. He looked at the tree, feeling as if he was connected to it. He felt connected to all of the plant life in the backyard, from the red roses to the pink tulips to the small green cacti. He felt as if they were waiting for him to do something, to break free of this prison. He turned his back and said, “Don’t you DARE hurt this tree,”.
His mother scoffed and said, “watch me, brat.”
Peeta reached his arms out and he felt that different feeling course through him. He felt powerful and full of anger and hope and- pain. Peeta threw his head back and screamed as he felt his body change. His eyes, which had been blue before, now turned emerald green. His pale blonde hair suddenly turned strawberry blonde. He looked up and he felt whole for the first time in a long time. “You will do no such thing,” he said and moved his hand.
The ground rumbled. Peeta’s parents moved back to the house and watched as the ground cracked and vines began to creep out. They grew longer and longer until they began to cross over each other and grow thorns. The growing stopped and Peeta’s parents watched as a wall of brambles stood between them and their son. Peeta smiled and beckoned the large oak tree. The branches began to move and stretch themselves, and Peeta felt himself picked up and nestled in the trees leaves. Peeta fell asleep and felt for the first time, truly happy.
Two days later, two men showed up at the Mellarks door. Scott Summers and Logan Howlett. Peeta’s mother answered the door and she looked a fright. Her hair was in disarray and under her eyes were large circles. It was apparent that she hadn’t slept well lately. At her feet were two large bottles of weed killer, both empty. “Please tell me you’re here to help. We’ve tried everything: weed killer, bug spray, even bleach, and these damn brambles won’t die! We used the weed eater and it broke within seconds. They grew too fast for the lawn mower and they crushed it! I can’t sleep and my husband won’t sleep till he sees the boy. Please, please do something!”
Scott and Logan paused and then moved into the house. When they reached the back door, they seen what she was talking about. The wall was as tall as the house and the plants looked thick enough to crush steel. The thorns were as thick as Logan’s wrist and from the looks of it, possibly poisoned. “We’ll take it from here folks,” Scott said reassuringly.
“Peeta! Peeta! My name is Scott Summers and I want to talk to you,” Scott yelled through the brambles. Suddenly the brambles moved and a voice rang out, “NO”.
Scott moved fast as a thorn shot out of one the brambles, seeming to come out of nowhere. Logan slashed at it, cutting it into pieces. He snarled at the wall and slashed. Within seconds, one section of the wall was nothing but stumps, but the brambles were growing fast. Logan grabbed Scott and launched through into the yard, where they were grabbed within seconds by tree roots. Peeta looked out from the center of the branches where he sat, perched on a branch. The branch moved and Peeta gripped it tight as he moved to look at the two men. His eyes were red from crying, but his eyes were also filled with hatred. “I said no, now get out. I’m done with people; all they’ve caused me is pain and misery. Now I run the show and I’m done!”
Scott whimpered as the roots began to tighten and Logan growled. “Look kid, enough! We’re here to help you! We’re from a school far from here that helps kids like you. Special kids that can do amazing things. Now, I understand wanting to get back at people, but not like this. You can do so much better,” Logan said.
Peeta thought about it. School was his saving grace, and if he could be around kids like himself, why not. It wasn’t as if he had nothing to lose. “I’d never have to come back? I could stay there all the time?”
“Yes,” Logan said, struggling to breathe was the root tightened again around his rib cage. He hoped that he’d convinced the kid otherwise he and Scott were fucked. He looked over and noticed that Scott was turning blue and looking terrified at Logan. He couldn’t reach his glasses to blast the roots off and he slowly would die. Logan glared at Peeta and said, “If you could make a decision before he dies, that’d be great.”
Peeta looked up, startled, and willed the plants to release the two men. Scott began to fill his lungs with air as he was gently sat on the ground, Logan running over to cradle him. “You alright, babe?” “Yes Logan, I’m fine,” Scott said with a smile.
Peeta began to focus on turning the garden back into a garden. The brambles receded back into the earth and the roses became a smaller size. The cacti were still large and the oak tree looked stronger than ever, but it gently sat Peeta back onto the ground. Peeta patted the bark lovingly and went inside to pack his things. It took 20 minutes and a few boxes and bags but eventually he got it all into the car with the two men. He looked back at his house and his parents. His dad had tears in his eyes and his mother looked broken. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the son you wanted. Thank god you had three of us,” was the final words that Peeta said to them before he got into the car and left-forever.