**A/N: New story idea that I am giving a try. I tried to get this to take place in 2014, like in season 5's episode "The End."
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters! I will mention it in later chapters if there is a character of my creation. Sadly I do not own Supernatural or the Hunger Games.
This is a story of Supernatural with a Hunger Games twist to it. There is no characters from the Hunger Games in this story. Therefore, I did not list it under crossover. /**
Chapter 1 - " TRIBUTE"
The first light of day is one of the only peaceful sights left in this sad excuse for a city.
The sunrise, as of right now, is the only thing not effected by the residents of this planet
I stood watching the bright, colorful glow, rise above the tree tops. The start of a new day.
A new day for disaster.
It was August 12th 2014, and the fate of this world was hanging by a thread.
"Dean," I heard someone say behind me. Chuck stood, holding out a cup of black tea.
I took it, giving him a nod in appreciation.
"You know what today is, don't you?" Chuck asked. "Dean, today is the day of the reaping. They are going to select two tributes from each of the districts to be participants in The Games."
I didn't respond. There was no need to. I didn't care who got pulled into the Games. I didn't care if it is me. The way I see it, if I'm going out, I'm going out fighting.
I gulped down the rest of my tea and pushed the empty cup back into Chuck's hands.
I took one last look at what could be my last sunrise, and turned away.
Chuck followed.
"Dean, you are going to the reaping, right? You know that it is law. The Lord's demand."
"Do you think I give a rat's ass what the lord wants me to do?" I asked.
"Dean," Chuck said, worry in his voice. "You know the punishment for those that refuse to go to the reaping."
"Capital punishment." I said. Not news to me. I don't think there was ever a time someone hadn't threatened my life.
"Yeah, and doesn't that bother you? The thought that you might die if you don't attend it?" Chuck asked.
"None of it bothers me, Chuck. None of it!" My anger exploded, and I wheeled around to face him. "It doesn't matter who gets chosen. We all know our fate, anyway. Those that are not killed in The Games, will die of either disease or starvation. And those that win The Games won't survive the end of the world. It's the same outcome in the end, we all die."
Chuck froze at my out burst, and he stared at me in horror. I had no remorse. I meant what I said, and he needed to hear it.
I turned to walk to my shelter. A old, small, decrepted house. But any standing building was a delicacy, nowadays.
I entered my house, the worm-chewed door slamming behind me. I picked up a bottle of bourbon off of the counter, and poured myself a glass.
I swallowed a mouthful, cringing at the burning as it fell down my throat.
I could hear the voice of the host of the reaping ceremony over a loud speaker in the centre of the city of ruins.
They sound so cheery. Which is just funny, since they are pulling innocent people from their families, and sending them into a inescapable arena, destined to kill or be killed.
The dead silence of the city was chilling.
Unlike any other ceremony, there was no applause or cheering. Just the speaker, and a silent audience.
I drank the last of my glass of bourbon, and decided to make my way to the reaping.
In previous years, only people between the ages of 12 and 18 were selected into the Games each year.
The rules have changed, and now basically anyone of any age can be chosen. From children as young as 12 to any age of adult.
And there can only be one winner.
All the pale, fear-stricten faces, stared at their feet. I watched several of them. Scared, was the only word that could sum them up.
A couple of them looked back at me, often with a expression I could not read.
" The first tribute from District 8, of this year's annual Hunger Games is.." There was a heart-stopping pause, the crowd silent. " Preston Mills!"
There was a blood-curldling scream. A woman flung herself over her son. "No! Please! No!" She wailed, tearing flowing down her cheeks.
"Mum, It's Ok." The boy said. But his mother would not let go.
"Take me! Take me instead! Let my boy live!" She screamed.
People that stood around her tried to pry her off of Preston.
I stood, with a sigh and walked over.
I grabbed the woman the arm. "He was chosen." I said to her.
She stared at me in the eyes. "And that makes it Ok?" She asked.
I blinked. No, it wasn't Ok. But that doesn't change anything.
I let go of her arm and turned to the boy.
"How old are you?" I asked him, resting a palm on his shoulder.
"Thirteen." He said.
I thought for a moment. A thirteen year old boy, being forced to fight people some maybe triple his age.
I inhaled sharply. Thinking.
I squeezed his shoulder and turned to face the hostess of the reaping.
"I volunteer." I said.
The crowd turned to face me. I ignored them.
"I volunteer as tribute!" I said louder, pushing my way to the front of the crowd.
"A volunteer!" The hostess said excitedly." It has been several years since we had one fo those. What is your name?"
"Dean Winchester."
"The first tribute for the 77th annual Hunger Games, of district 8, is Dean Winchester!"
The crowd cheered half-heartedly. None of them were actually happy about anyone being chosen. Everyone knew that there was a chance anyone could be.
"The second tribute is.." The hostess pulled out a peice of paper and read the name. "Castiel!"
My heartbeat skipped. My stomach turned to a hunk of ice.
I grabbed the hostess by the arm. "I thought that there had to be one male and one female from each district."
"The rules have changed slightly. It is whoever is drawn." She told me, with a sickening smile on her face.
Cas made his way to the front.
"Hello Dean." He said, with a expression on his face I couldn't read.
I looked over at him. And at that moment, I wished I hated him. That would make this a hell of a lot easier.
"Hello Cas." I said.
Cas stared at me for a long moment. Then he followed the Gamekeepers.
I guess Heaven now has their way when it comes to us. With Castiel being a rebel-angel and me being a major thorn in their ass, I bet it made them thrilled to see us fighting for our lives.
We left our camp Chitaqua, of distrct 8, and boarded a train that would take us to the gaming grounds.
Many different kinds of foods were offered to us. A huge buffet was set up on the train.
Niether Cas nor I would eat. When you're being sent off to your death, food isn't the first thing on your mind.
Cas sat watching the passing scenery, with a solumn look on his face.
"So, don't we do some training with a mentor or something before we enter the arena?" I asked.
"We train, but not with a mentor." He said, glancing at me briefly.
I sat up, and looked at him. "Why not?"
"The Game makers think we are trained enough already. More trained than the other tributes."
I shook my head. "So, it's only us without the mentors?" I was finding that hard to believe. Just because we had some experience fighting, it did not make us experts at a game we've never played.
"No." He said. He color changed. He looked paler.
"Who else doesn't have a mentor?" I asked him.
Castiel inhaled deeply and stared at me. I think he tried to get me to read his eyes, but my mind was flooded with too many things to focus.
"A tribute from district 6. He himself is a mentor for the other tribute of the district."
"And who is he?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of his.
"He's your brother."