Sam hadn't slept. He would later tell his brother that he had dreamt about being in the arena, but it'd all be a lie. You can't dream if you don't sleep.
He'd been reading up on the other fandoms, seeing who their biggest threat was. So far, he didn't feel too great about the Game of Thrones section, knowing there were some major heavyweights from their section. They'd been raised on combat, much like he and Dean, but the problem was there wouldn't be guns in the arena, and that was their strong point.
Looking back at Dean, Sam felt a familiar sense of concern well up in his body, similar to the times where they had risked their lives to save the world, but stronger. Last time they had died, they'd both managed to come back, but Sam could feel that this time if they died...
That'd be it.
He heard Dean sit up in his bed, grunting and clearing out his throat. Sam looked back at his older brother. "Morning," he greeted, his mouth forming a smile that disappeared as soon as it arrived.
"What time is it?" Dean asked, still groggy from sleep. "Is it time to move out?"
Sam checked his watch. They had 3 hours left. "It's 10:43. How'd you sleep?"
Dean got up out of bed and stretched. "Like a baby, Sammy." He turned his head and smiled before removing his shirt. "You know, knowing that I actually have a day off from all this saving-the-world crap has let me have the first decent night's sleep in a long time."
Sam arched an eyebrow. "You do realise that this is so much worse than hunting, right?" Dean pulled on a green t-shirt. "I mean, it's highly likely that one, or both of us, will be killing people."
"You don't think I have a problem with killing people? Jesus, Sam, you know I'll only kill if I have to," Dean walked into the bathroom, and Sam could hear the faucet running. "Hey, didn't you say that the vampires from Twilight will be there?"
"Yeah, they were reaped the other day."
"See, that's familiar territory! We'll do fine!" His words were muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth.

Dean didn't feel as confident as he looked. During the previous evening, he had knocked back seven beers at the bar, attempting to squash any negative thoughts. Then he attempted to knock back a few drunken women, but all of them reminded him of Lisa, so it didn't help him at all.
He didn't know what he do if he and Sam were picked, but he couldn't see anyone else getting brought up to bat except Castiel. Everyone else was dead. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Meg, their parents. There were three people who could be chosen, so the odds were against them.
Being back in Stull, Kansas brought a lot of memories back to them. Sam couldn't remember much of the day except for the moment he finally took control over Lucifer, regaining the strength to be in charge of his own body again. He remembered jumping, and then he was back on earth again, hardly complete, but alive.
"C'mon, Sam, we gonna go kick some ass or what?" Dean came around the corner, fully dressed. Sam stood up and grabbed his jacket and pulled it on over his plaid shirt. Next stop: Stull cemetery.

The Impala grunted and groaned as Dean drove them to the cemetery. "How has this thing not died, yet?" Sam asked. Dean turned his head sharply and looked at him.
"Because she has a good daddy who knows how to look after her, and treats her well," Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter and grinned. "Isn't that right, baby?"
"You have an unhealthy obsession with this car," Sam laughed. Dean just shook his head, still smiling.
"No, my obsession is perfectly healthy. A car as beautiful as this needs a lot of love and affection," Dean's smile faltered. "That's why you have to make sure she's really well looked after, alright?"
"You won't be the tribute. It'll be me and Castiel."
"No. I know if I get chosen, you'll volunteer and it'll all be really cute and touching, blah blah blah. But if you get chosen, I'll do the same. I'll pull a Katniss on you," Dean turned on the radio. Kansas' 'Carry on My Wayward Son' began to blare out of the Impala's outdated speaker system. Dean let out a groan of dismay. "What a fucking depressing song."
"I like it," Sam smiled. He wasn't sure why, but it felt appropriate. "So, have you got a plan?"
"A plan?"
"What will you do when you get in the arena?"
"Oh," Sam hadn't really thought about it. "I dunno, I guess find somewhere safe and secure, trust absolutely no one, wait until I die or I'm the last one left," he nodded, figuring it was a good plan. "What about you?"
"Make friends with anyone who has the makings of a hunter. People who save other people," Dean paused. "Then hide out and protect them until they turn on me, which they will. Then gank them. Done. The winner of the first annual Fandom Games is Dean Winchester of Supernatural."
"Then your best bet is Doctor Who, The Walking Dead, Harry Potter, Hunger Games... there's a lot of people. Maybe Heroes if you get heroes."
"The Walking Dead? Zombies?" Dean smiled, "sweet."

Castiel was already stood in the middle of the cemetery, exactly where the hole had opened up years previously. Now a human in everything but soul, he felt the worry that came with mortality. If he was Reaped, he would die. He wasn't a runner, he was a teleporter. He was alright when it came to hand-to-hand combat, and he was swift with a dagger, but he'd much prefer to use his powers than his fists if it came to it.
As much as he wouldn't admit it, he hoped it would be Sam and Dean who were called into the arena. There was no doubt that he had a deep connection with the men that he had helped save the world with countless times, but he knew that if he went into the arena he wouldn't last, mostly for the fact that he wasn't the best when it came to making friends.
The stripper could vouch for that one.
An unmistakable growl came from Castiel's left. He turned, but there was nothing to see. This was followed by barking and snarling. Panic began to set in. Hellhounds, Cas thought. Unsuccessfully, the former angel prayed for a dagger to appear in his hand, which it had done so many times before. He looked up into the sky, hoping for assistance.
"Great, I am going to die."
'Don't you cry no more!'
The unmistakable rumble of the Impala sent relief through the angel's soul. "Sam, Dean," he began, but before he could continue a smooth voice sounded from behind him.
"Well, well, well," Lucifer purred, his hand placed firmly on something invisible. "Long time, no see. Well, for you Dean. Sam hasn't forgotten this face just yet." He was in his old vessel. This confused the three men.
"Wait, I thought your meat suit couldn't hold you," Dean said, placing himself firmly between his brother and the Devil. "Why do you look the same?"
"For familiarity," Lucifer shrugged. "I don't know; I didn't make the rules. But I did hear that there are more than just you three up for this," he paused and looked at the Impala. "Crowley, come on out."
The trunk of the car popped open, and slowly Crowley climbed out, his vessel still badly bruised. Stretching out his limbs and cracking his neck, he smiled at his captors.
"I can't believe you forgot all about me, mates. I don't know whether to feel upset or fucking furious."
"They didn't forget. They just didn't think you were fan-favourite material," Castiel pointed out. Dean turned to his friend, glaring.
"Thanks, Cas," Sam sighed.
"You're welcome," Castiel smiled at Sam, believing he had done right.
Lucifer cleared his throat pointedly. "I wasn't just talking about the King of Hell, here. There are more people ready to be Reaped. A lot more."
"What?" Dean approached Lucifer, fists balled. One of the Hellhounds snapped and barked at him, alerting him of their presence.
"Down, boy." Dean was unsure if Lucifer was talking to him or the Hellhound. "Yeah, plenty of people: Robert Singer, Jo and Ellen Harvelle, your parents, Azazel; the works."
"Bobby?!" Dean asked, shocked, at the same time Sam whispered "Mom? Dad?"
"You can't see them, so don't get too excited. Only if they are reaped." Lucifer walked over to one of the tombs and telekinetically forced the door open. He pulled out two bowls filled with names. "So, without further ado, let's call out our tributes." Refusing to look in the bowl marked 'women', Lucifer stared at Sam, smiling toothily. He pulled out a small square from the bowl and opened it. His mouth formed an overdramatic 'O' of surprise. "Ruby!"
The door from the tomb flew open, and stood there, tauntingly, was Ruby. Her hair in dark curls around her olive face, her eyes in their demonic, pitch-black state, she was just as the brothers remembered her. "Hello, Sam," her voice was filled with venom. "Dean," she added, as an afterthought.
"No," Dean yelled. "This is bullshit! She cannot be here!"
"Calm down, Dean or I'll have to show you some manners," Lucifer's eyes were filled with excited threat. "Now, for the men!" He pulled out the first bit of paper his hand touched and lifted it out. Pure, evil glee coated his face. "Oh, you couldn't have made this up! Sam Winch-"
"I volunteer, I volunteer," Dean wouldn't let Lucifer finish.
"Dean, no, I can handle her," he knew he couldn't, but he wouldn't let his brother die for him.
"What, and watch you get hooked on demon blood again? I don't think so."
Sam felt sick. After all this time, he was still being chastised for his mistakes, and this time, he could lose his brother for good.
"This is just perfect, I'm sure you two will make a fabulous team!" Lucifer's face looked like his wide smile would split it any second. Good, thought the older Winchester.
Dean wouldn't let Ruby live in the arena. He would enjoy killing her again. Hell, he thought, glaring at the attractive demon, I might even have fun with it.