A/N: Warning: some strong language and heavy violence/gore ahead. That's all, enjoy.
Sam might've been Dean's baby brother, but that didn't change the fact that he was a six foot four killing machine with the looks of a star and the toned body of an athlete you really didn't want to cross. Granted, an athlete that slaughtered for sport but Dean refused to think of it that way. The point was, Sam was the Capitol's God and District 1's gold-clad warrior, and ever since that one fateful day when he stepped onto the stage a volunteer and then out of the tribute train a Victor, Dean's life had changed for the worst.
He was happy for Sam of course - no, overjoyed - but even he couldn't deny that his brother's victory had made his life a living hell at the academy. Dean was already fairly popular at school thanks to his own charms, but his brother a Victor? Dean was patented royalty. It was the trainers that ruined it, suddenly feeling the need to crack down extra hard on classes and physical workouts to the point where suddenly collapsing in public of out of exhaustion became his new norm. Everyone knew all too well that the most honorable act one could achieve was win the games for their District, bring home a crown and live in history, but Dean never actually planned on going in himself.
The whole reason he'd attended District 1's pompous Hunger Games Academy in the first place was to please his grieving father who wanted nothing more than Victors for sons after their mother perished in her own games. They married young and she was the top of her class, perfectly suited to be that year's chosen volunteer. No one saw it coming when District 2's hulking Azazel plunged his butcher knife deep in her stomach until it was too late. Dean remembered that sickening moment being replayed over and over on TV, having to watch his mother's pretty blonde hair flutter lifelessly behind as she fell dead before she hit fiery ground. It was awful.
But worst of all, their dad was never quite the same after that either. By that point he was too old for the games himself, but Dean was certain that if he could jump in now and tear up the arena into his own personal bloodbath for her he would in a heartbeat... it terrified him actually. He'd never admit it, but there were times when Dean's dad truly terrified him. Whether he had suddenly exploded in a fit of rage during training or he was absently watching Mary's game in an eerie silence, Dean was scared sometimes.
That was truthfully his only reason for continuing at that damn academy, just to make him happy so he'd stop with the whole "vengeance with a Victor" quest. He'd been fiercely opposed to the idea of Sammy attending with him, but standing up to his dad wasn't something pre-teen Dean had been good at. Even worse, Sam seemed to have a natural talent for butchering and it didn't take long before the previously nervous fresh meat became the academy's top pick for a volunteer - and at only sixteen years old too. Any kid younger than eighteen was highly unlikely to be picked, which was precisely why Dean had refused to let himself worry about it. How wrong he was.
Dean begged - oh how he begged - for Sam not to go in, not to his raise his hand and throw his whole life away for their dad's delusions, but there was no swaying the boy. He was bound by his pride and determined to win. Dean wasn't the type to pray, but he could've sworn he'd groveled to at least eighty different gods for the four weeks that Sam spent in Panem's spotlight. And then somehow... somehow he came back. Dean's baby brother came back not in a box, not missing limbs or in a state of disfiguration, he came back. And Dean had no idea which god he had to thank for that.
"Sam the Snapper" was his media-dubbed nickname for all the necks he'd ruthlessly snapped with bare hands in true Career fashion, and the Capitol just ate that act up. The brothers couldn't even have a decent reunion until about a week later when all the reporters finally decided to leave them the hell alone and head out. It wasn't until then either that Dean got to fully appreciate the small act of a hug. Hell, he hadn't even fully appreciated his brother until then - but it felt so good to feel Sammy concrete, real, breathing, undoubtedly alive right next to him that he swore to never again take the feeling for granted. He didn't even care about all the atrocities he'd seen his brother carry out onscreen, or how it seemed at times he'd lost his soul (Headline: Soulless is the New Sexy).
All that mattered was that he survived. Dean could deal with that.
Inevitably, nightmares and trauma followed and he was there as much as he could be in-between school and their dad's extra training (increased by double with heightened expectations), but he still felt like he missed too much. He had no idea what actually being in the arena was like, but gauging from Sam's withdrawn, misty look that ranged from shock to misery... Dean knew he didn't want to volunteer. Even so, that steady resolve of his would so often shake beneath his dad's voice constantly ringing in his ears: "Sam's younger by two whole years and he's already brought home more than you've given in a lifetime! Do you even care about your mother? Does her death mean nothing to you? What about this family? This district? Or does saving your own pathetic waste of skin matter more?" There was more, the words never ceasing their torment.
Even though Dean told himself time and time again he'd never do it... there was a small part of him that wanted nothing more than to outshine his brother's achievement. He sometimes amused himself with the look of pride on his father's face when he came home in a crown, his moment of victory forever entombed for the world to remember. They'd all remember the Winchester brothers, which meant they wouldn't forget their mother. That was the whole point, right? To not let her death be in vain? Imagine if the Capitol loved him even more than Sam... what'd his face be then? Jealous? Dean would then shake the fantasy away as quickly as it came.
It wasn't worth his life. But... but it was.
Exactly one year from the reaping that made "Sam the Snapper" legend, Dean's voice shook the town square of District 1, directing everyone's eyes to his lonely spot in the audience. I volunteer. As he marched dutifully up to the diamond adorned stage, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at the Victors' panel sitting idly on the far left, four of them in total. Bobby Singer, the District's first Victor, was half out of his chair in fury and Dean suddenly remembered all the reasons why he was his favorite teacher. He'd laugh if he wasn't going into a death match. Sam's face was devoid of all color and Dean quickly averted his gaze to meet that of Lucifer, Sam's former mentor, nearly bent over in uncontrolled laughter. He always was a bit of an asshole. The Victors' final member offered slightly raised eyebrows, which coming from Bela Talbot was more terrifying than all the others combined. For once, none of them planned the volunteer. The one they did plan, a jacked Southern sweetheart called Benny, was wearing a mask of barely concealed rage.
"Well," Gabriel, the Capitol's frilly pink escort, hadn't the slightest idea the severity of what had just occurred and simply continued on his role as Dean stepped up to stand beside him. "Isn't this volunteer a first-class beauty, huh folks? What's your name, handsome?"
Dean leaned in towards the microphone, forcibly swallowing down his anxieties with a smirk. "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I came to win."
If Gabriel wasn't already swooning before, he sure was then. "Well, well! Watch out for this one everybody, the Sexy Snapper has an even sexier sib coming to play!"
The escort even giggled as he instructed his two solemn tributes to shake hands, taking a step back for space. Dean's new partner, Ruby, swiftly took his hand with a grip that denied hesitation and he returned it with equal strength. They made eye contact then, cool green eyes matching her fiery brown ones filled with both curiosity and the promise of pain. They spent a few seconds trying to break each other's hands until Gabriel stepped in and led them separately into the Justice Building.
Oh God. What had he done?
Two Peacekeepers escorted Dean through marble halls, his breath becoming more and more ragged with each step. One of them reached out to place a hand on his shoulder in an act of sympathy, and looking up Dean saw his light hair and eyes mark him as a fellow One. He forced himself to take a deep breath and draw strength from the silent encouragement. At least it calmed him down a bit. The other Peacekeeper opened a door to a small office and gestured for him to go inside. It was pretty sparse, just a couch and table with a chunk of amethyst Dean guessed was supposed to be decoration. Slowly, he sank into the couch biting down on his coat sleeve to keep from screaming. He... he actually did it. He was there. Oh God.
"My boy." Dean snapped his head up to see his father standing in the doorway, all smiles and warmth like he'd never seen him before.
He blinked to make sure he wasn't crying and nearly sighed out of relief to find himself dry. John walked forward with his arms open wide for embrace and Dean awkwardly hugged back. It wasn't comforting. It was bewildering. His father never gave either of them this much attention under any circumstance, but he supposed this time was different. Dean was finally going to become his other trophy son, that or a martyr. Soldiers were all John ever really wanted out of his children and now that dream was complete; whether or not Dean actually came back was a non-issue. After a final congratulatory pat on the back, his dad retreated, looking his eldest son up and down for seemingly the first time.
"Make Mary proud like your brother, Dean." He intoned. "Bring honor to her name." He sighed contentedly, but then almost as an afterthought squeezed his son's shoulder with an iron grip.
"I want you to go out there and make those fuckers from District 2 suffer, you hear me?" He whispered, earning a small but determined nod from Dean. He smiled again.
"I'll be watching, son." John let the door swing shut behind him, leaving Dean to feel even worse off than before. But that was nothing compared to his next visitor. Barely a minute had passed since John's leave before Sam burst into the room red-faced and fast, all evidence of his former anguish dissolved into a cold fury. Dean didn't even get the chance to stand before he was back-handed across the left side of his face. Shock prevented him from stopping the next blow from landing.
"What the fuck, Dean?!" Sam screamed, his voice resonating hurt like a wounded animal. "Are you trying to prove something or are you just that much of an idiot?"
"You can't kill me." Dean wisecracked, but that was all he could get out before Sam's hand came down again. Hard.
"DON'T YOU SEE THAT I DON'T HAVE TO." He panted. "You. Are going. To die. You are not fucking ready, do you hear me?"
"You don't know that I'm not ready." Dean's eyes narrowed as he finally rose to take a defensive position against his brother.
Sam raised his hand again with Dean ready to fight back, but both of them froze at the sound of his door being burst open from behind.
"Get. Out. Now."
Sam visibly flinched at the ice cold voice, turning tentatively to meet Lucifer's deadpanned gaze boring into him with contempt.
"He's not your tribute. Leave us alone." There was no power at all behind Sam's shaking words. He was staring at the ground.
"I said get out." Lucifer repeated dangerously. Swallowing, Sam slowly trudged over to the exit blocked by his former mentor, fully unprepared for the man's arm to forcefully drape itself around his shoulders as if they were old friends, his whole demeanor changing into one of friendly cheer. Lucifer, the man Dean remembered watching gut open a twelve-year-old, grinned widely and ruffled Sammy's hair in a way a loving father would if they had one. Right. He recalled suddenly. He's the bipolar Victor.
"Awe cheer up, buddy. At least you always got me." Lucifer drawled, just then glancing over at Dean's rattled form by the couch. "Besides, he is my tribute. Our generous Capitol thought you would like some R and R after your whole 'game trauma' thing. Sit back, watch some TV. I'll take it over from here."
Sam blinked, not quite comprehending. "But... I-I was told -,"
"Nope, Dean's mine this go-round." Lucifer grinned and playfully ruffled Sam's hair again before shoving him outside. "Happy Vacation!"
Both brothers' harried protests fell on deaf ears as the old Victor slammed the door behind him, casually checking Dean out from where he still stood indignant to the whole thing. The man really was an oblivious basket case.
"I at least get to say goodbye! I have three whole minutes left!" Dean shouted. Lucifer looked him over and frowned.
"Not when there's work to be done. We have to talk about the parade." He stated plainly as if that explained everything.
"I have three more minutes." Dean practically ground out, mentally willing the other to bend. That's no damn goodbye.
"But you volunteered." Lucifer countered. "If you really plan on coming back, then you don't need to say goodbye."
He took a step forward. "You do plan on coming back, right?"
That question was met with silence and Dean ending up spending the rest of his goodbye time mulling over plans of action. It wasn't like he had any other family to talk to anyways. And he would come back. He had to. That night, the tributes, their mentors, and Gabriel ate their dinner in silence aboard the train. Apart from Dean and Ruby occasionally communicating in glares, the only sound filling the air was chewing and gulping until Bela was first to break the silence.
"What exactly are you two planning on doing with your Career alliance?" She asked in her trademark cool indifference.
"Join them obviously. Keep an eye out. Trust nobody." Dean shared through a mouthful of apple pie. Ruby grimaced in clear disgust, then of course he had to make a point of chewing with his mouth open. Rolling her eyes, she spoke up next purposefully dignified in manner.
"There's no way I can formulate a strong enough plan without first watching the Reaping recaps." She said, absently messing with her knife as she did so. "That would be incredibly stupid, not to mention reckless."
"Love you too." Dean grumbled through another oversized bite.
Bela shrugged, taking in one last sip of wine before standing to make her way to the train's living area. "Then I guess we have ourselves some Reapings to watch. Shall we?"
Ruby smirked and dutifully followed her mentor out, Dean trailing them albeit slower out of stubborn rebellion. Lucifer stayed right where he'd passed out in his chair while Gabriel hurriedly rushed along with them after stuffing his face with one last candy bar. First up was their own district: luxury. Gabriel groaned in dejectedness over his outfit choice while Dean once again watched Ruby storm up the stage before the reaped name was half pronounced and then himself stepping up in a similar fashion, now getting a better view of everyone's reactions to his breaking the academy rule. His old friend Benny could've strangled him right then if it weren't for his girlfriend, Andrea, holding him back. Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for that one. He knew Benny wanted more than anything to be the academy's top pick, and it was his last year of eligibility too. But it was also Dean's.
District Two's volunteers, a tough looking girl named Jo and a sassy prick by the name of Balthazar who was quick to smart mouth his escort, both locked into Dean's mind to warrant caution. Not just in strength or brutality, but the fact that the Capitol was already adoring them. And although he despised what his father had done to their family, Dean couldn't help but feel the need to enact vengeance upon Azazel by making sure neither of his tributes died with honor when the time came. District Two was the enemy. Three was less exciting; a stone-faced redhead named Charlie bit her lip and fought tears on stage, and the boy called Kevin actually did cry as his mother wailed injustice from the crowd. Dean tried his best to feel nothing.
District Four had a girl named Meg volunteer, and Dean could already tell her overly cocky attitude was going to annoy him to no ends in the arena. A scrawny boy called Garth was reaped, but no one volunteered to take his place. Ruby scoffed and sing-songed "bloodbath" just loud enough so Dean could boil with hate inside. He couldn't deny her claim, but that also didn't mean he was going to go around flaunting the kid's inevitable death. He wasn't heartless. District Five had Lisa and Adam, both of whom seemed to be nothing less than sweethearts. They'd both die soon. District Six's girl was by far the youngest at barely thirteen, and Krissy held the cameras and crowd in a withering glower of dissent. The boy, Andy, seemed to shrink in comparison.
District Seven's tributes both looked promising. Gwen Campbell saluted to the camera and swore honor to her district's name, and the boy Gordon was strong and terse with his language. Even Ruby seemed a little apprehensive. District Eight reaped a dark-haired girl by the name of Pamela who thanked the Capitol for her golden opportunity with barbed sarcasm dripping from her every word. The boy, Samandriel, was plain terrified. District Nine's girl was named Lenore and she wordlessly took her place in a state of tearful shock, ignoring everything and everyone in the process; including her partner, another buff guy named Uriel.
District Ten had an eerily serene girl named Tessa whose demeanor gave nothing away, and a boy called Ash wearing ragged impoverished clothes and a crooked grin for the cameras. A Capitol commentator jokingly placed all his bets on just the boy's mullet. District Eleven's Amy Pond burst into tears as soon as she heard her name and had to be dragged sobbing onstage. Their boy was a little better in terms of chances; Jake looked ready to tear out his escort's throat. The only district left to review was the very bottom of the barrel: twelve. If One was the Capitol's spoiled lapdog, Twelve was its ugly stepchild adorned in rags and coal dust. They hadn't even a proper victor yet, just starving bloodbath kids. Dean almost didn't think it was worth staying awake to watch, but then again he didn't want to appear weak in front of his less than friendly company. So he stayed.
The first name drawn was Anna Milton - another redhead - and with a look of horror, she climbed the dusty steps with eyes glazed in disbelief. She looked to be about eighteen, so close to escaping the reaping forever only to get reeled back in at the last moment. Dean almost felt sorry for her before he remembered where his priorities lie. Ruby just looked bored. Then the escort clad in diamond turquoise dipped her bedazzled hand into the boy's bowl, the surrounding crowd holding their breath. Castiel Novak. A part of the guy's section parted to isolate a shell-shocked boy with fair skin and piercing blue eyes, looking around in confusion as if waiting for a savior. But, of course, there was none. It's Twelve, after all.
Seemingly with great effort, the boy forced himself to trudge forward to the gallows where his companion waited with still glossed eyes and he appeared to be praying. Dean had seen a lot of tragedy in a life training for the Hunger Games, but for some reason this particular boy with his silly oversized trench coat and dusty button-up and blue tie supposed to be fancy, with his solemn, faithful presence staring out at a certain face in the crowd... something about Castiel Novak broke Dean's heart. The escort called for volunteers, but the crowd was silent as death. The chosen two were escorted inside the Justice Building and the screen switched back to the Capitol's annoying Games hosts, causing Dean to angrily switch the program off before he even knew what he was doing.
"Hey, some of us are trying to watch, thank you!" Gabriel protested, snatching back the remote in irritation.
Bela sighed and left without comment, Dean following in silence. Both Ruby and Gabriel stayed behind to listen to an obnoxious cohost mock the Novak boy's shabby outfit and appearance, even calling Twelve's tributes "especially slow this year" and Dean could've bashed in her head right then. He wasn't sure what had come over him in the mining district, but he knew he had to get over it if he wanted to survive and return to Sammy. He made a promise after all, and no one ever said winning the Hunger Games was easy. Dean remembered last year when Sam and the Career pack cornered Nine's girl armed only with a small throwing knife. She tried running, cried and pleaded for her life, but before anyone could make a move, Sam wrapped his arms around her neck and snapped it. It was quick, painless. Merciful.
Dean would give a good speech for innocent Castiel on his Victory Tour and then his slate would be clean. It'd all be fine. Dean could win. The next day, their silver train pulled into the Capitol bright and early, forcing Dean to wake up much sooner than he liked to meet with the press. As expected, he faced question after question regarding his brother's victory and if he could live up to the legacy himself, but with a strain he kept up the whole snarky bad boy routine to a T. The rest of the day he got to spend under stylists' watchful eyes and tools (an assistant quick to introduce herself as Becky was especially watchful...), until he could comfortably say he felt like a painted whore.
Apart from an elaborate gold and satin armor undergarment and a garishly red sash draped across his bare chest, Dean was stark naked. According to Becky and quite literally everyone else, the more of his perfect body the Capitol saw the more they'd love. Dean would've much preferred shrinking into the floor and hiding there, but he knew he had to brave it out regardless of his every instinct fighting against the slutty getup. His situation only got a little better when he saw Ruby's stylists had decided to dress her in the same fashion: golden armored bikini just held together with several ribbons of red satin. Her face also donned an outraged red, and for just one moment Dean actually felt himself fully in sync with his district partner.
"Nice ass, One." A husky male voice intoned from behind. Ruby whipped around immediately and made a rude gesture, but Balthazar just laughed and shook his head. His and Jo's beautifully elaborate suit and evening gown could only be described as 'diamond everything' and Dean felt a twinge of jealousy. Those were sure to snag sponsors.
"Not just you, sweetie." To Dean's surprise, the Two boy winked at him next and it took all he had to fight showing his embarrassment.
"Yeah, well you look like a unicorn just took a shit on you." Dean shot back in a heartbeat, causing both Twos to burst out laughing.
"Balthazar, and you must be Dean." He stretched out a head and Dean reluctantly took it. "I have a feeling you and I are going to be best friends."
Not when I'm through with you. He thought as the charismatic boy shook Ruby's hand next, and then the girl spoke up.
"I'm Jo." Their hands similarly shook and Dean found her grip to be surprisingly strong. Definitely watch out for District Two.
"Have you already met the Four girl?" He asked out of curiosity. But before the blonde could answer, the showtime bell let out its shrill cry and Dean felt himself being yanked forward into bright lights and a thousand screaming fans. Fighting bile, he did his best to project confidence and strength in the face of millions, but he still felt outshined by Ruby, who despite her embarrassment, was actually exceptional at being engaging and flirtatious with the crowd, whereas the best Dean could do was sport a few cocky grins and flex his muscles. Which, admittedly, wasn't too bad for likability, but that damn Balthazar was still getting more roses. The routine was kept up the entire block on the way to the roundabout, and Dean could've sworn he only took a breath once their golden chariot finally stopped.
It was a good thing the Hunger Games weren't a complete beauty contest or else he would be screwed. The president stood up to take his standard speech, but having heard it a hundred times and more, Dean took the opportunity to glance around and see what ridiculous costumes the others got shoved in while he was getting humiliated. There didn't seem to be much in terms of creativity that year if he was honest: the Ten kids were painted black and white to resemble unflattering cows, the Elevens and Nines were both wheat bales much to their anger, and then there were the standard tree dresses and workers' uniforms made sexy. The only other costumes which stood out in Dean's mind were the neon light-up suits on District Three and the pirate/mermaid getup on Four. The Garth kid kind of made for a lousy pirate, but a dripping wet Meg clothed in just a seashell bra and tail was certainly eye-catching.
Bored gaze still wandering, Dean suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen with warning and he turned to see the Twelves once more, giggling and whispering. He hardened his stare on the two until they finally noticed and stopped immediately, faces flushed a deep red. Dean admittedly had felt himself forgetting about his stripper clothes as time passed by, but suddenly all that humiliation of being exposed to the world came flooding back and he had to actively work to keep his cool. Damn it, some coal kids from the slums of Twelve were not going to do this to him! The stakes were too high. The entire ride back, Dean made an even greater point of playing the audience, even engaging light-heartedly with Ruby a few times to make the crowd squeal with adoration. They didn't notice the subtle glares or tight grips the district partners had on the other of course, they were too caught up in the act.
Dean, Ruby, Jo, and Balthazar finally had proper introductions the next day at training and met up with Meg, who proved to be every bit as cocky and irritating in person as she was at the Reaping, but like every good Career pack, they all sucked it up and pretended to like each other. Balthazar was rather exceptional at handling a sword as Dean noticed at their first station, but as it turned out the prick's real talent was in hand-to-hand combat. He brought the trainer down in under a few seconds, crowing loudly in victory so the whole gym of tributes could revel in his prick-ness. Meg was alright with spears but great with a mace. Ruby was scary when armed with dual knifes and Jo could swing a heavy-weight axe like no one's business, but unlike the others she chose not to flaunt it which Dean respected. Finally an ally who was a decent human being.
Dean himself preferred a machete, but decided to downplay his talent in favor of hiding strength. There was no way to tell if any of his teammates were using the same strategy, but frankly Dean couldn't imagine either one of them with the necessary brain power. Unless they were hiding brain power, in which case they were doing a damn good job. Meanwhile, the rest of the tributes avoided them like the plague in favor of keeping their skins on until the actual Game and Dean honestly couldn't blame them. Ruby and Meg even had a game going where they tried to guess which kid would die first, labeling all the "bloodbaths" and deciding on a body count competition when the time came. It was disgusting to Dean, but he knew better than to voice that unpopular opinion and instead just laugh on cue. He caught glimpses every now and then of Castiel tying knots or burning things with Samandriel, and he could only assume they were allies. Why he bothered to take notice he'd never know.
And just like that, the three days of training were over and it was time to be scored individually by the Gamemakers. Dean had worked diligently in those three given days to appear adequate but nonthreatening in every area, but now it was finally time to showcase what he was really capable of. Fortunately, being from District One he didn't have to wait long and he was sure to have his audience at full attention having only seen Ruby beforehand. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the empty gym with a cocky grin and a confident stride, immediately whistling out a greeting and even adding a theatrical bow before he began the show. Without hesitation, Dean went straight for the machete he'd been eyeing the whole time with a lovely steel blade and comfortable grip, swinging it around for good measure before approaching the dummies.
A whole group of them were clustered in the center waiting to surround a cornered tribute and Dean was happy to oblige, stepping up to place and taking a deep breath before he released all he had. The form of fighting he treasured most back at the academy wasn't so much fighting as it was an art form. He twisted, spun, thrusted, stabbed and sliced his way through fake attackers and swiftly took the heads off several, which he could tell his assessors were especially impressed by. The Games haven't had a good beheading in awhile and the Capitol does love a good beheading. Within a few minutes, Dean was finished and he politely bowed once more before taking his leave. If he didn't get at least an eight on that he was going to be pissed.
For probably the first time since their arrival in the Capitol, the whole District One gang was together in one room to watch the training scores premiere live, and surprisingly Dean was actually grateful for the company. It was exhausting having to constantly think and plan out everything alone in his mind with no one to confide in, but here at least he had Lucifer who he was fairly certain wouldn't care enough to spill any of his plans and Gabriel who would likely forget anyway. Bela was passionate about the Games and highly intelligent when it came to plotting, but she'd made it clear early on her loyalties lied with her assigned tribute. Dean respected that, but he was still slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity he could've had to work with her.
Bela Talbot had always secretly been his favorite victor ever since she won her Games by pretending to be a bubbly airhead with a low training score and skill set, but once the countdown began so did her real genius. While the outer district kids were being weeded out, she picked off her own allies one by one and watched as the blame eventually fell on the shoulders of their leader, a brute called Zachariah. Tensions kept rising, blame being cast and allies shifting, and then suddenly on the morning of the last day, the Careers attacked the only other alliance left and all hell broke loose. There weren't even any clear sides in the midst of fighting as it soon became an every-man-for-himself, panic and confusion running rampant in the fray. Somewhere in the heat of battle, Bela had escaped to later return and stab the sole survivor in the back. It was brilliant.
Meanwhile, Dean's mentor Lucifer won with sheer savagery. He was the Careers' leader of course, and his tribute hunt could only be called ruthless. He set traps everywhere and slowly gutted each and every kid he found, demanding the whole group paint their faces red with the spilled blood. Red face paint sold like hot cakes in the Capitol for awhile because of it. When his group inevitably turned against each other, he moved fast with the slaughter as he hadn't the entire Game. The whole thing was nothing more than a massive gore fest and Dean would sooner die than follow in his mentor's footsteps. He had to make his mother proud after all. That wasn't to say he didn't still need the devil for sponsors, but in terms of advice he wouldn't rely on it too heavily.
The show opened with a flourish, as usual, with the host Michael Cohen cracking a few jokes and generally getting everyone pumped for the event, but Dean was far too impatient then to listen to the same routine. Ruby's face flickered onscreen first, wearing a perfect catlike grin promising either sexual mystery or bloody murder, but that was really the whole point of entertainment he supposed. Her attention to the screen was trained and hungry like a convict waiting for a ruling on the gallows and Dean couldn't help but share her apprehension in waiting.
"District 1, Ruby Cortese..." Micheal paused as he always did for dramatic effect which nearly drove her ballistic. "A nine."
She whooped and laughed madly as she stretched herself out on the couch, a content smirk now resting on her face.
"Beat that, 'Snapper' wannabe." Ruby taunted, and just like that Dean's small sympathies with her flew right back out the window.
"District 1, Dean Winchester..." He was scarcely breathing. It can't be any lower than an eight, no lower than... "A ten."
Lucifer shot up from the back of the room and let out an ear-splitting whistle while Gabriel giggled where he sat off to the side of the TV and sent him a thumbs-up. Dean could finally exhale and laugh himself at the sheer wonder of the number, thinking of how Sam and his dad were reacting back home knowing that he could very well be the next Victor after all. Ruby rolled her eyes and tried not to look bothered, but Dean could instantly tell she was pissed and the thought made him smile. Traditionally, the day after training scores was dedicated to the escort and mentors teaching tributes how conduct the perfect interview for that very night, but District 1's volunteers were always special in the sense that academies had as many classes in etiquette and crowd manipulation as they had in sword-fighting and combat. So, Dean and Ruby had the day to relax in the Tribute Center until their stylists came for them in the afternoon.
Dean had to admit, his pitch black suit adorned with hints of eye-catching red were a far cry from the outrageous parade costume now famous in the Capitol, so his usual practiced confidence was in full swing. Ruby also got to wear something nice and acceptable, as Michael light-heartedly joked during her interview. It was clear that her approach to popularity was still going for "sexy and mysterious", which aggravatingly enough was working as she had the audience swooning even after she model walked her way back offstage to a waiting Bela. Dean was next of course, still determined to keep up the snarky soldier personality better than Balthazar. It was his idea first after all, and he wasn't going to let the murder district of all places steal that from him too.
Dean and Micheal's chemistry was instant and only one minute in he had the audience roaring with laughter, some squealing in admiration whenever Dean's costume was even mentioned. He hated to think it, but his stylists really did know what they were doing when it came down to it. Once the easy part was over, Dean unfortunately had to face Michael's expected grilling regarding Sammy's Victory and his followup, to which he responded the same way his brother did a year ago when faced with the same question:
"I'm here to finish the fight my mother started. All I want to do is bring pride to her name and show Sammy what a real Victor looks like when I show him up in that arena."
What started off as sounds of sympathy quickly turned into huge bouts of laughter which was exactly what Dean wanted. He knew that if he let himself dwell too much on family he'd lose his tough-guy image instantly, and he couldn't have that with what was at stake. The interview wrapped itself up soon afterward and Dean gratefully took his escape, barely paying attention to the rest of the tributes' five minutes but noticing that Balthazar had less applause. Whether he had slutty golden armor or his brother's popularity to thank for it he'd never know, but in the meantime he relished in his small victory.
As for the others, Gordon, Gwen, Uriel, and Jake made it public that they had formed an alliance meant to rival the Careers which came as a shock to everyone, but Dean refused to let the information daunt him. All of them had been trained for years to win the Games; just because some buff outer district kids decided to grow balls didn't mean they'd actually become a major threat when the time came. Still, he'd have to keep an eye out just in case it wasn't the best year to be in the Career pack. The rest gave average interviews saying goodbyes to family and friends and boasting small talents for sponsors, but other than Kevin and Charlie discussing their unusually high training scores and District 11's Amy announcing her pregnancy, Dean didn't catch any other big red flags.
He did, however, make a note to kill poor Amy off quick and merciful if he ever got the chance. The last thing that girl and her never-to-be-born child needed was to suffer. Last to speak was Castiel, wearing ironically a much fancier Capitol-made tan trench coat since his wearing one to the Reaping had taken up the bulk of his popularity with sponsors. Or lack thereof. In spite of himself, Dean almost wanted to laugh at the boy's predicament considering his outfit choice had actually been the last thing he'd noticed about him at his Reaping. First, it was his beautif - nice - blue eyes, then his saddening confused expression, his praying, his solemn look into the crowd, and then finally his silly tan trench coat. He was noticing too much about that boy and he already knew it.
Dean forced himself to leave halfway through his interview, refusing to hear the rest of his message to his father and many siblings; telling that no matter what he'd stick to his well-taught morals and love them forever. Dean had a family to love too. Maybe it wasn't perfect or built on the same values of a saint, maybe they weren't always there, but he swore on everything he had that he'd return to them. No matter the cost. That night, Dean stared blankly into the dark ceiling hanging above him and he chanted that mantra again and again until it was pounded into his head as a meaningless mix of sounds. Soldier. He was a soldier and he would return home to his broken little brother, he'd get to be there for him every day until their family was healed for good.
He was a soldier and he needed to perform his duty before he could rest. Being a soldier meant killing people and he'd known this fact from the start. If a genuinely good person like his mother could volunteer into the Games and kill, then it didn't have to be a bad thing. Without the Games, Panem would collapse at the sacrifice of many more lives than the names reaped. Lying wasn't as big a comfort as he'd hoped. In the end, Dean got maybe four good hours of sleep before the very unwelcome alarm sounded to greet a new day. His last day in the Capitol's lap. Hovercrafts came at sunrise and Dean got a whole sector to himself to share with Lucifer who was choosing that time to wolf down blueberry muffins like he'd never see food again despite being a spoiled Victor.
Needless to say, Dean wasn't counting on receiving any golden pieces of advice from the man one tick shy of a psychopath, but he was in for several surprises that day. Lucifer messily swallowed down one last chunk of pastry before speaking up, voice gruff and oddly humored.
"So, let's run through your hit list." He passed off casually, nearly causing Dean to choke on his eggs.
"I, um -," He swallowed what was left in his mouth before trying to form something coherent. "We... I have a plan? For who to kill?"
"Of course you do." Lucifer sighed again. "This is Bloodbath 101, my friend. I vote you eliminate District Three and that Castiel kid first. You can never get too trigger happy in the first few minutes or the Capitolites don't get their Game. Lessens your likability."
His mentor's last few words flew right over Dean's head as he heard the name Castiel echo through their silent room. Castiel. Castiel of all people. Lucifer cocked his head in an eerie faux innocence, his dead eyes boring into Dean's with a new terrifying intensity.
"Dean." He drawled. "Do you like the Threes with threatening high scores? Or maybe you just like pretty boys with pretty blue eyes?"
"Don't be stupid." Dean shot back to hide flushing cheeks. He still heard Kevin's mom sobbing from the crowd. "I can try to pick targets the best I can from the start, but it'll be nearly impossible to follow through once everyone's running madly. That's just a fact."
Lucifer nodded absently, still staring him down without relent. "Do you think little Sammy wanted to stab Madison's heart out in the Bloodbath? Do you think he snapped Max's neck because he felt like it?" He leaned closer. "Do you think he threw Jessica Moore into that wildfire because it sounded like fun?"
Dean snapped open his eyes in a panic, wildly scanning his surroundings to see what had awoken him. It was still pitch black in his plush Capitol bedroom which meant it still had to be somewhere in the middle of the night. That's when the screams started up again. In a heartbeat, Dean had his covers whipped off and was stumbling with surprising speed down the long, dark hallway to his brother's room where another loud crash had sounded. Throwing the door open, he spotted him immediately: tall, muscled form writhing and screaming on mahogany floor all tangled up in his satin bedsheets. There might've been words, but the blankets muffled everything.
Dean rushed to free his brother from his own trap, but it took longer than he liked with Sammy still kicking and bucking in every direction to try to escape himself. Eventually, he managed to uncover a familiar head of disheveled brown hair and a tear stained face, eyes shut tight. He could hear his heartbreaking sobs much clearer then, words begging forgiveness and screaming for help. "She's burning! Jess. Jess. Jess. Jess, I'm sorry, so sorry..." Dean shook him harshly until Sam's eyes finally flew open, drenched and bloodshot. Dean didn't return to his bed that night. He stayed and he stroked his brother's overlong hair, humming the tune of 'Hey Jude' until he finally stopped mumbling about burning flesh and lost apologies. Dean fell asleep himself leaned against the dresser.
"Jessica's not a joke, not to me. You understand?" Dean's tone was dangerous. Lucifer giggled - giggled - and held up his arms in defense.
"I'm just trying to prove a point here, Ken Doll. Believe it or not, the Hunger Games aren't actually about putting on some billionaire's tighty-whities and strutting your stuff for sponsors, nor has it got anything to do with 'honor'." Lucifer mocked his voice on the word as if he were claiming all Victors got unicorns. "The Games mean you kill to survive and preferably you also make a nice little show out of it."
Dean sighed. "I know, believe me. I'm not planning on going soft when the time comes, but I won't force innocents to suffer either."
Lucifer cocked his head again, but this time with a slight grin of respect. "You want my personal opinion?"
Dean scoffed. "Not really."
"Well, if you insist." His mentor feigned resignation and carried on speaking as though deaf to opposition. "I think the real trick to winning the Games is to be the most interesting character of the cast so writers have to keep you in. It makes for good TV to have good actors after all. Me, I was the handsome yet cunning killer character fit for an interesting anti-hero; I had my own little quirks and fake friendships with co-stars, and when the time came I gave them a brilliantly bloody finale. That's all you have to do. Just pick your character type and roll with the punches, break some legs while you're at it. I'll be your first fanboy."
Dean knew he was right about his first intuitions: Lucifer clearly lost whatever sense he might've had a long damn time ago. Regardless, Dean nodded and grunted out a tight 'thanks' to the man so he was happy enough to leave, and to his surprise it worked. Lucifer spent the rest of their half-hour flight curled up on a white furry couch watching some Capitol reality TV crap while Dean ran through everything he could possibly remember from the academy and his dad, pounding every truth in until it hurt and stretched in every way he knew how. He was ready. Years of training led to this moment, this moment when he'd make his mother proud.
Upon the landing of the hovercraft, Dean was promptly blinded-folded and guided down layers and layers below surface in an elevator. Strong Peacekeeper hands served as a constant reminder how utterly confined his new world was, but he forced himself to relax yet again in the face of his deep-seated claustrophobia. No time for fear when you're in the Hunger Games. At first, Dean feared that his touchy-feely stylist would be all over him in his last few moments of mental preparation before launch, but as it turned out obsessive Becky actually kept a respectful distance other than an awkward "pat down" to make sure his tribute outfit fit right. But he supposed it could be worse.
The outfit in question was a comfortably loose-fitting white shirt and gray cargo pants with the only other adornments being sturdy military boots and a leather belt. It looked to be good for mobility and had plenty of useful pockets within the pants, but Dean could tell right away that if the Gamemakers wanted a freezing night, they would be useless. Maybe that was just to lure more tributes into the Cornucopia for blankets or something, or possibly on the brighter side the arena was tropical. Or a desert. Somewhere remotely warm in nature. Ten. The countdown had begun to get in the tubes. Dean froze for just a moment out of nerves, but Becky offered a supportive butt slap which, despite being a butt slap, did succeed in calming him down enough to step inside.
The seconds ticking down to launch were like a bomb ticking away to detonation, and surely one by one each tribute had filed inside and were shooting upwards through compact ground to the battle zone. I'm ready. I'm ready. Dean leaned forward into a predatory athletic stance, clenched his hands into fists and let blinding white light overwhelm his vision as the arena revealed itself.
Let the Hunger Games begin.
A/N: Wow. I think I just broke my word count record for a single chapter, but I really wanted to get all the before-Games stuff out of the way first because that can take forever otherwise. Anyways... wow. Not sure if the other chapters will quite rival this one in length, but there will be blood, sweat, and tears for good measure. Thanks for the read!