(A/N: This is a Supernatural/Hunger Games AU, created just for fun! It might not have all the details correct for Supernatural, and it might not have all the details correct for The Hunger Games. I changed a few things either because I could remember how they actually went or to make the story more interesting. Hope you enjoy!)

Chapter One: Reaping

Dean held his breath as the capsule let out an airy noise, shutting tight. He already knew that there was no turning back, but the door actually shutting for the last time solidified it. He was trapped now, and the only way out was to kill or be killed. Dean wasn't sure he liked the sound of either one.

Suddenly, the capsule began to raise into the air, the roof above him opening. His heart started to race and he broke into a sweat as the outside world grew nearer, brighter by the second. Before he knew it, he was completely revealed, surrounded by the wilderness.

Around him was a wide field with a huge, metal cornucopia in the middle, surrounded by twenty-four other pads like the one Dean was now standing on. Slowly, each pad opened to produce another participant: some girls, some boys; some frightened, some excited to kill. Adrenaline was surging through him as he looked around the circle, wondering who he would end up killing, and who would end up killing him.

A loud beeping began, counting down the seconds until the games began. Dean's stomach was tossing and turning; however, the beeping faded away, leaving only ringing in his ears as he looked toward the middle of the ring. Digital numbers appeared and disappeared on the screen faster than he could've imagined.

Dean glanced to the side, looking for a familiar face. Panic momentarily set in as he couldn't find him, but just then, he locked eyes with the tall boy on the pad next to him. Sam.

His brother nodded solemnly, his hazel eyes glistening and fearful. Dean nodded back, hoping it would convince his brother that everything would be okay. It didn't seem to help.

The beeping grew louder, and Dean flicked his eyes back to the screen. Five seconds left. He swallowed hard, clenching his fists and preparing for action. Four. Three. Two. One.

The Hunger Games had begun.

"Dean? Are you in there?"

Dean blinked and shook his head to clear it, looking over to Sam, who was holding a large axe. He had been thinking and had completely lost focus.

"Yeah," he murmured, holding out his hand. Sam tossed the axe to him, and he caught it swiftly, swinging it over his shoulder. "Just thinking."

"About?" Sam asked, turning his back for a moment to hop out of the covered truck.

Dean followed, watching Sam sling a bag over his shoulder and pick up his own axe. "I don't know. This time of year is just hard for me."

Sam huffed, patting his brother's back. "It's hard for all of us."

Dean nodded, looking toward the earthen floor as Sam started the trek into the forest surrounding their homeland. The brothers lived in District 7, which specialized in lumber and paper. The men would go into the forest for a few hours to days at a time, cutting the trees and lugging them back. Women were in charge of managing paper production and planting new seedlings. Of course, all of this was monitored by peacekeepers, who seldom let them think freely. That's why the brothers enjoyed the wilderness; there were no rules, no judgement.

A while of walking brought them to a dense patch of trees, where they set to work. Sam slung down the bag as Dean gripped his axe, preparing to swing. It was only him and Sam in that part of the woods, as the men had spread out for the day.

"What about it," Sam began, raising his blade as well, "is hard for you?"

Dean shrugged before taking a swing with all his might. The wood splintered. "The reaping, I guess." He swung again with more might. "All the peacekeepers overflowing in our district." More bits flung from the tree. "Watching our people be taken away."

"I see where you're coming from," Sam sighed, starting to chop on the other side of the great oak. His hair was already soaked with sweat, and his flannel was rolled up on the sleeves. "Just try to think of it like pulling teeth. It hurts, but the pain doesn't last forever."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "But you have to pull a tooth every year."

His brother hit the tree with one final blow, stepping back to admire this work. "So much for optimism," he panted, wiping his forehead with his forearm. "Now, what do ya say we mow this twig down?"

Dropping his axe to the side, Dean responded, "Let's get it over with."

Sam let his axe fall as well, then placing his hands on the upper half of the tree. They had cut is just enough so that it was holding itself up; barely. Dean did the same, and they pushed, grunting as the oak cracked and tilted forward before slamming onto the forest floor.

Sam brushed off his hands. "Easy enough."

Dean set to work again, cutting the wood into smaller chunks to lug back. Their method had been perfected over the course of a decade of work, and usually resulted in them getting home at a reasonable hour rather than past midnight. It was a method derived from their father, John. He had since passed, crushed to death by a unsteady tree. He had been weak and weary from losing his wife and the boys mother, Mary, only four years earlier. A fire had broken out in the paper mill, and she was the only casualty.

"So," Dean cleared his throat, trying to make conversation to help speed up the time. "What do you think we'll be having for dinner?"

The brothers lived together in their father's house, along with Sam's girlfriend, Jessica. Jessica worked in the paper mill, as Mary before her, but often made it home soon enough to prepare them a warm meal. The boys only other food throughout the day was what they found in the forest - some berries, occasionally a fish if they had the time to catch one - so dinners were especially enjoyable.

"Maybe potatoes," Sam guessed. "Bread?"

"You think she'd have time to make that?" Dean asked, still working on chopping.

"I hope," Sam sighed. "The honey bread is my favorite. She only makes it this time of year, when the bees are producing it."

"That's something to look forward to, then," Dean replied quietly.

Their conversations, no matter how dry, always made the work more bearable. Soon, they were loading Sam's bag with lumber and starting back to the covered truck. The sun was just setting in the sky, streaking the forest with reds, oranges, and yellows. Dean liked the sunsets, because it always meant he could go home.

Not too long after that, they had unloaded the truck, said their goodbyes to the other guys, and were headed into the village. The houses - which were more like huts - still had candles lit inside, which meant they weren't too late.

As they got closer, Sam slid out of his flannel, leaving only his sweat stained t shirt, and walked up the front steps. He didn't even have to knock, as Jessica opened the door and leapt into his arms.

Sam laughed, hugging her around the waist with one arm - his shirt was in his other hand - and lifting her into the house. Dean smiled weakly and followed, closing the door behind him.

Their father's home was one of the better ones; three rooms including the main one, only a few holes in the roof, good insulation. Maybe that was because there were three people living in it, someone always around to do some maintenance. Still, the ceiling was low - almost low enough to touch the top of Sam's head - and when it rained, water washed in from the floorboards. There were always rotting floor panels in at least one place.

Dean could smell the food as he entered, kicking off his shoes. He could practically taste it in his mouth. The table was laid with a loaf of bread, a bowl of mixed berries, and three cooked salmons. Sam was already seated next to Jessica on their homemade stump chairs when Dean arrived at the table.

"How was work?" Sam asked Jessica, holding one of her hands on both of his, while Dean started to cut the salmon quietly. He didn't feel like he was third wheeling like he had when Jessica first moved in, as he had gotten used to being around them. He was Jessica's friend too.

"Nothing new. Just really dreary today," she replied, her sweet voice echoing off the walls of their small dining room. "I tell you, when I used to work for the group home, I always enjoyed the days before the reaping. None of the kids were dreary then."

Dean slid the cut fish onto Jessica's plate and started on a new one. What she was saying made sense. Forty four years ago, the rules were changed for the 74th Hunger Games. Back then, children between the ages 12 and 18 would be chosen to compete. However, the capitol saw it fit to get more action by changing the ages to between 20 and 28. A wider and older age range guaranteed more bloodshed. Not only that, but the tributes rule of one male and one female changed. There could be two males and two females if someone volunteered. It was rare in their district, but happened.

"Well, the woods wasn't much different either," Sam replied, nodding to Dean as his brother slid fish onto his plate as well. "We thankfully got away from the other guys for a while, but the young ones looked like they were in rough shape."

Dean chuckled to himself at Sam's comment, "young ones." Sam wasn't much older himself, being twenty-two. He had only been in the running for the games for two years, which meant his name was barely entered in the drawing. Dean, on the other hand had many more, being twenty-six. He had also taken up the role of buying tesserae - a small amount of grain and oil for the price of having one's name inserted more times for the Games - which gave him a substantial amount of slips. He was yet to be chosen, however.

Dean finally got to take a bite of fish, his mouth exploding with flavor as he set it in. He tried to suppress his sigh and eat slowly, which was a struggle, but he did his best. When he was finished, he realized he had ignored the rest of the conversation, and the others were standing up to head to bed. Jess packed away the leftovers and Sam cleaned the plates while Dean bolted the door and shut the shades.

The rest of the night was a blur as well, Dean heading to his bed while Sam and Jess headed to their room. Dean smiled as they went away, hand in hand, because they'd get some time alone for a while. It was stressful being in a relationship around the reaping, so Dean was glad he wasn't involved in one. He had never really been after girls since his parents' deaths, but he had to pride himself on being a ladies man earlier on.

Sleep didn't come that night. Dean stared at the ceiling and tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't bear the thought of what might happen the next day. Could he be chosen? Or even worse, could Sam?

When the sun rose, Dean was up and ready. He walked by himself in the crisp morning air to the river where he scrubbed himself the best he could, hoping to look presentable in front of all the cameras that would be there that day.

On his way home, he took the long way to get a look at the town square. On this day only, there was a huge stage with two glass bowls perched atop it, and more peacekeepers than Dean could count. He hurried home.

Sam and Jess had gotten up at that point, and informed Dean that they were headed to the river as well. When Jess had gone out the door, Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, who scoffed and shoved his brother away. Dean laughed for the first time in a while.

It was all still a blur by the time they returned, everyone dressed and ready to go.

"You look beautiful, as always," Sam hummed, pulling Jess in by the waist for a kiss. They were usually never so open in public, so Dean was glad they weren't uncomfortable around him too.

Dean trailed behind the lovers as they made it to the square. As they entered and were checked off the list, Jess left to be at the back of the crowd with the other girls. They were arranged by gender and age; girls on the right and boys on the left, as well as youngest in the back and oldest in the front. Dean silently walked with Sam to the boys section, trying to think of what to say. He was still caught in the fog that obstructed his thoughts.

When they got to where Sam was supposed to stop, Dean turned to him and sighed. "After this, we should go to the market for lunch."

"Okay," Sam replied, an empty smile spreading onto his face. He turned away, and Dean kicked himself. He just wanted to show Sam how confident he was that they wouldn't be picked. At least he had tried.

Dean found his spot and settled into it, standing with the other twenty-six year olds. He could feel the hardened sadness that all of them carried, almost accepting if they were chosen. Dean was sure he wasn't going to be. There were too many people here for it to be him chosen. Too many people.

Suddenly, a red haired woman had taken the stage. Dean heard the whole crowd hush, so quiet, he could hear a pin drop.

"Hello, District 7, and welcome to the 118th Hunger Games Reaping Ceremony! I am Lady Bevell, replacing your previous escort who, sadly, has passed away." Dean already didn't like her. She was too fancy and her voice was too condescending. He crossed his arms. "Now, let us begin! Ladies first."

Dean felt himself almost shocked as she crossed the stage to the ladies bowl. Normally, their old escort would say a few words and coax them in. Lady Bevell seemed eager to get started.

Maybe the fog was keeping Dean from responding to what was happening, or maybe the world was moving in slow motion. Either way, he felt his hair stand on end as she reached in the bowl and stirred the names, grabbing a sheet.

Dean held his breath, as did everyone else in the crowd, as Lady Bevell read the name.

"Jessica Moore!"

Dean was frozen, trying to comprehend, when he heard a strangled wail. He winced, knowing who it was coming from. Sam.

Soon Jessica was heading up the steps to the stage, her body stiff and choking back her sobs. Dean hated himself for the thought - he loved Jess more than himself - but deep inside him, he was glad he and Sam were still okay; still unpicked. Not that Sam would ever be okay again.

That's when the worst imaginable thing happened. Dean wasn't sure if he had heard the words coming out right, but he knew who said them.

"I volunteer!"

Dean whipped his head around, starting to panic. Sam was running down the aisle and jumping onto the stage, wrapping Jess into a hug. She was trying to pushing him away, trying to tell him to not do it, but it was too late. He had officially taken her place.

Dean felt his heart rip in two as the peacekeepers pulled them away, Jess kicking and screaming while Sam tried to compose himself. From there on out, Sam was being watched by the country as a tribute. He had to start acting like one if he wanted sponsors or if he wanted to scare the other tributes...

The fog had lifted. Dean started breathing heavily and sweating, his whole body yelling at him to do something. What could he do? Sam had volunteered, and it was impossible for Dean to volunteer to take his place.. He wanted to cry, seeing his baby brother up there, standing stiff and - maybe to the audience - looking proud. Dean could see right through that.

"How sweet!" Lady Bevell sighed, already turned away from Sam and headed to the bowl. "Shall we pick from the boys now?"

Dean was hardly listening, staring at Sam. He could see how hard Sam was trying to keep his eyes ahead and not find comfort in Dean's.

Lady Bevell was rushing it along, a slip already in her hand. "It looks like... Ash Harvelle!"

Dean hated himself for what he did next.

"Wait!" He cried, shoving past the men his age and running to the stage. He could feel Sam's eyes locked on his, as if to shoot him down before he could reach it. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Dean clambered onto the stage and stood tall, staring at Lady Bevell while he avoided Sam's eyes.

"Oh?" The red haired woman looked to Sam and then to Dean. "Aren't you brothers?" She paused so quickly that Dean couldn't respond. "Well that's lovely! District 7, meet your tributes!"

She stepped back so Sam and Dean could shake hands, the crowd remaining silent. Normally, they were expected to clap, but in defiance, no one ever did. Dean stepped toward Sam, daring to look up at him.

Sam was flashing Dean a soft smile, showing the audience that he was thankful his brother had volunteered to fight by his side. That was what Dean wanted to do after all. But Sam's eyes were something only Dean could read. All he could see behind them was pure loathing, so intense Dean could barely look back at him.

What have I done?