AN/ Hey guys, here's the first chapter of my first fic on here. I've already started on the second chapter and it will probably be a little longer than this one. I'll have it up in a few days most likely. Also, THE episode is on tonight. Good luck to all those watching it. I'm kinda freaking out about it. Anyway, hope you like the first chapter. :)

Rating will start at T.
I may raise it later on if need be.

It was the beginning of the end; that day. That was the day my old life ended; my real life. Now I was but a pawn in some twisted game; no way out, a near certain death awaiting me.

Dean Winchester awakes from his sleep early that morning. It takes a moment before he remembers what day it is. A feeling of dread washes over him as he sits up.

Reaping day.

The day everyone dreaded.

Everyone who wasn't the cause of it, Dean corrected himself.

He pushed a hand through his short, sandy brown hair and got out of bed. The small house was still completely dark and unsettlingly quiet. It was an hour too soon for light to be coming in through the windows. Dean stumbled blindly into the bare kitchen. All it held was a small fridge, a few cabinets, and an old oven.

He didn't know why he bothered looking; he knew there wouldn't be anything for breakfast. There never was. Not since Mom had died quite a few years before.

Dean knew his father tried hard. It wasn't his fault that their house was nearly falling apart, and that they only got enough food for one meal, and that was on a good day.

It wasn't John's fault that working in the mines barely paid for a loaf of bread. Dean worked there too, but even with two paychecks, it wasn't enough.

The search for just a tiny morsel was enough to distract Dean for a minute, but he soon remembered the reaping.

The anxiety in his stomach made him feel even hungrier than he normally did. In all the years that he had known what was going on with the reaping, no one he'd ever known had been picked. He was typically not too worked up about it for that reason. It seemed less painful that way. Of course Dean didn't want anyone to die, especially people from district twelve; his district, but he figured it was better watching a stranger die than someone he cared about.

This year his little brother Sam was old enough to be drawn.

That was enough to give Dean some stress about the whole thing.

Anyone but Sam, he kept thinking.

Not to belittle Sam, but Dean knew he would never make it out of there alive. Not at this age. The last thing Dean wanted was to watch his baby brother die.

He didn't even think about the possibility of Sam having to watch his older brother, his hero, having the same fate instead; and even though Sam's name would only be put in the pot once, and Dean's would be put in fifteen times at least, he wasn't worried about himself. He'd always been pretty lucky, despite the whole poor and nearly starving to death thing.

Dean was staring blankly at the light in the empty fridge when he heard footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder at Sam. The twelve year old stood in the doorway looking at his feet.

"You should go back to bed Sam," Dean said quietly, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

Sam nodded, and went to leave but turned back.

"Dean?" he asked, voice cracking. Dean breathed in. He knew Sam was probably just as scared as he was.

"Yeah?"

"What if I get picked?" Sam had never sounded more tiny or unsure. Dean walked over and hugged Sam tight. He was getting to where he was nearly as tall as Dean.

"I wouldn't let it happen, I'd go instead," Dean said, pulling back to look Sam in the face.

"I don't want you to die for me." Sam whispered, and Dean's heart clenched violently.

"Look, there are thousands of names in there. There's a one in thousands chance to getting picked." Sam nodded, clutching at his brother, fear shuddering through him.

"Those are good odds, Sam."

It was around noon when all the citizens of district twelve gather in the town. Dean and Sam are separated from their father and put in with everyone else eligible for the reaping. John stands with the rest of the family members on the side. He's looking up, trying to remind himself to breathe. He tells himself that his boys will be safe. He tries to believe himself, but can't.

Everyone is dressed in their nicest clothes for the ceremony; reaping tradition.

Dean didn't understand it. In fact, it kind of sickened him; how this day, this event, was treated like a celebration, a reason to wear a tie or a dress. It was worse than a funeral and people treated it like a sport.

Dean and Sam shared a look that they both attempted to make comforting, but they could see the fear written on each other's faces. Dean had to stand up front with the older kids. He glanced back at Sam, who was staring at the stage, a deer-caught-in-headlights look in his eyes.

First, the mayor comes out to greet the crowd and read the list of past victors; well, victor. There's only been one from their district. He's middle-aged by now, not having participated in the games for some twenty or so years.

Bobby Singer, a good friend of John's.

He comes onto the stage with the mayor. The crowd gives a slight applause and the mayor introduces the woman who announces the reaping; Lilith.

"Good afternoon District Twelve!" She announces; her voice booming in Dean's ears from the microphone that she was leaning a little bit too close to.

"Who's ready to find out which lucky citizens get to participate in this year's Hunger Games!" Dean cringes and steps back. She doesn't seem to realize she's more or less yelling into his ear; either that or she is unbothered by the crowd's discomfort.

As if anyone from the capitol would care about their comfort.

They watch us die for sport, Dean reminded himself.

"With a win, you would bring your district untold fame and glory." Dean felt nauseous. He wanted to tell her to hurry the hell up and announce the tributes before he pukes.

"With a loss, well, I think you know what you get when you lose," Lilith says with a disturbing little chuckle.

Dean glances back at Sam again. He's paler now and looks like he's probably not breathing all that well. Dean doesn't blame him. He doesn't think he's been breathing properly since they arrived at the reaping.

Sam's only in there once. He reminded himself. It was the tiniest bit comforting, until Lilith brought out a huge jar. It was marked with a tiny piece of pink tape on the jar. They always pull the girl's name first.

Lilith pulls a slip of paper and calls out the name on the slip.

"Jo Harvelle."

Dean's seen Jo around. Her mom was friends with his dad, so he's met her a couple of times before. He can hear her mother burst out in sobs from where he stands.

How can they do this? Ruin an entire family. For what?

Entertainment.

It's sick.

Jo is standing near Dean and he sees two other girls around her age grabbing her in a hug. They're crying too. Jo looks brave though, but Dean can tell she's really trying to appear unfazed.

"Come on up Jo!" Lilith announces loudly, making Dean jump slightly.

Jo breathes in deep, swallows, and walks up to the stage.

Jo sits next to Bobby Singer. He says something to her and she nods solemnly. There's an empty seat next to her; the male tribute's seat.

"Alright then," Lilith says, pulling out the next jar.

She puts a hand in and mixes the paper slips. Dean watches them flutter around the jar. He realizes he's holding his breath but doesn't try to let it out.

She pulls a slip out. It's crinkly and makes a scuffling sound as she un-wrinkles it, right into the microphone.

She lowers her eyes to read the name.

Silence.

Anyone but Sam.

"Dean Winchester."