Morning


His brother's cries woke him out of a sound sleep.

Sitting up in bed, seventeen year old Dean Winchester blearily rubbed his eyes. In the lightening dimness, he could make out his younger brother's form, laying curled up in a ball on his mattress and tears streaking down his face.

Dean swung his long legs off the bed and crossed the small room in three strides, gently placing a hand on Sam's arm.

"Sammy, wake up. Wake up!"

Sam's eyes shot open and he breathed a sigh of relief at Dean's face. He quickly sat up and threw his arms around his brother's neck, hugging the life out of him.

"It was me. They picked my name," he whispered brokenly into his brother's neck.

Dean's arms looped around his small brother, pulling him close to his chest. "It's your first year, Sam. They're not going to pick you," he murmured in his shaggy hair. He could feel Sam's tears soaking his collarbone but didn't care.

"But what if they do? What if they pick you?" Sam asked tiredly, his face still buried in Dean's chest.

"If they pick me, they pick me. But it's so doubtful. My name's not in there many times and your name is only in there once. They are not going to pick you," he said, gently pulling Sam away from him so their eyes could meet.

Sam sighed. "Why is this happening? Why?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders sadly. "I don't know, midget. I don't know."


After Sam finally dropped back off to sleep, Dean slowly began to dress. He pulled on his father's old hunting boots and a strong leather jacket that his mother had scrimped and saved to buy him the previous year. It was about two sizes too large but Mary had told him that she had done that on purpose so he would grow into it. Dean loved the old jacket, it being one of his most prized possesions.

He carefully slipped through the house, passing his father's bedroom silently. He didn't want to wake John Winchester up before it was time. As soon as he made it for the front door, he heard a snarl and a long hiss.

Glancing down, he saw Sam's mangy old mutt, Bones. The dog was glaring at him with such hate but Dean couldn't blame him. He remembered when Sam had rescued the pathetic creature and brought it home. Dean had wanted to shoot it immediately and put it out of it's misery but after Sam had threatened to never speak to him again, he had helped his gentle brother nurse the puppy back to health. Bones was now a healthy but still quite hateful animal.

"I'll still cook you, old bird," he said, shaking his head before pushing the creaky door open and escaping around the back.


Welcome to District 12 of Panem.

A coal miner's dream was to live here, work here, and die here. And so many did. A horrible accident three years before had claimed the lives of so many men, including the one of Daniel Braeden. Daniel Braeden was Lisa Braeden's father. And Lisa Braeden was Dean Winchester's best friend.

Dean ran silently in the chilly morning air, winding a very familiar path through the woods. Twigs and leaves crunched under his feet, joining in with the already beaten down trail that he had taken so many time before.

He reached a clearing that lead into quite the beautiful meadow. Sometimes he and Sam would come here and eat lunch when school let out early. But he never took Sam farther than the meadow. Because running down the side, right through the center, was the longest, the biggest, and scariest looking electric fence that held a large sign.

DO NOT CROSS. LIVE WIRES.

Of course, being Dean Winchester and the risk taker, he would check the fence regularly, listening for the hum to see if it was activated. Only once in a great while it would be, he would be able to get through and deeper into the woods.

He listened for the hum and heard none. Sliding his leg through, he ducked his head under and landed with a soft thud on the other side of the fence. Running faster and picking up the windy speed behind him, Dean finally felt that peaceful freedom starting to set in. It was hard to feel this way, especially living in District 12.

About twenty yards into the second selection of woods, he came to an large maple tree that had a hollowed out center covered with leaves. Pushing the dead leaves out of the way, Dean extracted a long silky bow and a quiver full of arrows. He never hunted with anything else.

It was illegal to hunt in District 12. If you were caught hunting, you could be shot on sight. It was actually considered mercy if you were brought to the town square and brutally whipped and left for dead.

And for a long time, especially after his mother Mary's death and his father's illness, Dean never did. But following a turning point in his life, he realized that he had to try something else to survive. That was when he bought his first bow off the black market after managing to snare enough rabbits to sell. He learned quickly and that bow had become his salvation.


Aiming high, he could see the groosling's hiding spot.

"Aw, don't shoot him. He's cute!" chirped a familiar voice behind him, startling him out of his wits and letting the arrow fly much higher and missing the bird.

"Damn you, Lisa!" Dean snarled, turning and facing his dark haired friend.

Lisa let out a shout of laughter. "It's not often you can scare Dean Winchester."

"Not funny. That was going to be our dinner tonight," he snapped as he began to climb the tree to where the arrow had lodged itself.

"Dean, that arrow-"

"Got it!" he announced triumphantly, promptly snatching the arrow out of the bark and leaping with a faint thump into the dirt.

Lisa stepped back, shaking her head and grinning. "You are such a-"

"Such a what, Braeden?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Nothing, Winchester. Absolutely nothing."


"How's Sam?"

Dean sighed, running his knife over the tip of the arrow. "He's terrified. He woke up screaming this morning, having dreamt that they picked him."

"Sarah's like that. She's so scared," whispered Lisa. Sarah was her twelve year old cousin that had moved in with them after her parents' death in a car accident the year before. Her name was automatically placed in the bowl for the Games.

"How many times is your name in there?" Dean asked, glancing over at his friend.

"Forty-two."

"Forty-two?" Dean repeated, glaring furiously at her.

"Dean, we're supporting six children at home. I couldn't hunt enough rabbits to keep up," Lisa snapped, not looking at him.

When a family would need more grains, they would go to the town and collect tessarae. But when more was collected, the kid's name would go into the bowl another time. Both Dean and Lisa had down that several times, although now Dean hadn't done it as many as Lisa had.

"You?" she asked, finally bringing her eyes to meet his.

"Twenty."

"I think the odds are more in your favor than mine."

"Still, there's hundreds of names in those bowl."

Lisa shrugged one shoulder, leaning her head back so the sun could catch her neck.

"All I know is that Sam and Sarah will not be picked."


It was ten in the morning and the town square was filled with people. He knew better than to trot right through with his four rabbits and the grooslings, so he scooted through a back walkway to the back door of the bakery. Knocking lightly with his knuckles, he stepped away and awaited for the baker Harvelle to answer.

Only Mr. Harvelle didn't. His daughter, Joanna did.

"Dean, hey," smiled the young blonde. He never did know Jo Harvelle too well but she was always very pleasant and very kind. He had known her since they were kids but had never gotten closer to her personally. She would occasionally buy a rabbit off of him herself if she was trying a new recipe. Not only was she an amazing baker like her father, she was a magnificent chef either way. He had sampled her different stews and soups a couple of times but had to stop for fear he would try to steal the whole pot.

"Hey, Jo. How are you?" he greeted warmly as she stepped back to allow him access with his kills.

"I'm good. Papa and I have been busy with the new shipment of cakes so that's why he sent me to let you in," smiled the girl. "What do you have for us?"

Dean held up his line of kills, all perfectly intact. Jo's eyes widened in appreciation and she cleared off the table so he could set them down.

"It amazes me how you can always get such a clean shot through the eye," she said.

"Lots of hard work," said Dean. "It amazes me how you make those damn cakes so high," he eyed the beginnings of one that was across the way on the opposing counter.

Jo chuckled. "Lots of hard work."

At that moment, the kitchen door swung open and Mr. and Mrs. Harvelle stepped through. Bill Harvelle, the large jolly man with the twinkling eyes, greets him fondly.

"Dean! What do you have for me today?" he trilled. Dean stepped back and allowed the elder man access to the kills that lay perfectly aligned on the countertop.

Ellen Harvelle was much smaller than her husband. Jo had definitely inherited her stature from her mother. She had a kind face and motherly eyes.

"How's your daddy doing, Dean?" she asked quietly, her voice gentle.

"He's getting by." Barely alive.

"And Sammy? How's he handling today?"

Sam actually didn't mind Ellen calling him Sammy. He once told Dean that it reminded him of Mary.

Dean shrugged again. "He's getting by too. He's scared but determined to keep it together."

"Send him our love, will you?" asked Ellen.

"Of course."

At that moment, he felt a wad of bills being pressed into his hand.

"I'll take the lot. Except for the one groosling. Had a feeling that's your dinner tonight," said Bill.

Dean stared at the money in his hand. He hadn't seen this much in Heaven knows how long. "Mr. Harvelle, I can't take this-"

"Nonsense. Winter's coming. You can get Sam that new coat that he's been eyeing," said Ellen.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," He couldn't believe his luck.


After a few more minutes of chatter with the elder Harvelles, Dean finally slipped out the back door. To his surprise, he found Jo sitting on the steps, something small in her hands. It looked like she was trying to put a thread through a small hole on a piece of metal. Looking closer, he realized he was looking at an amulet of a god's head. He remembered learning about gods and goddesses in his classes before he had to leave school to feed his family. It was always quite an interesting subject to him.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" he asked her as he walked down the back steps. The dead groosling was slung over his shoulder, his money firmly in his pocket.

"Oh, I bought this on the black market. Don't tell Mom and Papa because they'll kill me for doing it. It fascinated me," she said, holding up the now threaded necklace.

Dean eyed the piece. It was quite large, almost the size of a nickel and it looked quite heavy.

"Mind if I see it?"

"Course not."

She handed the necklace over to him. He turned it over in his hands, examining it in the light.

"Keep it."

The voice alarmed him and he looked up. "Excuse me?"

"You obviously like it. Keep it," smiled Jo.

"Really?"

She laughed again. "Or give it to Sam. Do whatever you want with it."

Dean stared at this girl, unable to figure her out. "Thank you, Jo."

"You're welcome."

"Jo!" Her name was called from inside the cottage. She leapt gracefully to her feet.

"Gotta go."

With that, she was gone, the rickety old house swallowing her whole.


Throughout his whole life, only two people had ever touched him dearly.

Lisa Braeden was the best friend he ever had. She was funny, sweet, tough, and quite the excellent hunter. She had taught him everything he had ever known about hunting and wasn't surprised when he became better at her. She had helped him learn how to surive.

Jo Harvelle had been the person who had kept him alive at a very young age.

It hadn't been long after Mary's death. John had retreated into his shell and would sit for hours on an end staring into nothingness. Whatever supplies that they had left were gone quickly.

An eleven year old Dean tried to sell some of Sam's old baby clothes in the town square. Everyone turned him away, ignoring him and leaving him standing. Only he didn't stand very long once the rain began banging down.

It was over. He was going to die.

He sank to his knees in the mud, allowing the rain to soak him through. He was exhausted and ready to die alone in the rain.

He was giving up.

But at that moment, two loaves of slightly burnt bread fell in the water in front of him. He looked up in time to see a sheet of blond hair disappearing back inside the baker's house, the door slamming behind her.

Jo.

And it was from then on, he fought to survive.

It was two weeks later he met Lisa.


He dressed slowly, pulling on a crisp clean shirt and a pair of dark brown slacks. He yanked his hunting boots back on and ran a hand through his tousled sandy blond hair.

There was a tiny knock at the door.

"Come in," he called, glancing over his shoulder.

John Winchester stepped through the doorway, Sam flanking him. Sam was dressed in a clean white shirt and a pair of deninum jeans. His shaggy dark hair was white and slicked back over his head.

"Hey, midget," Dean greeted him.

Sam turned red. "Don't call me that, Dean. Or should I say, gigantor?"

Dean chuckled. "Just wait, kid. You'll be catching up with me soon."

John remained in the doorway, watching his sons with a small content expression on his face. Dean couldn't miss that.

"Hey, I've got something for you," he said, pulling the small amulet out of his pocket. He held it up and Sam inspected it in the afternoon light. "It's supposed to be magical," he invented wildly. "It will protect you."

Sam took the amulet and slipped the cord over his head. "Protect me from getting Reaped?"

"Protect you if you get Reaped. And you are not getting Reaped," Dean's voice was a little more forceful.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean gently scuffed a hand over the top of his head, causing his stiffened hair to skid up slightly. Smiling, he padded it back down and looked over at his father.

"I'll see you there after the Reaping," John murmured quietly.

"Will you come to the Reaping?" asked Sam.

"Yes," said John.

"We'll see you after," said Dean. He gently tugged on Sam's arm. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go."


Every group was lined up by age. The older kids, ages eighteen were in the back while the new twelve year olds were in the front. They were separated by sexes, boys on one side and girls on the other.

Sam remained stuck to his side as they made their way into the crowd of kids, brushing past the parents that were alreadying gathering off to the side. Dean could see John approaching from the a few yards away. Ellen Harvelle had glimpsed him too and was waving him over. John shot her a grateful glance and joined her and Bill.

Lisa had beat them there. She was already standing amongst the other seventeen year old girls, her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail and a light blue dress adorning her thin frame. She gave them a low wave and turned back towards the front.

He gently released Sam from his side and gave him a push. Sam gave him his famous wide eyed puppy dog look before slowly shuffling up to the front.

"Welcome, welcome. So nice to see so many smiling faces here today!" came a freakishly familiar voice. Looking up, he could see the clowned up Meg at the microphone at the stage. Meg was the District 12's escort for the past five years of tributes. She would leave with a boy and a girl between the ages of 12 and 18 and would return alone.

"Welcome to the Reaping of the 74th Hunger Games!"

In the past twenty five years, there hadn't been a single winner. But in the 50th Hunger Games, a man named Bobby Singer had won the Second Quarter Quell. That was when, at every 25 year anniversary, the Capitol would send two extra tributes from each district, so there would be forty-eight tributes fighting instead of twenty-four. Bobby had won by skill but also by remaing away from everyone and waiting until they had all picked each other off. In the end, it had been him and a girl from District 1. In a bloody fight, Bobby had been left standing.

Dean ignored the film that played, showing past clips of the past Hunger Games. Even though he was a hunter, he still had trouble watching any kind of blood, guts, and gore. He found his eyes looking for Lisa again and she had a similar look on her face that he was sure he had. She gave him a gentle wink and a little smile.

Finally, the movie came to an end and President Azazel took the stage. He gave a short speech about the honor of being picked to compete in the Hunger Games and how the single victor would be left with riches beyond his wildest dreams. He then introduced District 12's only surviving victor, Bobby Singer.

Every year, Bobby would show up drunk at the Reaping, would barely be able to get two words out, and then either fall of the stage or throw up on someone. Dean wondered what he would do this year.

Bobby staggered up to the microphone, blearily looking out over the crowd of children. He gave one big stupid wave and let out a belch that was magnified twelve times through the microphone. Then with a quick motion, he fell headfirst off the stage and into the pit.

Dean rolled his eyes, not even bothering to try to assist the drunk as he pulled himself to his feet. A few other kids and white clad Capitol guard members assisted him and he got back up to the stage, sinking into the victor's chair that had been set up for him.

"Well, now that that's over," said Meg with a shiver of disgust. "Let us begin! And may the odds ever be in your favor." She stepped over to the large bowl that held the girl's names. "As always, ladies first."

She gracefully plunged her hand into the bowl, shifting the many namees around with her talon like finger nails. Her index finger and her thumb grasped onto one piece and pulled it out. She unwrapped the paper and cleared her throat.

"Joanna Beth Harvelle."

What?

A wail of agony rippled through the group of parents. Turning slightly, he could see Ellen Harvelle being held back by her husband and by his father as she tried to make for her daughter who was now slowly shuffling towards the stage.

Jo...Jo...

It couldn't be. Damn it, it couldn't be. She was too kind, too quiet. She wouldn't be able to survive in this. She would probably die the first day at the Cornucopia. And with the drunk Bobby Singer as her mentor!

Oh, poor Jo.

"Come, come girl. Come on, it's okay," said Meg, holding out a hand to Jo as she slowly ascended the stairs. "Now, your name is Joanna Beth Harvelle?"

"Yes," she whispered into the microphone, her voice barely audible.

"And what do you do?"

"I'm Bill Harvelle's daughter."

"Oh, so you're the baker's daughter?"

"Yes."

"And how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

Sixteen. She had been ten years old when she had saved his life. He had never even bothered to find out her age.

"Well, soon, you are going to be having the experience of a lifetime!" Meg trilled. "Now, let us pick the boy that will be joining you in that arena!"

Dean had the sudden urge to vomit at that moment.

She walked over to the large glass bowl that held all the boys's names. He suddenly remembered that his name was in there twenty times. The odds were not in his favor. He just knew it.

She pulled a name out of the bowl and held up. She cleared her throat again and said the name with just as much splendor as she said Jo's.

"Sam Winchester."


Heehee, cliffhanger! I know you all saw that coming.

Well, this is an idea that fell in my lap a few nights ago while discussing The Hunger Games with my mother and I fell in love with it. I thought it would be such an interesting idea (well, to me at least) to have all the characters of Hunger Games replaced with the characters of Supernatural, so in that, Dean is Katniss, Jo is Peeta, Lisa is Gale, Bobby is Haymitch, etc. etc. I hope everyone agrees with my choices. And I hope everyone likes the story.

Chapter two will be up soon. Of course, it will open with Dean's reaction to Sam's reaping. And in case nobody understand (not trying to call anyone stupid), Dean is seventeen, Jo is sixteen, Lisa is seventeen, and Sam is twelve.

Well, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are so immensely loved! I do hope you will grace me with them.

I will assure you, over the course of the story, many of the Hunger Games's main events will take place. But I am not copying Hunger Games word for word. So many other things will take place with my own spin on them.

I do not in any way own The Hunger Games or Supernatural. That honor belongs to Suzanne Collins and Eric Kripke.