Hi! I'm kinda new to this and I just thought I'd give writing a shot! It's not very long but... yea! Please give it a shot and let me know what you think :)
I'll carry on with this if people like. Enjoy!

This is of course a Brittana fic.

NOTE: This is cross over between Glee and Hunger Games because who doesn't love badass Santana? and also because I'm so hyped up about "Catching Fire!"

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GLEE OR HUNGER GAMES
(I wish I did though :P )

I can feel bile spurting up my throat as the smell of burning flesh invades my airways. I try to suppress it in by taking deep long breaths, big mistake.

Fuck. I have remnants of ashes in my nostrils, ashes of a cremated man. I have a dead man in my nostrils. Well that escalated quickly.

As I suffocate from the thick smog, my eyes start to water. I held my breath and stood up, blindly staggering through the desolated land. Debris are scattered everywhere, trees, large undergrowth and several other shit I have no time to think about. I try my best not to trip as I desperately trudge away from the black haze. My lungs starts burning from the lack of air, I can only hold my breath for so long unlike Aretha or Bilbo Baggins, my musing draws me back to reality like a bucket of cold water. Chills ran down my spine as I realized...

I'm still in the arena.

No cannon have been fired.

Son of a bitch, Tommy might still b-

I see a bright spark from the left side of my peripheral view; my body involuntarily curls up into a ball with my hands covering my head as I brace myself for the explosion. A shockwave of heat blows me into mid-air, making me land flat on the ground like a thrown ragdoll. A dull thump lands by my right side, missing my head just a couple of inches. I turn my attention to see what the unknown object was.

"Well shit, there goes Tommy's arm."

"Santana! What the fuck was that!" boomed the voice into her ear. Brown eyes snapped open and the head of the petit frame surges up, only to hit the stainless roof, which causes a loud clank. The pain forcing her body back down.

"Shit."

"Hold on, we'll pull you right out." The makeshift bed made of plain sheet of cold metal starts to move backwards pushing itself out of the cylinder. Her anxious hands alternated in digging her nails into tanned palms to scratching the criss-cross grain of the surface.

"Seriously you'd think after hundreds of go's on this thing you'd think you'd stop denting the simulator machine. I'm certain that you've actually moulded that large forehead of yours in to the frame" A large outline of a man with a broad frame came into view, lights flooded her sight making the young brunette blink her eyes several times to adjust as she emerged out of the metal cave.

"Get these straps off of me Haymitch. Now." She growled in a low voice, clearly not amused by her company's comments.

Ignoring her imperative he continues, "And every time you hit that pretty little head of yours on that ugly beeping machine, I hope it'll knock some manners into you." His eyes glinted mockingly as it shifted from the bed straps to Santana's eyes. Getting a kick from irritating the young girl he pulls on the loose flap, tightening around the thin wrist.

A sound cross between a gasp of surprise and a growl escapes from her lips "Get me out of these now!"

"Oopsie! Sorry I do that every time." He undo's the restraint and makes his way around Santana's left side to free the other limb.

"Yea and every time you do, I wish the simulator was real with your drunken-homeless ass in it" she spat back.

"Speaking of the simulator, what was that-"

"I know right, blew a hole right in that place-"Feeling smug with her achievement she smirks at her mentor, her eyes meeting his steel gray eyes.

"That was crap." Santana does a double take, caught unguarded by his comment. "Seriously, what was that? You nearly, wait no. You did blow half of the arena off." Haymitch stared at her with disapproving eyes as he scolded the Latina.

The young girl stared right back at him, baffled by his comment, "What I killed those motherfuckers! In record time as well if I may say so myself!" she thought to herself. "Well it got the job done didn't it?!"

Haymitch ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair, scratching his scalp out of annoyance "Your job is to get out alive. Preferably without any scratch on that pretty little face of yours but that's not gonna happen." Walking to his working table lit up by a single lamp, he took the half consumed whisky and enclosed his lips around the bottle, taking a large gulp before carrying on his rant. "You didn't have to pull a District 13 on the damn place! With that stunt you would have killed all tributes! Including you! The explosives you used were enough to bring down a district or two!"

"Whatever, I don't expect to come out of that place alive. I don't have a reason to." She retorted. The room fell silent.

Bringing her freed hand across, she hastily tries to undo the other constrainer before Haymitch. He slaps her hand away to clear it from obstruction.

"I can do it!"

"Shut up, your nose is bleeding, it's gross." He moves away from her, leaning back to his working table.

Santana brings her right hand up to her face, wiping the skin above her upper lip, warm liquid spread across her fingertips. Upon seeing her blood stained hand, Santana pulls the connected electrodes on her head off.

"Ew." Haymitch comments watching her sitting up as she tries to catch the blood dripping from her chin. Pulling a face of disgust, he takes out an oil discoloured rug from the back pocket of his worn out corduroy trousers. "Here" he chucks the grimy cloth to her lap. Santana picks it up and takes it to her face, briskly wiping the liquid, staining her cheeks a mixture of black and red.

"Was that oil?!" exclaimed Santana, she licked her dry lips, tasting rust and with a tint of grime.

"You're welcome" deadpanned Haymitch, briefly looking up from his reading glasses and returns his attention to reading through a document.

"So it says here that the train arrives at 8pm. We'll leave in hour so get ready. We'll get there around 4am and then it's another 3 hour journey to the town. Well, where you're staying."

Having stopped the bleeding Santana gathers herself and walks towards Haymitch, she could smell the stench of alcohol mixed with cologne emitting from his week old shirt. "Where are we going?" she asks, standing on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder to see the paper he was reading.

"I hope you like barnyard animals" he mutters.

"District 10."