Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the Hunger Games. If I did, I have a whole list of people who I wouldn't have let die.


Chapter 1

Dean crouched down low, moving slowly towards a hunched figure in the grass. His face was streaked with dirt and traces of blood and his clothes fared no better. He held a crude handmade spear in his right hand, poised for attack. The figure before him seemed oblivious to his approach and was fumbling with some sort of wire in his hands. It appeared that he was trying to set up a snare, but wasn't having the best of luck.

Dean was almost directly on top of the person. His prey seemed to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, with a large build and short brown hair. He had the beginnings of a beard on his face, which had a nasty looking burn on the left side. You did not want to get into a fight with this young man. The spark of intelligence in his eyes looked deadly.

Slowly, Dean pulled back his spear, aiming for the back of the still-unaware man. He positioned it carefully and heaved it forward.

But it never found its mark.

There was a blur of movement and Dean was knocked to the ground by another large man who had come flying out of the bushes to his right. The spear had fallen several feet away from its intended target, who had dived to the side. The new figure and Dean struggled for a moment, but Dean was overpowered. His adversary was a young black man, about sixteen, with a gleaming knife in his hands, which he held at Dean's throat.

"Gadreel?" The man called to his comrade, who rose from the ground and brushed some dirt from his leg.

"Well done, Gordan." Gadreel said, a cruel grin finding its way to his face as he observed Dean lying on the ground.

"So, Winchester, here we are at last," Gordan said with an insane smile. "I've been waiting for this since the beginning, hoping to be the one to take down the infamous Dean. How'd you score that eleven, huh? Think you're better than everyone else? Not feeling so confident right now, are you?"

Dean glowered at Gordan. "Bite me." He spat out.

The deranged smile on Gordan's face only grew. "Adios, Winchester," he laughed. And with that, he swung the knife up and planted it deep into Dean's chest.


Sam awoke with a gasp, his fingers clutching the ratty old blanket he shared with his brother. The dream had been so vivid, so real. He lay there for a moment, the scene replaying itself over and over again in his mind until he felt sick. He hated getting dreams like this. They terrified him. They had started only recently, just a few months ago, but had begun building in frequency and intensity. And always, they showed him someone dying, someone slumping over in the streets from hunger and never rising again, someone suffocating in the mines, someone getting beaten to death over a piece of bread. Sometimes the dreams showed him deaths of people in different districts, and those dreams could be quite disturbing. He especially hated getting visions of people in District 11, because the deaths there were far more brutal and violent than simply dying from hunger. Sam's stomach lurched as he remembered one dream in particular where he had seen a young girl, no older than nine, being brutally flogged because she had stolen some food. She hadn't survived the beating.

With a shudder, Sam forced himself to relax. Dean's comforting warmth beside him assured him that his brother was here, safe, not in the Hunger Games. His heart rate kicked up a notch when he remembered suddenly that the reaping was today. Two kids would be picked today to compete in a fight to the death with twenty-two other children in an arena that could hold any kinds of unspeakable horror. The ones chosen from District 12 had almost no chance whatsoever of coming out alive. Here, if you were reaped, you were automatically considered dead. Once they had left to compete in the games, sometimes people would begin planning the funerals. It was sickening.

Sam rolled over onto his side and lay there for a moment, listening to the quiet of the house. He enjoyed waking up earlier than Dean and his father. It gave him time to think, to contemplate his life. But when he had dreams like this he almost wanted to wake Dean up and confide in his older brother. Neither Dean nor their father was quite sure what to make of the strange death dreams that Sam got, but Dean treated Sam seriously when he got them. Their father was more inclined to brush it off as something not important and tell Sam that he was too old to still be having nightmares. Dean would listen to every detail, his brow furrowed in concern, and after Sam was done they would both try to puzzle out the meaning behind the dreams. Sam wasn't sure if his visions were real or not, but more than once, deaths had occurred in exactly the same way as he had seen it just the night before. And he wasn't so sure it was just a freaky coincidence.

Dean groaned in his sleep and rolled over, his arm unconsciously flopping over Sam's body protectively. Sam had to smile. Even asleep, Dean watched out for his younger brother. It had been that way as long as he could remember, ever since their mom had died in a fire when Sam was just six months old. According to some of the other residents of Twelve, the fire had been devastating, burning down almost half of the houses in the district before it could be stopped. In the district of coal, a single spark in the wrong place could be catastrophic. A lot of people had died that night other than their mother. Their friend Castiel had lost his mother too.

The small smile fell from Sam's face as he thought about his nightmare. He had had bad dreams before of Dean dying, but those were different. This dream was startingly vivid, almost as if Sam was standing right there. He remembered every detail, down to the sound of a canon firing just before he awoke, signaling his brother's death. But it couldn't be real. There was no way Dean would be chosen today. The odds were in his favor to walk away later that day with a stormy expression on his face, furious that two more innocent kids had been taken away to their inevitable deaths, to sit and glare at the table in silence until it was time for bed.

But his name is in there twenty times, the annoying little voice in the back of his head whispered. There's still a chance. Sam told the voice in no uncertain terms to shut up. Really, he should be worrying unnecessarily about himself being reaped. His name was only in there once, because Dean had firmly refused that Sam sign up for tesserae, despite Sam's argument that they could use the extra food.

"No." He had said flatly. "You are not putting your name into that death trap any more times than you have to. We'll be fine without it."

"Dean-"

"Forget about it. End of discussion."

Sam had rolled his eyes and walked away, feeling rather annoyed at Dean's overprotective streak. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He should be able to make his own decisions without Dean breathing down his neck. But deep down, he understood Dean's adamence about not signing up for tesserae. Too many times, they had seen people they cared about who had signed up for the extra support be called up as tributes. If they didn't absolutely, definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt need the help, they wouldn't take the chance. And considering both Dean and their father's impressive hunting skills, they were fairly well off, for someone who lived in District Twelve. Sam wasn't too bad at hunting himself, either. He had a growing skill with a bow and could handle a knife fairly well, not to mention his proficiency in identifying plants and their various uses. Dean favored bringing down big game such as deer, but Sam rather prefered vegetation. It wasn't that he was squeamish or anything, he just didn't enjoy killing things, even when he had to. He figured he would let their father and Dean handle the meat part of their diets and he would make sure they ate enough "rabbit chow", as Dean called it.

Feeling tired, Sam lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep a little more before the reaping. Residents were allowed to sleep in today. Not that any of them were able to.


When Sam opened his eyes again, Dean's side of the bed was cold. He had obviously gotten up to go hunting, probably with Cas. John would stick around, just to ensure that Sam rose at an appropriate time to start getting ready. Sam could tell his father wanted to be out hunting, though. John was at ease doing what he did best, providing for his family, as opposed as to when he was stuck at home or in the mines.

Seeing Sam sit up and rub at his eyes, John rose from his chair where he was lacing up his boots. "Get yourself ready to go, Sam. The reaping is at two, so you have some time. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, he strode out the door.

"Yes, sir." Sam mumbled after him. The house was silent once again, only this time it felt lonely and empty. He was used to this though. His father could never be away from the woods for long. Sam sometimes felt resentful of the time John spent hunting rather than spending some real time with his kids. They only ever really talked to their father in the woods, and then it was in lowered voices about some tracks they had found, or a new kind of berry they had discovered. Never about things that mattered. Never about the past.

Never about their mother.

Among all the things Sam desperately wanted to know more about, his mother was one of them. He barely knew anything about her, other than the few vague facts he had gotten out of Dean. He didn't even bother asking their father. But according to Dean, and what little Cas remembered, Mary had been a beautiful woman, very vibrant and caring, who loved her family with everything she had. But then she had died the night Sam turned six months old, trapped in their burning house where no one could save her. Their father refused to talk about her, even say her name. Sam hadn't even known his mom's name until he was at least nine.

With a sigh, Sam rolled out of bed. Might as well eat something and get cleaned up to witness two families be torn apart in the worst way possible. The dream wouldn't leave him alone, however, replaying itself over and over in his mind, giving him an uneasy feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.


A/N: This is my first crossover fic, so I hope I'm doing well so far. I was wondering if maybe I should extend my chapters a little bit, since usually they stay relatively short. Please feel free to tell me what you think, I absolutely love feedback and it's always greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, I won't be posting updates too frequently. I'm insanely busy this summer. But trust me, I want this fic written even more than you do. I will make time whenever possible to write this thing. Please review, it means the world to me and helps to get me motivated!