A/N: Before we get started here, I just want to make one thing clear: I know there are other Supernatural/Hunger Games AUs out there, and any parallels or likenesses between this one and another are purely coincidental.

I would also like to say that there is a reason that this is not in the crossovers section. If I had put it in the crossovers section, I would have had to put a character unrelated to this work. It would be very confusing and misguiding to some people, so I decided to label this as a Hunger Games AU and put it in just the Supernatural section.

TRIGGER WARNING: There is a major trigger warning here because of the amount of violence contained in this work. Child and teenage death are prominent. Blood and violence is major. Please proceed with the utmost care and caution if any of these bother you.

Rating: M for violence, minor language, implied sexual references, major character death, and nudity.

Genre: Tragedy/Romance.

Pairing: Dean and Castiel.

Summary: The anticipation was maddening. Dean's stomach was full of butterflies and his palms were sweating like crazy. He knew that once that gong sounded, there would be no more time to think. He had less than sixty seconds to collect his thoughts. He looked up at Castiel, and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. He looked back at him, eyes wide and scared. He didn't want to do this. None of them did. But they had no choice. 3, 2, 1...

A rose by any other name

PART 1: The Pact

Chapter 1: Brothers

"Why does it always have to be like this?" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs. His younger brother, Sam, and his father, John, were at each other's throats again. This was a common occurrence, and it angered Dean. His little brother Adam began to wail, and Dean went over to pat his head. It seemed to sedate him, and he calmed down a bit. "See? You're making the kid cry!"

"Stay out of this, Dean!" John shouted. He stuck his finger at Sam's chest in anger. "You will not, I repeat, will not make a joke out of this family at the reapings later today, do I make myself clear? That means no running away if you're scared, no making jokes at the announcers, nothing."

"But-"

"Do I make myself clear?" The intensity in John's voice caused Sam to freeze, and tears began pricking at his eyes as he grit his teeth in frustration.

"Yes, sir..." he complied as Mary enveloped him in a hug, glaring at John all the while.

"What honor do we have that can't be restored, John? This is your boy! For all you know, he could be dead by next week!" John just shook his head.

"It's basically impossible, Mary. He won't be picked. It's a one in a million shot. I mean, what are the odds?" Mary just held her boy close to her. Meanwhile, Dean had snuck out before Sam began to cry. He hated this. He hated seeing his brother and father fight. Why was it so hard for them to just be civilized to one another? He couldn't understand it.

In District 4, families were close-knit and loved one another very much. Dean felt as if his family were the only exception. He loved his family, and he'd gladly die for them, but it didn't seem as if they felt the same the majority of the time. And if they did feel that way, they didn't reciprocate those feelings in the correct manner.

Dean made his way to the lake, hoping to find his best friend Joanna there. He called her "Jo" for short, as she preferred that name. Dean had once slipped up and called her Joanna in a fit of anger, and she became as furious as a bull when it sees red. He made sure not to make that mistake ever again; she had him pinned to the ground within seconds, forcing him to beg for mercy and tap out immediately.

Sure enough, she was at the lake, soaking her feet in the water. He smiled fondly and sat down next to her. "Mr. Winchester, I do believe you have no sense of personal space." She giggled a bit and stuck her tongue out at him as he made a face.

"And I think you're killing all the fish with the sight of your gross feet, Ms. Harvelle." Now it was his turn to laugh, and she punched him in the arm playfully.

"Just because you don't like to relax..." Jo began, but Dean cut her off.

"Jo, we don't have much time." They both frowned at this statement, and Dean continued on. "My family really needed the tesserae this year. Dad almost wouldn't let me do it, but I did it. My name's in there at least thirty times in total. That could be the most in the whole District." Jo put a hand on her friend's shoulder and squeezed it gently and with affection.

"You're right, it could be. Hardly anyone in this District needs tesserae anymore when there's the surplus of fish swimming around and all that. My name's in there only about a dozen times since it's just mom and me, but even with the fish surplus... well, so many people are fishing now that it isn't really a surplus anymore," she solemnly stated.

"With the massive amount of fishing that's going on, it's been harder and harder to get good hauls. I had no choice and, God damnit, neither did you. I hate this. I hate living my life in fear of these stupid games. Why should we be punished for our ancestors' mistakes-" Dean was suddenly cut off by a swift, harsh slap to the side of his face.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Dean. If I were in our ancestors' shoes, I'd probably have done the same thing. So would you," Jo argued defiantly. Dean sighed and picked up a pebble, skipping it across the lake while nursing his cheek with his other hand.

"Yeah... you're right. I'm sorry." He really didn't feel sorry, but he didn't want to delve into this argument for the umpteenth time that month. Jo grabbed his hand and rubbed it affectionately with her thumb.

"May the odds be ever in our favor," she joked. But, deep down, Dean knew that she really meant it.

"Yeah. May the odds be ever in our favor..." he repeated, smiling up at Jo bitterly.

They stayed at the lake for several more hours, just fishing and talking. Eventually, they had to part due to the reapings. Dressing up was a huge tradition for the event. When Dean walked in the door of his house, Mary handed him a white dress shirt, black pants and black dress shoes to wear. "I want my boys to look the best they can while representing their District!" She was smiling and had a cheerful demeanor, but Dean knew that inside, her heart was breaking, just like it did every year. The facade was mostly just to placate Sam.

"Okay, mom," Dean said and smiled down at her. He was taller than her, standing at an amazing 6' 1". He was definitely sure he was done growing, though. His growth spurt had happened early on. Now he just had to wait for Sam and Adam's and they could compare heights. He was pretty certain he would be the tallest, though. He went to the bathroom and got dressed immediately after showering. He even combed his hair back. When he went into the living room, Mary tied a tie around his neck affectionately.

"You look so handsome, sweetheart. Make your father and I proud, okay?" She put her hands on his cheeks and stroked her thumbs across them, tears beginning to well up in her eyes due to the overwhelming emotions she was feeling. Dean placed a hand on one of hers and nodded tersely.

"Yes, mom," and with that, Dean went to check on Sam. He opened the door to Sam's room and regretted it immediately as a naked twelve year old appeared before him. "Woah, sorry dude!" Dean exclaimed remorsefully, closing the door quickly as his face began to heat up.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Sam shouted from the other side. Dean couldn't help but chuckle.

"I said I was sorry, bitch!" he stated. Sam's ears reddened before he replied.

"Jerk!"

"Everyone ready to go?" John asked dejectedly. Dean and Sam nodded, and Adam gripped his mother's hand tight. At the age of five, Adam wouldn't have to worry about getting picked, as only kids from the ages of twelve to eighteen were picked to compete in the Hunger Games. Dean clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder as they began the short walk to the square.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, as if he had read his mind and knew how terrified he was. He could feel Sam's shoulder trembling, and Dean was impressed with how calm he looked despite his body's betrayal.

"I know, Dean. Thanks," he replied. But no, it would not be okay. It would never be okay. Not as long as Sam was underage. He could get picked at any of the reapings, as could Dean. It was pure insanity, the whole system! And Sam knew it. Soon, Dean's grip relaxed and he removed his hand from Sam's body. However, Sam immediately grabbed the retreating hand and squeezed it nervously. Dean was slightly surprised, but he squeezed back to give Sam some peace of mind.

When they got to the finger pricking table, Sam started to move away. However, Dean held his hand tight enough to keep him there. He bent down and quickly began explaining the procedure. "Hey now, don't chicken out on me, buddy," Dean began. He felt like a hypocrite, because he'd like to run away as fast as possible himself. "They're just gonna prick your finger for some identification, and that's it." Sam nodded and watched Dean go up to get his finger pricked. Feeling more confident, he took one last look at his parents and Adam as they traveled to the adult section of the crowd before going to the table. It stung a bit when the sharp object came in contact with his skin, but the young boy continued forward, anxious to catch up to his elder brother.

Dean looked for Jo in the gigantic sea of people, catching her eye before a woman walked up to the podium, introducing herself as Jody Mills. She was not cheerful in the slightest. The woman who initially announced the reapings was extremely ill, so Jody was forced to do it in exchange for her the safety of her son. The history of the Hunger Games played on a huge television monitor, and once it finished, Jody answered with a mocking "and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Some people in the crowd laughed and others smiled at her tone. At least there was some lightheartedness in this year's reapings to ease everyone's minds a little.

Gingerly, her hand reached into the female ballot holder and pulled out a slip of paper, feeling incredibly sorry for the family she was about to ruin. She read the name on the paper and shakily announced "L-Lisa Braeden..." A few cries and shouts followed in her wake as Lisa made her way up to the the podium.

Dean remembered that girl fairly well. He had had a crush on her when he was just twelve years old. He never told her how he felt, which was just as well because all he could feel for her now was sympathy and sorrow. He looked down and shook his head in dismay. 'You don't deserve this...' he thought.

Next, Mills' hand reached into the male ballot holder. It was the moment of truth, and Dean could feel his palms sweating and his mind unconsciously chanting 'don't pick me, don't pick me.'

"Samuel Winchester," Jody announced, snapping Dean out of his daze. Time seemed to stand still for a few moments as Dean collected his thoughts and replayed the name inside his head at least a hundred times.

How could Sam, of all people, be picked? This wasn't supposed to happen! He had his name in there once. Once! Of all the people they could have picked, why in the world did it have to be Sam?

Dean tried to say something, anything, but his throat closed up. His mind began reeling, and he reached for his brother's arm. By the time he came back to reality, Sam was walking toward the stage. Dean immediately rushed out and batted the peacekeepers out of the way. "-go! Let go of me! That's my brother!" Dean shouted, but to no avail. Finally, when he could no longer break the mens' hold, he called out hoarsely "I volunteer." When he was sure they couldn't hear him, he became louder. "I volunteer!" His voice was becoming frantic, now. It felt as if his tongue was stuck in his throat.

"Dean! Dean, no!" Sam began, but he was cut off by Dean when he finally found his voice.

"I volunteer as tribute in my brother's place!"