'Gettup son'
Dean moaned and rolled over as his father shook him roughly awake. He groaned but smiled slightly as he caught sight of his little brother standing by the sink.
'Big day right?', Sam said, raising his eyebrows.
'Exactly' snapped their father, 'so get up'.
Today was the day of the reaping, the selection of the two kids to be the next tributes in the 74th annual hunger games.
This was to be Dean's last reaping, as he was now 18, and so next year he would be too old to take part. One more year. One more year then it would be over.
Normally their father, John, would have left the house long before either of the boys had woken up. He tried to spend as little time with them as possible, as they were a constant reminder of his beautiful wife, who had been killed in a fire many years ago. Sam was too young to remember the fire, or what his father had done after seeing them spluttering on the street, but Dean would never forget the dead look in his father's eyes as he walked away from them that night, and from that day onwards, everything Dean did was to please his father, to try and make up for surviving instead of his mother, but nothing was good enough. Sometimes, it felt to Dean like, in his father's eyes, he had died alongside his mother that night. But today, John was forced to stay at home, today was the biggest event of the year, and everybody had to be there to watch.
Dean rolled out of bed and slumped down at the table as Sam served them their meagre breakfast of egg and slightly stale bread.
'Thanks kid', he smiled as Sam scraped the egg out of the pan.
John focused on the food and said nothing. Nobody mentioned the imminent reaping. They sat in silence, unable to think of anything else. At last John spoke,
'you're not scared are ya? I didn't raise my boys to be wusses'
'No, sir' they replied in unison.
'Good' John replied, 'Keep it that way'
The truth was, they were far better off than most of the other kids in the district. Although they weren't that well fed, they weren't starving like some of the others. They could all hunt, and so could fend for themselves. From before they could walk their father had taught them how to fight, and handle weapons. 'You don't know what's out there', he'd always told them.
The boys glanced at each other. Sam's jaw tightened and Dean glared at him. He knew what Sam was thinking. Sam didn't remember the fire, or their mother. He didn't remember the look on their dad's face. The disappointment, the blame. Dean knew it was his fault that his mother died. He didn't act fast enough. He froze. He disobeyed his father. Well, never again. He had sworn to himself that he would always do exactly what his father wanted him to. Sam didn't get it. He didn't understand why Dean always bent under his father's will. Why his brother, who was normally so fearless and strong, was so terrified of defying their father. He wanted out, he wanted to leave, be free from this strange setup that he didn't understand. But there was nowhere to go. And besides, however much he resented Dean for being their dad's pawn, he couldn't leave him. He was all he had. The idea of being separated from him filled him with dread.
Sam was a very independent 14 year old. He was much brighter than his brother, although this was not something to be proud of in his family. The Winchesters were brave and strong, not weedy little nerds, so Sam made sure to learn to fight and hunt, and keep his books to himself. He had never got on with his father. For as long as he could remember there had always been a distance between them. He had practically been brought up by Dean, his dad was always working or getting drunk with his friend Bobby, District 12's only victor. John couldn't bear to face his children. The happy memories of early family life were tainted by the screams of his wife as she was burned alive in front of him. She had begged him to save the boys, and so that's what he did, but there was not a day that went by where he did not resent his sons for what they had cost him.
The time they had been dreading soon came, and they made their way to the town square for the ceremony. They were split up, with Sam, being younger, nearer the front. Everyone was staring up at the platform in front of the Justice Building, where the reaping was to take place. It seemed an eternity before anything happened, the noise of children sobbing and searching desperately for their mothers, muffled by the sense of fear and anticipation. Everyone knew that District 12 kids had no chance, and by next month two of the children standing among them would be dead. Two more families torn apart, two more empty desks in the schoolroom, all for the sake of some light entertainment for the Capitol.
Finally, the familiar seal of the Capitol was projected onto the screen in front of them and the mayor stepped onto the platform and began to tell the history of Panem. It was the same story ever year and Dean had heard it so many times that he could recite it, so let it fade into the background noise as he surveyed the kids around him, and wondered which unlucky souls would be selected to die for the Capitol this year.