Promise

"Sam Winchester."

The name echoes through the air as the blood rapidly drains from Dean's face. It wasn't possible. This was Sam's first reaping, his name was only in the drawing once. This wasn't possible.

A few rows ahead of him was Sam, whose face he could not see, but he could see his brother's feet shuffling forward reluctantly. Dean's earlier promise to his brother ran through his head. "Don't worry, they won't pick you. I'll protect you."

Well, there was really no other choice, was there?

Dean pushed his way out of his designated line, fearless as the guards came towards him to force him back into place. As soon as one guard got a good grip on his arm he yelled as clearly as he could, "I volunteer!"

He was confident, controlled, bold.

An unnatural stillness lingered for a moment as his younger brother, newly 12, turned around with horror in his eyes and protests upon his lips. Dean hardened his eyes, "This is my decision," they said, "Because I promised to protect you. Because I love you, and you are the only thing that truly matters to me."

Sam's now defeated gaze never left him as they were both escorted to their proper place, Sam back into the boy's row, and Dean up to the stage to join the Escort who had drawn Sam's name and the girls' tribute who had been picked before him. As Dean got closer, his gait slow, yet full of purpose, the Escort encouraged him up onto the stage to stand on her unoccupied side.

"Let's have your name."

"Dean Winchester." His answer was short and standoffish, his eyes solely for his younger brother and his cold exterior for everyone else.

"I'm willing to bet that little boy was your younger brother." It went without saying, as they had the same last name, but he nodded for her anyways. Anything else that was said he ignored, as all he could focus on were his brother's soulless hazel eyes full of tears that would never be shed.

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he collided into his older brother with a hug. Dean's arms were immediately wrapped around him, squeezing him tighter than they ever had before. They stayed that way for a moment before Sam pushed against the affection, wanting to be released so he could say his piece. "Dean, I'm scared for you."

Of course Sam wouldn't be worried about himself, Dean was sure that Sam was a worrying mom in a 12 year old body, incapable of self-preservation (until he knew everyone he cared about was fine) or smiles (something Sam had forgotten how to do years ago).

"Don't be too worried about me," Dean soothed as he got down on one knee to even out their heights and ruffled a hand through Sam's hair. "In fact, why don't you give me a real smile before I go win this for you?"

"Don't joke around like that," Sam hissed, pushing his brother's hand out of his hair in a fit of anger. "This is serious! You're going up against 23 other people who could try to murder you. You have to be serious about this." At this point, the tears were welling up in his eyes again, and guilt gripped Dean's heart. "Please. I just- I just w-want you t-to come home." Though no tears actually fell, the dark emotion in Sam's voice was easily as effective as the salty droplets would have been.

"I promise that I'll come home," Dean said suddenly, his hands gently gripping the sides of Sam's dry face. "I'll come home to you, and we'll go hunting in the forest. I'll tell you more about what I remember of mom, and back when dad was alive and sane. I'll teach you how to pick up pretty girls, and how to hold down alcohol. Hell, I'll bribe the baker to make us a pie, because I'll be a champion. Just know that I will be back."

"Do you pinky promise?" Sam asked, the last bit of innocence he had dripping from the question. Without hesitation Dean stuck his picky out to meet his brother's. After the two fingers intertwined and shook, the smallest smile crept up Sam's face for the first time since he had turned 8. Dean's heart felt at ease at once.

"Yeah, I'll be back." After making sure Sam knew to go live with Bobby while Dean was gone, his brother was escorted out of the room. The door slammed shut, and so did Dean's sympathy for anybody that got in the way of him getting back home to his little brother.

The ceremonies were showy, disgusting, and the biggest example of a shining turd Dean had ever seen before in his life. Dean also did not care, and he let it be known every time a Capitol camera got in his face. He knew he was not popular, and he was not going to try to be popular. He didn't want or need these peoples' help with the giant shit-storm they had just made of his life.

No, he was going to win the Hunger Games all by himself.

Training was dull, but it let him put the people he wanted dead in a precise order. Dean didn't need the training the previous District winner was trying to get him to do; he'd gotten enough training from his father, not that he'd ever really thank him for it. So he ran around, building up his endurance to long distances.

When the first day of the actual Hunger Games finally came about, Dean was ready. He let them put in their stupid tracking device, got into their empty elevator, and stood on the tiny platform until the timer ran out of time. The second the clock hit zero, Dean ran straight across the clearing, easily passing most people from the other districts. Two bags caught his eye, and Dean threw both of them over his shoulders before sprinting into the forest far ahead of most everyone else.

He ran for a while, whether it had been a few minutes of hours, he didn't know, but he didn't stop until he felt he found an out of the way tree to sit in, go over his survival supplies, and wait for someone to get close enough for him to kill. Dean scaled the tree with ease and perched himself on a huge limb. The first pack held an empty canteen and some rope. The other pack he was a bit more grateful for, with it being stocked full of knives.

By now, the death cannon had sounded 15 times, less than half of them left, which meant there were less people that he had to kill.

Dean stayed in the tree, even as it gradually got darker. He planned to stay the night and sleep on the branch, knowing the he was well hidden from anyone's view.

When day broke once more, Dean was done waiting around in the tree for someone else to come to him. He would just have to navigate himself back to the clearing where they started if he wanted any action. The clearing was, after all, were the bigger supplies and the major food source was. The big shot tributes would have been stupid to leave it all alone.

Now Dean was looking for a fight, for a kill.

An old feeling of adrenalin ran through him, one he hadn't felt in years. "The anticipation of killing," he reminded himself, not at all worried. After all, it had been his father who had instilled it in him and Sam at such a young age, probably because of his extreme paranoia of the Capitol after they had killed their mother.

Sam had only been 8 when she died, taking Sam's smile with her. Dean himself had been 12, and only a few weeks later their dad was taking them on a 'hunting trip'. They hunted for Capitol guards. It had been Sam's first time killing anything, much less another human, and Dean had only killed animals for food before.

The killings of those men were still some of the greatest Capitol mysteries.

Sam was, understandably, traumatized. Dean realized after they got back from that week of pure hell that there would be repeats of it, instilling in them more knowledge of how to kill than they should know. Sam, who he found to be more precious than his now crazy father, then became his number one priority.

The day after they got back from the hunting trip, Dean killed his father.

Sam was still upset, but they both knew that they were relieved to not have to deal with their father anymore. Sam told him that he prayed for the first and last time after he saw his dad's head separated from the rest of his body.

"May both our parents rest in peace, together. Amen."

As Dean strolled through the forest, trying to figure out if he was going the right way, he came across was a young, cocky girl. She wasn't too high up on his kill list, but she was annoying and had too high of an ego for someone living in the Districts, waiting to be sacrificed. She also, apparently, thought he either didn't have any weapons on him, or wasn't a threat. He carved her throat out too quickly for her to make up for that mistake.

The death cannon rung out for the 16th time.

Dean continued his journey, more sure of his way now that he had an encounter with someone else. The sound of pounding feet and yells of what Dean assumed was the newly-dead girl's name suddenly came towards him, and he barely had time to duck around a tree before two people burst through the foliage. Twin shocked cries rang out moments later when they found her body where Dean had left it to rot.

Once more, Dean swiftly climbed a tree, perching himself on a wide enough branch, knives at the ready, waiting for the two to come back his way. He had a height advantage now and he wasn't going to lose it.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, someone came charging back through the forest, murder plain on their face. They passed by Dean's tree without even a glance towards him. Perfect.

Two knives soon imbedded in their back and neck, the second going so deep that they could no longer talk, and they quickly bled out. Dean cautiously jumped down from his hiding space as the cannon went off again.

17.

But where did the other person go? "Perhaps they split up," Dean reasoned with himself as he bent down to rip the knives out of the dead body. After all, Dean needed to preserve what materials he could get.

Just as he was about to get back up, his sense of danger suddenly went crazy, and he ducked the oncoming sword attack. Dean twisted around, still crouching, as the other person, who Dean had just been wondering about, tried to regain their balance after swinging the sword so recklessly at him. Dean kicked out his foot, causing the other boy to fall and drop his weapon at the second loss of balance within a few seconds. As the boy attempted to get up, Dean quickly crawled on top of him, grabbed his head harshly, and slammed it into the ground with all of his force.

The 18th cannon rang out as Dean took a moment to collect himself before shoving himself onto his feet and searching the dead bodies for anything useful. There were a few pieces of fruit and some of bread, plus a bit of water he poured into his own canteen. After deciding that the sword wasn't worth taking, and gathering their supplies, he was off again.

19, 20, 21. The cannon was ringing more often than it usually did this early in the Games. Only 3 tributes were left.

By that time, Dean finally made it back to the clearing, the other two survivors there as well. "What a party," Dean thought sarcastically to himself as he tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. Still no one made a move.

They stood like that, tense and guarded, for a few hours, until one of them finally decided to settle down to get something to eat. Dean and the girl across the clearing from him watched the other like they were eying their prey. As much as Dean wanted to eat some food, he wasn't suicidal enough to blatantly make himself vulnerable like that.

The boy suddenly fell over, and according to the 22nd ringing in the air, he was dead. Poisoned.

Dean slowly turned to the last person standing. This was the last person keeping him from getting home to Sammy!

"You know," she started out slowly, caution lacing her voice as she crossed the clearing towards him, "if we were to work together, I think we could pull off something against the Capitol." Dean quirked an eyebrow, not in curiosity, but in slight surprise of her sudden offer. Who did this girl think she was? 'Pulling off something against the Capitol', as she had so eloquently put it, would not only put them in danger, but also their families. And Sam.

And Dean wouldn't let anyone hurt Sam. He didn't care about revenge or rebellion against the Capitol. Dean didn't care about living in the poverty stricken District 12, where he and Sam escaped everyday through a hole in the fence to hunt animals in order to stay alive. The only thing that mattered was Sam.

This girl could go to hell.

The 23rd death cannon went off just as the sunset, the light gleaming off of the knife handle sticking out of the girl's chest, having directly hit her heart.

"I'm coming home, Sam."

And there was no rebellion, no uprising against the Capitol, because Dean didn't care about those things. Dean was selfish. Dean only cared about Sam. The Hunger Games would continue on for many more years, never again to call on a Winchester.