"Tell me again how you got here."

"Dean!" Sam exclaims, "How many times do they have to tell you what happened?"

"It's a very intricate story, Sammy!"

"It's not that intricate!"

"Whatever. Tell it again, Kat," Dean says, shortening my name to an annoying nickname he's adopted for me.

"Katniss," I say. "And I've already told you three other times. We found Beetee's-"

"Now, who is Beetee again?"

I let out a small sigh of exasperation. Either Dean is stupid, or I am just tired, or maybe both. It is probably both. "Beetee is an inventor, and he invented the time machine. Peeta and I were in the arena with him, in the 75th Quarter Quell."

"Only because neither of you told me, what's the arena about? Is that where you play the Games?" Sam asks, obviously using more of his brain power than his brother.

"Yes, that's where the Games are played. The Hunger Games. It's aired nationally, and live."

"Sounds like a good show," Dean proclaims.

"It's not," says Peeta, his first words after four hours of silence. He's not as big and stout as he used to be, and after what the Capitol has done to him, he keeps his mouth shut a lot more often nowadays.

"Maybe not to you, because you were in them," says Dean, and it seems like just wants to egg on Peeta's anger issues even more.

"How do you feel about killing innocent people? No, no. How do you feel about killing innocent children?" Peeta asks, using his words. Peeta is very good with words. I am not.

"Okay. I was wrong, sue me."

"Anyway," I go on. "We found Beetee's Project - Project 120 - and we pushed a few buttons. We were sucked into a bright light, and ended up here."

"Your time machine brought you to Minnesota?" asks Sam.

"We assume it could have taken us anywhere, but we didn't know which buttons to push. We also, as you know, don't know how to get back," Peeta tells them. "We figured you might could help us with that, you being involved in the supernatural and all."

"We don't have time machines," Sam says, furthering Peeta's annoyed look.

"Yeah, we don't have time machines. There's no way our technology will get you back to the future anytime soon."

"How super," I say.

Dean nods his head sarcastically, and I all but start to slap him. It is clear that Dean and I are not meant to be the best of friends. However, Sam and I might get along just fine, because he starts talking about having to go hunt.

"What do you hunt?" I ask, honestly wanting to know.

"Evil demons, basically," says Dean, and suddenly I am lost again. I look to Peeta for assurance, but he looks just as lost as I am.

"'Evil demons?'" he repeats.

"We hunt the supernatural; from demons to legends to myths to angels," Sam explains, leaving us even more clueless than before.

"I thought you meant that you hunted animals." I let out a huff of air, depressed that the brothers sitting across from us in this old diner do not hunt the way I hunt. I thought, for a moment, that I would have a little piece of home with me, being able to hunt in this foreign time.

"No. Why would do that?" asks Sam.

"For food. In Panem - in the future, you have to hunt for food," I explain.

"Oh."

"I've taken down loads of game, and I wish I was taking some down now."

"Why don't you just order something?" Dean says, and instantly I realize how hungry I am.

I reach for my pockets, but feel nothing. Peeta reaches for his as well, and also comes up empty-handed. I look into his eyes and instantly we both realize two things: Panem currency is probably different from the currency they're using now. And two, we scarcely ever have any money anyway, so searching our pockets was a stupid thing to do.

Sam notices that we haven't got any money, and he nudges his brother. Dean, for a second, looks brokenhearted that he will have to buy a couple of kids something to eat, but he does it anyway.

"How about I buy you guys some pie?" says Dean, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, Dean? You're going to buy two kids from the future some pie?" He looks at me, then at Peeta. "On the other hand, they could use some fattening up. Buy them some burgers and some pie."

"What are burgers?" I blurt out. It's probably rude; who cares what it is, as long as it's edible?

"Cow meat on bread buns," says Dean simply, like this is common knowledge, and it probably is in this time.

I have rarely tasted beef, and the same goes for Peeta. The Capitol has a wide variety of foods that we've both gotten to sample a few times, but other than that, food is scarce in the lower Districts. Especially in 13, where you have a preset time to eat, and a preset amount of food. Dean orders our food, and pretty soon we are chomping down on two large burgers. We barely get out a muffled 'thank you' before swallowing and taking another bite.

The look on their faces tells me that they have never seen two people so hungry before, and I begin to think that they realize just what the Hunger Games are actually about.

When we finish our burgers, two large pieces of apple pie are presented to us. We've never had pie, not really, and we're scared to eat it.

"Just try it," says Dean. He says it so enthusiastically that we do nothing but bury our forks into our triangles of pie. The taste that enters my mouth is so rich and new and full of flavor that I think I might cry. Instead, I ask for the recipe so that I can cook it when I get back home. The waitress, a plump old lady named Ren, kindly says no. But she winks at me and whispers, 'It's real easy to make. Just get a pie crust and cut up some apples. Put the apple slices in the pie crust, along with some sugar, milk, and cinnamon." I make a mental note of the ingredients in my head, but I ask Peeta, "Did you get all that?" He nods.

Peeta's the real baker and cook, not me. I can cook groosling and turkey and chicken and deer meat well enough, but when it comes to baked goods, well, that is not my thing.

Once we are done, Sam and Dean herd us outside to their car. It's clearly old, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a car that looks anything like it. "What is it?" Peeta asks.

"A car," says Dean.

"He meant what model," I say, before Peeta can get angry.

"Ohhh," Dean says, a smile playing on his face. This car must be his baby. "It's an Impala, from '67." He says this sou proudly, so happily, that I can't do anything except smile. "Okay, get in the back."

Peeta and I get into the backseat quietly, not bothering to question where they are taking us next. We don't care, because it won't be home. Sam clears his throat, and I think I'm going to like what he says next, because he is looking in the rearview mirror and half-smiling.

"Okay, Dean and I have a little propsition for you," he begins. "If you help us, we're sure we can help you."

"What kind of proposition?" I ask, to neither one of the brothers in particular.

"You help us with this case we're doing, and we'll help you get home."

Peeta shocks me then. He's not into the paranormal or the supernatural. He looks at Sam quietly, and then says, "You've got a deal."