Dean strode into the bustling town with his head held high and his chest puffed out. Despite the morning's uncertainties and the ever present buzz of alcohol, he knew he couldn't let anyone see the fear that consumed him.
It sure didn't help that literally everyone was looking. Of the hundred some people around him, he was the center. The eyes of every man, woman, and child darted to him as he passed. A small boy even dropped his basket of bread in amazement, waiting until Dean was long gone to pick them up off of the dusty ground. Hopeful that he, this year's most likely tribute, would stop and sample their product, shopkeepers and merchants waved to him furiously as he passed. He was the center of attention.
A few Peacekeepers had shown up and were chatting with the townspeople. Dean stopped for a moment to talk to a few he recognized. Growing up, he had always aspired to be a Peacekeeper. He'd get to travel from district to district and meet more than just the people of the Victors' Circle and the training center. Dean had always wondered what it'd be like to live that sort of a nomadic lifestyle.
"Hey, you!" a voice rang out behind him. Within seconds, he was pinned to the ground, the light weight of his fellow trainee, Ruby, resting on his chest.
"Ruby get off of me, we're in public," Dean scoffed, pushing her to the side. The two attracted an even larger crowd than they had separately.
"In a few days, I'll be killing you in public," she said, jumping to her feet. She extended a welcoming hand, which he gratefully accepted.
Ruby's contentment always amazed Dean. Her whole family was raised as warriors, with each sibling sent off one by one to his or her deaths. She was even named after the tribute who took her eldest sister's life in the 32nd Games, and yet she saw nothing wrong with it.
"Act surprised," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "But I'm leading you to a Pre-Party."
Dean moaned as she dragged him down the sandy road. He had been to a few Pre-Reaping Parties, and none of them were even remotely fun. The tributes always sat in tall chairs as the safe and happy people danced below them. Two years ago, Dean had seen the female tribute throw up out of fear and pressure. Just as everyone had expected, she didn't return.
They arrived at the party, the screams of joy from a hundred nameless faces ricocheting off every surface. Three large banners reading "May the odds be ever in your favor" and "Happy Hunger Games" were strung up on each of the stone walls, adding a sort of childish aura to the otherwise terrifying event.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" person after person yelled as Dean passed. People reached out and patted him on the back, simultaneously pushing him to the same oversized, overdecorated chairs they used each year. They were the thrones of the Hunger Games' ghosts.
He looked over at Ruby for support, but she was gone. A look of bewilderment covered her otherwise vacant face. For her, this was the most amazing and exciting moment of her life. She was famous.
As he was thrown into the chair by a rather large man, a sort of realization hit him. This was it, his life was over. He was a tribute now, and there was nothing he could do about it. If he failed to volunteer, he'd be an outcast. If he did—
"Speech, speech, speech!" the crowd chanted, some beating their fists angrily against the stone tables that littered the room. They reminded Dean of a crowd of animals thirsty for bloodshed.
Ruby rewarded them with a long-winded and verbose speech about how she planned on ripping out the hearts of all of the other tributes, a statement that had Dean rightfully queasy. She ended by growling like a wild animal, bearing her teeth menacingly.
The crowd turned their prying eyes to him next. He had always hated speaking, but as a tribute, every word he spoke would be broadcast to thousands. This was just practice.
"Uh, Hey," he started, his mouth suddenly as dry as the desert that surrounded the town, "I will return the victor of the 51st Hunger Games."
Every person in the room remained silent, waiting anxiously for him to finish as powerfully as Ruby had.
"I will return victor," he repeated, sitting a little straighter in his chair, "Even if it means I have to murder Ruby myself!"
The words flowed out of his mouth before he could stop them. The mass roared with approval, jumping up and down with glee. Dean looked over at Ruby, who met his stare with a supporting one. He wanted to tell her he was only trying to please the people, but they both knew that wasn't true.
.o0o.
"Wake up, idiot, you need to wash your hair," Anna shook Castiel from his sleep. The room swayed as he sat up, and his puffy eyes felt as if they were being held closed.
"Is there coffee?" he asked, trying to shake himself awake.
"Oh, Cas," Anna sighed, "You know we can't afford that. Now wash up, we have to head down for the Reaping."
Castiel shuffled into the bathroom and ran the water. A murky beige liquid shot from the pipe. Two days ago it had been near black, so at least it was improving.
After an unreasonably long shower, Castiel was what could only be deemed "conscious". He wandered into the main room and sat on the floor next to Anna. She looked noticeably upset, holding a thin sheet of paper in her trembling hands.
"What's the matter?" he finally asked, looking over at her lovingly.
"I'm just, uh, worried about you. That's all," she mumbled. He voice was off in a way that Castiel assumed meant that she was lying.
"No," he said, going off his instincts, "You've never gotten this upset before."
A tear escaped Anna's strong eyes and slunk down her face. She crumpled the paper in her hands angrily and threw it against the opposite wall.
"I, ah, went to the doctor the other day," she started, her tears progressing into sobs, "And they – they told me I have it."
In District 5, "it" meant only one thing. It didn't matter if you work one day or fifty years, you got "it" eventually. Both of their parents had died from "it", and so had most of their extended family. You got "it" from working on the dangerous floors of the power plants where giant rooms of radioactive materials were built haphazardly with little care towards the citizens who had to work there. The wealthier residents could afford to treat "it", but the Novaks couldn't even afford the home they lived in.
Cancer.
"Are you sure?" Castiel said without emotion, looking at the colorless wall unwaveringly. He tried not to think about what it'd be like without her. He'd be alone and underage. A true orphan. He'd probably have to live in the streets.
"Yeah."
The siblings sat together for a while. It was the worst feeling he could imagine.
"We should get going," Anna broke the silence. They held hands as they walked to the town square.
.o0o.
Sam finished washing up, but it really didn't matter considering his only clothes were brown with sweat and grime. He almost considered dressing in his mining uniform, but even it was coated in a thin layer of coal.
"You know, you can borrow a shirt. I'm sure my dad wouldn't mind," Gabriel said as Sam returned to the shop. Sam smiled at the offer, but even Gabriel's father, who had a good three or four inches on his son, was at least a head shorter than he was.
"No thanks," he responded. He had seen plenty of tributes get called, and no one really looked clean when they went. But by the time they were in their chariots at the Capitol, they were transformed.
This was the second to last time his name was in the running, so he really didn't care. Even though he could barely afford food, he had never claimed tesserae. He would rather die hungry than be stabbed to death by a beefy tribute from District 1 or 2.
"You okay?" Gabriel asked, pulling Sam from his thoughts. Gabriel sat across from him, his hand on his bad leg.
"Yeah," Sam responded halfheartedly.
"Are you sure? I know what today means for you –"
Sam glared at Gabriel, shutting him up just in time. He was one of the only people close enough to Sam to know that Adam, the tribute who had died seventeenth in the 45th Hunger Games, had been his older brother. Adam, along with an estranged grandfather, had been Sam's only real family. He had always looked at Reaping Day as his brother's last living day.
"I'm fine," he asserted, mostly to convince himself of something he knew wasn't true.
.o0o.
At eleven everyone started to clear out of the party. The only people who stayed lounged in their chairs and started betting on who would die first, empty bottles in their overworked hands. Dean and Ruby left together, able to clear a path to the Reaping on their fame alone.
"May the odds be ever in your favor, Dean," Ruby said as they reached town square, "See you on the train."
She patted him on the shoulder and strode towards the line for girl's registration. Dean watched her go, suddenly crippled without Ruby by his side. Regardless of what the mentors said at career training, he was alone in this. He had no way of knowing what sort of person she'd become in the games.
He had no way of knowing what sort of person he'd become.
Dean stood with the other boys his age. Most of them hovered at least a foot away from him as if he had a disease they could catch. A smaller boy beside him was wheezing. He tried to focus on the sound rather than the hundreds of people that wanted nothing more than to see him stabbed to death.
This year's escort, Lucifer, was delivering a speech that had the crowd in stitches. Dean was sure they had already started broadcasting to the Capitol even though the Reaping technically didn't start for a few more minutes. Everyone in District 2 was well aware they were the Capitol's favorite. They even got the best escort.
In a few minutes, the video about the uprising was over. Dean stood strong, knowing the cameras would be on him in minutes and wouldn't be gone until he was dead. He looked to his father, who sat on the stage with the District's other victors. John had a thin smile on his face, like a father might have before their child's graduation or musical performance.
"Ladies first," Lucifer said with a grin, beginning to walk in slow motion towards the orb. Nobody paid attention to the name he pulled.
"I volunteer!" A small yet powerful voice rang out throughout the square the second the name was read.
Dean's head snapped to the side. The voice wasn't Ruby's. Ruby stood bemused with the other girls her age. There was an unspoken code regarding who would be that year's tribute. It was always those who graduated top of their class from the training school. That was him and Ruby.
And yet a very small girl was being led from the back of the crowd. She couldn't be more than thirteen. Her thick black hair was cut short like a boy's, leaving it to jet out in small tufts. She was clearly a townsperson, for he had never seen her in the Victors' Circle or the training center.
"No!" He saw Ruby mouth. Dean could only imagine what she was feeling at this very moment. She had lost her chance at fame to a little girl who probably wouldn't make it through the bloodbath.
"And what's your name, dear?" Lucifer asked delicately. As District 2's escort, he had never taken a tribute this young.
"Madu Boninite," she said, baring her strangely white teeth. Lucifer patted her shoulder, guiding her to the side. He smiled as wide as he could, trying to mask his confusion.
"Now, for the male tribute!" Lucifer said, stepping in front of Madu and reading yet another meaningless name.
"I volunteer!" Dean said a little too quickly, causing the other boys around him to jump. His father would kill him himself if someone volunteered in his place. He wondered what Ruby's parents would do.
As they dragged him up onstage, he looked over at Ruby. She was crying pretty heavily, crouched on the ground with a few other girls around her. Her entire life was just stolen by the random girl by his side, and now so was her only real friend.
"And what is your name, sir?" Lucifer asked, peppy as ever.
"Dean, Dean Winchester," he choked, staring down at the massive crowd. He knew he was no longer a person. He was a silly little plastic piece in the Gamemaker's game.
"Well there you have it, folks," Lucifer beamed, "District 2's tributes for the 51st Annual Hunger Games!"
.o0o.
"Goodbye, Cas," Anna said, adjusting his dress shirt and ruffling his already messy black hair.
"See you on the other side?" He asked quietly as he had the past five years.
Anna shook her head strongly, her eyes near tears.
"May the odds be ever in our favor."
And she was gone, molded into the mass that was the entire populous of District 5. Castiel stood lonely, looking around for someone he could stand with. He quickly registered and ran to the roped off section with the other boys his age.
Every fiber of his being hated being alone, but soon it'd be like this all the time. He looked into a nearby alley. Would he have to sleep there? Or would someone he knew take him in? The only people he knew he had met at work, and they all had their own families to look after. He had heard a few stories about one of the houses taking in kids, but they were mostly to work them to death or steal the money they did work for.
He thought back to school. At this point there was no chance he'd ever go back. Most of the kids dropped out to work, which as far as he could tell was unique to District 5. He supposed it was due to the amount of adults who became sick due to the work environment.
The adults like Anna.
Unlike the other boys his age, Castiel always watched the Capitol's film intently. For some reason, he took comfort in knowing why the world was the way it was. A part of him wished they showed it regularly, so that whenever he was walking home from a 32 hour shift he could see District 13 and know that he was blessed to even have a home to return to, to have a body that worked. At any moment the Capitol could take it away.
He didn't, however, pay any attention to the escort. He never did. They always changed, probably due to the smell that smothered District 5's city. Having lived there his entire life, he had never noticed it, but once when he was young he had overheard a Peacekeeper whine about vomiting in the alleyway due to the "putrid odor".
"Now for the good part!" the nameless escort shouted, walking towards the girl's ball.
Castiel looked over at the girls. Like everyone else in the district, they looked sick and exhausted, like the walking dead.
"Claire Lardeus!" The escort chimed, calling the death sentence of the first tribute. A small girl pushed her way to the stage unhappily, never breaking eye contact with what could only be her parents. She seemed well dressed and wide awake, suggesting that her family either managed one of the plants or had acquired wealth by some other means.
"Now for the boys!" the escort walked to the other glass ball quickly, a pleasant look on their forgettable face.
"Castiel Novak!"
Every face turned in his direction as he felt his stomach fly into his throat. Fear gripped him, holding him in place. He had watched the games with Anna every year, so he had seen what happened to the tributes who lacked prior training. He might as well walk up on stage and have them slit his throat now. At least he wouldn't have to be paraded around the Capitol like a slab of meat.
A boy behind Castiel pushed him forward. He stumbled through the crowd and up onto the stage. A small part of him wondered how unbelievably panicked he looked. When the other tributes watched this, they'd peg him as a weakling.
Was that a good thing?
He could barely hear the anthem play as the ceremony drew to a close. He looked for Anna's red hair, but couldn't find it in the endless sea of people.
At least he wouldn't have to live alone.
.o0o.
Sam and Gabriel walked together to the town square. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Gabriel's limp. It was getting much worse as of late. Soon, he'd be stuck behind the bar forever, the immobile and weak son of a shopkeeper. It was Sam's fault he was like that, and he'd never forgive himself.
There weren't many other seventeen-year-olds, but Sam knew most of the boys his age had taken out Tesserae since they were 12, so for once the odds actually were in his favor. He looked around at the others. All of them looked fearful and feeble. District 12 would be the laughing stock of Panem, just like it always was.
It didn't help that Haymitch could barely walk as he took his seat on the stage. He was the only person there to represent the District other than the mayor, who stuttered through his speech awkwardly. Everyone knew this was Haymitch's first year as a mentor, but no one had expected him to be so derailed already.
He pouted through the speech, looking over at Gabriel occasionally for support. The girl was called, an eighteen-year-old who Sam knew from school. She was nothing special, just your average girl from the Seam. Merrill George – that was her name.
"Now for the boys," the escort said reaching into the bowl, "Gabriel Callidus!"
Sam heard a squeak from his friend as the name was called. Gabriel's face was white and ashen, just like every other tribute that had ever been called. He tried to walk to the stage, but his limp wouldn't allow it. Instantly, Sam knew what he needed to do.
"I volunteer."
He stepped forward, attempting to look as proud and strong as possible. He knew how strange his actions were, but he didn't care. A thousand confused and stunned faces turned to him as he walked around Gabriel and made his way onto the stage.
Strategies flew into his head the second his feet started to move. With his appearance, he knew he couldn't get away with acting weak or unknowledgeable. Maybe if he pushed the fact that he was an orphan volunteer, the other tributes would just think of him as elaborately suicidal.
Was he?
No, he answered himself quickly. He just knew what was right and what was wrong, and sending in a boy with a family, a busted leg, and a life while a perfectly fit one who had no real reason to live sat and watched him die was wrong.
And so he took his spot on stage as one of District 12's only volunteer tributes.