The next few days were painful. Saying goodbye to his family, to Sam, was one of the hardest things Dean has ever had to go through. His father just stood against the wall stoned faced as his mother and brother held onto Dean for dear life. It was difficult, to say the least, staying strong and not breaking down into tears in front of all three of them. Dean managed, like he always did. It was completely worth rushing into his imminent death if it meant Sammy was alive and mostly safe. Dean had the upper hand in the intimidation factor when it came to threatening food out of people, but with a little practice, Sam will be forcing food from Peacekeepers in no time.
He was sitting in the car of a train right now, Effie this time decked out in a blue… thing. She looked like a humanized peacock. The other tribute, the stranger—Castiel—sat a few feet away from him, his hands clasped between his knees. His head was lowered. He looked like he was praying.
Pray all you want, brother. Not even God is going to help you now.
Effie continued to babble on about everything and nothing. She was spewing facts about the train, the speed and how amazing it was being on it. Dean was only paying half attention. A few minutes later, dressed in a dirty off-white shirt and slacks, Haymitch stumbled into the room from behind Dean, smelling of booze. His hair looked like he hadn't showered in at least a weak. Castiel looked at Dean with a shocked look on his face, and Dean in turn looked at Effie. It was no secret that Haymitch had a drinking problem, and had one since he won the Games years ago, but they didn't know it was that bad.
"We're supposed to be taking advice from him?" Dean asked, shocked. Their lives were dependent on a drunk. Awesome. Haymitch didn't respond, just stared at him and took another swig from the bottle that was gripped in his hand. Dean let out a laugh. "Awesome. Well, Castiel, I guess I'll see you on the other side." Effie cleared her throat trying to pacify Dean's anger.
"Now, there is no reason to get upset—"
"No reason to get upset? I'm on a train heading 300 miles per hour to my death!"
"Only 200 miles per hour, actually," Effie bristled. "He is your mentor, Dean. Now I understand he may have a slight—" She paused. "Drinking problem, but—"
"Slight?"
"Listen, princess." Haymitch finally spoke, his words surprisingly steady for how trashed he looked. Dean looked over at him and glared, pressing his fist against the soft fabric of the chair he was in. "I'm the best mentor that this damn district has."
"You are the only mentor that this district has." Castiel said quietly, looking up shyly from staring at his hands. Haymitch tilted his head.
"Your point being?"
"Oh, this is bull." Dean threw his hands up in exasperation. "His point is, while we're sitting here on our asses with a drunken buffoon and a woman who doesn't know the difference between clothes and what you put as a centerpiece on a table, the volunteers from Districts One and Two are planning on the slowest form of torture to kill us when we make it to the arena! We are screwed. There's no way around it."
"Well, not with that attitude." Effie shrilled. "The key is getting people to like you, Dean, and so far no one is favoring your disposition."
"Okay, you know what? Screw you and your flowery ass." Dean stood up from his chair, knocking it back slightly. Effie gasped in offense. Haymitch just stared at him, eyes narrowed. Castiel had shrunk back against his chair, picking off invisible lint from the pants that they had given him. "I'm not spending my last moments fighting with the Capitols brain children." He stormed off, running from them into a different room a few cars down.
A few moments passed, no sound other than Dean's angry breathing. He snapped, yelling and cursing at the Capitol, at President Snow, at Effie for pulling his brother's name. He felt like his chest was being ripped to shreds.
Thirty minutes later, after Dean had cursed everything he could think of, after everything that wasn't screwed to the train floor was thrown in the opposite direction, he sat, gripping the necklace that Sam had given to him when they were just kids. It was on a weathered leather strand and was golden. It was Dean's most prized possession.
The car door slid open, and Dean released the amulet.
"I'm not apologizing to either of you." He said gruffly, not bothering to turn around.
"I am not here for an apology." Castiel responded. "Why are you sitting on the floor?" Dean resisted a smile. From what he knew of the man, Castiel seemed very… Kind. Very pure. They had only spoken a few times since the reaping, and Castiel never had a bad thing to say.
"Do you see an open chair?" There was movement, and grunting.
"Yeah." Dean looked back. Castiel had set to chairs back upright. He grinned at Dean, sitting down and folding his legs in one.
"You're something, you know that, Castiel?" Dean said, coming up out of his crouch and moving to the open chair, stepping over a lamp that had shattered. He fell into the seat, looking over at Castiel.
"My wife said that, too." So that was the woman who yelled when he was reaped.
"You got a wife?"
"Yeah. Her name is Daphne. Are you married?"
"Nah."
"What about your brother?"
"Sammy? No, Sammy.." Dean sighed. "When we were teenagers, Sam had a massive crush on this girl named Jessica. She seemed to like him too, they always hung out at school. But, ah, when we were 17, she was reaped."
"She did not survive." It was a statement, not a question. Dean nodded.
"She burned alive."
"I remember now… There were a lot of teenagers in the Games that year, weren't there?"
"It was pretty brutal."
"I am sorry, Dean." He shrugged and leaned back.
"She wasn't my girlfriend. Sam was pretty torn up about it. Young love and all that." Dean looked over at Castiel and frowned. "I'm sorry about you and your wife." Castiel's face fell for a moment before he responded.
"I would have done the same thing."
"Sorry?"
"If Daphne was reaped… If her name was called. I would have volunteered. I would not have been able to sit there and watch her be killed. She is too kind hearted for the Games. "
"It's for the better that the women aren't in the reaping pool… It already sucks, knowing that we're probably going to have to kill one from a different district."
"Except for the Careers." This earned a deep laugh from Dean. Castiel smiled slightly.
"You're right. One of those sons of bitches comes after me… No point in having mercy." Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What can you do?"
"What can I do?"
"Yeah. Can you fight?"
"No, I am.. I am a pacifist. I have been my entire life."
"You're going to have to give that up soon, man. Nonviolence won't win you the Games."
"I know… I can heal. I was a doctor." Dean thought for a moment.
"That can come in handy. I can fight pretty well. You can heal. That's perfect. If you and I stick together I think we'll be fine."
"What if we are the last two left?" Dean threw him a smirk.
"Let's hope we're not."
The two men were quiet for a few minutes. Dean observed the mess around him, chewing on his lip. As sick as it sounded, Dean did hope that they weren't the last two left in the Games. He liked Castiel so far. It would be just Dean's awful luck, though. Being one person away from winning, one person away from your family never going hungry again, one person away from riches… And he's stuck with having to kill a brother from his very own district.
"I know herbs, too." Castiel murmured. "The kind that can heal, the kind that can kill. I can tell the difference between them."
"We can mush them up and shove them in the mouths of our sleeping enemies." Dean said only half seriously, pushing himself up and looking out the window. They had gone into a tunnel, the gray streaking past. Castiel stood up and reached a hand out, resting it on Dean's shoulder.
"I'm sorry we're in this Dean, but—" His words were cut off as sunlight slammed into their faces. They had exited the tunnel, and what a sight it was. Thousands of screaming Capitol citizens were held back by a barrier, their colors as bright and vibrant as the sunlight that blinded Dean and Castiel. The train had slowed down quite a bit so that they could get a good look at the Capitol, and so the Capitol could get a good look at him. Dean just stared at everything. Castiel looked awestruck. Neither of them had seen such happy faces, had seen such joy and excitement. Everything was so clear, so lucid here. Very unlike the dull gray of the coal dust that settled on anything and everything it could reach back in District Twelve.
"This is…" Dean started.
"Amazing?"
"I was going to say a mix between fascinating and cruel."
"They are like rats. Scurrying around. Looking for the best meal."
"Yeah, and in this case, we're the meal." The train flew by one woman that looked like she had a fruit basket on her head.
"I do not know whether to laugh or cry."
"There'll be time for both of that, I think." The car door slid open again, and this time it was Effie. She only seemed mildly surprised at the mess she was greeted with.
"Welcome to the Capitol!" She squealed, running over to the two men. Gripping their arms, she peered out the window and grinned at the passing people.
She's just another one of them, Dean thought. All gung ho at the idea of watching people- watching children tear each other apart. He rolled his arm to loosen her grip and walked off, away from the windows and the screaming people. Castiel remained at the window.
"Are they… Are they yelling for us?" Castiel turned to Effie. Effie nodded and grinned.
"This is all for you boys." She clapped her hands together, her eyes wide as she look in the Capitol.
"Yeah, and the other twenty two tributes."
"Enjoy it while you're alive, Winchester." Haymitch drawled, walking into the car. The door shut behind him with a slight swish. "This is the most attention you're going to get. You will join the games, you will die, and everyone is going to forget about you."
"We'll see about that." Dean said under his breath, sitting on the edge of the chair.
"Will we? They are going to eat you alive. Right now, you have no chance of getting sponsors to send you anything that could save your life. And, if I was so inclined to attempt it, no matter how much I beg and plead of them to give you just a little something, they won't do it. Getting in good with the Capitol is all about an excited attitude about the Games. Why do you think the Careers are almost always the winners? They like the Games just about as much as the Capitol does. They play their part in this freak show. If you want to live, you have to do the same." Haymitch finished his speech a sip from a glass half full with a brown liquid.
"Well, what if I don't want to?" Dean stood back up and walked to him. Haymitch straightened up, bringing himself a few inches taller than Dean.
"What you want has no weight in this place." Haymitch spoke darkly, his voice lowering. "You have no pride here. You have no faith here. There is nothing put pain, nothing but trying to survive. The last two weeks of your life will be spent in the middle of the city you love to hate. You will be stripped down into half the man you are now, just like every other person that has come before you." He let out a huff of breath, the smell of alcohol almost making Dean gag.
"Everyone, just calm down." Effie said, moving her hands in a calming motion. "Dean, there will be plenty of time to fight during training. Please, both of you."
"Fine. Watch me, Haymitch. I'll get sponsors, that's a promise."
"I'm holding you to it."
"When is training?" Castiel cut in, his eyes wide.
"Ooh, well." Effie tapped her chin. "Tonight you will go in for a little bit of pampering, a few meetings with your stylist, and then the parade. Tomorrow at the earliest!" She seemed excited.
"What are your strengths?" Haymitch asked.
"Herbs and knives." Dean said sarcastically. "What do you mean pampering?
"I was a doctor. And Dean can fight." Castiel interjected.
"How well can you fight?" Haymitch looked over at Dean.
"I've saved my own life before." He responded, deciding to be civil for a few minutes. "I'm not bad with a knife, either. I'm a hell of a good shot with a gun, too."
"Where did you get a gun?" Effie shrilled. Haymitch smirked slightly.
"Good. Good, that will come in handy in the arena."
The train pulled up to a large building, the screaming crowd disappearing from sight. Dean folded his arms, nervousness pooling in the pit of his stomach. Castiel looked the same way, like he was going to be sick. It was finally sinking in, the idea of their imminent death.
Later that night, after being forced to be scrubbed down and pampered by women with terrifyingly long fingernails, Dean sat on the corner of the bed that was assigned to him. The room was red and brown, the color of blood and dirt. The door cracked open, and Castiel poked his head through.
"Can I come in?" He whispered, glancing around the space.
"Sure." He walked in and closed the door, but didn't move any closer. He leaned against the wall, folding his hands behind them. "What's up?"
"I'm going to help you win." Castiel said quietly, looking Dean straight in the eyes.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm going to help you win. I do not stand a chance out there, but you? You are strong. You can fight. I'm going to help you get back alive."
"Castiel, no. I can't let you do that. You have your wife—" Castiel held one hand up.
"You have your brother. And please, call me Cas."
"Cas. I can't agree to that. You have a wife, maybe one day you'll have children—"
"I'm never having children. Not in a world like this. I saw how you reacted when your brother's name was called. I saw how you didn't even hesitate to take his place. I'm not letting your sacrifice be for naught. I have already accepted the idea of my death. Please, accept the idea of your win." With that, Castiel pushed off the wall and left. Dean shoved himself off the bed and ran for the door, but when he opened it, Castiel was already gone.