The second time he saw a shack, Dean avoided it much like the first one. The third time, he made the awful decision to check it out. They had no food, he was tired of scavenging plants, they were all starting to look like stuff he hadn't seen before. He wouldn't risk their lives over something as silly as that. He made Charlie wait a few feet away. He told her it was to make sure no one snuck up and trapped them inside to kill them, which was partly true. In reality he did it to make sure she had enough time to run if someone popped out at him.
This shack was more of a cabin. It was slightly bigger and less run down than the previous two. Dagger in one hand, throwing knife in the other, Dean pushed the ajar door lightly with his foot. A long, loud, ugly creak squealed out. If anyone was inside, they knew he was there now. He counted to five before he took a step inside. The inside was nearly black, though his eyes adjusted quickly. It was just as dilapidated as the outside had been. A flipped table, overturned chairs, and a piled of broken glass were the only clear things visible. At least there wasn't anywhere to hide except for the one door at the far end of the building.
He sidestepped the glass and headed for one of the cabinets, hoping there would be food inside. The first one was empty, the second one was the same. A soft creak behind him made him freeze. In an instant he was flinging himself out of the way, seconds before a figure crashed into the wall he had previously stood in front of. The tall, skinny figure turned and rushed him again. Dean was absolutely mortified when he realized it was humanoid.
"What the hell?" He moved again, swinging at it with his dagger. The blade slashed its arm, but did nothing to slow it down. The thing growled at him, baring long sharp teeth. A bald head, pale skin, pointy ears, dark eyes. What the hell was this thing?
It pounced. It was stronger than Dean, faster than Dean. They slammed into the wall, and fell in a heap. Fangs went for his neck, which Dean was just barely able to block, holding the things head at arms length. It was a position he couldn't keep forever. In the struggle he had lost both his weapons, now he was going to die. Hopefully Charlie heard the commotion and ran. Dean wouldn't survive, so it was all up to her now.
Inch by inch, the head crept forward, growling at him. Dean was fighting a losing battle, he knew it, yet he couldn't just let himself give up. He closed his eyes, and pressed his lips together tightly so he wouldn't go out with a scream. The Capitol Pigs loved it when Tributes screamed. A spray of hot liquid splashed across his face, jolting him from his thoughts. He heard a thump and roll, then the body on top of him went limp.
Dean opened his eyes, and stared straight at a spinal cord. What the fuck? The thing laid on top of him, headless, with a mortified Charlie standing above it, sword in hand. Her voice mirrored his thoughts. "What the hell was that thing?"
"I don't know." It wasn't a Tribute. It wasn't a human. That meant it was something the Capitol made specially for them. It was odd. They usually modified animals, not people. Maybe it was a new punishment for the traitors and the rebels. Maybe it wasn't really a human at all, just a way to mess with their heads.
He threw the body off himself and stood up, stepping over the decapitated head. Charlie went over to examine it, taking a close look at the long ivory teeth slowly receding into it's mouth. Dean peaked in the last cabinet and took the sack out, not bothering to check it yet. They needed to get out of there. It was risky, heading back to the stream without actually needing a drink, but Dean had a desperate urge to wash the blood off his face. Blood had always grossed him out, but this felt extra wrong and dirty. Whatever kind of monster that was, he didn't want any of it on him anymore.
He would blame his shaking body on the cold water he threw in his face repeatedly, but the truth was that he was terrified. There was no way he would be going into another one of those shacks, not for food, not for supplies. Nothing was worth staring into those cold dead eyes again.
"What was that thing?" Charlie asked again, kneeling down next to him to clean off the spots of blood he had missed. She looked just as mortified as he felt. "It was…Human."
"I don't know what that thing was, but it wasn't human." That was the truth. It may have been humanoid, but there was something purely animalistic about it. Like a starved dog. If the Capitol Citizen liked it, they were sure to see more. If they hated it, that would most likely be the only one they ever ran into. Dean hoped for the later, but he knew they probably wouldn't be so lucky.
He reached into the sack he found in the cabin and pulled out a packet of beef jerky. That was it. He was thankful for the food, they needed it, but it hadn't been worth all that to get it. "Damn it."
They kept moving, circling back around the way they had came. By now they were almost at the Mountains, which Dean knew was the border of the arena. If they ventured out too far, the Gamemakers would turn them back around. Forcefully. It was better if they made that decision on their own. Eight Tributes were left. One from 1, two from 2, one from 4. No doubt they were still together. The Careers only turned on each other after everyone else was dead. Both Tributes from 3, 10, and 12 were dead. Other than that, Dean wasn't sure who came from what District and who was still alive. All he knew was that there were six obstacles, Charlie, and them him.
In the distance he saw another silver parachute. Another gift from the Capitol. Was it for him again? Was it for Charlie? Or was it for someone close by that they couldn't see? Dean scanned his surroundings before running to the gift and picking it up. Inside the sack was an abundance of food. Rolls, fruit, some sort of vitamin supplement for their water, and a small pot of stew. Folded up in the corner was another note. Same as before, Dean's name was on top, followed by a line of letters he didn't recognize.
As much as he hated anyone and everyone from the Capitol, he was so grateful for the food. It was like he had an Angel watching over him. This time, he stared directly into the only camera he could actually see and he gave it a wink. No doubt whoever was sending him things had liked his charm. A thank like this might get him even more stuff down the line.
Like the gentleman he was, Dean let Charlie at the soup first. She ate a quarter, trying to let him have the majority of his gift for himself. Dean wasn't accepting that. It had only been a few days, but she was already losing what little weight she had. They argued until she agreed to have more. Once she got to half, she stopped and wouldn't eat another bite. At least she had a warm meal in her. He shoved two rolls at her and glared until she finished both of them. Then he took first watch, taking comfort in the soft breathing he could hear coming from Charlie in the sleeping bag. As he ate the stew, Dean swore he could cry. It was so good. He missed warm food. Real food.
Once he was done, he took out both the notes that had accompanied the gifts and unfolded them to take a look. The area they settled down in that night had just enough of an opening in the trees above that a sliver of moonlight made its way through. He wouldn't risk using the flashlight, so the dim glow of the Moon would have to do. For the longest time, he didn't know what he was looking at. The only thing he could recognize was his name, the rest just looked like gibberish. However, the longer he looked, the more he could make out. After staring until his eyes hurt, Dean realized the last word in both notes was the same. It must be a signature, though he couldn't tell for sure. For all he knew it could say anything. Gently he folded the notes in half, on top of the other and placed them back in his pocket. Whoever sent it had been generous enough to add them, the least he could do was keep them as encouragement.
Once again the anthem played and the single face of the Tribute to die that day showed over head. One yesterday, one today. The Capitol wouldn't be pleased about that. He knew tomorrow would have more deaths, even if the Gamemakers had to force them into it. Dean would keep leading them back into the center. If they ran into someone, he would kill them. If the Gamemakers were forcing them together, either by fire or avalanche or mudslide or animal attack, and then they ran into someone, keeping himself and Charlie alive would be harder. Things would be easier if he had some semblance of control.
The vitamin supplements his secret admirer had sent were a Godsend. Charlie was showing obvious signs of malnutrition, and while he couldn't see himself in a mirror, he knew he must also be starting to look bad. If it came to a fight and he was too weak to win, then he might as well lay down and die now.
The next morning came and went, and they were nearly back to the Cornucopia. He had to be extra careful now. Half a roll was in his mouth when he nearly choked on it as an arrow flew by his head. Narrowly dodging it, Dean jumped behind a tree, eyes searching for Charlie. The only thing more red than her hair was the pool of blood she was laying in.
"NO!" The cry was forced from his lips. The arrow was lodged just under her ribcage, slowly moving up and down as Charlie gasped for breath, finally stopping as one last gurgle past her lips. A boom of a cannon sounded off and Dean saw red. He was barreling towards the girl before he could stop himself. Clearly a bow wasn't her preferred weapon, since she had clearly missed a heart shot with Charlie. Dean was on her before she could knock another arrow. In a blind rage he ripped the bow from her hand and bashed it into her face. Her screams were muffled, as if he was hearing them from a distance.
Crack, crack, crack. Dean barley registered the sound of the bow hitting the female Tribute in the face. When it broke, he reached for his dagger. She had stopped screaming by then, and he was fairly certain he had heard another cannon, but it didn't matter. He just kept plunging the blade into her chest. When he finally pulled himself off, his bloody hands were so sore that he could barley flex them. He must've been gripping the dagger harder than he thought.
As long as he was there, they wouldn't come and retrieve the bodies. He needed to say one last goodbye. It took him a few minutes to work up the courage to face Charlie. He had let her down. He should've done something to save her. It was all his fault.
"I'm so sorry." Dean fell to his knees beside his best friends lifeless body. The only good thing about crying on National TV was that the tears made everything fuzzy. It was almost like he could ignore the way her eyes glossed over or how the color drained from her face. It wasn't that hard to pretend she was just sleeping once he closed her eyes. Dean had known from the beginning that this was one of the two ways this could've ended, but that didn't make it hurt any less. It was like he could feel something break in him. Charlie was gone, so now he needed to win. He had to. For Sammy. He placed a kiss to Charlie's forehead and got up. "Goodbye, Charlie."