There wasn't much space left to travel. Sam, Dean and Castiel barely walked down the first block away from the center of the arena when they were stopped by the force field. It seemed that the arena had enclosed them within the very center which also meant Crowley wasn't particularly far away. Nonetheless, they scouted the perimeter, looking buildings up and down in search for him. An hour had passed before they had entered a building from which classical music played. The discovery was odd to all of them seeing as none of the electronic equipment they found in the abandoned houses and edifices were functional. However, they still climbed it and were two floors away from the top when they found the gramophone.
It was beaten and discoloured by time but still worked. The three soon discovered the reason behind its functioning was due to the twirling lever on the box's side, spinning just as quickly as the vinyl disc. The label on it had generally been washed away but fade taints of bright blue and possibly what was once red or orange were still somewhat visible. A woman sang softly and with great lament a tune in a different language that none else but Castiel understood and knew the story of.
"It's old French." He said softly.
"French?" Dean repeated.
"It's a dead language." Castiel specified, taking a step away from the gramophone, "This specific song is tied to the Second World War what with the many ancient cinematic depictions of the mentioned event."
"Do you know what she's saying?" Sam asked.
"Basically," Castiel said, "I regret nothing."
"And that I don't." Crowley declared. Their eyes darted towards and found him on the neighbouring building which had a matching breech with the one they were currently in. "I thought this song was fitting for my moment of triumph. I'm very fortunate to have found it in these ruins."
"You bastard!" Dean snarled, "Just wait until I get my hands on you—"
"Yes, yes," Crowley brushed off with sarcasm, "The mere thought sends shivers down my spine. I'm afraid you won't ever get to that point, pet."
"And what makes you think that!?" Dean growled.
"Oh come now," Crowley sighed, "You didn't actually believe the gramophone and song's only purpose was to display some sort of cheesy symbolism behind the final showdown, did you? It was a lure and it worked brilliantly."
"If you're insinuating you laid traps," Sam said, "Well you did a bang up job seeing as we didn't trigger any of them on the way."
"Of course you didn't," Crowley said and dangled a remote with a clever grin, "Because I have the detonator right here. Honestly, Moose, I thought you were smarter than that."
"Moose?" Sam repeated.
"Yes." Crowley confirmed, "I find you resemble one greatly."
"Well that's great and all," Dean said, "But you can't set off the bombs in this building without getting away."
"Clever girl." Crowley grinned, "But, you see, I've already thought everything out. The explosives have been cleverly placed so as to control the detonation and limit the span of damage. In sum, the only building meant to suffer any damage is the one in which you now find yourself standing. And, in case of miscalculations, I chose a building located near many others with giant holes and crumbled walls. The only thing is that yours is particularly spaced out from the rest and so attempting to jump to safety would most likely fail and you would find yourself dead either way. I'm not an idiot, boys. It's the only reason I'm surviving this barbaric game."
And in that instant, hope vanished from the Winchesters faces. They had finally been had and so the Games would conclude itself with their deaths. The only twinkle of comfort Dean managed to find was that he would at least die gloriously in an explosions – though he still did find dying old and in a warm bed to be far more appealing. Nonetheless, in that very instant, a thing Castiel had told him a couple of days ago resurfaced and he found he truly understood the sentiment he had expressed then. He turned to look at his brother and Castiel one last time and couldn't resist the melancholic smile that stretched upon his face.
"I'm so glad," he said, eyes twinkling with unshed tears, "to have had you both in my life."
"Me too…" Sam replied with the same expression.
Castiel remained silent, seemingly stunned and shocked by watching the brothers abandon themselves to inevitability. The two had always fought, regardless of how bad the circumstances got, and never gave up. Perhaps staring Death in the face had swayed them to finally give up and embrace the promise of peace it had brought. And though Castiel had resigned himself to his fate for far longer than either had, in that very instant, he found himself incapable of mimicking the morose attitude.
Just as Crowley leapt to the next building, Castiel grabbed both of the brothers and made way for the gap. They had been told the space was too large to make it, that Death was inevitable, but they still had to try – Castiel still had to try. Whichever tribute meant to return home should be one with a noble heart and good values, someone respectable that will have others reflect on the atrocities he had had to go through during his time in the arena. Crowley was not that tribute but Sam and Dean could be.
Crowley set off the explosives just in time to witness the three attempt their potentially pointless escape. However, the results of such a feat was soon lost upon him for he had partially misjudged the locations of the explosives. Half of the building imploded as it was meant to whereas the rest exploded. Luckily for Sam, Dean and Castiel, they had caught a boost from the explosion which propelled them safely enough to the next building though they were quickly shrouded by a thick cloud of dust as debris fell on them.
It took a long moment for the dust to begin clearing up. Dean had shakily gotten to his knees, sitting and resting on them for a brief moment as he tried to assess that they had indeed survived what he thought would most likely be their utter demise. Needless to say, as happy as he was to still be breathing, he was thoroughly shocked. Dean peered next to him, searching the thick cloud of filth for his brother and friend. His eyes quickly landed on the horrified sight of Sam laying motionlessly on the floor, a thick trail of blood dribbling down his forehead. A thick piece of wreckage must have knocked him out or worse…
Dean scurried to his side frantically. "Sammy!" he called out, shaking his brother. After a moment of no response, his heart sank and panic took over all of his senses, "Come on, Sam! Not like this! Not—"
A groan finally escaped his brother's mouth, setting his agitated heart at ease for a short moment. Sam's eyes soon fluttered open, taking a moment to focus and to find their way to Dean. Dean finally sighed and cracked a relieved smile, "We're…alive?" he asked, evidently confused.
"Yeah." Dean said with a breathy laugh. "I don't know, Cas—" he interrupted himself, "Cas!" he exclaimed.
By then the dust had cleared enough to reveal the state of the building around them. Rubble laid everywhere though a particularly thick pile was stacked just a meter away from Sam, beneath which Castiel laid. He seemed to be in an even worse condition than Sam – excluding the fact that half of his body was covered and probably broken by the thick weight trapping him.
"Cas!" Dean cried, rushing to his side.
"Dean…" the other responded feebly, forcing his eyes open.
"It's going to be okay, man!" he said nervously, his hands desperately hovering above the debris as though unsure where to start in freeing Castiel, "We'll get you through this—"
"No!" Castiel managed to snap, coughing out blood in the process, "Crowley! Get Crowley!"
The last thing Dean wanted to do was leave Castiel's side but the Games needed to end and if they waited too long, Crowley might just find the second upper hand he now desperately needed to survive them. He looked at Castiel and then at the neighbouring building where he saw Crowley rush towards the stairwell in a desperate attempt to escape fate. He gritted his teeth together, resolving in finally doing what he should have done long ago.
"Sam!" Dean shouted as he got to his feet and sprinted after Crowley, "Take care of Cas!"
The last thing Dean saw of that moment was Sam nodding vividly as he inched his way closer to Castiel. He then focused his efforts on catching Crowley and making him pay for everything. Crowley was the reason so many of his friends had died, he had pinned some of the worse tributes on them and though he had a good cause to do such a thing, Dean couldn't forgive him. Because of him, Castiel might die and the very thought had his heart throbbing so painfully, Dean almost thought the organ would severe itself out of anguish.
He caught up with Crowley just as he leapt out of the stairwell on the main floor. He had nearly gotten out of the building when Dean had tackled him to the ground, pinning him in place with his weight as he began punching his face in with all the remaining strength he could muster. Crowley was detestable, manipulative and deceitful. Dean never liked throwing the first punch though he figured attempting to kill them in a controlled explosion was relatively the same thing.
When Dean finally stopped, the other tribute's face was utterly deformed and bloody. Crowley's left eye was particularly swollen whereas the other was blinded by blood and Dean wondered if he could actually see. To his surprise though, Crowley let out a pained laugh almost in spite of him which angered Dean further though the latter no longer had the strength to pursue in his savage beating.
"I lose my life…" Crowley wheezed, "But what have you lost, Dean?"
"Shut up." Dean hissed, he reached for the machete strapped around his waist and brought it down upon Crowley, ending him then and there.
A cannon sounded and Dean couldn't have been anymore relieved. It was over, everything was finally over, and he and Sam and Castiel could go home. He waited for a voice over the intercom to found and announce them as the winners of the Hundredth Hunger Games. And he waited. And he waited. And he waited some more when it finally dawned on him that the task wasn't over yet. The other tributes had repeated it quite a few times before the end: only one tribute or a pair of siblings can leave the Hunger Games alive. A pair of non-blood related individuals would have to fight to the death for the title of victor before leaving, regardless of the close bond they may or may not have created during its course.
Only one cannon had sounded marking Crowley's death which meant Castiel was still alive.
"Sam…" Castiel said frailly after hearing the cannon fire.
"What is it?" he responded in equal exhaustion.
"You need to kill me." He breathed.
"No way…" Sam refused, "We're leaving this together, remember?"
"We can't." Castiel said, "There can only be two victors provided they are blood related. Those are the rules."
"But your brothers…" Sam tried, "They're the presidents, they can make an exception—"
"My brothers probably hate me now." Castiel said, pausing to hack out more blood, "Maybe if Gabriel hadn't died…it could have been possible. They don't care about me anymore… But…look at me, Sam. I'm already dead."
"But…" Sam attempted albeit pointlessly, "Dean, he—"
"It's best if he doesn't see me like this…" Castiel said with a smile, "Call it selfish…but this needs to be done and I need you to do it."
Sam eyes watered, his mind struggling to think of a way to avoid doing what Castiel asked of him. "I can't…" he said, "Dean wouldn't…Dean wouldn't want me to…he cares about you—"
"And I care about him." Castiel confirmed with a shaky smile, "And it's for that exact reason that I need to die before he sees me again. You need to do this, Sam. Please." He almost sounded like he was begging, "It hurts, Sam. Make it stop and let me die."
Hurried steps echoed through the stairwell and Sam knew he was running out of time. He found himself in a tricky position though soon drew the knife, deciding that Castiel's pain should be extinguished rather than delayed and amplified by Dean's presence. Nonetheless, his hand trembled violently and a part of Sam felt as though he was doing the wrong thing.
"Thank you." Castiel smiled, and a peaceful expression washed over his face. "Please…tell Dean that I—"
"Sam—!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, the victors of the Hundredth Hunger Games are Sam and Dean Winchester of district 7."