Even though he couldn't see it, Castiel could feel the pitch-black tunnels begin to blur as he stumbled down their gravelly pathways. After hours of running and wheezing he had finally traded the feeling of fear, pain, and thirst for a powerful exhaustion. Sleepy, foggy air clouded around him like the smog of District 5, burning his eyes and suffocating his senses. The dark world around him shook with each step, pulling him into a new realm of consciousness.

Underneath him, he could still hear Claire's breath, a powerful and constant reminder of why he kept moving. Sure, they were shallow and infrequent, but they were there.

Castiel's stomach rolled at the thought of her. There was no foreseeable way for her to survive through the night in these caves – especially without water. Hell, in her condition she probably wouldn't have even made it back in Opificina, even with her particularly wealthy status.

He cringed at the realization that her death further ensured his life. In the back of his mind, Castiel could hear Claire's request from training, "If it comes down to it, I want you to kill me." She had spoken so strongly, so surely. She had given him permission to end her suffering; she had expressed that she didn't want to survive.

And yet he held onto her.

"Stop," Meg called from the haze. Castiel stopped as she had requested, his body shaking from the uncanny timing of her words.

"What?" he asked, barely aware that this deeper, emptier voice came from his own mouth.

"It's just –" Meg paused to release a violent and enraged growl. The sound of her voice ricocheted off of his confused ears, rocking the tunnel. "How do we even know this path leads to water? I know I'm exhausted, and with you carrying that dead weight all this time, you can only feel worse! We need rest, we need water, and I need to win!"

Castiel stood firm as Meg rattled off her list of troubles. She no longer seemed conscious of the amount of noise they were making or how close the other tributes could potentially be. Honestly, it terrified him, and yet he stood as unwavering and strong as possible.

"I think we should stop," he nearly whispered, Meg's passion intimidating, "We have a bit of food in our bags, that should hold us over long enough for an adequate rest."

Although he couldn't see it, Castiel could feel Meg's glare through the dark fog. There was no doubt in his mind that she knew he was right, but that didn't mean she wouldn't fight him.

"Fine," was all she said. A loud thud erupted throughout the cavern as she threw herself onto the floor in contempt.

Slowly, Castiel joined her, making sure to remain gentle as he lowered Claire to the ground.

"Claire, we're taking a break, do you want anything to eat?"

Silence.

"Claire?"

Castiel tried to suppress panic in his voice as he cupped the young girl's face in his hands. His mind flashed to the chasm and the tunnel. Not again.

"Meg, be quiet!" he ordered as he leapt into action, scrambling against the floor's loose rocks. The sound of her riffling through the bags instantly disappeared.

One small, shallow, rugged, empty breath emerged through the deafening silence. She was breathing. For a few seconds, Castiel allowed himself to feel some relief.

"What's wrong?" Meg stammered through the darkness. A sort of quiet, reserved nature had consumed her normally harsh voice. Castiel assumed she was trying to be kind, it was the nicest he had ever heard her sound. For the first time, he wondered how obvious his emotions seemed to her.

"She's not – she's not conscious," he attempted to gasp, his voice shaking with the unsteady beating of his terrified heart. The panic was starting to creep back.

His hands flew to the young girl's still fresh wounds. To his surprise, they were yet again damp with fresh blood. How long had they been bleeding this steadily? How much blood had she lost?

"Castiel?" Meg spoke once more, her voice cautious yet clear.

"Yes?" It wasn't until he tried to speak again that he felt them. Tears. Rough and unyielding, they rushed down his pale, dirty face. She couldn't die, not here, not like this. She couldn't leave him alone in this place.

Not again.

"Sometimes, things go wrong. People have accidents on the job; I guess that's normal with every district," Meg started, momentarily pulling him from his thoughts with her steady words. "Back in District 8, we climb trees for the harvest. The trees in District 8 are like nothing you've ever seen. They look like mountains spiraling into the sky with trunks as thick as a house – it's beautiful, really. But every once in a while, people lose their footing and fall. My brother fell, and, knowing him, he managed to hit every single goddamn branch on the way down. He never fell far enough to kill him, though, but he did take a branch in the leg. It bled pretty badly, but there wasn't anything we could afford that could stop it. Eventually he passed out, just like this."

Castiel just stared in the direction he knew she was sitting. A new sort of shock flooded his core as she finished her story. He had always seen Meg as a sort of inhuman machine; she was the sort of person who was meant to play these games. But now, now she was more. More than a goal oriented device.

"Thank you," he mumbled, not wanting to think much farther on the subject. His appetite was gone, as was his thirst or exhaustion.

"Come on, let's just go."

He lifted Claire's motionless form off of the cold stone floor.

.o0o.

The careers barreled down the tunnels at a near record speed. Occasionally, they'd stop for food, normally some sort of fruit to quench their thirst. They never stopped for long.

The group always stayed in the same formation. Michael sulked in the back, nursing a now dry bloody nose. He was practically silent, his only audible noises being his semi-sporadic grumbles of discontent. Bouncing about in a strikingly merry fashion, Lilith wandered in the middle. She never seemed to tire or falter, even when they had been sprinting for what seemed like hours. Nothing could faze her, she seemed invincible. Dean remained at least twenty feet ahead of them, even if it meant pushing himself past his limits. The others couldn't tell if his father's drive and desire to win had finally kicked in, or if he was just angry with them. They didn't care enough to investigate.

Surprisingly, neither of them would ever suspect his real reason for running. To them, it'd seem irrational. Dean ran because whenever he stopped, whenever he took his eyes off of the fast moving tunnel ahead of him, his vision was clouded with the ghost of illuminated pale grey eyes and silky blonde hair cascading down a faraway shaft.

And even in his dethatched state, Dean was the first one to hear it. The sound of a fourth set of boots clacking against the gravel. Another tribute was trailing their group, and honestly he was surprised no one else heard the child. They were clearly unskilled, and not too intelligent. Following a career group with shoes like these on an unfamiliar terrain like this – that's how you die.

Yet he kept his eyes focused forward, the light from the helmet aimed straight ahead. Every rock the light hit was illuminated in the same daunting mix of grey and brown. The same mix that had shone in Lace's eyes.

Just as Dean was beginning to wonder if the others would ever hear the fourth person, a bright, terrifying scream exploded around him. Hesitantly, he turned to witness the attack.

Michael was frozen just like him, a menacing glare consuming his beaten face. He didn't need to help, but it was clear that he wanted to.

Lilith was on top of the fourth tribute. Yumi, the girl from District 9, struggled under Lilith's unbelievably strong hold. Lilith's curly blonde hair bounced just above the ground around her as the other girl squirmed and shouted. Swiftly, Lilith produced a long, thick knife from her jacket pocket.

"I don't like to be followed," Lilith sung, a smile tearing across her face.

Dean looked away just in time, only catching the last bit of fear in Yumi's eyes as she braced herself for the inevitable blow. Cringing at the sound the knife made as it slid past Yumi's collarbone, Dean's entire body tensed. The screams were different now – higher and longer. They were no longer a cry for help, but were instead an obligatory reflex. The screams escalated to a point where they began to shake the rocks in the ceiling and the walls, sending a thick cloud of dust and rubble to gather in the light of Dean's headlamp.

Throughout the screams, Dean could still hear the others. Michael coughed roughly, the dust cloud catching in his thick throat. Lilith, on the other hand, laughed. A sick cackle pierced the nauseating explosion of gasps and wails like a bell. This girl was sick, and if Dean hadn't seen it before, he could sure as hell see it now.

Another score of gushing blood and sliced bone erupted as Lilith stabbed Yumi again. And again. And again. Each time, Lilith aimed away from vital organs, allowing the girl's screams to continue.

"Stop! Stop!" Dean finally shouted, his stomach about to lunge through his dry mouth. He knew the Capitol's camera's were on him, on the group. For once, he didn't care. He just needed this to stop.

The screaming continued, but Michael and Lilith went silent. Dean refused to look at the girl, refused to look the others in the eye. Instead, he focused on a small patch of wall next to him and glared at it angrily.

"What?" Lilith asked accusingly, as if she saw nothing wrong with her actions. She obviously didn't.

"For heaven's sake, don't torture her!" he bellowed at the wall, unable to sound as angry as he wanted.

The others remained silent, clearly taken aback by his outburst. Welling like a fire in his throat, a mix of rage and fear bellowed inside his stomach. No matter how angry or upset he got, he could never push it too far. Even if he no longer cared about the Capitol's opinions of him, Michael and Lilith could still turn on him at any second. If this exchange had taught him anything, it'd be that he definitely didn't want that.

"You don't get points for torture! There's no need to do this – you're acting completely insane!" he added over Yumi's screams. He couldn't believe his life had come to this point, rationalizing with psychopaths.

"What did you think we were going to be doing here, Dean? Isn't this what you volunteered for?" Lilith whined accusingly, her voice reverting to an almost infantile tone. Dean wouldn't admit it, but she had a point.

"Not this," he lied through clenched teeth, "This is insane. Now stop."

"You do it," Michael interjected, stepping into Dean's path with a cruel look in his dark eyes.

Dean froze, a hundred responses rushing into his mind. He thought about what his father would say. "The Gamemakers love a violent killer." Hadn't his father spoken those exact words in the train station? Is this what he meant?

Still, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Pulling his eyes away from the wall, he forced himself to look at Yumi. Blood was pooling around her convulsing body. He couldn't look away now, his eyes were frozen on her form.

"No, Michael," he managed to force out, holding in his mortified breath. With a disgusted stutter, he managed to force out just a bit more, "This is Lilith's kill."

And with a grunt and one last sharp scream it was.

"You'll get the next one," Lilith giggled darkly as she stepped between Michael and Dean, completely unaware of the tension between them. Dean tried to ignore the blood that covered her neck and arms as they continued down the path.

.o0o.

When Sam opened his eyes he was met by what seemed to be the most powerful light he had ever seen. Blues and purples and greys burst from every direction, burning his eyes as they barreled into him. It was strikingly surreal – heaven-like, almost. Could it be heaven?

Moving to shield his eyes, Sam realized just how sore his body was. Surely this couldn't be heaven if he felt like this. Every joint in his body seemed to be stuffed with weights, keeping him anchored to the solid rock floor.

Slowly, Sam managed to pull himself into an upright position. Empty and faint from dehydration and whatever poison those rodents had released into his bloodstream, his body swayed as he sat. Somewhere in the distance, signaling the end of the day, the anthem began to play. He needed to get his eyes working as soon as possible.

Finally, they adjusted enough. A rush of astonishment and wonder hit him head on as he took in his surroundings. In Sam's hallucinogenic state, he had found his way to a cavern nearly twice the size as the one that had held the cornucopia. About ten feet in front of him, the smooth stone floor transformed into an eerily still underground lake. The water was as black and glassy as an igneous rock, appearing strikingly solid before him.

But even with his dehydration, that wasn't what amazed him. Where the rugged cavern walls had once stood now pranced thousands of tiny lights. Together, they joined to form giant screens covering the cavern walls. On them was painted the Capitol's seal, its image reflecting off of the lake's still surface. It was the death recap, but instead of occupying its normal spot in the nonexistent sky, it consumed every inch of wall, illuminating every corner of the caves.

The first face to appear on the walls was named Lace Mason, a hauntingly beautiful girl from District 1. The career pack was damaged, and it was only the first day. Perhaps he had a chance after all.

As face after face appeared and lit the room with their own unique set of lights and colors, Sam's emotions welled. Neither Rod nor Maria flashed past, meaning that somewhere in the tunnel system they were still alive. But even through his personal happiness, he couldn't help but feel a little sick. Eleven faces – that made up nearly half of the tributes.

Maybe the games were harder than he had anticipated.

As the recap waned, Sam made sure to make himself familiar with the terrain around him. Most of the cavern was occupied by the lake, but a few large rocks protruded from its surface. One of them was located on the shoreline about 50 yards away from one of the two entrances to the cavern.

Completely unaware of which entrance he managed to stumble through, Sam decided that it was best to remain in the cavern for a while. It was unlikely that the Gamemakers would try and scare him out anytime soon, what with so many deaths on the first day. They'd want the games to last.

Picking up his two-rodent-strong kill, he made his way towards the boulder. Forcing himself to jog, he hurried. Soon, the lights would go out and he wouldn't be able to see a thing. His joints screamed in protest, but he pushed on.

Behind the rock, there was a very small, very damp cove. It was invisible from both entrances, so Sam decided it was a good enough shelter for now. Shoving his oversized body in, he pulled his knees to his chest.

In a few minutes, the lights disappeared. Darkness swallowed him, and it was soon followed by a dauntingly cold lakeside air.

But he had managed to make it through the first day.