"Do you smell something funny?" Michael's voice broke through the long-lasting silence, startling a half-asleep Dean.

"What?" Lilith questioned, stopping in her tracks.

But Dean didn't need to know what, he could already sense that something was off. The air was different, cleaner almost. Taking the opportunity to inhale deeply, Dean almost felt fresh again.

"It's the air," Michael clarified, breathing heavily with Dean.

"Maybe we're near the surface," Lilith said excitedly, "Dean, turn off your light."

Dean obliged, not wanting to go against the others' words any more than he already had. An intense darkness engulfed them, sending shivers down Dean's spine. Throughout training, Dean had prepared for what he had once believed to be anything, but he had never trained for this.

"It's just as dark as it was before; maybe it's something else," Michael rationalized, a hint of disappointment in his rough voice.

Anxiously, Dean switched his light back on. Soon, they'd be completely dehydrated. Without water, what would they do? Would the group's bonds remain intact as each of its individuals slowly but surely gave into a crippling thirst and an eventual death? No, Dean answered himself, no, it wouldn't.

Especially not in the condition those bonds were in.

Michael barely even looked at Dean. When he did, though, it wasn't a healthy glare. It was a look of purely terrifying rage and complete distaste that shook Dean to the very core. Michael was no longer another tribute on his side, but a predator stalking his prey.

Yet not a second went by where Dean regretted sinking his fist into the frightening boy's face. In fact, Dean wondered how he appeared to the audience when he looked at Michael, how deeply terrifying and off-putting his own face had looked. His father was most likely proud of it.

"Hey guys, if you'd quit gazing into each other's eyes, I think you might be interested in the view," Lilith chuckled happily, tugging on the sleeve of Dean's jacket.

When Dean turned and watched as his light fully illuminated the scene, his jaw dropping as he took it in. A vast underground lake reflected his light against every inch of the cavern. He didn't have much time to think things through, all he knew was that he needed that water.

Within seconds, the group was jogging towards the lagoon in full tow. As he lunged at the water Dean made sure to scoop up small handfuls, trying to drink slowly. Michael didn't seem to have the same idea, as he had simply thrown his head underwater.

"Um, guys?" Lilith said slowly, "Now that we have water, what're we going to do next?"

A surprisingly thoughtful look on his drenched face, Michael pulled his head above the surface just in time to catch her message.

"Hunt some kids, I guess?" He stated as if it was a question. His mind flashing to Yumi, Dean shuddered at the thought of killing another tribute. The blood and gore poured through his memory as a wave of nausea welled his gut.

"Something wrong, Dean?" Lilith asked mockingly, her hands on her childish hips.

"No, I'm just thinking about it. How are we supposed to hunt down here? I never had any training in a cave system," Dean stumbled through his excuse, and he could tell the others noticed.

"Yeah, well, I never had any training, dumbass," Lilith giggled girlishly.

"Wait," Michael said, putting his arm out to stop Lilith. "Did you hear that?"

.o0o.

"Shit," Meg grumbled as they stared down at the career group. "Well fuck me."

Castiel held Claire close to his chest as the group jogged toward the water. No, as the group jogged towards the lake. It was the first liquid he had seen since the games had begun, and hell, it was the first thing he had seen. His eyes took a while to adjust to the light, but his throat never adjusted to the thirst.

"We need to get down there or we're going to die," Meg whispered frantically, her hands obviously shaking. It was the first time Castiel had the opportunity to look at them, and now he didn't want to. As much as he tried to ignore it, Meg's hands remained covered in dried blood.

It's probably Ardor's, he thought to himself. Pushing away the thought, he tried to breathe. Meg wouldn't do that, she was the one who recruited Ardor.

She was the one who had recruited him.

"We can't get down there," he said as quietly as he could, trying to stifle his thoughts. It was true. Sure, the careers were a person short, but they were still heads and shoulders stronger than him and Meg.

"We have to," Meg insisted harshly, grabbing onto Castiel's jacket. "It isn't up for discussion."

"How?" he added, pushing her bloody hand off of his collar "I have Claire and even if we were both rested and hydrated, we'd never be able to take them."

Meg squinted at him, her mind clearly working in overdrive.

"But we have the element of surprise," she said, turning back to face the careers.

Castiel sighed. He'd never be able to persuade her, and he'd never get out of a fight alive. This was a suicide mission, there was no question about it. The only question was whether or not he wanted to go.

"Can I leave Claire here, you know, until we get back?" Castiel asked, his voice suddenly childish.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," Meg shooed him away.

Castiel backed away from Meg and into a darkened corner. Carefully, he set Claire down and brushed her hair out of her face. He hadn't been able to see it before, but her face had become creepily pale, translucent even. It drew tears to his eyes.

"I'll be right back, Claire," he whimpered to his unconscious friend. "I'll be right back."

.o0o.

"I swear I heard something," Michael insisted, a bit of frustration breaking through his measured tone. Dean refused to look at him, but Lilith didn't seem to express the same fears.

"It's probably just the water. I wonder how many fish are in this thing," she said with a sort of child-like wonder.

Dean stared blankly at the lake as he dipped his fifth canteen into the water. Jamming the full container into his bag, he sighed. This bag will be a bitch to carry now.

"I swear I heard something. And no, it wasn't a fish," Michael barked as he leapt to his feet. "I guess I'm going to have to investigate alone."

"Uh, I'll go with you," Dean muttered. If the two of them were going to have to spend the rest of the games together, he should start to patch up their alliance as soon as possible.

"Fine, whatever," Michael said with discontent.

But Dean didn't get the chance. Just as he rose to his feet, a loud whooshing noise shook the cave. Dean squinted at the fast approaching object, not realizing what it was until it embedded itself in his shoulder.

The shout escaped his lips before he had time to process the burning, searing pain. Hesitantly, Dean looked down at the five inch dagger that protruded from his right shoulder. Grabbing at the hilt frantically, he tore it from his body with one swift motion. He couldn't help but scream again as his blood surged from the wound. He knew he shouldn't have removed it yet, but his hands seemed to have taken control of themselves.

Michael and Lilith had already run off, weapons at hand. They had left him to die, most likely. Was he going to die?

No, his father's voice appeared in his mind. No, you won't, boy.

Dean shook himself, his father voice an unwanted occurrence. Holding his knife in his good arm, he closed his eyes. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, the pain would go away for a moment or so.

Forcing his eyes shut, an eerie sound filled the air. Wings. Something was flying. Hundreds of somethings were flying.

.o0o.

Bats. Millions of them. The swarmed from the ceiling, awoken by Dean's scream. Screeches and screams echoed the cavern, some from the bats and some from the tributes. Castiel stood frozen at the mouth of the cave completely terrified.

Michael, the beefy tribute from District 1, was barreling towards him, a murderous look on his face. Castiel couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he could only wait to die.

Growing up, Anna had always been open with him about death. Their entire family had died one by one, and he had grown accustomed to it. A person couldn't walk down the street without seeing another who was either sick or dying, and he had lived knowing he couldn't help them. Once he started work, it became almost strange to go a week without watching someone collapse on the job only to be carried off to die in some closed off room. Death was everywhere, and there was no escaping it.

But surprisingly, he had never really thought about his own death. Back in the district, his life expectancy was probably somewhere in the mid thirties, but here, it was considerably shorter. As the career charged towards him, he'd probably put it at about a dozen more seconds.

And then, something strange happened. Someone, somewhere decided to give him a few more minutes. A swarm of bats descended upon the career, covering him like a thick fog. Castiel let out a gasp as he was released from his frozen position, from his frozen fate.

Somewhere across the cavern, they were covering someone else as well. Lilith or Meg, probably. Castiel couldn't afford to watch, he had to get out of here.

Stumbling back into the tunnels, Castiel's heartbeat sped. He searched wildly for Claire, scraping his hands against the jagged cave walls.

"Hey!"

Castiel jumped at Meg's voice. He was having another panic attack, he could tell. Everything was blurring, and his heart was beginning to feel like a bird's. At least Meg was here now.

"Meg!" he yelled back, relief flooding his soul. Maybe they would get out of this intact.

Meg ran towards him, and suddenly his relief flushed away. It was that look, the same look Michael had given him. They locked eyes, and the look remained. She wasn't here to reunite the group, she was here to eradicate it.

Extending her knife, she prepared for the kill. Castiel was about to pass out, but his mind wouldn't let him. He knew what was coming. He was about to die on live television; he was about to die in front of Anna.

It happened in what could only be described as slow motion, and Castiel knew the audience would be just as surprised as he was. He came out of know where, a burning light blasting from his forehead. Castiel barely had time to process his appearance, let alone his actions.

Dean Winchester, the tribute from District 2, appeared. Blood covered his shoulder, and he was still obviously bleeding as he approached. He didn't look like the others who had had run toward him armed. He looked determined. For once, Castiel didn't feel like he needed to picture his own death.

Instead, he witnessed along with the rest of Panem as the knife that was wet with Dean's own blood plunged into Meg's chest. Dean had run right past him, right past a perfectly open target and had attacked an armed and dangerous tribute.

And as Dean pulled the knife from his third kill, he even turned to face him with a small, weak smile.

Castiel crumpled to the floor completely unconscious.