It was hard for Sam to imagine that it was merely water that surrounded him. In the darkness, he couldn't see it. He couldn't see the familiar murky liquid as it surged against his freezing body. He could only feel it as it wrapped around him, trying to pull him further into its icy depths, only taste it as it rushed into his open mouth, trying to replace the air in his lungs with suffocating cold.

Only hear it as it began to lap against the cavern ceiling.

But Sam did fight it. Thrashing with all of his might, he was actually managing to move through the water. He was swimming for the very first time, but he didn't have the chance to marvel at the experience. Sam could only focus on keeping his head topside and taking in air.

What had just hours before been Sam's most important endeavor was now going to be the death of him. Fatigue pulled him under water as his unfed and generally malnourished body began to give in to the water's greedy hands. Opening his eyes underwater, Sam looked around. He was just as blind as he had been a few seconds ago, but what he saw was incredibly enlightening. Being underwater simply felt as if the world had changed its atmosphere. Sure, the water would fill his lungs and he would inevitably die, but its natural wrath would be much less terrible than the manmade sting of a knife.

Sam was at peace.

Relaxing, he felt death's hand secure itself around his upper arm. It was cold, the hand, even more cold than the ice water that had taken him. Driving its nails into his skin, Sam gasped. More water spilled into his lungs as the hand dragged him through the abyss.

And then he was topside.

The hand came down on his face with an earsplitting smack. People were yelling at one another, and the hand – no – hands were pressing down rhythmically on his chest.

"Leave him! We don't need him! He's just another tribute! You should have let him die! We need to run!"

A canon went off through the female's screams, shaking the rocky ground underneath Sam. The hands on his chest began to move a bit faster.

Suddenly, Sam breathed. Water forced its way out of his mouth and onto the floor next to him as his lungs struggled to expand. The hands of death leapt away from his body, and Sam heard the smack of wet clothing hitting a wall.

"Goodness, Rod, look what you've done now!"

Maria, the girl from District 4, was practically screaming. Sam could hear the panic in her unusually high voice.

"I couldn't just leave him!" Rod's prepubescent tone shook with fear and weariness. "I saw him in the water, and I knew I could save him! We had made him a promise!"

Sam made an attempt to open his eyes, but what he found was sensory overload. A dull, nearly orange light was cast on the tunnel, coming from what appeared to be a rickety flashlight. As Sam opened his eyes, he saw.

With his back against the wall, Rod was breathing heavily. His thin lips were stained a deep purple from the chill of the water and his once vibrant curls were matted against his face. Maria, on the other hand, stood completely dry with his hands on her hips. Around her hips hung an incredibly bulky tool belt littered with knives, matches, and an array of other supplies.

"But now what, hmm?" Maria's voice had softened, but it still had an undeniable hostility, "Now what are we supposed to do, kill him? Wait for him to kill you?"

Rod looked down at his feet, sadness consuming his childish face.

"I'm sorry, Maria, I wasn't thinking."

A pain shot through Sam's chest as he watched a line of tears join the water on Rod's face.

"There was a girl in the water, too."

Maria's hands fell to her side, a clear act of submission. She had dropped the angry persona, a look of pure love and melancholy consuming it.

"Oh, Rod," she moved towards the boy, stopping a few inches from him, "This is the Hunger Games; you're not supposed to save people."

Rod nodded solemnly, moving his hands to cover his face.

And Maria turned toward Sam.

.o0o.

Running with Dean was much better than it had been with Meg. Castiel hadn't asked why, but it was increasingly clear that Dean somehow knew where he was going. Also, Dean allowed him to take breaks from the constant running. It was nice, being able to put Claire down to take a sip of water.

He wondered how long it would last.

They had found Claire rather quickly. She was still unconscious, and both Dean and Castiel had gasped at the sight of her. The vibrant girl with rosy pink cheeks had withered away in only a few hours. Now, a sick, grey ghost had taken her place.

She looked beyond dead.

But as Castiel hugged her to his chest, he could still feel the slow but steady heartbeat. She was alive, and she was breathing, and that was all that mattered now. He could cross the next bridge when he came to it.

For now, he was just trying to understand the career that was running in front of him. Castiel suspected some sort of mental break, perhaps a delusion. Maybe those bats had been mutants, and maybe they had gotten ahold of Dean before he had found him. It was only a matter of time until the boy remembered what it meant to be a career – what it meant to be in the Hunger Games.

But until then, this transient safety was good.

Soon, the bright white of Dean's light was mixed with the cool green of the cornucopia. Dean broke from his run and began to jog towards the glowing metal structure.

"Come on, the ground on the inside is clean. You can put her down," his voice was heavy from the running, but Castiel could still hear the kindness in it. It was more disturbing than anything he had heard in the arena.

But Castiel followed him into the building. The inside of the cornucopia resembled the storage rooms at the plant – dark and crowded. Wooden crates and plastic boxes were stacked on top of each other. Some were torn open, their contents spilt out onto the smooth, paved floor. In the back, Dean was trying to pry open a sealed plastic case.

"It says that it's a temperature controlled sleeping bag, but it won't open," Dean said with a striking nonchalance.

Castiel watched as the career forced open the box. The boy's hands were shaking, and his shoulders had grown rigid and high. It was moments like these that he cursed his general inability to read people's emotions.

Laying out the sleeping bag, Dean forced a smile.

"I'll go take first watch," Dean said, the shakiness of his voice contradicting the happy look on his face.

The boy ducked outside without another word. Castiel placed Claire down on the ground, careful to make her look as natural as possible. If she were to die in here like this, it would be like she was sleeping.

Once she looked comfortable, Castiel finally took in his full surroundings. What appeared to be a map was anchored on the far wall, and he guessed that was how Dean was so sure of the tunnels. A crate of apples was pressed up against the wall next to it, and Castiel tore into it. Despite the fact that he had gone considerably longer than this without any food back in the district, he had never felt so hungry before in his life.

With his apple in hand, the boy from District 5 leaned his back against the cool wall of the cornucopia. Soon, the exhaustion gained complete control of him, pulling him into a deep sleep.

But just before he shut his eyes, he could have sworn he heard someone crying.