Her blonde hair was beginning to cling to her face, it was so coated with sweat, dust, and grime. Once the bats had cleared out of the cavern and their annoying affects had worn off, Michael and Lilith had taken turns washing themselves in the underground lake. But that had been days ago, so the filth, gluing her clumped hair down like a stiff cap, had managed to consume her once again.

Running the back of her hand across her grimy forehead, Lilith sighed. The Game was getting boring, and she was growing impatient. It was only a matter of time until the Gamemakers intervened and things got interesting, but time seemed to be moving slower than she could bear.

That was, until the announcement.

Only wandering far enough to safely return within an hour if necessary, she and Michael had remained generally close to the cornucopia after they had found Claire there. When the announcement of a feast shook the arena, Lilith had been about twenty-five minutes away, tops.

As she returned, she ran faster than she ever had before. Her rough, grimy hair whipped against the back of her neck and sholders and reminded her of her life before the games. She and the boys who lived next door would race into town the second they could smell the sweet aroma of bread wafting through the mountain air. The boys would never talk to her once she got there, but it was still nice to know that for a moment she had been part of a group, even if it had been coincidental.

And now, in these Games, she was racing to someone, not some bread. Even better, she was flying through these caves with millions of people watching her. She was the center of attention, and for some she was already the victor. People probably worshiped her in the Capitol – she had already received multiple gifts from Sponsors. It was the happiest she had ever been in her rather short life. She was an idol, which is the greatest accomplishment an outsider can achieve.

Michael was already waiting for her in the cornucopia. Six masks were resting on top of their specially crafted pedestals. The final mask was already in Michael's possessive hands, his knuckles white as his fingers dug into its yellowing plastic material.

Lilith approached the masks slowly, her mind scurrying to come up with an idea diabolical enough to keep the Game interesting. The Gamemakers had clearly expected her to stay and fight, to cause a second Bloodbath in the cornucopia, but that was unacceptable. It was too easy, too bland. She had to be interesting.

"Let's take them and run," she spoke the thought aloud the second it appeared in her mind. Not only would this plan please the Gamemakers, but it would please the masses of the Capitol. That, and it would award her with a greater likelihood of safety than an erratic fight would.

"No," Michael responded sturdily, his voice gruff and calm as if he was still considering the words he was about to speak.

"Then what do you think we should do? We can do literally anything!" Lilith could feel her hands beginning to shake from a mixture of rage, excitement, and power.

"I, uh, I agree with you. We should take them," Michael started, his voice wavering as he continued to test his own idea. "But, I think we should leave one."

Lilith turned to face the masks again as she pondered the idea. Not only would they get away with enough masks to save themselves and surprise the audience, but the Gamemakers might even get to keep their bloodbath, round two.

"It's perfect," she whispered to herself.

"Let's go."

.o0o.

From where Dean and Castiel watched in the shadows, the exchange seemed to unfold in slow motion. As the two Careers talked in the greenish glow of the Cornucopia, Dean held Castiel in place with his still slightly wounded arm. Far too ready to attack the girl who had killed his friend, Castiel was twitching underneath him. Dean sighed. He was only trying to prevent that same misfortune from happening to him.

"We have to go after them, Dean," Castiel whispered as the two Careers ran into the far tunnel. His deep voice was too loud for Dean's comfort.

"Just wait," Dean murmured apprehensively. "We don't want to do anything too dangerous."

"Like what?" Castiel combated immediately, a slight anger rising in his inexperienced voice, "Like wait for them to be miles down tunnel with all but one of the masks?"

Dean signed. As right as he wanted Castiel to be, he knew one more option remained.

"We could just take the one remaining mask," Dean suggested, his voice cold and quiet. Picking at a nearby stone with his knife, he avoided Castiel's glare.

"And do what, Dean? Share?" Castiel's wide eyes stared at him menacingly, willing him to answer and burning yet another hole in his shoulder.

"Well, one of us could –" Dean started slowly, but was silenced before he could conclude his point.

"No," Castiel said sternly, "One of us could not."

Finally, Dean gathered the courage to look the younger boy in the eyes. Without delay, he was attacked by the sheer anger and frustration that swam in the boy's full blue eyes. However, within a few seconds, Dean was struck by another emotion. Castiel was afraid.

"One of us will have to eventually," Dean mumbled, continuing their increasingly vague conversation. The sound of his voice barely made it past his lips, but with a gulp, he thrust it out. "That's the game."

"So I suppose you'll get this mask," Castiel spoke, his voice wavering ever so slightly. A small squeak of suffocated panic managed to escape the boy's throat.

"Hell, no," Dean responded bluntly. Castiel's eyebrows shot up in surprise as his anger overtook his fear.

"What? But, Dean, I'll never win! At least you'd have a change to go home and see your family again!" Castiel was almost speaking at full volume.

"But I –" Dean's voice fell flat, he had never been very good at getting to the point. "I don't want that chance. Getting back, it isn't worth it. Not if I have to see other people die to get it. I don't ever want to see anyone die again. Not here. Not in the games next year. Not in the games twenty years from now. But that will never happen; I can't make that happen. So I might as well make myself stop seeing it."

Dean finally fell silent, knowing the Gamemakers weren't going to broadcast that speech to the Districts. That was the sort of speech that got a person's family killed.

Or a person slapped.

Castiel's hand whipped across his face with a surprisingly powerful fury. The second Dean was able to comprehend what had just happened, another blow shocked his already tender cheek. Then, holding him in place, powerful hands gripped his shoulders.

"Dean Winchester, if you say anything like that ever again, I will hurt you," Castiel's voice had dropped to an unbelievably harsh tone. Dean could still hear the fear as it slunk into the background of the boy's low tones.

"Well, I'm not going to just let you die," Dean nearly whimpered, not know what else to say with Castiel's hands digging into the wounds on his shoulders.

"Well, then. If I will not let you give me the one mask, and you will not let me give you the one mask, and neither you nor I am content with allowing both of us to die without a fight, then why don't we go fight?"

Dean nodded shallowly, and so the two began to move down the tunnel Michael and Lilith had taken.

"Wait," he said before they took off in a full sprint, "What about that one mask? Aren't we going to take it?"

Castiel looked confused, he thought the answer had been clear, "We'll leave it, for now."

"What?" Dean growled. "But what if –"

"If we don't get the other masks, then there's really no point, is there? Neither of us would take the mask willingly, knowing there was only one. It's all or nothing now," Castiel's face was sullen and empty, and so he turned and led the way.

Dean followed, his head bowed and a frown on his face. At least he could walk away knowing he allowed another tribute a chance at survival.

.o0o.

A cloud of pain followed Sam as he dragged his burnt and wounded body down the tunnels. Everywhere he looked, he was met by either complete darkness or an eerie mist of dust and the uncontrollable tears that clung to the sides of his eyes. It was the worst pain he had ever felt, the worst pain he could ever imagine, but he knew that he didn't want to die.

Instead of letting the cloud fog his thoughts, Sam thought back to the Seam. Having had been dealt one of the worst fates imaginable, he had never appreciated his own life. When his brother had died, he had lost it. Nothing else had mattered once Adam was killed. He would have starved if it wasn't for the occasional scraps of food that Gabriel could spare, or the job at the mine he had left school for. He had never imagined that he would be in a situation where he would want nothing more than to return to the Seam, to slide into one of the dusty, moldy seats in the back of the Distillery and laugh along to one of Gabriel's stupid jokes. But now he did, and a part of himself was almost thankful for the homesickness.

Sam was surprised at how quickly he found the cornucopia. For a moment, he wondered if the Gamemakers had made it that way, rerouted the tunnels so that all of the tributes would all arrive there at the same time. He decided he didn't want to know.

Hiding a few feet into the mouth of one of the tunnels, Sam waited. He waited while the two most frightening careers stole all but one of the masks. He waited while the other remaining career and the serious, small boy from District 5 argued a bit too loudly and then ran after them without even touching the other mask. Sam knew he would never manage to get a mask through an offensive attack, he could barely stand without sending rivulets of pain rushing down his body.

So instead, he waited.

Finally, a mousy boy from District 11, Yardley, slunk into the cavern. The boy was painted from head to toe in what Sam suspected was a mixture of dust and mud, blending perfectly with his dark skin to match with the cave's stone walls. If the boy hadn't been moving somewhat frantically, Sam figured he never would have even noticed that he was there.

The boy snatched the mask from its stand and froze. Sam smirked, the boy hadn't expected to get this far. Lifting a larger rock from the ground and wincing at the way it brushed against the burns on his hands, Sam launched it into the mouth of the tunnel Yardley had come out of. The tribute jumped in place, clearly startled by the sudden change of events. Sam watched as the boy began to panic, running directly for the tunnel where Sam was waiting, the cheap plastic mask in his hand.

Sam knew he could never be ready for what would come next, but he needed to get home. He needed to see the Seam again.