When Dean wakes up, the bed is cold. He instinctively reaches out for Sam, who must have rolled away from him in the middle of the night, but when his fingers don't touch the comforting weight of his little brother, Dean sits up with a jolt.

Sam snorts at him from where he's eating a piece of plain toast. Butter, cinnamon, and honey are all luxuries they can't afford. Well, they can, but John won't let them, so the treats are saved only for when Dean gets away with stealing the items from the market.

"What're you doin' up?" Dean slurs, peering at him with sleep-blurred eyes. Once he's sure Sam's okay, he rolls over onto his stomach and lets out a loud groan, not wanting to be awake so early.

It's the day of the reaping. Of course Sam is awake; he's nervous now that he's old enough to be reaped. Dean doesn't know why he's so worried; John's been training them since Dean turned five. Besides, his odds of getting reaped are infintessimally small; District 5 is one of the largest districts in Haven, and there's only one slip in there with Sam's name on it.

"Just woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," Sam answers, shrugging his shoulders like it's nothing, even though Dean's eyes are closed. They both know it's not 'nothing' like he's pretending. Hell, even Dean was nervous about his first reaping, but not as nervous as Sam is.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

And now that Dean's sixteen, with four years of luck under his belt, he's confident. The chances are stacked in their favor. Besides, Victor's kids are hardly ever picked; it's not a rule that's stated aloud, but it's never happened before.

No, they'll be fine.

Dean starts to snore not long after that and Sam smiles at his older brother. If Dean isn't worried, then Sam shouldn't be either. Dean knows everything. Dean can protect him. As long as Dean is around, nothing bad is going to happen to Sam.

Sam debates with himself after finishing his toast, for lack of anything better to do. He'd secretly bought a little block of goat cheese from the store two days ago. At first he'd bought it for Dean but now the thought of it sounds really good after that plain breakfast.

Eventually he pulls it out of his pocket and sets it on the table for Dean when he gets up. He'll never understand why their father, a Victor himself and therefore privy to all sorts of privileges, chooses not to buy good food. He settles for the worst, least tasty foods that he can find, and sometimes he doesn't even bring enough of it for Dean to eat for days on end. The last time Sam bought something special like that cheese from the store, John got so angry that Dean had to step in. The men had gone outside and gotten into a very loud argument.

Sam can't help but wonder if his mother were here, would John refuse so many luxuries? Would he be so mad at Dean all the time? Sam knows John loves them. He does. John is just angry so much of the time. Sam's angry, too, especially when he thinks about how his mother had abandoned him and Dean and their dad. It had been plain selfish of her.

John knows about the cheese that Sam had bought and is now sitting on the table. It had sparked another loud argument and Sam feels bad about it, now that he looks back on it. He'd known that his dad would get mad, known that Dean would step in, and known that he wouldn't get in trouble. Like he always does. It's why Sam does so many things that get his dad mad; he knows that he won't be the one dealing with his anger.

He's making up for it by giving Dean the cheese. He'd hoped that maybe Dean would take him out today, maybe even to the edge of the town, but his brother got back way after Sam went to sleep last night. He knows Dean's got to be exhausted.

Sam's eyes wander, bored, back to his brother. Dean's breathing evenly now, already back asleep, and he's hugging his pillow. The amulet Sam had given him the day of Dean's first reaping has managed to find itself hanging down his back, probably from Dean's tossing and turning throughout the night. The short sleeves he's wearing are riding up to expose rope-like bruises on his wrists that he gets from working in the hydroelectric dam.

Sam frowns. Dean hasn't gone to work in the hydroelectric dam in a while.

Dean gets a lot of bruises from work—he claims to wrap rope around his wrists when pulling it and that's why he gets bruises there a lot. Sam has no idea why rope would be used while working on the dam, though. Especially rope that needs to be wrapped around Dean's wrists or up and down his arms. But they don't generally last this long; Dean hasn't gone to work for two weeks.

Mornings like this—him the only one present and/or awake in the house—are pretty common for Sam. John's out a lot, working with his friends on secret projects even Dean isn't allowed to know about, and Dean's normally out working even though he doesn't need to. John says work 'builds character'. Sam's going to have to start working when he turns fourteen. For now, though, he stays home and does nothing for days on end except school.

It's boring. And in the summer, it's unbearable. Sam's even made up an imaginary friend called Sully to help him pass the time, because he can only read the books on the shelves so many times. He can only sit still for so long. He almost wishes he could go to work with Dean. Almost—and then he looks back at the bruises on his brother's wrist—but not quite.

As much as he'd like to go back to sleep, Sam can't. He's too jittery with a combination of excitement and trepidation for the Games. They're fun to watch until you're about to get reaped for them.

Not that he's going to get reaped, he reminds himself. Dean will protect him. No matter what, Dean will protect him. And if Sam gets reaped, and Dean has to volunteer, what about it? Their father's trained them well enough that Dean will win. He will, and then he'll come home.

This is just another reaping.

Sam's chest constricts at the thought of Dean turning nineteen and not being able to volunteer for him. He looks away from his brother to take his mind off that unpleasant thought, but then he notices the suits hanging on the door for the reaping. And if he turns away from that, there's a bookshelf on the wall full of books about Haven's history—all with long, long chapters about the Games.

There's really no escape from them, is there?

Sam checks his watch. The reaping is at 2:00, and it's only 10:35 right now. Dean will be up soon enough.

The three Winchesters walk down a marked-off line especially reserved for Victors and their families, if they have any. Most of the time Victors are accompanied by siblings or parents, but rarely do Victors have children. Sam wonders why not.

A man that Sam knows is called Gordon Walker nods at John as the three black-suit-clad Winchesters walk past him. He'd been reaped with his sister in last year's games. Sam had watched him behead her with a machete when they were the only two people left. Dean had excused himself from the room for that part.

John returns the nod, but Sam knows that he doesn't trust Gordon. He and Dean aren't allowed to talk to him, even though Gordon isn't more than two years older than Dean. John has also said that Gordon won on luck because the strongest Career boy that had been the sure winner of his year's Games, named Jerry Hollister, had gone a little crazy from hunger. He'd started to cut up the corpses of his victims and ate a few fingers before an avalanche crushed him. Everyone says the Gamemakers didn't want a crazy Victor. If he hadn't gone round the bend, he definitely would have killed Gordon and his sister.

Ellen and Jo Harvelle stand at attention a few feet away from Gordon. Even though Ellen's husband was the Victor of the family, and he's dead now, they're still allowed in the Victor area, out of respect for their loss and also a little fear of Ellen. Jo is nice, but she's Dean's age and doesn't pay Sam much attention. Sam knows Ellen and John have lots of meetings, but he doesn't know what about.

John stops walking once he reaches Ellen's side. Dean and Jo smile tightly at each other but don't speak. The reaping may be scary when you're thinking about it, but it's plain terrifying when it's happening. Sam thinks he might throw up.

He reaches up for Dean's hand, which is something he hasn't done since he was seven. Dean squeezes with his much larger hand and sends Sam a smile that is supposed to be reassuring, but it just makes Sam feel even worse. If even Dean's worried, then he should definitely be worried. With his other hand, Dean rubs the amulet between his two fingers.

Dean can't stop thinking about what John had said to him before they'd left for the reaping. He'd been adjusting Dean's tie for him and murmured without making eye contact, "They know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Dean had asked. Who knows what?

"I never wanted you to…" John shakes his head. "I didn't want you to be like me."

Which doesn't make sense. Every moment of training has been for one purpose: to make Dean strong like John. Hell, he wants to be like John. Wants to be his little clone. He wears John's old clothes, after all. Tries to act like him. Because John doesn't get scared, and Dean wishes to hell he wasn't such a coward.

Dean doesn't know what that's supposed to mean, but judging by the ticking muscle in his father's jaw and the almost imperceptible crease between his eyebrows, he's worried. Whatever John's worried about must be bad.

No, he's not worried. He's nervous. Dean's never seen John nervous and it makes him nervous too, which makes Sam nervous.

So they're all very wired as they watch non-Victors fill into the stadium. No matter how many slow, controlled breaths he takes, Dean can't stop his heart from racing. He doesn't want Sam to be worried. Not on his first reaping, not when Victor's children are never picked, not when Dean would rather die than let Sam get hurt in any way.

It's why he steps in whenever John's angry. Better… better to let Sam think that John's just strict and just yells. Better to let Sam have good memories about at least one parent.

Dean pulls the cuffs of his sleeves lower over his wrists, anxiety telling him the bruises are visible. He just wants the unusually somber Castiel Novak to arrive and read out the names of the poor bastards picked for the Games this year. He just wants to be able to go back home with Sam and pretend to be interested in all the killing the way he's supposed to be. The way Sam is.

Dean doesn't know why he doesn't find the Games entertaining. Everyone should. Sam does. It must be something wrong with him.

He tries to focus on the gamblers sneaking through the crowds, betting on who'll be picked, what age they are, whether they'll cry, etc. Most of the time the tributes cry. That, or they protest or struggle or scream. No one just accepts their death. Tributes are more often older, too, and from the poorer families where they have to use the tesserae to feed their families. Generally only the people from the outer part of the district—called the Road—ever put their names in more than once, so they're called more often than not. Dean can already hear it being called now; Alex Banes, or…

Dean can't concentrate.

Just the faintest whisper in his brain of the unthinkable happening has Dean's throat closing and a wave of grief more potent than anything he's felt for his mother welling up in his eyes. He wants so badly to protect his brother, but he can only do so much. The Capitol, the Games, the reaping, this whole situation—it's out of his control.

Dean transfers his gaze to the paper slips in the boy's ball. There's one slip in there with Sam's name on it, handwriting still a little shaky, and five with his name on it with his familiar all-caps scrawl.

The odds are in their favor. It's something Castiel always says to the district, in an attempt to appear empathetic, but the stone-cold look on his face says otherwise. He's only one year older than Dean, and he's obviously the youngest district escort of them all. Nobody really knows where he came from or how he got his job, but it's obvious from the everything about him that Castiel takes his job seriously.

Besides, the odds aren't in everyone's favor. They're not in Road kids' favor, where they have to put their names in over and over again to have enough food to eat. They're definitely in Victor kids' favor. Dean doesn't know how the Capitol rigs the balls, but no Victor kid is ever chosen.

Right as the clock strikes two, District 5's mayor, Prez Kline, stands up and starts to speak to the people. It's the same story about how Haven was founded, with all the gritty little details included to make the Capitol look great. Before Haven, the world was barren. Everyone behaved like savages. The world was rife with sin. Drivel like that.

Dean's lip curls as the mayor speaks, his pregnant wife standing behind him and occasionally rubbing her stomach. It can't have been worse than this. He's seen pictures, he's seen starving people on the streets every district, even his own. District 5 is the second-richest district in Haven and every winter there's at least seven kids that disappear from school. Life in the poorer districts must be hell.

At least in the past there wasn't the Games. Twenty-four children weren't forced to fight to the death every year, and it most certainly wasn't broadcasted on television as an absurd festival.

Dean can hear the undertone in Prez's words. He can hear the implied "Look at your dead children and cry because you can't do anything. Watch as we laugh at their corpses because it's all a game to us. Watch as we punish you for some crime you didn't even commit, watch as your children and grandchildren die for a crime they wouldn't even consider".

He can hear it, and he despises it, but what can Dean do? Nothing.

The speech ends, to strained applause (John doesn't clap, though Sam and Dean bring their hands together twice each). Castiel stands up, smoothes out his brown trenchcoat, and announces, in his gravelly voice, "Ladies first."

Sam squeezes Dean's hand. Dean had forgotten that he had even been holding it. Dean squeezes back, too, so hard that maybe Sam's fingers will break and he'll be exempt from the reaping. Would that work? Dean wonders. Probably not, and even if it worked this time, Sam wouldn't be exempt every other year.

Besides, Dean's pretty sure his name is going to be called this year. If it is, he'll have to go to the Games—this isn't a Career district, where people are climbing over themselves to volunteer. Sure, District 5 has a pretty high rate of Victors, but nobody wants to go to the Games. Not everyone is as crazy and barbaric as the Careers.

There hasn't been a District 5 volunteer since the thirty-second Games.

Maybe Dean would have preferred to be born into a Career district. If his name was called in District One, he'd have at least four people already shouting "I volunteer as tribute!" before 'Winchester' was even finished being said. Same for Sam.

No, John had said he was sorry and that he hadn't wanted Dean to be like him. Like him, as in a tribute. A killer. The Capitol must have found out about John's resentment, his meetings with Ellen, and the contacts they've set up. They must have found out about John's rebelliousness.

Considering the Games spawned from the last attempted rebellion, Dean had told his father to quit it the moment he found out what John was—is still—planning. He hadn't, and now Dean's name is going to be drawn. He knows it. The Capitol likes to punish; how else do you explain that girl from District 7 who'd put up a fuss, shouting things about how the Games were unfair, when her brother was drawn, and then the next year her name was drawn as well? How else do you explain how, whenever anyone is caught on camera doing anything other than celebrating the Games and the deaths of innocent children, they're put into the Games the next year?

The Capitol is trying to send a message to John, but he's already received it, and forwarded it to Dean, and now Dean's going to die. His throat is so dry. He swallows, feeling shaky like he might faint. He doesn't want to die. To hide the tremors of his fingers, Dean clenches them into a fist.

A Peacekeeper breaks rank and whispers something into Castiel's ear, causing murmurs to rumble again through the District 5 ranks. Peacekeeper's aren't supposed to talk to escorts when they're on stage. This has never happened in all the time Dean's gone to the reaping.

After a moment, the District 5 escort nods, frowning a bit—though, Dean reflects, Castiel always does seem to be frowning.

Castiel reaches inside the girl's ball and draws out a slip. The name he reads out is one that Dean hadn't been considering would be called, but should have. It cements his belief that the next name out of the boy's ball will be his. He doesn't know how the Capitol rigged the balls, but he knows he's going to die. Dean's going to die.

Castiel reads out, "Joanna Harvelle."

Dean's eyes track as he puts the slip of paper into his pocket.

Jo doesn't cry. She doesn't scream and she certainly doesn't struggle. When the Peacekeepers come sweeping in, both to escort her to the stage of certain death and to keep people from rioting—Victor's kids aren't supposed to be reaped—Jo shakes them off and walks up the path to the stage, head held high. Dean notices the shake of her hands, the way her feet fall unsteady and very, very light on the ground. Murmurs follow her, heads turning, and all Dean can think about is how disappointed the Capitol people watching the broadcast must be now that she's not making a fuss.

When Dean turns his head, Ellen's shoulders are shaking as she tries to hold back her sobs, but she's not doing it well. She turns her head and puts it on John's shoulder, one hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sounds. She hadn't even been able to say goodbye to her daughter. She'll do that later tonight during the visiting.

Sam's hand squeezes Dean's again, smiling up at him, and relief rushes through Dean. Sam shouldn't be the one to be reassuring him, but it works. Dean will have to return the favor another time.

(But why is he smiling? Jo's about to die. Doesn't he see that?)

"Now it's time for our boy tribute!" Castiel declares. Again, the Peacekeeper steps forward, and again, the crowd murmurs. Neither Dean nor Sam notice the way John's eyes narrow or the way he stiffens, raising his chin and clenching his jaw.

"We're gonna be okay, bitch," Dean whispers in a last-ditch attempt to relieve the stress wrinkling the skin around Sam's eyes.

"J-jerk." It doesn't work.

Castiel reaches into the ball. It's stuffed to the brim with thousands of other names, some of them repeated many more times than five. The odds that he'll touch a slip with the name Winchester on it are next to none, but Dean's stomach still won't settle, especially when Castiel withdraws his hand. A few spare slips of paper fall onto the ground.

Castiel raises the paper to the light, squinting as if he's having trouble reading it. It's irrational, but Dean knows his handwriting is terrible—it can't be his, though, most boys here have worse handwriting than him, right?

Before Castiel reads the name out loud, he looks around the crowd. Dean swears he makes eye contact with the startlingly blue gaze, but all too soon Castiel's eyes are fixed again on the slip of paper.

He reads aloud, "Samuel Winchester."