Dean wakes up, which is strange solely because he doesn't remember falling asleep. The first thing he notices is that he aches all over. The second is that certain parts of him also sting terribly. The third is that someone is dabbing a wet piece of fabric on his forehead.

It feels good—insanely good; Dean thinks he might still be stuck in the fire because of how hot he is—but then he remembers that there is a finite supply of food and water. He screws up his face and tries to tell the person to stop, but taking in the extra amount of air needed to talk makes his lungs feel brittle and very close to bursting. It also informs Dean that he feels like someone stabbed him in the stomach. Except the pain is more on the surface of his skin and a lot more unbearable.

Dean's been stabbed before. He hadn't been a fan.

This is worse.

"Shh," a little voice says right by Dean's face.

Dean tries to ask what happened, but all that comes out is "Wuh ha'end?" Whoever's taking care of him seems to understand, though.

"I'm not really sure," the voice says. It's definitely female but not Jo. Dean tries to think of who would be taking care of him apart from Jo. "I woke up from the jostling as you were carrying me away from the fireballs."

Fireballs? Dean wonders briefly. Yes, it's coming back to him now; he'd barely picked up Krissy before the balls of fire had started to attack them too. He'd started to run but it had been hard going with the girl cradled in his arms. All that he can remember after that is screaming, heat, hissing noises, and then… Krissy had woken up and started to run with him, which made going a lot easier. Until the fireballs had died down. Dean had thought they were safe until he'd looked back to make sure and had seen a fireball headed straight for Krissy's head. So he'd stepped in front of it.

And then he woke up.

His stomach is burnt, he knows that. And tears are still weeping from his eyes to get the smoke out. He can feel the skin sticky around them. But apart from his stomach, which is screaming, he doesn't seem to have suffered any major injuries.

Dean hates burns. He hates all kinds of them. They're the worst kind of pain, in his opinion. Not even slicing and bruises and bleeding hurt him more than the terrible pain that makes Dean want to bring his knees up to his chest and keen. Except that would probably hurt his stomach more.

So he'll just lie here in pain until Krissy finishes him off.

"I'm going to put cream on your stomach now," another voice says. This voice he knows.

Dean cracks open one eye with a lot of effort; they feel glued shut. "Jo?"

"Yep," she replies. "You found me, just like we planned."

Dean snorts, letting the eye fall shut again. "Not exactly like we planned." His eyelids feel so heavy. He could fall asleep here, even with the screaming pain in his stomach. Surprising what someone can put up with while tired.

"No, not exactly," she agrees. "I found you on the ground, your shirt on fire, while Krissy tried to put it out. Good thing, too, or she would've never gotten you inside. What do you eat for breakfast, bricks? You weigh a ton."

"You good?" he checks, too tired to rise to the bait. To even acknowledge the jab. "Both of you?" Dean tries to sit up but that makes it feel like his skin is being torn apart and not by knives, so he stops.

"Yes, thanks to you," Krissy answers. "I'll check outside again." The floor by Dean's head creaks as she stands up and pads away.

"I'm glad you're awake," Jo says. "You would've woken up angry and confused if I had started to put the ointment on your stomach. But now you've got to stay still."

"Ointment?"

"I grabbed the first-aid kit you wanted me to," she says shortly. "Should work well. It's Capitol technology, after all. But we sort of need to hurry this up, so sit still."

Dean manages to crane his neck up just enough to see what Jo's doing. She's pushed his shirt up, exposing the burnt skin underneath. None of the skin is blackened, but it is bright red and blistered.

Jo dabs a little bit of it onto his stomach and it's all Dean can do to stop himself from crying out. The pain is even worse the initial pain of being burnt. He lets his head hit the ground, hoping for a bit of pain somewhere other than his stomach to distract himself.

After an eternity of burning, Jo's finished. Too late, Dean remembers to ask: "You're sure no nightlock?"

"It hadn't been opened before me," she answers. Not that the Gamemakers couldn't put nightlock in there just for fun, but the Capitol wouldn't find that as amusing. "Are you okay? Let me check your temperature."

Dean feels Jo's lips on his forehead, and then her cheek. Then she's barely breathing the words, "Don't forget the show."

The show? The—oh. "Thanks," Dean replies. "For saving my life." He's never been very interested in theatre, but he's gotten very good at acting. Maybe through all the lies to teachers about bruises, or to shopkeepers as to whether or not he knows where that last piece of bread went, or John about if he let Sammy out while he was gone.

"You're my best friend. Of course I would."

"Your—yeah. Best friend."

Jo sighs. "Dean—" She leans away from him, actual worry tainting her expression. She's not faking it, Dean realizes. Good. He doesn't want to lose his close relationship with Jo no matter what happens. No matter what happens in the arena, he's not going to kill her and she's not going to kill him. She'll always be his little sister. "You're injured. Can we talk about this later?"

"No, it's cool," Dean grunts. The pain is actually getting better, he realizes. "I confess my feelings for you on national television and you don't care. It's fine, though, okay? If you still want to be friends, that's good enough for me." He reaches one hand up and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. The rest of her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. It's a first, and he wants to tease her about it; she almost never ties up her hair.

"I never said I wanted to be friends," she says carefully. Dean can hear the gasps of shock from the Capitol.

Dean shakes his head. "I don't want pity—"

Then Jo's lips are on his, her hand running through his hair, and Dean wants to laugh at how ridiculous this is. How dumb the Capitol must be for falling for this act. Thankfully before he can actually laugh, Krissy interrupts the lovefest with a forced cough.

Jo pulls back, forcing a blush to her face that even Dean couldn't rival. She sits back and pulls a knife out of her boot. Dean's not surprised she'd managed to get one already, but… he frowns and looks closer. That knife looks very familiar. "You… they let you bring that in?"

Jo smirks and admires her father's knife. "More like they couldn't get it off me. I'll die before anyone takes this from me. You know that. And after that I'll be buried with this knife."

Dean winces at the reminder that they could die any moment and tries to make light of the serious moment by joking, "You wouldn't even give it to me?"

"I think you've got enough knives." Ah. So she's looked through his bag. "And I hardly think one knife will help you remember me."

"I'd do it all on my own," Dean reassures her.

Krissy interrupts them by gasping. She'd been looking through a window but now she turns and flattens herself against the wall right by said window. "They're back."

"What's back?" Dean asks, sitting up straighter as the pain disappears rapidly. When he looks down at his stomach, the red is more muted. Some of the blisters have already disappeared. The Capitol truly does have magic at its fingertips. If only they'd give some of their resources to the districts.

"The attack only stopped because they drove some of us together," Jo finally answers. Dean had assumed as much. Maybe they'd expected Dean to kill Krissy, or Dean and Jo to give a big show. But now that it's apparent neither of those things will happen—although, Dean touches his lips and thinks maybe they would have given a show if nobody else had shown up—obviously other tributes have shown up too.

"Who is it?"

Jo and Krissy exchange glances until Krissy says slowly, "The Careers." The words unroll from her tongue like a carpet. A deadly carpet made of spikes, bloodthirst, and one gun.

A carpet that Dean led right to Jo and Krissy. A carpet that's on the hunt for him and only him now that Cole's dead. Surely they've seen the death recap by now; the sun is high in the sky of the next morning. Dean had been out for a while, or maybe he'd been running from the fire for longer than he'd thought. He doesn't suppose that he'd be lucky enough to learn that Vam died overnight or something.

He's not. Krissy delivers the anticipated news with a small frown.

He stands up with more ease than he'd anticipated. Even though he's eaten nothing for at least twelve hours, Dean feels weirdly rejuvenated. "All right. You guys get out. I'll handle this."

Jo snorts. "You're joking."

Dean can almost hear the coos and exclamations at how chivalrous he's being, putting himself in danger for Jo and Krissy. Maybe the cameras do go both ways. Or maybe he's going crazy.

Dean points at the window. "Look at that." The building directly next to the metal staircase is laughably close and short enough that Dean could jump onto it. "This whole arena is like a crazy obstacle course, right? And I know you're good at those, but the Careers are after me. They'll go after you but they won't chase you if it was a choice between me and you guys."

Yeah, he's probably going crazy.

It doesn't matter. He locks eyes with Krissy as he bends down to her level. The girl is solemn and meets his gaze steadily. There's no hint of immaturity that Dean sometimes sees in Sam's eyes. This girl grew up poorer, harder, with no big brother and Victor's earnings to help her. She grew up quicker. And Dean can't help but wonder if that was necessarily a bad thing. This little girl knows exactly what's going on.

And she hates it.

But maybe it's best that Sam doesn't hate his surroundings. If he doesn't get involved in the rebellion business personally, then Dean should be able to protect him. He'll demand an audience with President Naomi personally, promise her anything, if it keeps Sam safe and out of the Games that their parents had survived. Out of the noose their mother hadn't.

"Stay with Jo, okay, Krissy?" Dean orders. "And Jo…" He lifts the amulet, Sam's gift, from his neck and tosses it to her. "Give that back to me next time I see you, all right?"

Jo nods and slips it over her own neck.

All the Careers jerk their heads up when Dean steps out onto the landing of the metal staircase. They shift, trying their best to appear dangerous, but the only person that really threatens Dean is Bela. Wendy could throw her knives and Constance could hurl her club, but the only weapon making it all the way up to Dean and not clattering off the metal mesh is a bullet. Even then, it would be a stroke of luck for it to pass through the small metal holes.

Rugaru kicks the door again and that settles the first question Dean had been asking himself. Thank goodness Jo and Krissy had had the good sense to lock the door. They'd also had the good sense to fold up the ladder that would let the Careers climb up the staircase. It dangles above their heads tauntingly, just out of reach. If Jo was down there, she'd be able to climb up the unevenly-bricked wall and pull it down. Dean suspects Krissy would be able to, too. But the Careers are all very thick and very down to earth.

Dean's definitely not as slim as Jo. But he is very good at climbing. And he is all the way up here. And they're all the way down there.

To throw them off guard, he calls down, "Hello."

The Careers all exchange confused glances but nobody responds.

"How's everything with you?" Dean asks.

They don't look much better than him, to be honest. Bela's curled hair is singed and one patch looks completely burnt. Wendy Igo's face is smeared with soot and he can hear her rattling lungs even up as high as he is. He's honestly surprised she's still running with them; he'd not want that as one of his allies. Unless it was Jo, of course.

Constance looks the best of all of them. She's probably the fastest runner. And Rugaru's hair is ruffled, his jacket gone, and one of the sleeves of his shirt completely burnt off. His shoulder is burnt as well, but not as badly as Dean's stomach was. He was probably only grazed by a fireball. Fire is not Rugaru's friend in these Games, it would seem.

They're calling you the Flaming Sword.

Well, fire's hardly been kind to Dean in these Games either.

Finally Rugaru calls back, "Well enough, I suppose. And you?"

The crowd will just love this, Dean knows. He shrugs. "A little warm for my taste, to be honest."

Wendy barks out a laugh. Constance raises an eyebrow in her direction but says nothing. It's tension that Dean can't exploit, unfortunately.

"The air's better up here, though," Dean taunts. "Come on up, if you want."

"Think I will," Rugaru replies.

"Here, Rugaru," Bela says softly, and tries to hand him the gun. The silver metal glints into Dean's eye, burning the image into his retinas. That's his gun! His bullets!

"No," Rugaru shakes his head. Bela stuffs the gun back into her waistband. Now if only Dean can figure out how to get it… "I'll do better with my club." Dean can see the weapon he was fighting over with Vam at his side. He might have gotten out worse in that fight, but he's also the one with allies. The one with the weapon.

If only Rugaru had taken the gun. Dean could have taken advantage of having the higher ground and, once his opponent was close enough, could have killed him easily. But things never work out the way he wants them to, do they?

Luckily, none of them can jump up high enough to lower the ladder. The thought of climbing up the wall doesn't occur to any of them, apparently, and neither does standing on someone's shoulders for the added height. Lucky for Dean, either way.

Face flushed with anger and embarrassment at being shown up in front of the Capitol—because there's no way the cameras aren't broadcasting this right now—Bela pulls out the gun. Before Dean can register, she's fumbling with the safety until it's clicked off. She points right at Dean and pulls the trigger.

Dean can't help the harsh bark of laughter that escapes his mouth when the shot goes wide (even though that's wasted ammunition) and Bela stumbles and falls on her ass from the kickback. It definitely takes some getting used to. And she's not going to get that time or those resources in order to get good enough.

She gets even redder, though Dean hadn't thought that was possible. "Nice try, tomato," he mocks. "Gee, I'm shaking in my boots. What are you gonna do next? Shoot one of your allies on accident?" He can't help but think that if that silver gun was in his hand right now, he'd be able to finish them all off before they could say another word.

Wendy twirls one of her knives around, hungry eyes watching his every move. He won't be able to put off the jump for long or one of her knives will hit him dead-on if he gives her the smallest correct angle. When Dean climbs up onto the fence that stops him from falling off the staircase, he'll have to be quick to jump.

"You know," Dean says casually, "right now you look like the weakest one in the group, Bela."

She scoffs.

"It's true!" he insists. "They've got all the weapons they're fantastic at, but you don't even know how to use the one you've got. Sure, it'll end a fight, but only if you know how to use it. And you…" Dean gestures and scoffs, admiring his work as she goes even redder. He's going for tomato at the very least. Maybe he'll get her head to burst. That would be a first for the Games. "Well, let's just say I'd feel safer being aimed at than standing next to the target. That's all I'm saying."

"Oh, and you do know how to use it?" Constance finally asks, sneering. "You try to act all tough with your Victor parents—" she adopts a puppy-dog look. "Oh, I'm sorry, parent—"

Dean's hand spasms on the railing he's holding.

"—but we all know you're just as pathetic as the rest of them because you're not one of us," she finishes, her lip curled like she's just delivered a cutting-edge insult. Like being born in a certain District means automatically that you're better than someone else. That's rich coming from someone who came from nobody-parents and will be dead soon.

"See, that's where you're wrong, sweetheart," Dean smiles. He doesn't see any other way to shock his opponents and gain the few precious seconds he needs to jump across to the other building. Even if it loses his advantage of having a hidden talent. He can imagine the shock that will erupt in the Capitol as people bet on whether he's bluffing or not when he says: "See, I do know how to use that gun."

Dean brings one leg up to the railing, grabs the beam holding the landing above his head up, and brings the other leg up. Wendy rushes to find a good angle and he jumps.

For one heart-stopping second, he's hovering over open air (if he was a puppet, his strings would be cut and he'd go plummeting down, dead upon impact and it would be a blessing, but he's just a boy and he's only falling slightly). This is probably a bad time for Dean's stomach to remind him that he hates heights. Oh well, too late now, tell him the next time he jumps from rooftop to rooftop. Or better, don't.

He hits the rooftop and rolls to soften the impact. Frantically, he checks himself for knives. He's not bleeding anywhere, but Wendy had landed a knife right into his backpack. It'll be just his luck if she'd nicked his water bottle. Just the extra drama the Capitol would like to watch.

"Come on!" he hears Bela shout and the pattering of feet. Dean can't stay on this rooftop forever; the door at the bottom is unlocked and they'll corner him eventually. Plus, he hasn't drawn the Careers far enough away that Jo and Krissy will be able to escape. He looks around frantically for another low rooftop. Hopefully he's getting away from the fireballs and however they'd been shot at him.

But if there's one thing Dean's learned from the Games, it's that every section in the arena has a threat.

He's running away from the fire. And into what?

It doesn't matter. Dean spots another rooftop, only a foot or so taller than the one he's on and very close, and he starts to run at it. Run, leap, don't die. Run, leap, don't die. Run, leap, don't die.

Dean runs. He leaps. He hits the side of the building with a grunt as it knocks all the air out of his lungs and sends pain shooting through his stomach as the bricks rub against his sore burnt skin.

There's a sharp hissing sound and Dean panics. The fireballs—!

But a knife appears, quivering, just an inch away from Dean's head as he clings with all his might to the side of the building. He chances a look down. Wendy looks furious and draws her arm back again, but Rugaru stills her with a hand, shouting about waiting until she has a better angle, so Dean heaves himself up and over the side. He yanks the knife out of the brick, mentally thanking her for the weapon. He's gotten extremely lucky these Games with how many knives he's been able to collect. Makes him apprehensive about using them. Surely the Gamemakers have been watching, counting him stock up on the weapons, and are rubbing their fat little hands together at the thought of rendering him weaponless again. He doesn't even want to think about what stunt they'll pull in order to do that.

And he won't need to. His next obstacle is staring him right in the face.