Jo is surprised to wake up in the morning.
She is every day.
Too many things can happen overnight: other tributes can find them and kill them in their sleep, muttations could attack, or there could be a disaster that kills them. She's seen too many people die in innumerable ways on the television to be under any illusions that she's not in danger every single second. Every single breath.
It's a miracle she's survived this long, considering the odds. They must be in her favor at least a little. Maybe the public likes her and Dean's love story too much for the Gamemakers to kill them off directly.
She can only hope.
For a moment Jo stays still, trying to appreciate the fact that she's survived this long. Even though it's been terrifying and her stomach is cramping from the deficit of proper nutrition, she's got Dean. She's got a chance. She can go home with Dean, and honestly? Dean's the most terrifying person to think about facing in the Games. He doesn't even realize how his face is normally scowling and thunderous. He doesn't realize how much deeper his voice is than most other men his age—and older!—and how much taller he is than most people. He doesn't realize how intimidating he is. He doesn't realize how easy his emotions are to read when his brother is mentioned. How easy it is for everyone to see that he won't hesitate to kill to get back to his brother.
With her at his side, there's no way they're going to die.
Jo can't help it. She should be alert and scared of any sound outside the cave she'd practically dragged Dean to last night. She should get up immediately.
She just opens her eyes to the sight of the lightening sky through a small hole in the rocks and stares. Last night Dean had glared up at the hole and muttered that sleeping under it would make it easier for the other tributes to kill them in their sleep. Jo had decided to trust on the rock's natural camouflage and remain as silent as possible. He was too heavy for Jo to move on her own, anyway, and showed no inclination towards moving himself. She doubts his sprained ankle helped his motivation. Hopefully the crude bandaging she'd tried with sticks and fabric last night will help it heal.
Plus, it offers a great view of the night sky. Much as she might hate the Gamemakers, they sure don't forget details. The constellations on the fake sky looked as real as she'd ever seen them. In District 5, they're less bright because of all the artificial lights. In the arena they're enough to light up the darkness, and so beautiful. She can't wait for Dean to see them.
After a few moments, the urge to relieve herself drifts to the forefront of her mind and Jo cracks her neck, finally resolving herself to waking up. She and Dean have never been morning people, but sleeping in isn't really an option in the Games, now is it?
"Dean?" Jo whispers, sitting up a little bit. The arm he'd wrapped around her shoulder falls to the ground with a small thud, but he doesn't stir. Jo frowns and pokes Dean's cheek. "Dean? Come on, get up, we need to check the traps I set last night."
No movement. Not even a twitch of the eyelids. Though it's highly improbable, Jo's first thought is that he died overnight. Her throat closes up and she swallows painfully before checking for Dean's pulse.
He has one, but his skin is extremely hot. When Jo puts her hand on his forehead, he's burning up. It's the second most feared killer of the Games apart from the Careers: fever.
Jo slaps him across the face, which thankfully elicits a reaction in him. Dean stirs and cranes his neck for a second. "Sammy?"
"Dean, it's me," Jo whispers. "Jo."
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean mumbles. "Did my job. Protected you."
And then his head falls back to the ground.
This is… so not good.
But Dean can't get better without food, medicine, water… all things that Jo doesn't have right now. She can imagine the audiences back home already mourning the lovers, placing bets… she can imagine President Naomi in a ridiculously ornate, spotless white office gloating over her victory. Right now, they're as good as dead.
But Jo can't focus on that. She has to be strong for Dean.
In her backpack is the half-used bottle of healing cream she'd gotten as a sponsor gift. She peels back the strip of fabric Dean had used to bandage the cut on his forearm and winces when it tears off some of the congealed blood and scabs with it. The wound is puffy and the skin around it is pink. It's hot to the touch, but that might just be because of Dean's fever. If she's lucky. Only a drop of blood wells up and Jo dabs that away with her sleeve before smearing more cream on the cut. She has no idea how effective the cream is, or if it can even heal infection, but she's got to hope.
She then smears most of the remaining cream on his stomach and the various cuts that she can spot. Jo almost wishes she could share some of Dean's injuries; she looks spotless compared to him. Just like how he'd braved the Bloodbath to get weapons while she ran and how he faced the Careers while she escaped with Krissy, he's been protecting her from getting hurt. And look where it's gotten him now. Delirious with fever and infection, lying on a hard stone floor. And she's fine, probably has been eating better than him, and was able to run away from danger whenever it appeared.
All of it leaves a sick feeling in her stomach, but Jo's not completely sure if it's guilt or worry about Dean.
"Don't die while I'm gone," Jo whispers, placing a quick kiss on Dean's forehead, and then she gets up. She took care of Krissy when Dean was luring the Careers away. She can take care of Dean now, too.
Probably. Hopefully. As long as she doesn't get sick too. Then again, Krissy had been perfectly healthy when Jo had been looking after her, and she'd still died, but whatever.
Jo creeps out of the sort-of-cave quietly, shielding her eyes with her hand and holding her breath as she listens for any sort of sound that's out of place. If there's even a hint of danger, she'll fly back into the cave and snap Dean out of his fever herself. Or she'll just take the gun and shoot any intruders.
Absently, Jo's hand reaches into her boot and takes out her father's knife. She runs her fingers over the engraving on the blade before starting to twist it around her fingers. It's a nervous habit she's been unsuccessful at breaking, a nervous habit that she knows makes Dean anxious. He's not here to be anxious about her handling a sharp weapon now, though, so she doesn't even try to hide it.
Jo keeps her eyes on the ground, mindful of moving through the forest softly. Years of sneaking around District 5 after curfew to break rules has helped her refine the art of moving almost silently. Dean was never as good at her at being stealthy.
Is. Dean isn't as good as her at being stealthy. Not was. He's fine. They're going to be able to sneak around District 5 after curfew when all this is over. Dean isn't something stuck in the past. He's someone living, breathing, right now, a fixture in Jo's future, and an integral part of her past. Jo doesn't even think she can imagine a world without Dean. He's been a part of her life for as long as she can remember.
The first trap she'd set yields a fat rabbit. The second trap had broken overnight—either a result of Jo's lack of resources or an animal that was too big to be caught in it had broken it. The third hadn't been tripped.
A low rumbling sound reaches Jo's ears, accompanied by faint trembling of the earth. She braces herself and listens. The unmistakable sound of more buildings crashing to the ground fills her ears, but there are no cannons. Only after all the rumbling has stopped does she venture to the treeline. There is only one section of the buildings left, or at least Jo thinks. It certainly seems like those buildings could all be taken out by one earthquake.
Hopefully Sif Terr, Constance, or Ava was in that avalanche. It would provide some drama to feed the lecherous Capitol viewers. And maybe a cannon hasn't sounded yet because one of them got pinned but they're not quite dead yet.
Viewers would certainly love watching a tribute bleed to death, impaled by a slab of concrete, or starve whilst pinned to the ground by a rock.
Jo takes the rabbit back cheerfully, only to realize at the mouth of the cave that she doesn't have any matches, and Dean had lost his backpack. She doesn't have any way to start a fire. Rubbing two sticks together never yielded her successful results.
Jo looks up at the sky and whispers, "Matches," hoping that someone will grant her wish. There has to be at least one wealthy Capitol citizen who's willing to buy the star-crossed lovers some matches, right?
A low groan from inside the cave interrupts her staring plaintively at the sky, and Jo drops the rabbit in her haste to tend to Dean. She falls onto her knees next to his prone body and shakes his good shoulder. "Dean? Are you awake? How do you feel?"
"'M dying," Dean mumbles back.
Jo shakes her head. "No, you're not."
"'M burning, Mom." Dean opens bleary eyes. It's clear he doesn't really see Jo. "They're burning me like they burned you."
Jo's face floods with color and she hopes that the cameras didn't pick up on his remark. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead. He still feels hot.
"Got you, Sammy," Dean slurs out. "Always… always got you."
Jo wonders if he's been mumbling this whole time. If he has, then she shouldn't have left. A tribute could easily have heard and killed him and she wouldn't have even known.
A small, tinkling sound interrupts Jo's racing thoughts. She's heard this tune before. Someone answered her plea! Jo scrambles out of the cave to where a silver cylinder is drifting to the ground. It's silver parachute sets it gently down right in front of Jo, right next to the rabbit. Jo falls onto the gift fervently. Inside is a small box of silver matches. There isn't more than five, which means she can't waste any.
This also means that she's got support. As the Games drag on, sponsor gifts become more expensive. Silver matches? And five of them? Worth a sack of grain in District 5. "Thank you," Jo whispers. "Thank you."
"Sword," Charlie sings. She's sitting in a bathtub. Her hair is smoking. She's wearing the all-black outfit Dean had worn in the Opening Ceremony. "You're on fire."
Dean wants to tell her that she's the one on fire. Her hair is red, too red, and it looks like flames and he'd hated it the moment he'd seen her. Now it's smoking and it's going to take Charlie just like it took Mom and almost took Sam and took Dad and turned him into John or Sir. The fire's already taken his right ankle and flames are licking at his pant legs. They don't worry him.
Charlie raises a teacup to her lips and takes a sip. Dean copies her movements. He hadn't had a teacup in his hands moments earlier but now it makes perfect sense that he would have one. So he has one.
The tea inside is too hot and thick and Dean spits it out. He looks up at Charlie, who's smiling at him, all teeth on display. All teeth dyed red. Dean looks down at the cup. It's made of white porcelain, perfectly crafted and delicate. The white makes the blood inside look black.
"We're unforgettable, Sword," Charlie continues. "Eternal. Invincible."
Dean can't help but feel like there's something he should remember. Something about how he met Charlie, or why she would be saying that to him. Something about why his arm hurts and why his fists are clenched. He's nervous, but he doesn't know why.
The cup shatters in his grip and the blood splatters all over Dean's shoes.
"What a mess," Mom says.
Dean whirls around.
His mother stands in front of him, a heavy necklace around her neck almost hidden by blonde curls. She's wearing a delicate white dress. It had been splashed with the blood just like Dean, all on her stomach like she'd been stabbed. She grins at Dean. "It's okay, honey."
Dean blinks. Slowly.
"We all make messes," she continues. "But you should shower. I'll wash your clothes before they stain. Follow me, Dean." She turns and takes a step towards their old house. Right off a cliff.
"No!" Dean lunges after her, but Mom's screams are cut short. Dean peers down into the canyon between the cliff and the house. His mother is hanging from the heavy necklace around her neck in the canyon.
Everything explodes into flames.
"Say something!"
Dean jolts back. He would have fallen off the chair he's sitting in, but his hands have been tied to the edges. Mrs. Holstack, his nasty teacher from fifth grade, screams into his face to speak. Her hair, like Charlie's, smolders but the woman doesn't seem to notice her shirt slowly blackening where it touches the strands of hair.
"Answer me!" Mrs. Holstack bellows in John's voice. "Are you dumb, Winchester? What's two plus two? Come on! You can't possibly be this retarded!"
Dean wants to tell her that two plus two is four, but his lips have been glued shut. He can't write the answer down because his hands are tied.
Mrs. Holstack slams her hands on his desk, her face purple with rage. "What's the answer?"
I don't know, Dean wants to shout back.
"How are you going to save Sam if you're dead?"
Mrs. Holstack pushes Dean right out of the chair.
Dean falls back on his back. He's staring at a white ceiling.
"Come on, Dean, say goodnight to your brother," Dad says from the doorway. Dean stands up. A crib sits in the middle of the room. It's the only piece of furniture not coated in blood.
Dean takes a step towards the crib. And another. And another. His hands wrap around the sturdy wood and he stares into Sam's wide eyes. The baby smiles, all gums and no teeth, and he gurgles happily. Dean smiles back.
The floor goes up in flames.
"Dean, take your brother and go!" John yells from the doorway.
"I can't!" Dean yells back.
"Run! Now!"
"I'll burn my feet!"
"Take your brother—"
"Get up!"
Water splashes Dean's face and he jerks up.
Jo crouches next to him, her face tight with anxiety. "Dean? You with me?"
Dean swallows. This is a weird dream to be having. Why would his subconscious want him to be dreaming about the present?
Jo sighs with relief. "I've got a rabbit all cooked up. You ready to eat?"
Dean frowns and lifts one hand to shield his eyes. A few beams of sunlight illuminate the cave from a small hole in the ceiling. He remembers struggling here last night. As if his ankle was waiting for him to remember, it chooses that exact moment to flare with pain when he shifts slightly and Dean freezes so as not to aggravate it more.
This isn't a dream.
"Are you still feverish?" Jo asks.
"What?"
"You've been running a fever," she says. "Muttering a lot. You thought I was…" she swallows and looks away.
"What?"
"Never mind. Just…" She tries to hand him parts of a rabbit wrapped in leaves. "Eat. You need your strength."
Dean frowns and shifts. He can't help but feel like something is off. Something is missing. Something he's had since the Games.
His hand goes to his neck. Miraculously, the amulet Sam gave him is still there, after an earthquake, firebomb attack, and countless squabbles with tributes. That's not it. He checks for the gun in his pocket and then the knife in his boot. He's got all of that, so what could he be missing?
He's not in pain right now. Dean ignores the offered food and lifts up his shirt to inspect the burns on his stomach. The skin there is pink but not scabbed or oozing.
"I used up the last of the cream," Jo says by explanation. "Hopefully your fever will go down as your wounds heal."
"You shouldn't have done that," Dean mumbles. He takes the offered food. "What if you get hurt later?"
Jo tilts her head and squints. "You needed it now."
Dean doesn't understand her reasoning, but he's too tired to argue. He eats silently along with Jo, pretending like he doesn't notice her watching him out of the corner of her eye.
"We're not in good shape," Jo says finally. "As far as weapons go, we've got the gun and, like, two knives. I set up some traps but we don't know how many animals these woods are stocked with so we shouldn't rely too much on them. And as far as I can tell, there are only three tributes left apart from us."
Dean's jaw drops. "What? How?"
"Wendy Igo's dead. Don't know who killed her. Sif Terr is still out there, as well as Constance Welsh. Rugaru's dead, too. Apart from us, that only leaves Ava Wilson."
Dean gnaws on the thigh of the rabbit, thinking. Ava Wilson: the girl who started to sob once her name was called and didn't stop. How much of a threat can she really pose? And Sif Terr. Dean honestly hadn't gotten much of a read on her. She'd probably been smart and disappeared into the woods during the Games while everyone else killed each other. He certainly hasn't heard anything about her.
Constance will be a problem. Her spiked club can take someone out in one swing. She also has the build of a powerful runner. Dean's fast but not terribly so, and Jo has speed but not endurance. Besides, if she manages to get back to the Cornucopia, there's no telling what she'll be able to do with the assortment of weapons.
He swallows and wiggles his fingers, then his toes. He doesn't feel too weak, thank goodness, but he still feels a little shaky and a headache persists behind his eyes.
A sudden noise outside their cave makes Dean freeze.
"Hello?" someone calls. They cough. "Is anyone there? I need help!"