Dean sits on the faded blue sofa, fingering a hole in the upholstery. He's determined not to cry, not to show Sam and his father how scared and weak he really feels. His brows knit in fury as he waits for them to come and say goodbye. The hole grows wider under his fingers as he pulls and rips at the fabric.
Minutes later, the heavy wooden door creaks open. Sam runs in, wrapping his arms around Dean and knocking them both back against the couch.
"Hey Sammy. You're crushing me," Dean laughs out. Sam untangles himself from around Dean and sits next to him. Dean's arm automatically wraps around his brother's shoulder, and Dean squeezes Sam against his side.
"Promise me you'll win, Dean. You have to win," Sam pleads, looking up at his brother with tears in his eyes.
"Of course I'm gonna win, Sammy. I'm the toughest son-of-a-bitch there is," Dean tells him, knocking Sam lightly on the back of his head. "Plus, you know I'm not gonna leave you here with just Dad for company."
John huffs out a laugh and comes to stand in front of Dean. He bends and wraps Dean in a hug, lifting him from the couch to his feet.
"I've never been more proud of you than I am today, Dean. You're always protecting Sammy. You make sure you protect yourself in there. And come home to us," John adds, his voice scratchy and rough with emotion.
"I will Dad," Dean whispers, fighting back tears of his own.
"I love you, Dean," John says, stepping back but holding Dean at arm's length. He smiles at his eldest son.
"Love you too, Dad." Dean smiles at his Dad before turning to Sam.
"Don't cry Sammy. I'll be back soon," Dean tells him, wrapping his arms around Sam once more. "I love you, Sammy. I'm not gonna leave you."
Sam nods, sniffling and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Two loud raps against the door make Sam jump, and then he starts sobbing again and wraps his arms tighter around Dean's abdomen.
"Okay I gotta go, Sammy. Don't worry. I'll see you soon, I promise."
Dean and Penny sit across from each other at the large table in the dining car of the train. Neither one of them makes eye contact, Penny stares at her hands folded in her lap. Food of all sorts is laid out in front of them by various capitol servants, but neither of them touches a thing. Penny hasn't spoken a word to Dean since they got on the train hours ago, and he hasn't tried making conversation either. Dean twirls a butter knife between his fingers, watching the way the light reflects off the shiny silver surface. He's never seen real silver in person before, and he suspects there is a lot of things on this train that he would never have seen in District 12.
A door whooshes open and in walks their mentor. He's a young, blonde man, who goes by the name of Haymitch. He's known around the district as a drunk, but Dean's father told him that after Haymitch won the games, the Capitol killed his mother and brother. Dean feels nothing but sympathy for the man, and respect for his mentor's ability to function after such a loss. Even if he's only functioning long enough to get plastered.
Haymitch plops down in the chair between Dean and Penny, at the head of the table. Pulling a dented metal flask from inside his jacket, he pours a large helping of clear liquid into a crystal champagne flute. Judging from the cloud of fumes that invades Dean's nostrils, he guesses that it's liquor. Haymitch gulps it down in one swallow, then sets the glass down, looking at each tribute in turn.
"Hey kiddos. How's it hanging?" he asks, flipping his long blonde hair out of his eyes.
"How do you think it's going?" Dean replies, glaring at the man and slamming the butter knife down on the table. "This is bullshit. Aren't you supposed to help us? You're drunk."
"Just because I'm drunk, kid, doesn't mean I can't be useful," is Haymitch's reply.
"Whatever. My name is Dean, not kid."
"Alright, Dean, cool it. Save all that anger for the arena," Haymitch adds, then turns to look at Penny. "Penny, right?"
The girl nods, still not making eye contact.
"Well then, first things first, Dean and Penny. We're gonna be in the capitol tomorrow, and that's when the show starts. As soon as we pull into the station the cameras are going to be on you both. So I want smiles, waving, the whole gambit."
"Why?" Dean asks. "I'm not happy to be here, and I'm guessing she's not either."
"You want sponsors? You have to make people like you. They're not going to send you gifts in the arena if you act like a little shit."
"Alright fine. Smiles and waving. Then what?"
"Then we go to the Training Center, where you get all prettied up for the big show," Haymitch replies, pouring himself another tall glass of liquor.
"Great." Dean stands from the table and leaves the dining car in search of his room and a shower. If he's going to be stuck here, he might as well use the hot water while it's available.