Chapter 2: "Training"

I stared at Cas in disbelief. What did he mean my brother?

Sam, from what I understood, was dead. Was killed in Detroit after a fight.

Adam would be the only other possibility, but he's been gone for years.

"What the hell do you mean?" I asked, my words slithering out of my mouth.

"Sam, is another tribute, Dean," Castiel said as he turned to look out the window again.

"Sam is dead, Cas."

There simply was no way in hell...

"That is what I thought too. We were both wrong, Dean, and now we have to face your brother in the arena."

I sat back, glaring down at the table.

This is the world, once again, biting me in the ass.

My mind flashed back to years ago, after dad died.

I stood next to Sam.

"Before dad died, he told me something." I remember saying to him. "Something about you. He said that he wanted me to watch out for care of you."

"He's told you that a million times." Sam said to me.

"This time was different." I said, looking down. "He said that I had-" I remember trying to find the right words. "To save you."

"Save me from what?" He asked."

"He just said that I had to save you. That nothing else mattered. And that if I couldn't, I'd.." I paused.

Sam looked at me. "You what, Dean?"

"I'd have to kill you." I clenched my teeth. "He said I might have to kill you, Sammy."

For all these years I have tried to avoid the inevitable

After all we've been through together, one of us would have to kill the other in the end.

I wished he had actually died in Detroit, like I orginally thought.

A woman entered the room. Her hair was a bright red and tied up. She wore a ton of make up and her eyelashes were abnormally long.

"Hello, I'm Sabine. Dean's stylist." She greeted.

"My what?"

"Your stylist. It's my duty to make you look sharp for the interviews." She said excitedly.

I looked at her for a long moment. She couldn't be serious..

"Uh, no." I said, turning to Cas.

"But Dean..."

"Since when were we on first name bases, Sabby?" I asked.

She gave me a sharp glare and strutted off.

"Dean," Cas began. I looked up. " You actually want people to like you."

"They are sending us into a death-trap, Cas, and you want me to like them?"

"If you're liked, you are more likely to be sponsered."

"Sponsered? What is this, boy scouts?" I snorted.

"Sponsers are able to send you supplies when needed."

"What will I need if I bring-"

"You cannot bring anything, Dean. It's against the rules."

Against the rules. I find it funny that everyone thinks of this as a game. Setting a bunch of people loose, and watching them kill eachother.

And a stylist? Its like I'm modelling for this year's next top serial killer.

I stood suddenly. Cas looked up to me, he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but no words came out.

I gave him a nod and left the table and headed down the hall of the train to my bedroom.

I thought I should make good use of the bed while I had one to use.

The sheets were a pearl white colour and flawlessly set against the mattress.

I examined my surroundings. How was something like this so well kept while the world was being destroyed? Then I looked down at myself. My hands and arms were covered in dirt and dried blood.

I decided to take a shower before I laid down to sleep.

The bathroom was attached to the bedroom. Small, but it was better than anything I've seen in years.

The water from the shower tap was clear and the water came down with pressure, unlike any I've seen in a long time. We considered a dribble lucky back at the camp.

I took a long, much needed shower. Letting the hot water soak through me.

After a while, I got out and looked around for my clothes.

"What the hell.." I muttered, unable to find them.

I saw a folded white robe on the counter top with a note, 'You're clothes are being washed and we hoped you'd wear this to sleep.'

I crumpled up the note and threw it across the room. I took the robe and put it on.

Why the hell did they care about what I slept in?

I exited the bathroom and laid down on the bed. It was soft and comfortable. Something I was not use to.

I closed my eyes and began to fall into warm sleep.

"Dean," I heard someone say quietly. Tapping my shoulder.

My eyes opened and I looked up at Sam.

"Sam? Sammy?" I asked, sitting up quickly.

"Dean," He said with a smile. "It's been a long time."

"Sam, what happened? Where's Lucifer?" I asked him.

Sam looked down and back up to me. "He's resting."

I narrowed my eyes. What did he mean he was resting?

"Dean, I want you to promise me something." Sam said, looking me straight in the eye. "Promise me you'll win."

"Dean!" Someone said loudly in my ear. I jumped awake.

"Sammy?" I asked.

Cas tilted his head slightly to the side. "Uh, no."

"Cas, sorry. It was a dream. What do you want?" I asked, sitting up.

"We have to be to training in a hour." Cas said.

I blinked. I slept the whole night already?

"I thought we didn't need training." I said.

"We don't need mentors, but we still need training." Castiel explained.

The training sessions were held in a big, open hall. There was different stations, one for gun shooting, one for archery, sword fighting, knife throwing, and there was even one for knot tying.

All of the chosen tributes of this year were all in the same place, learning how to suceed at murdering one another. The gamekeepers were all treating this like it was a family get-together.

The fake smiles and kind words were making my stomach churn. The young tributes were slowing growing to trust these tricksters, and they are going to be in for a harsh awakening once the arena's gates open and the first cannon fires.

I watched as a young girl attempted to wheel a sword about the size of herself. Although she as was able to lift the sword, it plummelled to the ground when she took a step to swing.

I shook my head once, imagining the blade taking off her toes the next time it fell to the ground.

"Hold up," I said, walking to towards her. She looked up at me.

I went over to the box full of swords and picked up one more of her size.

"Try this," I said, handing her the sword and taking the big one from her.

She looked at the blade for a moment. Then took a big swing, nearly taking me out. I jumped out of the way.

"Much better," I said, getting out of the sword's range.

"Thanks," She said, swinging again.

"How old are you?" I asked, curious.

"Fourteen."

With her tiny frame, I thought she couldn't have been more than tweleve.

She took another swing, nearly knocking herself off balance.

The way she was going, she would take herself out with the blade before anyone else.

"Watch how I do it," I said to her. Using the big sword, I stepped forward and swung the sword out. "It's more about the force than it is the speed."

She watched me closely and copied my movements.

"Try to keep your arms straight and your feet together until you step forward to swing." I said.

She practised the motion a few times, than she lowered her sword and looked at me with a small smile on her face.

"What district are you from?" She asked me.

"Eight. I'm from district eight." I answered.

"I'm from district 5. Why are you helping me?"

"Because," I paused to sort out my words. " I didn't want you to hurt yourself before even getting in the arena."

"Well, thank you. And I really hope I don't have to kill you." She said, putting the sword away and changing stations.

I stood in shock for a moment.

Something about the way she said that hit me.

I hope I don't have to kill you niether.

I tossed my sword back in the bin, and looked around for Castiel.

I spotted him over at the gun station. He had a M16 rifle aimed at a human-shaped target. He fired, hitting the target, but not making a fatal hit if it was a real.

"Scoot over, hot-shot," I said to him. Cas moved out of the way, giving me the use of the rifle.

I looked through the scope, and squeezed the trigger. The loud pop noise followed as the gun fired, sending a bullet through the wooden target's chest. I fired again, hitting the target square between the eyes.

I secured the safety on it, and left the station, feeling the eyes of many watching me.

I have always been talented when it came to gun shooting. Dad always told me I was a good-shot.

I stood and watched the archers. Some of them were quite good and were definitely some too look out for in the arena.

I felt a presense behind me.

I figured it would be Cas, but the vibe was telling me differently.

I waited for them to come into view.

"Hi Dean."

There was no doubt that I knew that voice.

Five years may have passed, but his voice was the same.

I sucked in air harshly before slowly turning to look at him.

Sam, stood behind me, a small grin across his face. His hair neatly combed, and he was cleanly shaved.

My lower jaw quivered. I wanted nothing more than to speak to him, but something was not right.

There was definitely something different about Sam.

I pulled myself together, clenching and unclenching my fist, attempting to calm myself.

"Quite the place for a reunion, brother." I said, hoarsely.

Sam looked around briefly, "It works," he replied.

I became silent.

What do you say to a long lost brother whom you're suppose to kill in only a number of days?

"It's funny," Sam said suddenly, laughing once.

My attention went back on him. "What is?"

"That both of us were chosen. What are the odds?"

"Clearly not in our favor." I said.

I began examining him. What was different?

"Dean," Sam said, a smile on his face.

He must have caught on to what I was doing.

"I'm not a shape-shifter. I'm not a demon.."

"Then what are you?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of his.

"I'm your brother."

Sam took a step towards me and I backed away.

"The hell you are.." I said. " And I suppose my brother has no problem taking me out?"

"Dean, it doesn't have to be that way," He said. "There is no reason why we couldn't work together."

"There is no way I'm going to be helping you." I said, my voice raising. "You see the difference between us, Sam, is that I have a problem with all of this. You don't."

"You think I like the Games, Dean?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I don't, Dean. I don't like it, what is there to like?" He asked.

I studied his face, trying to read his expression.

For a moment I thought that I may have been wrong about him. Maybe this was actually my little brother.

I looked into his eyes, and that gave me a answer.

There was something a little too dark in them. Something that was enjoying this too much.

"Perhaps the fact that you can kill innocent people without conscequences.." I said.

Sam tilted his head to the side slightly. "You don't trust me, Dean?"

"Should I?" I asked.

Sam sighed. "Dean, I don't want to kill anyone. Especially not my brother." He slowly turned, but before walking a away, he said, "Please don't make me."

I stared after him. Torn between believing my gut feeling, or what my mind was trying to tell me. Was this actually Sam? Was I over analyzing every move he made? Or am I right to believe that he is dangerous and can't be trusted.

I guess, only time can tell.