A Supernatural Hunger Games (Supernatural/Hunger Games Fan Fiction)

Chapter 4

For a few moments, Castiel and Dean took in the scene of their mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile vomit. Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance. Bobby didn't seem like much, but Becky was right about one thing. He's all they had once they're in the arena.The two boys each took one of Bobby's arms and helped him to his feet.

"I trip?" Bobby asked. "Smells bad." Dean and Castiel half led half carried Bobby back to his room. Since they couldn't exactly set him down on his embroidered bedsheets, they dumped him into the bathtub and turned on the shower.

"It's okay, Dean, I can take it from here," Castiel said.

"Okay... well, have fun." Dean turned to exit the room.

"I don't understand, you think this is fun? It doesn't smell very good and-"

Dean smirks. "Castiel, it was sarcasm."

"Oh." Dean exited the room and enters his own bedroom. He realised he was still smiling, and quickly wiped it from his face. Castiel was acting kind. People like that had a way of working their way inside Dean and rooting there. He couldn't let him do that. Not where they were going. From that moment on he decided to have as little as possible to do with the pastor's son.

He walked across his room towards a window. For a while he stood staring out the train window, watching the landscape speed past him. In the distance, he saw the light of another district. 7? 10? He didn't know. His mind strayed towards his brother and father. What was Sam doing right now? Was his father still drinking? The answer was probably yes, but he wished it was no. Sam would undoubtedly have a hard time sleeping that night. Dean pictured that old cat, Ruby, watching over Sam. If he cried, she would wriggle her way into his arms and curl up there. That thought comforted Dean. He's glad he hadn't drowned that cat. Imagining his home made him ache of loneliness. It felt so long ago since Lisa and Dean had been eating blackberries in the forest. Had it really only been that morning? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Maybe if he went to sleep, he'd wake up in district 12, where he belonged.

The drawers of the dresser held a multitude of nightclothes, but Dean just stripped off his shirt and pants and crawled into the bed in his underwear. If there ever was a right time to cry, it'd be then, at night, alone in his room. But the tears didn't come. He felt to numb and too tired to cry. So he let the train rock him into oblivion.

Grey light leaked through the curtains when a tapping on the door roused Dean. He could hear Becky's voice, calling him to rise. "Up up up! It's going to be a big, big day!" Dean climbs out of bed and put the plaid shirt back on, figuring it isn't too dirty from one night's wear. Dean traced the gold outline of the mockingjay pin, thinking of his mother, and of his father and brother having to get up and get on with things.

As Dean entered the dining car, Becky passed him holding a cup of black coffee. She glared at Bobby as Bobby sat chuckling at Castiel, who looks slightly embarrassed about something.

"Sit, sit!" Bobby said gruffly as he saw Dean enter the room. The moment he slid into his seat he was served an enormous platter of food. A cup of dark brown liquid was set in front of him.

"They call it hot chocolate," Castiel told him. Dean took a sip. The warmth of the liquid spread through him. It was delicious.

Once Dean was done stuffing the food in his mouth, he sat back, watching Castiel and Bobby. Castiel was still eating, breaking off bits of his roll and dipping it in the hot chocolate. Bobby was drinking a red liquid which he kept thinning with a white liquid he poured from a flask. Judging by the smell, Dean guessed it was some sort of spirit.

As Dean observed Bobby, he realised why the District 12 tributes never stood a chance in the games. It wasn't that they were underfed or lacked training. The District 12 tributes hardly ever got sponsors and Bobby was a large part of the reason why. The sponsors didn't want to deal with a unmannered drunk like Bobby.

"So, you're supposed to give us some advice," Dean said to Bobby.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." He laughed then took another swig of his drink. Dean and Castiel exchange glances. Dean is surprised by the hardness in his blue eyes. Then Dean quickly looked away, reminding himself he isn't to have anything to do with this boy.

"That's not very funny," Castiel said. He lashed out at the drink it Bobby's hand, knocking it out of his hands. The glass falls to the floor, sending the blood red liquid onto the carpet.

Bobby considered that for a moment, then punched Castiel in the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. When he turned back to reach for his spirits, Dean grabbed a butter knife in his hand and smoothly stabbed it into the table, between Bobby's hand and the spirits, only missing Bobby's fingers by a few. Dean braced himself to deflect his hit, knowing how from spending so many years with an angry father, but the hit didn't come. Instead Bobby sat back in his chair and squinted at them.

"Well, what's this?" He asked. "Did I actually get a pair of fighting idgits this year?" Bobby stared at them some more.

Castiel rose from the floor and pulled himself back into his chair. He reached for the ice that had been keeping the fruit cold.

"No," Bobby said. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you got into a fight with another tribute before you've even made it into the arena."

Castiel tilted his head. "But it's against the rules to get into a fight with another tribute before the arena-"

"Only if they catch you. The bruise says you fought and weren't caught. Even better." He turned to Dean. "Can you hit anything with a knife besides that table?" Dean yanks the knife out of the table and throws it across the room. It wedges between to wall panels. A hint of a smile reached Dean's lips.

"Stand over here, both of you." Bobby nodded to the middle of the room. They obeyed, and he began circling them, prodding them, checking their muscles, examining their faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Once the stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." He stared at them for a few more seconds. "Alright, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do whatever I say." It wasn't much of a deal, but it was a huge leap from where they were ten minutes ago.

"Fine," said Castiel.

"So help us," Dean said. "When we get to the arena what's the best strategy at-"

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes we'll pull into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylist. You're not going to like what they do to you, but don't resist no matter what it is."

"But-" Dean began.

"No buts. Don't resist." Then Bobby grabbed the bottle of spirits and exited the car. As the door swung closed, the car went dark. Dean figured they must be going through a tunnel. Dean and Castiel stood in silence as the train sped along. The train began to slow and bright light flooded the compartment. Dean and Castiel rush to the window, staring at the glistening buildings that tower over them in a rainbow of hues. Oddly dressed people strolled down the streets in extravagant wigs and exaggerated clothing. All the colors seemed artificial, the blues too light, the greens too bright, the pinks too deep. The people pointed at them eagerly as they realised it was a tribute train. Dean stepped away from the window. It was sickening to him, their excitement, knowing they couldn't wait to watch him die. Castiel, however, held his ground, staring curiously at the strange people. He doesn't look away until the train pulls into the station, blocking them from his view.

Dean stared at the boy. Maybe he had misjudged him. He thought of all of Castiel's actions since the reaping. The friendly squeeze when they shook hands. His father showing up and promising to help Sam... had Castiel put him up to that? His puffy eyes at the station. Volunteering to help Bobby but challenging him the next morning, once his nice-guy act failed. And now looking out the window, already trying to win the crowd. Dean sensed Castiel had a plan forming. Castiel hadn't accepted death, he was still fighting hard to stay alive. Which also meant that the kind boy who had helped Dean clean his wounds after the fight would be fighting hard to kill him.